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churipu · 11 months ago

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hihi i love ur works sm and i was wondering if i can request where the reader has an argument w the jjk men?? preferably w nanamin + any other characters :3 thank you in advance ^___^

BAD BLOOD — ARGUMENTS WITH JJK MEN !

featuring. nanami kento, choso, megumi fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing, yelling, slight angst (ends in fluff dw).

note. hi anon, thank you for loving my works, it means a lot to me. and i love this request, i've been feeling like crap for the whole day so this is just what i needed! i hope you like this one <;33 and for anons who have sent in request, i'm writing them down and keeping them in my drafts for daily posts, so don't worry about it!

NANAMI KENTO. i feel like arguments with nanami will be very soft but angry. nanami is a gentle person, and he just hates the thoughts of saying something hurtful to you — but do keep in mind that he won't always be very soft, he could be loud at times. but most of your arguments with him are soft spoken, the both of you exchanging thoughts and troubles.

for the past few days, nanami has been extremely overworked and so you're walking on eggshells around him. he gets sensitive, and the slightest bit of inconvenience angered him. yes, you get it — he's tired from his work, you could totally understand that. he's a busy man after all.

"kento, don't you want to take a break..? you've been working non-stop, you'll get sick," you eyed him, poking around your food.

nanami sat across from you, his eyes glued to a paper, and honestly, it was getting a little sickening. all you wanted to do was to talk to him, but you felt as if you were selfish if you asked the man to prioritize you over his work — so you stayed silent, for almost a week the two of you haven't exactly been conversing right, or talking unless it was an exchange of "hi"s and "bye"s. but that was about it.

"i need to get this done, wait a moment."

that phrase sounded like a template by now, and you huffed, rolling your eyes, "i know, i'm just worried about you. you're not getting enough sleep, you're not eating well, and at this point, i'm just afraid that you'll dig your own gra—"

"i can take care of myself, thank you. you don't have to worry about me, i know what i'm doing."

you can't help but to furrow your brows at his cold reply, a little offended when all you seemed to be doing was care for him. the least he could do was thank you for it, "god, you don't have to be such an ass about it. forgive me for caring then."

at this point, your words only added fuel to the already big fire. nanami stared at you, the exhaustion in his eyes are apparent, and his lips pursed into a thin line before he inhaled sharply, "you're being a child, i just told you i can take care of myself. please, don't argue with me on this. i'm tired with all these paperwork, don't add more burden for my shoulders."

you clicked your tongue, standing up, not wanting to engage on this particular conversation anymore, "well forgive me for caring and for being a burden. enjoy your dinner," was all you spat out at him before going to the living room — plopping your body down the couch.

arguments with him usually ends up with the both of you apologizing to each other, but this particular argument seemed to not just go the way how it usually does. a couple of hours later, none of you talked. you assumed that the male finished his dinner, and you saw him walk by you into your shared room.

the two of you refused to talk to each other, or even as little as making an eye contact. you figured that you'd just spend the night in the living room where the TV could keep you company, so you stormed inside your shared room where nanami was on the bed, eyes still on his beloved papers.

he said nothing, nor did he spare a glance at you. so you become a guest in your own bedroom and grabbed your pillow, it wasn't that chilly outside so you didn't grab the only blanket laying on the bed (you actually left it there for him to use, the ac could be pretty cold at times).

and he never came out, not until you fell asleep with the TV still on. nanami hadn't even slept, he'd gotten his work done hours ago — but still he couldn't sleep. not without you by his side.

the clock strikes fifteen minutes past three in the morning, and nanami pushed himself up from the bed — feeling the void beside him, even with the blanket; he felt cold. opening the door softly, he trudged out of the room, the sight of you all curled up on top of the couch, vivid lights shining from the TV still managing to light up the whole living room despite the lights being off.

he squats down in front of you, brushing your h/c hair out of your face and it made you turn in your sleep. although not enough to wake you up completely, nanami one of his arm under your upper back, and one under your legs. carrying you inside the room with soft steps before laying you down, not forgetting to tuck you under the blanket and leaving trails of butterfly kisses on your face.

he could finally sleep.

with the sun rays greeting you through the creases of your still covered window, you squirmed. groaning out.

"y/n?"

upon hearing nanami's voice, your eyes flutter open. of course — it was a surprise for you to wake up on the bed when you fell asleep on the couch, "did you carry me here?"

nanami nods, he was leaning onto the bed post, "i'm sorry. what i said to you was wrong," he softly said.

the anger you felt the other night was gone by now, and you were just glad that nanami was willing to talk to you. you shook your head with a small smile, "it was part of my fault too, you were working — i shouldn't have pestered you too much."

nanami wasted no time in pulling you towards him, "you were worried for me. never apologize for that."

like i said, arguments with nanami will always end pretty quickly (the two of you are mature enough to talk it out), oh and also? he spoils you the entire day after an argument so — have fun!

CHOSO. i feel like choso would be confused a lot during arguments with you, on one side i could see him being brazen with his words, and on the other side i could see him being careful with them. no in between, he's definitely scared of saying the wrong things to you — and you getting hurt emotionally, hurts him as well. so at times he just tries to end it quickly by saying sorry.

god, he hates seeing you sad. at the end of the day, if he did say things the wrong way (even if it was to defend himself when he's not wrong), choso will apologize to you for how he said his words (and you'll apologize for your mistake). but choso has his share of apologizing because of his mistake too.

"cho, are you listening to me? gosh, you never pay attention to what i'm saying, are you taking this seriously?" choso looks up at you with his brows furrowed, definitely frustrated by everything that was happening around him right now.

first of all, he expected today to be a very special day. he hasn't seen you for the past couple of days because you've been so busy with work, and he was so excited when you told him you'd be having a couple of days to rest. he couldn't wait to meet you and go out on dates with you.

but clearly, his expectations were shoved down the drain because here you both were — arguing over your work hours choso had brought up a few minutes prior. and all he said was that he wished that the both of you would have more time to spend together, which irked you.

it had been a rough week with work where you had to write and write and write on countless paperwork (which you couldn't really complain on because you signed up for the job). and you weren't afraid to admit that you were in the wrong this time, when all choso wanted was time with you. here you were, getting all riled up because he wished that he had more time with you, and if the roles were switched; you were pretty damn sure you'd say the same thing to him.

"'m sorry for bringing that up. can we go out now..? i don't wanna fight w' you." choso mumbled out, averting his gaze to the side.

his tone ripped you away from your anger and you sighed, pulling him into your embrace, "cho, 'm sorry. i shouldn't have taken my anger out on you just because i've had a rough week."

choso returned your embrace mutely, a small smile dawning upon his lips. he was just glad the argument was cut short. all he wanted to do now was to go out of this slump and make you the happiest person ever — even just for a moment, a couple of days before you eventually have to return back to work.

"cho, say something."

choso pulls away from your touch, "i forgive you. let's go out? missed you. so much."

for the rest of the day, you and choso had the most fun in a week. also, choso fell into a pond in the park because he wasn't looking at the road — and also, you might've called your boss to extend your rest day (by saying you weren't feeling well) so you could have more time to spend with your boyfriend.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. i feel like megumi's the type of boyfriend who tries to stay out of arguments with you, if he was entangled in one where he isn't in the wrong — and you tell him to do something, he'd just kind of do it without any complaints. tell him to shut up? he shuts up. tell him to go away? he'll leave. tell him to leave you alone? he'll leave you alone (for a couple of hours).

but when he feels like things aren't ceasing, he'd try his best to negotiate with you and try to find out what the core of the problem is between the both of you. let's be real, megumi is a realistic type of person, he'd never admit that he's wrong when he isn't just to solve things the fast way, even to you; his own partner.

"y/n. how many times do i have to tell you that it's not that i'm bored of you alright? i've been busy. i'm not bored of you."

okay, you didn't expect one question to lead to this argument. all you asked him was a simple yes or no question: "are you bored of me?" and you didn't throw the question for no apparent reason, the reason behind that question itself was megumi's change of behavior the past two weeks.

he'd been extremely distant, and cold. whenever you asked him about it, he just tells you that he's tired. which you could totally understand since he is pretty busy, like uncle ben said: "with great power comes great responsibility."

being a jujutsu sorcerer is a big responsibility. you could understand where it was coming from, but when it happens again and again, you can't help but to overthink about it. overthink about how megumi might be bored of you and the whole relationship.

"megumi, i...okay— i'm sorry for asking about this. i was just worried." you tell him, not wanting to argue any longer about this whole thing, "i'm sorry, you must be stressed out with school and stuff."

megumi furrowed his brows, inhaling sharply, "no, no.. i'm sorry for lashing out. let's talk about this. i don't want you to get the wrong idea."

megumi explained everything from a to z, about how he was still so in love with you and he had been distant because of his power and what comes with it. it was pretty cute to listen to him talk, the constant flush on his face whenever he talks about you, and the stress in his voice when he talks about his power was apparent.

poor boy just needed a break.

"megumi, let's take a nap. you look like you need it."

"...i do."

argument ended. relationship stronger. and you both get to nap together, absolute win-win.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #choso kamo #choso fluff #choso x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff

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shalomniscient · 6 months ago

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i don’t know if the request are open but I’ll just throw this out.

based on this anon who had this scenario about the reader joking when she told that she wanted the give the house of the hearth a ‘new sibling’ and Arlechinno was seriously considering it. I was wondering if you could expend on that idea (that would be so spicy and wholesome 😩)

truly she is so funny sometimes. she sees your shocked expression and tilts her head, brow arching. she sets her pen down and sits up straighter in her chair.

"is the... timing inconvenient for you?" she asks, almost innocently, and you don't know if you want to laugh or cry.

"that's besides the point," you say hastily. "it's just-- i didn't expect you to take it seriously!"

"oh," is all she responds with. her fingers twitch on the hardwood table, and you can tell she's holding back from grabbing her pen and fidgeting with it. after a brief moment, she adds, a little quieter, uncharacteristically small, "is that not something you desire?"

your heart threatens to give out on itself with how hard it beats in your chest. "is it something you do?"

"yes," she answers smoothly, without a single hint of hesitation. for all that your heart raced mere moments ago, it now threatens to stop right then and there. "without question. you are my wife, and i... well. for such a thing, it would only make sense if it were with you."

"you never told me you wanted children of our own," you say softly, your feet taking you round her desk to where she sits. you perch on the edge of it, your leg brushing her own. her hand finds your calf, her touch gentle and warm through your skirts. she holds you like you're the most precious thing in the universe.

(you are.)

she exhales softly as she looks up at you, almost reverently, though a hint of guilt lingers in those lovely eyes of hers. "this is nothing but my own selfish desire," she murmurs. "i did not wish to burden you with it or trouble you with its weight. it is alright if it is not something you wish to carry. it is, ultimately, your decision."

"my foolish husband," you sigh, taking her hand and intertwining your fingers, bringing them up in a way to let the candlelight catch on your matching rings. "burdens are inflicted, not chosen. i made the choice to love you, walked into it with eyes wide open. and i would choose a family with you, if you would have me."

the knave brings your hand to her lips, and presses a kiss to your knuckles. her free hand finds your hip, a gentle, affectionate pressure. she breathes her assent against your skin like a promise.

"always."

[nsft utc]

on a night you both agree on, she takes you relentlessly, but no less lovingly. she devoured you first with her mouth, then readied you with her fingers twice, before finally pushing into you, her cock hilting balls deep in nearly a single, smooth thrust. there's a pillow under your hips to keep them propped up as she ruts into you, dark fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, keeping them spread for her. her muscled form braces over your own, her face buried in the crook of your neck, sucking marks and pressing kisses on the sensitive skin there.

now she has your ankles thrown over her shoulder as she bends you into a mating press, your knees nearly touching your ears. praises spill from her lips with each drive of her hips against yours, nearly drowned out by the sound of her cock in your wet cunt, already filled with two of her previous loads. her long hair, loose from its low ponytail, drapes around you both like a curtain when she pulls away from your neck to look into your eyes.

"my sweet girl," she pants, her voice carrying a rare tremble as pleasure rockets up and down her spine with each movement she makes in you, "my wife, my sun. mother of my child."

you gasp out a whine at her words, nails clawing at her back. "please, please," you babble mindlessly, drunk of the feeling of her and the euphoria fogging your brain, "'m gonna cum, arle, want it, please--"

she groans at that, swallowing your moans with a kiss. "i know, i know," she breathes against your lips, "just a little bit more. just a little bit more, sweetheart, and i'll give it to you. it's all yours, love, only yours."

her thumb finds your stiff, sensitive clit and she rubs firm yet gentle circles on the nub until you wail and cum all over her cock again, your pussy clenching tight around her. she grits her teeth so hard that even through your overstimulated tears, you see the way the muscles in her jaw work. she holds you tight as she buries herself as deep as she can go, cumming thick ropes into your eager, welcoming cunt. she shudders and trembles above you as she cums, hips jerking as the aftershocks race through her.

when you both finally settle from your highs, she has you held close in her arms, her face pressed against your chest, right over your heart. your fingers run through her hair, carding through the soft strands until sleep nips at her heels like an eager dog. before it catches her, she hears you whisper a soft 'i love you' into her hair.

that night she dreams of you, and a child's sweet, innocent laughter.

(it sounds like an echo of yours.)

#sev.responses #sev.thirsts #sev.scribbles #[nsft]#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut

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suntoru · 2 years ago

Text

playing with genshin men’s hair

summary: lol setting their silky locks on fire

⤷ feat: diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, xiao, kazuha kaedehara, bbg scaramouche, shikanoin heizou, tighnari, kaveh

a/n: ik i said angst… but i js couldn’t resist 😋 it will be coming soon tho

warnings: fluff, a bit of swearing, maybe some sussies tbh i don’t remember

─ ✰ DILUC might be reluctant to let you take care of his hair at first, but once he experiences it, he’s addicted. he absolutely loves the feeling of you gently tugging the tie that holds his hair after a long day. it feels as though the burdens that once weighed him down are being set free by you, releasing him from his darkness. the soft smile you give him as you inquire about his day makes the weight of his everyday tasks it all worth it. your fingers work precisely, making sure to never rip out a hair or damage it in any way. he feels like he’s almost in heaven when you massage his scalp and detangle it with the utmost care. he hasn’t experienced such gentleness and care in such a long time, for even a mansion gets lonely without someone to come back to. even though you know he could just ask one of his maids for a professional head massage, it makes your heart melt every time he shyly asks if it would trouble you too much for you to do it.

─ ✰ KAEYA thinks you’re so adorable like this. comfortably seated on his lap, legs loosely straddling him, he thinks he’s in heaven. your eyes crinkle in concentration, lips pursing together as you try your best to make kaeya’s hair look as good as possible. originally, he asked if you could help him to tie his hair in his signature ponytail, but it seems you have veered off course from your original mission. you stick your tongue out and squint as you try and tie kaeya’s pigtails evenly, slightly irritated that a strand was poking out and wasn’t fitting. he’s trying not to laugh at the funny faces you pull, only because you’d pout and sulk in a corner if he mentioned it. kaeya finds it so endearing that you’re trying the best you can to be so gentle, as if you apply too much pressure he’ll break and shatter into a million pieces. he’s studying every small change in your expression, entertaining himself in the midst of your little hairstyling session. when you pull back, much to your delight, kaeya’s even cuter in pigtails then you ever imagined. paired with your pink bows, it’s hard not to squeal over how soft he looks.

─ ✰ XIAO gives you the side eye the second you pull out the bright pink hello kitty hair clips from your bag, instantly dreading his decision to answer your call. not really he’d ditch teatime gossip with babagrill zhongli for u <3 “you want me to do what?” as if the answer wasn’t already obvious 🙄 his cheeks turn just as pink as the hair clips, then he vanishes with a poof, gone as fast as he came. he’s just flustered, don’t worry, he’ll be back any minute! as you silently wait for his return, you secretly spell y/n’s on the back of the clip :) when he gets back, he’s hit with your barrage of attacks, (puppy dog eyes n pouts) and he ends up caving. while you’re clipping the hair out of his face, he refuses to make eye contact with you, eyes burning the floor in embarrassment. you’re really going to be the death of him though, when you start to coo at him. “awww, my cutie patootie pretty baby boy is so gorgeous!” he can’t take it and teleports again but bumps into ganyu and ventitty 💀 embarrassed, he teleports back to you n he refuses to tell you what happened 😞 you try and concentrate on xiao, but you just can when he looks so adorable it’s not your fault :((( the pink kitty clips accentuate his hair n when he pouts it’s just ☹️ what have u created

─ ✰ KAZUHA would never want to inconvenience you in any sort of way, but when you beg him so nicely, it would be meaner of him not to accept… right?? he absolutely relinquishes by the way your face lights up instantly at his yes, a giddy smile you can’t contain spreading across your face. pulling you toward him, he kneels on the ground so you can sit comfortably while doing his hair 🥹 adjusts his head too so you won’t have to strain your arms. (boyfriend material™) he hums the tune of your favourite songs to fill up the peaceful silence that surrounds your room. once you’re done tying his hair, you’re a little bit anxious for his reaction. he’d never judge you, no, but… his ponytail is breaking free in some parts, the hairtie is tangled in his hair, it’s tied too tight at the base, and you’re sure by the time the day ends, his head will be sore. overall, it’s not your best work, and you feel you’ve caused more trouble than help. “y’know kazu… maybe you should just do it yourself!” you reach to untie the scrunchie, but he gently grabs your wrist and assures you that it’s fine, he’ll love it either way. standing up, he smothers your face in kisses, making sure to express his appreciation. “thank you dove, it’s lovely. now let me repay the favour.”

─ ✰ SCARAMOUCHE “what is the point of this? it seems useless.” sprawled lazily across the couch with his head on your lap, oversized hat long forgotten as he stares up into your eyes. he expects to find your true motive, the thought of you betraying him screams inside of his head. but he finds nothing but love and reassurance, no anger or resentment in the window to your soul. in that moment, all his doubts disintegrate as he ever so slightly nuzzles his head further into your legs. nails dragging on his scalp, you gently scratch his head as you read the latest novel you’ve received from a friend. the feeling is warm, intimate, mundane. it’s new, but not rejected, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he’d admit. you appreciate the peaceful moment, but what’s a relationship without a little bit of teasing? “hmm? oh, you don’t like it? i’ll just stop then.” you raise your hand to move it off, but scaramouche’s reflexes are faster. he pushes your hand back onto his head, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. “idiot. i never said to stop.”

─ ✰ HEIZOU loves the attention he gets when you style his hair. both from you, and other people. what’s not to love about it? sure, he sacrifices some of his dignity walking around with elastic bands bunched up in the most randomness places, but can that really be measured to your happiness? the silent giggles and playful smiles you give him while sits patiently for you is absolutely everything. he basks in the fact that while you’re styling him, he’s all you’re focusing on, loving the care you provide for him. he especially loves it when you put headbands on him, the ones with cute designs :((( or when you use a claw clip to really show off that he’s taken, this little bitch gets so smug at the fact that you’re protective of him. even if all the other detectives tell him he looks goofy in it, or the citizens inazuma can’t peel their eyes off of him, he still keeps his head high and carefree personality intact. instead, he just laughs it all off, and takes it as jealousy. he thinks that they wish they had a gorgeous significant other who puts this much effort into him. after all, who cares about other people’s opinions when yours is the one that only really matters?

─ ✰ TIGHNARI is practically obsessed with the feeling of your hands carding through his hair, massaging his sensitive ears after a long day of patrolling. sometimes he gets overstimulated by all the noise, so it’s nice feeling your gentle fingers take away that pain. he talks to you about his latest discoveries and how he’s so close to unlocking the full potential of a certain plant. if you’re not paying close enough attention, you’ll miss the breathy sighs and contented mumbles he’ll make. unlike another fluffy eared boy, he won’t try and resist you if you touch his ears. he won’t explicitly tell you he likes it, but it’s quite obvious given the lack of protests he gives when you ask. you feign ignorance for his sake, just happy that you get to touch possibly the softest ears in all of sumeru :(( if you ask the any of the other rangers, tighnari wouldn’t ever let anyone touch his ears or tail, sassing them if they even tried to ask. but when you do it, you’re welcomed with open arms and endless cuddles. you’re just special 🫠 collei is super jealous

─ ✰ KAVEH certainly is something else. for the entire day, he’s followed you around the akademiya, accompanying you as you make your rounds. as much as you love seeing his pretty face, you’re certain that his motives aren’t that innocent as helping you out. choosing to keep quiet, you just continue on instead of making a big deal out of it. at the end of the day, you thank him for his help as his chest puffs up with pride. however, when you turn around to leave, his jaw drops. seriously? not even a thank you kiss or hug? not even the thing he wanted the most out of all? as you collect all of your things to leave, he starts to panic. “b-but y/n, aren’t you forgetting something?” he stutters. “oh, you’re right! thank you for reminding me!” you exclaim as he sighs in relief. he closes his eyes for a glorious head pat, but is instead disturbed of his bliss from the sound of your keys jingling. he visibly deflates, giving up on trying to receive your affection. “i’ll be off now. thank you kaveh!” patting his head and giving a peck to his cheek, you run off so you’ll get home before it turns dark. doing so, you miss seeing his previous downcast expression morphs into a lovesick everlasting smile.

©hawkssimpsblog 2023.

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syluslnd · 9 days ago

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Hello ! May I request some angst 🥹 You and Sylus are fwb but you love him and later you catch sylus and mc having sex and you leave and he regrets it? Whether they get together or not up to you !

tags-angst no comfort,sylus pov,implied suicide

word count 1.8k

(note-if I went a little off script and you want me to rewrite pls lmk anon,when I get the creative freedom of an ending I always get so excited lol!🥹)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You’d spent weeks trying to gather the courage to finally tell Sylus how you felt. What started as a casual arrangement had turned into something far more intense for you, with every moment, every stolen glance and every word he spoke weaving tighter knots around your heart. Tonight was the night you planned to tell him everything, to lay it all out and see if he felt even a fraction of the same.

You rehearsed the words over and over in your head on the way to his office, holding onto a shaky hope that maybe he, too, had noticed the subtle shift between you. As you walked down the corridor, anticipation and anxiety blurred together, making your pulse quicken with every step.

But when you finally arrived and opened the door to his office, everything you’d imagined, everything you’d hoped, shattered in an instant.

Sylus was there but he wasn’t alone.

The scene before you was like a punch to the gut, one that left you breathless and frozen. He was with the very woman he’d once told you not to worry about, the so-called “hunter girl” and they were wrapped up in each other, utterly absorbed, not even registering your presence. It wasn’t the fact of him being with someone else that hurt—it was that he was with her, here, in a place that had once felt like it was partly yours, and he didn’t even look at you.

A cold wave of realization washed over you, tinged with humiliation and pain. You’d come here with a heart full of hope and he hadn’t even noticed.

When Sylus finally glanced your way, there was no apology in his eyes, no explanation, not even the courtesy of a break in his actions. He looked at you almost dismissively, a fleeting glance, as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience and then, with a coldness you never thought you’d see, he turned his attention back to her, ignoring you completely.

In that moment, you felt something break inside of you, a part of yourself you couldn’t repair. A thousand emotions flooded through you—anger, sadness, shame. The weight of unspoken words, of all the feelings you’d held back, now felt like a burden you could barely carry.

Stumbling backward, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The realization that you meant so little to him, that he could simply disregard you like this, was a hurt that went deeper than words could express and as you left, the door closing softly behind you, you promised yourself you’d never let anyone make you feel this small, this inconsequential, again.

Sylus hadn’t planned for it to be this way. A part of him knew he was treading on dangerous ground the moment he let things go this far with the hunter girl, a lingering decision he could already feel weighing on his conscience. But he had convinced himself it was fine, that it didn’t mean anything—and most importantly, that you’d never find out.

But when he glanced up and saw you standing there, his heart sank.

The shock on your face, the confusion—it struck him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He cursed internally. Of all days, why did it have to be today? Why did you have to see him like this, at his worst? A flicker of regret crossed his mind as he realized the full extent of what this would do to you. He could tell, even from a distance, that your heart was breaking in real-time.

For a split second, he wanted to call out, to explain, to reach for you. But guilt held him back, keeping him rooted in place. He’d never seen you look so vulnerable, so defeated and in his mind, he could already feel the words he’d rehearsed to you, the subtle hints he’d dropped over time—words that, he now realized, had only served to deepen your trust in him. That trust, something he had taken for granted, was slipping through his fingers.

When he looked away to continue the kiss and passion with that hunter woman, it wasn’t because he didn’t care; it was because he couldn’t bear to look at the pain in your eyes,he knew no matter what in this very moment he couldn’t possibly have the correct words to say.

It’s been a day since you’d walked in on him and yet, the scene keeps replaying haunting your mind. You hadn’t meant to purposely walk into his office unannounced; you’d only come by to tell him the truth—that maybe, just maybe, what you felt for him wasn’t so casual anymore. But the second you opened that door and saw him tangled with her, every thought, every word you had planned to say, fell silent.

The memory of it echoes in you. His indifference, the way he’d looked away when he finally noticed you standing there, stunned. He didn’t say a word, didn’t reach out. It was as if you were invisible.

You’d always told yourself you could handle this. You’d always told yourself that this was just a fling, something fleeting. But here you were, alone in your apartment, the reality settling in like a weight in your chest. You’d lost something in that room—something you’d never get back.

It feels like a betrayal, not just from him but from yourself. You’d let him into places in your heart that you’d sworn would stay locked. You’d shared things, vulnerable moments, pieces of yourself that you couldn’t take back. You’d given him everything—everything that mattered.

A soft, cold wind moves through the open window as you sit there, tears slipping down your cheeks. The city lights blur outside and somewhere in the haze of pain, you make a promise to yourself: no one would ever make you feel this small, this broken, again.

You reach for a pen, feeling the sharp tip against your skin as you press down, writing a reminder on your wrist. It’s a small vow but it feels like a lifeline. No one else will ever be given the power to hurt you this way. Not again. You’ll keep that vow to yourself, protecting your heart from the world outside.

The pen trembles slightly in your hand, heavier than it has ever felt before. But this is no ordinary pen; it's a relic of quiet promises and unspoken pains. Not just a tool for writing, it becomes an instrument, a bridge between the ache in your chest and the words you're too afraid to say out loud.

As you press it against your wrist, it's as if you're pouring everything unsaid into that red ink. The curve of each letter, the way it bites into your skin-it's a reminder, a vow you're making to yourself, a way to draw strength from this hurt. It's not just ink staining your skin; it's the permanence of a promise to guard what's left of your heart, a declaration that no one will be allowed to leave marks on your soul again.

The act is delicate yet deliberate, like the slow drag of the pen is creating a map of the pain you've endured, and perhaps the resilience that will follow. You feel the chill of the ink settling on your skin, mingling with the warmth of your blood beneath and the pain sharpens into clarity.

For the first time, in this quiet moment, you realize that the pen has become more than just a promise,It's a knife full of promises sinking into your skin;you’ll never hurt get hurt again from this world that once took so much without asking.

Sylus stares at his phone, frustration gnawing at him as he watches the screen flash with another unanswered call. He’s tried five times already but each time, the phone rings and rings, only to be met with silence. His fingers hover over the screen, ready to dial again, but his hesitation claws at him.

The image of your face keeps flashing in his mind. The look of shock, the raw pain in your eyes—it’s all he can see. It’s like a punch to the gut, one he can’t escape. He’s always been able to maintain control, to keep things casual but in that moment, when he saw the hurt in your eyes, the walls he’d so carefully built around his emotions shattered.

What the hell was he thinking? He thought he could keep things light, just a hook-up, no strings attached. But the guilt—God, it weighs on him like a hundred-pound anchor. He knows you never asked for anything more but the reality of how he treated you after everything—that—had started to gnaw at him. The hurt on your face, that unmistakable sting of betrayal, it’s all he can think about.

Sylus knows he’s not supposed to care. He’s supposed to be fine with this arrangement. But he’s not fine and it’s terrifying, because he’s never let anyone have that kind of effect on him before. But now, all he can feel is the burning ache in his chest, the overwhelming need to hear your voice, to apologize, to explain that he fucked up.

Why aren’t you answering?

He grits his teeth and stands up, pacing around the room, phone clutched in his hand as if it holds the key to fixing this mess.

He doesn’t know what happened. He thought he could just be selfish, just have you, keep you close in his life the way he wanted, without the mess of feelings. But you—you, with your eyes full of trust and warmth—somehow slipped past his defenses.

He needs you to hear him. He needs to tell you that he feels something more than what you agreed on. He just doesn’t know how. He’s never been one to show vulnerability, to let someone see how much they mean to him and yet, for some reason, when it comes to you, he knows he’s lying to himself.

Sighing heavily, he presses the phone to his ear again, dialing your number once more. The ringing sounds so much louder this time and with each ring, his frustration builds. Come on. Pick up. Please pick up.

But the call goes to voicemail and his shoulders slump in defeat. He leans back against the wall, staring at the phone in his hand, fingers curling around it tightly.

He can’t keep pretending this is okay. He can’t keep pretending it’s just physical. The feeling in his chest has become too strong and it’s not something he can ignore anymore.

His thumb hovers over the screen, typing a message that feels too raw, too honest to send. But he does it anyway.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Please just pick up the phone and let me explain”

The words feel insufficient, like nothing more than a weak attempt to fix everything that’s broken. But it’s all he can offer.

He throws the phone down on the couch, pacing again, this time with a much heavier heart. It’s the first time in a long while that Sylus feels like he’s lost control of the situation. And it terrifies him.

Now, all he can do is wait.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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blackenedsnow · 11 days ago

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hiii, i hope you’re doing well 🤍 may i please request a hurt comfort with thomas hewitt? it’s up to you what’s the context going to be, i just want a little bit of angst with happy ending of course! much love, anon <333

roots run deep

WARNING: Mild descriptions of injury, emotional hurt/comfort, dark themes

PAIRING: Thomas Hewitt x Reader

NOTE: Hi anon <3 Thank you for such a gentle request, and I’m so glad you’re here! please don’t hesitate to send more like these—they mean so much. sending all my love back to you, take care of yourself <333

SUMMARY: When an accident leaves you broken and feeling like a burden, Thomas’s quiet strength becomes your unexpected salvation.

There’s a peculiar peace in pain—one that swallows the world whole, silencing every other thought, reducing everything to that sharp, all-consuming sensation. But today, even in the agony threading through your limbs, there’s no peace, only a hollow ache of shame and something you’re not sure you can face. You feel like a burden. An inconvenience. And with every second that Thomas tends to you, patching your wounds with hands too large and too gentle for this world, that feeling deepens.

It was a stupid mistake—a misstep on uneven ground, sending you crashing down hard enough that you could feel the sickening crunch echo through your bones. You’d always thought you were sturdy, that nothing could break you, but lying here, helpless beneath the careful hands of a man like Thomas, you feel as fragile as glass.

He works in silence, as he always does. The only sounds are the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight, the soft shuffling as he moves around, gathering whatever he thinks will help ease your pain. You can barely look at him, your gaze fixed on the rough, weathered ceiling above as he wraps your ankle in a makeshift bandage, his fingers brushing against your skin with a softness you didn’t know he had.

“Thomas…” Your voice is weak, barely more than a whisper. You want to tell him to stop. To tell him he doesn’t have to go through the trouble, that you’re not worth it. But the words catch in your throat, thick and choking, and you can only lie there, your breaths coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

He pauses, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. You can see the concern in his eyes—a deep, wordless worry that tugs at something inside you, something you’ve tried so hard to bury. He doesn’t say anything; he never does, but there’s an understanding there, a quiet reassurance that fills the silence between you.

He nods once, a slight, almost imperceptible motion, and resumes his work. His hands are steady, unwavering, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. Maybe he has. Maybe he’s patched up wounds far worse than yours. Or maybe he just knows what it feels like to hurt, to be broken in ways no one else can see.

You want to say something, to break the silence hanging heavy between you, but you can’t find the words. They tangle and knot in your throat, a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel. So you lie there, letting him work, feeling the warmth of his hands seep into your skin, grounding you, tethering you to something solid, something real.

As he finishes, he pulls back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. There’s something in his eyes—a softness, a tenderness that catches you off guard. It’s a look you’ve seen only once before, in a moment so fleeting you’d thought you’d imagined it. But now, seeing it here, with his hands still hovering over you, you know it’s real.

And it terrifies you.

You’re not used to kindness. Not the kind that comes without strings attached, without expectations. It feels foreign, strange, like a language you’ve forgotten how to speak. But Thomas… he doesn’t need words. He never has. His actions speak louder than any words ever could, a silent promise that he’ll be there, that he’ll stay, even when you can’t stand on your own.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible, but he hears you. You know he does, because his gaze softens, his hand hovering over yours for a heartbeat before he pulls away, as if he’s afraid to break you further.

There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, to take his hand in yours, to let him know that you’re here, that you see him too. But you don’t. You can’t. The weight of your own shame, your own self-doubt, holds you back, rooting you to the spot.

But Thomas doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for anything more than you can give. He simply stands, his hulking figure casting a shadow over you, a silent guardian in the dim light of the room. You feel safe here, in his presence, in the steady rhythm of his breathing, in the quiet strength he radiates.

As he turns to leave, you feel a pang of something you can’t quite name—a longing, a need for him to stay, to keep that silence filled with his presence. You don’t want to be alone, not tonight. Not when the weight of your own thoughts threaten to pull you under.

“Thomas,” you call out, your voice barely above a whisper. He stops, turning to look at you, and for a moment, you see something in his eyes—something soft, something vulnerable, something you’ve never seen before.

“Will you… stay?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment, but he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look at you with pity. He simply nods, a silent agreement, and settles down beside you, his massive form filling the space, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

You sit in silence, the room filled with the soft sounds of our breathing, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace. A sense of belonging. Thomas doesn’t need words to make you feel safe, to make you feel understood. His presence alone is enough, a silent promise that you’re not alone, that you don’t have to carry this weight on your own.

In the quiet, you feel his hand brush against yours, a tentative, hesitant touch, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile peace between you. But you don’t pull away. You let him take your hand, let his warmth seep into you, filling the empty spaces inside you with something you can’t quite name.

It’s love. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #leatherface x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #slasher #slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #x reader #ask #request #fanfic #oneshot

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daisys-reality · 1 year ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

What's coming next in love matters?

This was a requested reading by one of my followers, I hope you enjoy it. The next pac reading will be reality shifting related again, I promise! If you like to read more pac readings from me, feel free to check out my masterlist! If you want to share your experiences and/or give me feedback and/or share pac ideas, I would be very happy if you send me an ask over tumblr !!! (Also, fyi I don't own any of these beautiful pics, I just edited them!)

pick a picture!

picture one

Hello pile one, you will experience a turning point in your love life. The change may have already started subtly and I heard that they may be apparent in rather random acts but remember all fates are part of an interconnected web of repercussion! You’re asked to embrace the change and to be open to new experiences. It’s a time of death and rebirth so to say. You might experience an unexpected windfall. There is something happening right now you’re not fully aware of … like it’s happening behind the scenes. It’s the end of a life cycle. I see fortune coming in for you guys!!

A big change is already happening and a storm might occur soon as well - some problems or inconveniences may arise, it may cloud your view a bit but know that it is a sign of change and of growth! You’re stepping into a new life cycle and growing into your new form. For example, clashes or arguments may happen because of the new energy you’ll embody with people that are used to your old energy. That’s a natural process for both parties to get used to and to accept the transformation that is happening. You're clearing out the gloom and dust of your old life time and making space for the new you. Of course it’s important to work things through with the end goal of reconciliation in mind, be constructive in the way you’re communicating with the people around you. Just know that the rainfall after a storm or after the end of a war can be pretty pleasant! I see you afterwards feeling like lots of burdens have been taken from you.

Regarding the new energy you’ll embody: I see you full of positive and wild energy with an almost childlike optimism - like you could rule the world and nothing can stop you. You’re happy, I see you smiling brightly. You rebel against your past in a very carefree manner, leaving all the past worries behind. Again, you might make a few enemies on your way but just as many friends who can help you on your journey! If you’ve been someone that avoided conflict or just had people pleasing tendencies - you will grow out of this! And it’s for the best because if you want to embody your truest and most authentic form, there will always be people that don’t like it - mostly because they’re jealous! You’ll be more playful, have peak charisma and be full of enthusiasm especially towards love matters.

Your love life might have been pretty dry for a long time… maybe even non-existent lol. But you’ve worked on yourself and focused on other important matters and now you will experience the rewards for it!!

This will be a time of discovery as well. You will experience different sides of yourself. I don’t necessarily see a super duper long commitment coming in right now, I think you will just experiment a bit - getting to know yourself more like in regards to love and sexual matters (personal preferences and such). If you felt like you're behind on experience in regards to such matters in comparison to your peers, there is no reason to feel bad or ashamed because there is no general ‘right’ time to experience those things, there is only a right time for you in accordance to your personal journey, okay? And the time is coming for you, I can assure you. Just focus on yourself and treat yourself with kindness and respect and stay open towards all the new things that will come into your life. (But don’t forget to treat others with respect as well during your ‘rebellious’ journey.)

You will be shining, attracting lots of different suitors, trying out new things… Funnily enough during your reading I heard ‘casanova’ lmao - so you will turn a bit into casanova (regardless of your gender). And that’s perfectly fine! Speaking of gender, I think you might also experiment a bit with your sexuality, having experiences with the same gender and stuff like that. (This is a possibility - of course not for everyone of you but for some I can see it happening.)

Some quotes I got from my oracle for you: ‘Be the flame, not the moth.’; ‘Always be a free agent - promise fidelity to all.’; ‘It’s not destiny, it’s opportunity.’

An angel number that could hold a message for you: 33

I wish you good luck and lot’s of fun my dear pile one😌✨

picture two

Hello my dear pile two, if you were hoping that I will tell you about the love of your life coming soon, I’ll have to disappoint you. Well, 'soon' is a very vague word but you know what I mean. In the upcoming weeks or months, I see you having to gather strength - your own strength - as well as courage. I feel like in the past you often let yourself get used by the people around you, not just by your lovers, I also feel like by your friends and family as well. You undermined yourself and didn’t treat yourself with the respect you deserve especially in regards to relationships (in all forms) and love matters. And it’s coming to bite your a*s…. just kidding lmao. Nothing bad will happen to you but you can’t avoid it any longer, you need to step out of your comfort zone! - And I see you doing so! So, this is good. To be honest, at first it might feel a bit unpleasant and weird but it’s a process and it takes time.

You know, I will just straightforward tell where you’re heading towards. I got the imagery/metaphor of a strong and assertive warrior who uses his intelligence. Someone who is unafraid of leaping into a battle and employing unconventional techniques to win. Someone who is fierce and rebels but ultimately stays loyal towards themselves. A champion.

I guess you could say you’ll transform into a badass queen or femme fatale but I feel like queen fits more because you’re taking your power back, sitting up straight and putting your crown back on your head (- regardless of your gender, adapt it as you see fit please). Your love life itself will rather be ‘passive’ because you have to focus on yourself and be more pickier. You will turn down anyone who is not on your level. You need to treat yourself with respect and especially others have to treat you with the respect you deserve. No more falling for players!! You’re a queen and you only accept people who are on the level of a king. It doesn’t have to be ‘the one’ right away but even a short term lover should fill all the criteria and if they don’t - bye bye!

I know you are strong. But you have to act on this inner strength. Be careful with becoming rude or too ‘arrogant’ because this sometimes happens if we suffer some kind of inferiority complex. You need to step up your game but in a healthy way. I’m not sure if you will experience some kind of bullying or if you’re the one who bullies but there is some message of ‘bullying’. So, be careful with that…I feel like it’s more about you being the one who does so but It could also be both ways… mhm... Anyways, you’re transforming into this ‘queen’ where you’re embodying strength and maybe even power and there will be people in your environment that are not happy about it, more so envious or jealous. So, either way there is potential for conflict. Don’t trust everyone you interact with too quickly! And don’t share too much from your personal life with others! Some people won’t have your best interest in mind. There is even a possibility of someone sabotaging relationships or partnerships; again, this could go both ways - you doing it or others trying to do it on you.

In your love life you will become someone who can defend themselves and who can fight back if necessary. ‘Don’t mess with me’- vibes. You won’t allow other people to play you anymore. Your inner strength will sky-rocket. You will build trust in yourself and face your ‘inner wild sides’ which you might have kept hidden for a long time. You will focus on your instincts… your raw, maybe even sexual instincts. Because you need to learn how to deal with them correctly and use them efficiently and not just to repress them. They will give you so much more energy and strength - strength you didn’t even know you had! You will be more independent and more able to trust and rely on yourself. You learn how to handle yourself in the correct way and this is great, especially for your future love life because if you don’t know how to handle yourself correctly how should your partner learn how to treat you correctly! With this growth period you will do the first step and show everyone the right way to treat you. On a side note, I feel called out to use another expression than ‘queen/king’ as well... This might be specific confirmation for some. So, in other words, in the upcoming time your love life might be more passive for now but you will focus on yourself and become the ‘trophy wife/husband material’ that you desire to be. I know some people think badly about these expressions but I would say that in our modern times, instead of just having a pretty appearance and being seen as just a nice 'accessory ' I would describe them as people who are physically pretty and very charming AND who have manners, skills and intelligence and know how to use them for their benefit and who are powerful, abundant and successful in public/business but also in their private life and have everything under control or at least appear like they have everything under control. Like the whole package yk. Maybe you guys will physically glow up or upgrade your wardrobe with high quality clothes and accessories. Either way, you will come out of this period shining brightly!

Some quotes I got from my oracle for you: ‘Beauty is power - so use it rather than lose it.’; ‘Age is just a number - irrelevant, unless it’s a vintage wine.’; ‘Everyone is a potential character for a novel.’

An angel number that could have a message for you: 94

I wish you good luck, I’m sending blessings out to you my dear pile two💖

picture three

Hello pile three! I can already tell you that happy times are coming! The first card that I got for you was the happily-ever-after ending card! It’s like you’re reaching a victorious conclusion after a difficult journey. You finally get a positive outcome - the most desired one even ... like a wish fulfillment! You will also get recognition for something which will feel like a triumph for you. You might also attend some parties or events celebrating something. I see you having lots of fun, enjoying yourself … I even want to add ‘for the first time in your life’! I also see pleasurable encounters and intimacy with others.. maybe while dancing with someone? Or while going a little further? lol… Anyways, I see you getting out of your shell more. If you’ve been someone who often shut people out of their life or rejected any potential suitors preferring to be on your own because you found all those love related things ‘cringey’ (I feel mainly because you had issues with intimacy), this will be a bit different in the upcoming time! You've been warned…just kidding. There is nothing to fear because I can see you truly having fun.

In addition, I also see that many opportunities will arise/many doors will open for you! Many interesting potential suitors? Soulmates even? To be honest it doesn’t have to be limited to your love life but there will definitely be a few love related opportunities for you! Again, I have cards hinting at a great wish getting fulfilled and that you have potential for success in these times. You will also discover and develop new talents/skills which might be more important than any material treasure or rather more essential to your life. It is being said that you have the key within yourself to solve any kind of problem or in other words: You yourself are the key.

But you’re being advised to also try to give others the key to your heart! In the upcoming days and weeks, you won’t hide or isolate yourself anymore, you will let other people into your world! And that is good. It’s time to mingle with people. You will be more open to new things, towards other people and in your relationships with others but you should try not to be ‘too’ trusting. Ok that might sound contradicting or even funny to you because I feel like you are not the type to easily trust others and that is totally fine, you have your reasons. You’re not asked to easily give out your trust to others but you should stop pushing people away and not even giving other people the opportunity or chance to gain your trust!

The advice here is just to be careful with ambiguousness in other people’s behavior and words and take notice of any contradictions and inconsistencies between them. Through that you will discover other people’s hidden motives. Always ask yourself: cui bono - who does benefit from it? You will develop a keen eye for this in the upcoming days and weeks. Of course sometimes disappointing things happen but they are a part of love just like the intimate moments of affections that make us happy. Everyone experiences these bad moments but that shouldn’t be the reason to exclude ‘love’ from one’s life completely.

I feel like you might not like to hear this (or hated hearing this while growing up) but you should definitely go out there more! Don’t hide yourself from the world or from the people - especially now! You should also enjoy your life, experience all those beautiful things because you deserve to have moments where you feel your heart beating, where you’re full of excitement, where you’re at peace with yourself and in the presence of someone else. And you should treasure those moments. So, be open towards love matters (potential suitors, love offers and opportunities) but don’t let yourself be fooled by any kind of deception, you’re smarter than that. If you have any plans like getting into a relationship or wooing someone specific, be slick …maybe even a little cunning while making plans and taking action! There is a chance of meeting a soulmate or just like minded people whose company you’ll enjoy greatly! If you’ll face any opponents, beat them at their own game with the same ‘weapons’! I can assure you, you are in control and luck is on your side! Anything you try to do now, will probably be a success. This is your time now. :)

Some quotes I got from my oracle for you: ‘Treasure those seconds when you felt your heart beating.’; ‘Don’t allow any tourists into your own private Paris.’; ‘To love someone and mean it is a rare and valuable thing.’

An angel number that could have a message for you: 102 ( or 10 and 2 separately )

Great times are ahead for you, I’m sending my blessings out to you pile three. 🔥

#pac #pac reading #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a picture #love reading #free tarot reading #tarot reading #loa #law of assumption #manifestation #love pick a card #spritituality #love tarot #love pac #shifting #࣪ pick a card𓈒 𐙚

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Can we have bestfriend headcanons for rollo please???? i need to be friends with this guy so bad you don't understand

***Warning: Glorious Masquerade spoilers in the final few headcanons!***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

The best way to sum up this relationship is that Rollo is the mom friend, and you are his child. (If you were to ask Rollo, he would say you're an idiot, but you're his idiot.)

From an outsider's perspective, it's hard to tell that you're friends at all. He always has that hard-to-read face on him, plus those grimaces he gets whenever the slightest annoyance or inconvenience makes itself known.

You've gotten used to his quirks though, so you can read his emotions a lot better than most. When the corners of his mouth twitch, that's him trying to smile! When he taps a finger against his arm? He's thinking hard about something.

He dislikes it when you call him "bestie" (so, of course, you make sure to do it often). Rollo corrects you with his name each and every time.

He finds physical affection just as repulsive. Rollo's constantly shying away from your touch, insisting that it's unhygienic and immodest to even so much as brush shoulders by accident.

There was an incident when you hugged him once and he got oddly quiet, then asked "... What is this?" to which you had casually responded, "Affection."

"Disgusting," Rollo had declared, handkerchief to his nose. "... Do it again."

He's one of those old-fashioned people who insists on keeping in contact via letters and cards instead of text messages, email, and/or social media. Rollo claims that stuff "rots your brain cells" and "promotes a vain, degenerate lifestyle".

You thought it silly and inefficient at first, but over time you've come to appreciate the time and thought that comes with each letter. Receiving a note from Rollo is the best part of your day--you love catching up with him and sending him back updates of your very own.

He's a busy guy and follows a strict schedule, so more often than not you're the one that's following him around as he does his various tasks. You lend him a hand too, though Rollo takes care to not burden you too much. These are his responsibilities, so he should take charge of them.

You occasionally climb up the bell tower with him (the view up there is amazing!) and all the gargoyles clamor to greet you. Rollo has to remind them not to overwhelm the guest.

When there is time, you sit down at a cafe and share a meal. Rollo introduces you to his favorite places and makes recommendations (though he usually gets the exact same thing). You try to push him to vary up his diet a bit more, tearing off pieces of your own lunch or offering him bites of whatever it is you're having (even though he insists he'll have none of that).

One day, you caught Rollo parading through the streets on horseback. He introduced his steed to you, instructing you on how to safely pat it and feed it an apple from your hand. The horse seemed to like you, so Rollo hoisted you up and let you ride it around the city for the rest of the day.

He's still not very good at expressing himself. When you sense that he's feeling down in the dumps, it takes quite a bit of coaxing to get him to talk about it with you (if at all). In his mind, he shouldn't be troubling others with his own matters.

Sometimes you're not successful at convincing him to open up, so you settle for giving a gentle reminder that you'll be there for him no matter what. You wouldn't want to push him to talk when he's not ready to!

... On the other hand, when Rollo wants to talk, he'll rant and rave for what seems like forever. You patiently nod your head and listen to everything he spews out, from his express hatred of a certain lizard to how the local goats almost ate his stationary set.

There are rare times, though, when Rollo shares his passions and ambitions with you. The relaxing gardening he has been doing as of late, how beautiful the Bell of Salvation is today, his plans for the future... It's in these moments that you can truly appreciate how solemn and thoughtful he can be.

Rollo often nags you for little things: there's a crease in your shirt, your room is slightly messy, there's a hair out of place, etc. But hey, it's fine. You know he does it lovingly, even if the comments come with a slight frown.

He also tends to lecture you about your own safety, often warning you to keep away from "suspicious individuals" (and, of course, mages). Rollo lets you know that if anyone gives you trouble, you should inform him right away and he'll come storming over to give them hell. Yes, he's the overprotective friend that will throw himself into the crossfires to defend your honor--

This man comes to hangouts with everything you could possibly need in case of an emergency. Got a scrape? Boom, first aid kit. (He even patches you up personally.) Hands dirty? Hand sanitizer and wet wipes for the rescue. You start calling him “dad” as a joke every time he produces exactly what you need.

Rollo has the tendency to (sternly) speak up for you, especially in cases when you're too meek to speak up for yourself. It has big "EXCUSE ME! They asked for no pickles" energy.

Once a year, you join Rollo for a very special trip. You always stop by the same florist's shop, always watch him select the same bouquet of white lilies, always walk quietly alongside him down to the local cemetery. You don't follow him to the grave, but you let him know he can take as long as he needs with the visit, that you'll wait for him at the gates.

You watch the clouds slowly pass by and the sky change colors from cornflower blue to the shades of sunset. Night has started to trickle in when you hear his approaching footsteps. The flower bouquet is gone, deposited as an offering to a boy that has become one with the stars.

Rollo emerges, and you pretend to not notice the wetness to his eyes, the silvery shine upon his cheeks. You know if you point it out, he'll only become defensive and deny it.

"Ready to go?" you ask every year.

"... Yes," he replies, just the same as always. (Rollo will then try to subtly wipe away at his tears.) "Thank you for accompanying me. I do apologize for imposing on your time."

"Don't," you tell him. "I've always got your back, just like you've always got mine. That's what friends are for, right?"

#twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #Rollo Flamme #Reader #self insert #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk #curiouser and curiouser #spoilers

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motherofagony · 1 year ago

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A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 1

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 5.6k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: life goes on after raiders infiltrate a routine patrol. you're a shut-in, and jackson residents tiptoe around your trauma. joel found you after the accident, but you don't know what to make of it. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, mentions of trauma (no s/a, i promise), blood, bodily injuries, death, shitty men, dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension if you close one eye, the softest enemies to lovers you've ever seen vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: longtime listener, first time caller. yes, there will be smut — in due time. probably a slower burn than you're used to on tumblr dot com, but there will be porn galore, i promise. heavy on the hurt + comfort trope in this one. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

“Get the fuck up!”

The boot connects with your side again, the rounded toe slamming into ribs you’re sure are already broken. You’re trying to play dead, but it doesn’t exactly work when yelps are being kicked out of you. Old Yeller, of all fucking things, comes to mind.

But you’re not sick, not infected. Just wrong time, wrong place.

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete.

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time.

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive.

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score.

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all.

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have.

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm.

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there.

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself.

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle.

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this.

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up.

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing.

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not.

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together.

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee.

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours.

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same.

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest.

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl.

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear.

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business.

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t.

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek.

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came.

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have.

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen.

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender.

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye.

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again.

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral.

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there.

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow.

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense.

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret.

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools.

—

You don’t see Joel for days.

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic.

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest.

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before.

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward.

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front.

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe.

Your head cracking against the pavement.

Two gunshots firing.

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders.

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting.

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say.

Tommy nods, but you’re already running.

#my writing #a heart for eating #ahfe #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #motherofagony

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leiascully · 21 days ago

Note

Girl your “love is dead” anon got me tweaking! I don’t want to disrupt your fictober flow - but I have a prompt request for later. Can you write some petty fight or argument about Jerse or Diana while they’re already together, preferably set after s7? I’m not in the mood for their usual “we’re gonna be mature and discuss it maturely” - I want some petty and petulant heat of the moment fight. Bonus if there’s smut — SINCE MULDER AND SCULLY ARE HOT AND IN LOVE AND THEEEE SHIP BLUEPRINT with so much sexual tension and chemistry even after 30 years, and even if they weren’t soulmates you can’t look at them and honestly think they don’t have hot sex ANONN!!

It should be a nice afternoon. Mulder's over at her apartment. They're watching baseball. She's on maternity leave. She's relaxing. And yet every single thing in her life is irritating. Her body doesn't feel like her own. She didn't sleep well, because her belly is inconveniently big. Every craving she's had lately seems to exacerbate her heartburn, and she has to pee all the time, and even her walks around the neighborhood make her short of breath. She's tired of stretch marks and she's afraid of hemorrhoids, especially since it's harder to turn to wipe at this point.

Mulder seems blissfully unaware of all this and she's glad about that, but irritated too. It was only weeks ago that he was still icing her out like it was her fault he'd been buried. She knows that's the trauma—God knows she felt some of it herself after her abduction—but it's still frustrating as hell.

She prayed so hard for this pregnancy, but being pregnant comes with its own strange burdens, even during the moments that she's not afraid for her life and her child. She prayed for Mulder to be returned to her, but not for this alternately blithe and bitter version of him who's sometimes acting like nothing's wrong and sometimes seems to blame her for all of it. A quarter of the time, he's so solicitous it's as if he thinks pregnancy has broken her. A quarter of the time, he seems like he's about to bolt. The other half of the time they're together, it's like he ignores the whole situation, except for the occasional quip. But she never gets to forget it.

Whatever happened to him seems to have reset their relationship, and that also pisses her off. Seven years of foreplay, and all for what? For him to act like now that she's pregnant, she's the Virgin Mother? Especially now, when her hormones are at extreme high tide and she just wants to be railed within an inch of her life? He just sits there looking like the man who used to eat her out until her whole body ached from coming too many times, and watches baseball like he doesn't remember the way he thrust against her when he was pretending to teach her how to play.

There's a sharp crack from the tv, the sound of a ball hit hard and fast, and Mulder whoops. Scully jumps in her seat. The fact that she's startled makes her seethe.

"What do you think?" he says, turning to her. He's grinning widely. "Is it finally time for me to get NY tattooed on my ass?"

Anger bubbles over inside her. He said the same thing when he saw her tattoo for the first time. "Fuck off," she suggests, almost cordially, and starts to heave herself up from the couch. She can read in bed or something. Drink pathetic herbal tea at the table. Anything but sit here and want what they used to have.

"Hey, whoa." He catches her arm. "What did I say? Do you not want me to get a tattoo?"

"Far be it from me to suggest you do anything with your body," she says frostily, sort of crouching on the edge of the sofa. "Although I can't imagine you extending me the same courtesy."

"What's this about?" he asks, putting the tv on mute.

"You never miss a chance to needle me about my tattoo," she says. It's a completely unfair statement, the kind of deranged nonsense that only couples say to each other, and she didn't even mean to put "needle" and "tattoo" in the same sentence.

His face clouds. "It wasn't about that."

"No, of course it wasn't," she says, looking away from him. He's still holding her arm. "Because you don't care what I do unless I'm fucking someone else, even if you don't want me."

"I don't want you?" He finally sounds a little bit angry. Good. She wants to stoke those fires. Maybe he'll kiss her, maybe he'll storm out: either way, they'll have reached a tipping point. Something seems to click in his brain. "Are you fucking someone else?"

"Would it be your business if I were?" she challenges him.

"I guess not," he says, but he's got that stubborn set to his jaw.

"If you're not going to make it your fucking business, you should leave," she tells him. "It'll save me the effort of boxing up your stuff the next time some leggy brunette from your past shows up."

"Not pulling any punches, huh," he says, breathing fast. She hates the way his chest looks in that t-shirt. She hates the way his jeans strain over his thighs as he shifts.

"You never hold back when you're kicking me when I'm down," she says, looking at him levelly, and it's not fucking fair and she knows it, but none of this is fucking fair. She has everything she thought she wanted and all of it's just not quite right. She's half an inch from bursting into angry tears.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" he asks. "I thought we were watching baseball." As if he doesn't remember the way he talked to her about Ed Jerse. He remembers. He remembers everything.

"Just go," she says, turning her face away. She puts one hand on her belly, as if she could calm the roil of lust and resentment and disappointment.

"Uh uh," he says. "You don't get to kick me out before I leave you. I know that trick." His chest is heaving now.

"You've left me before," she says in a low voice.

"I'm not fucking doing it now," he tells her, anger crackling in his voice. "Diana's dead, if you remember."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've abandoned me to chase a ghost," she says, and it's a low, low blow.

He flinches like she slapped him. She didn't mean Samantha, of course she didn't. But there were other ghosts along the way, and she knows he knows that.

"What do you mean I don't want you?" he asks, the words rasping out of him.

She shakes her head. "You haven't so much as kissed me on the cheek since you got back."

"Scully, I want you all the fucking time," he says, and the intensity in his eyes and his voice hits so deep she feels it in her bones. It's like he's really looking at her for the first time since the hospital. Her lips part. She watches his eyes drop to her mouth. Fuck, she wants him so much even that makes her wet. "I didn't think you wanted me anymore."

"I want you so badly," she says, almost whimpering it, and she hates herself a little for that, for being so weak in him, but he pulls her forward and crushes her against him and his mouth is against hers at long fucking last and God, that's exactly what she needed. To be held by him, to feel him against her, really and truly here, really and truly hers.

"Please," she says, and he's already tugging her into his lap. She straddles him, the ridge of his cock making itself known under her thighs. She's wearing some t-shirt dress and leggings her mom got for her and she hates it, she absolutely hates it. She misses her sleek suits and her jeans that didn't have an elastic panel in them and being able to wear any of her sweaters without feeling like she's stretching them out in the bust. She misses the body Mulder couldn't stop touching. But he can't seem to stop touching her now, either: his hands cradle her tits, slide down her back, mold themselves over her hips. He even touches her belly, very gently, but like he's maybe a little less afraid of it.

"Can we...?" he asks.

"If we don't, I might die," she tells him, and kisses him. He kisses her back like her mouth is the only thing that can save him. His tongue is in her mouth and God, she missed it. She missed everything about him. Even the smell of his skin is intoxicating. She grabs him around the neck like she'll float away if she doesn't hold on.

They kiss until she's dizzy with need. She breaks away and sits back on her heels, panting a little. "That was a joke. About dying."

"I got that," he says, "but we can't take that chance." His hands skim up her thighs, under the hem of her giant unflattering t-shirt. She lifts her hips and her arms so he can pull it up and over her head. Immediately, his eyes are on her tits, and then his face is buried in them, his lips wandering over her skin. She moans as he thumbs her nipples through her ugly maternity bra. They're so sensitive and he knows exactly how to touch her somehow. He always did.

"Is it weird if I suck on your tits?" he asks, the words muffled by her cleavage. In answer, she lifts her nipple to his mouth and moans again as he tongues her through the fabric. Fuck, it feels good. She grinds on the bulge of his erection. She's come just from this, but not for a long time. She moves faster, torn between wanting to hump him into oblivion and wanting to come with him inside her, his skin against hers. The second possibility wins out. She crawls off his lap.

"Everything okay?" he asks. His eyes are hazy with desire and his hair is mussed. He looks so much like Mulder-Before that her heart squeezes and she almost wants to cry. They're not who they were. But they can be themselves again.

"No," she says, and gets to see his panic face. "You've got way too many clothes on."

"You got me," he says, stripping off his shirt. His scars are fading, much less livid than they were in the hospital. She studies him with an appreciative eye as he undoes his jeans. He's still got it. He wiggles out of his jeans and helps her peel out of her leggings and her maternity underwear.

"How do we do this?" he asks.

"However we want," she says. "Mulder, pregnant people can have sex." She is very, very slightly worried given how many problems she's already had, but not enough to stop. They deserve one fucking break in the midst of all of this, one thing that's still the same.

"Lean back," she tells him, nudging him toward the corner of the sofa. He goes where he's told, his cock bobbing as he moves. The slightly reclined position makes room for her stomach. It might not be the most comfortable, but she wants to look at him. She straddles him again, up on her knees. His hand is between her thighs, sliding between her folds. He swears in a low voice when his fingers find where she's wet. She echoes him when he brushes his slick thumb over her clit. It's like Fourth of July fireworks and twinkling lights on Christmas morning all at once, but inside her body.

"I want you," she tells him, looking down at him.

"You got me," he promises. "I want you so much, Scully."

"Show me," she says, sinking down. He guides his cock into her. God, it's been too long. She's tight, and even though she's so wet for him, it takes a minute to take all of him. She eases herself down and down and down the hot length of him. She moans as she takes him deeper, spreading her knees on the sofa to get another half-inch. Finally she's resting against his thighs and she's so full she thinks she could come just like this, just feeling him all the way inside her. He puts one hand on her face, as tender as if it's their first time. In a way, it is, all over again.

"I missed you," he whispers, and she bursts into tears as she starts to move. But she's laughing and crying at the same time, riding him. She lets herself be loud, lets herself be messy. He should see how he undoes her. But his mouth is open and desperate under hers too. His hands tremble on her skin.

"I missed you so much," she says, the words broken up by kisses and by the way he thrusts up into her. She loves feeling the strength of him under her. She loves his arms around her. His bare skin against hers is what she's been craving the worst her entire pregnancy. She has brief flashes of what it would have been like if he'd been here the whole time: the way he would have caressed the slight swell of her growing belly, the delight in his eyes feeling the baby kick.

"It's not too late," she says, and he groans in agreement. She's close. She sits up so she can ride him hard, grinding her pelvis against him. His fingers find her clit and she gasps, a sharp noise. He grins up at her.

"Hips before hands," she pants.

"I knew you loved baseball," he says roughly.

"Just the nice piece of ash," she says, and he flicks her clit just right and she's coming, shivering around his cock. He throbs inside her, thrusting up like he can't help himself. It's all she can do to grip his thighs with her knees as he pounds into her, but she won't shut her eyes. She needs to see him. She watches his pleasure build. His mouth is open and his cheeks are flushed. There's a light in his eyes she hasn't seen since Before.

"Come on," she urges. "I need this."

He makes an inarticulate noise that's about half her name and comes hard, his thighs like steel under her. She holds him as her muscles flutter in delicious empathy. His eyes are shining as he looks up at her. A tear rolls down his cheek. She catches it on her thumb and brings it to her lips. He laughs, sounding surprised.

She climbs off him. It's a slightly difficult process, but he braces her with his hands and that helps. She retrieves the detested t-shirt dress and wads it under herself to shield the couch from any sticky residues. They both lie back against the cushions, breathing hard.

"What were we fighting about?" she asks.

"Whether I love the Yankees more than I love you, I think," he says, sprawling next to her.

"You do," she says. "But that's okay."

"I don't," he says. "I don't love anything more than I love you, Scully. Not even ghosts."

She meets his eyes. His gaze is steady. "Okay," she whispers.

"Okay." He nods. "As for things I might have said about anyone else you were fucking, it's not an excuse to say that I was insanely jealous, but it does explain it a little. Sorry I was a dick."

"Sometimes we were both dicks," she says. "I think that's how love works."

"You wanna find out together?" He holds out his hand.

"Yeah," she says, taking it. "I do."

On the television, a baseball soars into a cloudless blue sky. It's a grand slam.

#xfiles octoberficfest #my fic #leiascully fic #tw: pregnancy

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pedgito · 11 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Six: Epilogue

Chapter Summary: You spend a year trying to forget about Joel, with no avail. And Joel, who's life has changed in ways he never anticipated lead to a year full of obstacles, until one fateful day when he sees you again.

Chapter Warnings: (6k) : no outbreak, the aftermath, lots of feelings, some parenting issues within joel's relationship with sarah's mom, reader still having no idea wtf to do with her life, intense feelings between joel/reader, underlying lust for each other (i mean, are we surprised?), open-ended ending

Life doesn’t just fall back into place, as much as you wished it had.

For you, it takes more than a few days or weeks, rather several months to not ache from the loss of Joel, something so special to you for such a short period of your life. His gift, the small carved wolf he’d given you for Christmas sat beside your bed, something you fell asleep to and woke to every morning—after a while, fortunately, it was less of a burden to look at and more of a beautiful reminder.

Your relationship with your family slowly improves, though it is rocky at first. You’re an adult, but it doesn’t stop the constant prying questions and worries about your life—something you have to set boundaries around. But, as a whole, you find that giving them a chance to improve and better their relationship with you is better than nothing at all.

And you want to say that you’ve figured out college and exactly what you wanted to do with your life, but it isn’t even close to being on your radar—and you enjoy your job now, working as one of the few employees at your local bookstore along with a serving job at the diner down the road, closer to the suburbs. You still keep your apartment in Austin and the commute from the city to there isn’t horrible, but it could be better.

There are long weeks, a few moments when Joel fades from your mind almost completely—but as fate would have it, something would remind you of him.

At first, it was nearly everything.

Coffee in the early mornings when you walked beyond the coffee shop beside the bookstore, the smell of coffee beans like a pavlovian response, heartbeat skipping at the memory of Joel, smiling softly around the rim of his cup as he sipped away. Sometimes so noisy that you know it was only to annoy you.

Or, it’s music. God awful country that had you grimacing at the first note, knowing Joel would be nodding his head along without a problem, somehow managing to find some enjoyment in it. Other times, it’s the music you listened to often, knowing he’d take interest in and probably like himself. Usually you would have a quiet playlist of music playing over the radio in the bookstore and even that takes a few months to feel like less of a thing.

Sometimes, it was nothing at all. A gruff clear of the throat could make you think Joel was in your presence, the sight of that green flannel he never took off, worn on a body that didn’t belong to him.

You’d like to think that Joel didn’t matter to you. That he didn’t matter at all.

But, that was so far from what was believable.

And to his credit, he does get you the money for the cabin refunded.

It comes a few weeks after you arrive back in Austin, toward the end of January. It didn’t have any other note than a ‘Sorry for the inconvenience over the holiday and that you couldn't stay—here's your refund for the cabin’. So, essentially, Joel had lied to them.

You couldn’t even blame him, really. He’d done well on his promise.

For Joel, there are waves of intensity when he thinks of you.

He doesn’t go out often anymore, keeping himself inside rather than finding a reason to go out on weekends and late nights after a rough day at work—he’s found easier ways to cope with the loneliness, taking up his wood carving more seriously. He set up a small area in his bedroom that he spends most of his time in now, carving out and selling personalized items for extra money on the side.

Sarah had to explain him through setting up his own shop online over the phone, but once it was said and done, he was able to manage fine.

And, maybe it was some other-worldly being sending him a gift, but a few months after he arrives back in Austin, still reeling, he gets a call from Sarah—mostly her crying and a lot of Joel consoling her down to an understandable, calmer state. In that time, he learns of just how much has changed since he’d went away for that month and in the short period that he didn’t have contact with Sarah due to her mother and her resistance to allowing Joel any leeway or fairness in their strained relationship, if you could call it that.

Sarah was hysterical, going on and on about how she was never going to see him again.

“Babygirl, slow down, please,” He begged, struggling to make out anything beyond the sobs, “I can’t understand you when you’re cryin’ like that. Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m not supposed to call you.” She stammers, her cries dying out slowly, “She said I was grounded and took my phone but dad—she’s going to get me in trouble when she finds out that–that I called you.”

“That’s not possible, alright?” He tells her, trying to remain level-headed, “You can call me anytime you want, you know that.”

“She—She won’t tell you,” Sarah’s voice is hushed, like she’s hiding and trying not to get caught as she talks over the other line, “but mom got a new job, it’s in Las Vegas.”

Joel feels the anger beginning to build quickly, having a faint idea where this was heading but not wanting to direct any of it toward his daughter.

“Baby, go find your mom and put her on the phone.” He tells her soft but stern, feeling his phone pop under his grip, hoping that he hadn’t cracked it, but trying to simmer down his rage for his own good.

“She’s gonna be mad, dad.”

“Sarah,” He tells her once, and it’s enough, “Get your mom.”

The talk doesn’t go well, but it also doesn’t go horrible either.

“You’re not takin’ her from me,” It’s the first thing he says, not allowing a word from her as he hears her breath over the phone, “and you’re not gonna get her in trouble for tellin’ me either.”

“Joel—”

“No, I don’t want to hear what excuses you have this time.” He continues, “We have a custody agreement—you break that, I’m takin’ you to court without a goddamn second of hesitation. You already keep her enough from me as is, knowing she likes it here more. You’re never around, you leave her with a nanny all the fuckin’ time. And you want to up and move out of the state without tellin’ me?”

“I was gonna tell you—”

“What, when you were already moved?” Joel retorts, “That why you took Sarah’s phone away, because she was tryin’ to warn me about all this? You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve to think you can just take her like that.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so irresponsible you would have her more. It’s not my fault you made choices that endangered our daughter and uprooted my plans, having to become the sole provider because you’re goddamn alcoholic—”

“Look, I know the choices I made. I’ve paid for them, for years now. It was one—one fuckin’ time in my life. If you think I’m gonna let you take her from me now, like that, you’ve lost your mind. I will take you to court over this.”

In the end, it does end up going through the process of rearranging custody—Joel no longer tied down by his charges and his willingness to openly test as asked, whenever, and that he take primary custody of her in the weeks that her mother would be away in Nevada for work, which ended up being about a week within every month.

It’s a big shift for Joel, but one he takes on willingly and with so much confidence that it doesn’t phase him, in fact, it feels like nothing has changed. Just that Sarah is a constant in his life, physically, rather than something out of his reach.

By July, she’s with him full-time when she’s not with her mother, and even those weeks are often cut short, called off for emergencies and ultimately ending with Joel having to pick her up after a few days—it didn’t bother him, it never would.

And he’s thankful for Sarah, because she occupies his mind entirely.

He feels bad for the days he doesn’t think of you at all, so wound up in his own daily life and routine that he doesn’t even have a minute to think about anything else—but, maybe it was better that way.

But, there’s a brief moment when the first snowfall happens that year, later in November around the time that Sarah is taking a break from school for the holidays, that she hits him with a question he doesn’t expect, nor does he understand how she even came to the conclusion in her own mind.

“Hey, dad,” She speaks curiously, head turned to him over the couch to look at him where he stood in the kitchen, “who took that picture last year that you sent?”

“What are you talkin’ bout, babygirl?” He asks, standing over the stove as he cooked dinner, lounging in his pajamas and cooking something of a semblance of what could be Thanksgiving–but, it was just him, Sarah, and Tommy, so it wasn’t as extravagant as it needed to be.

“That picture of you with the snowman last year—for Christmas?” Her eyes are searching his face, not for an answer but rather because she has that innocence that children and young teen hold, the obliviousness to everything but what is going in their world—Joel shakes his head, your face flashing in his mind as he white knuckles the spoon he’s using to stir and thinks about lying.

He wants to lie. He should.

But, he can’t remember a time he’s ever lied to Sarah outside of something for her own protection—and this was something Joel thought of fondly, his time shared with you.

So, he doesn’t lie.

“I, uh—met a friend there. She helped me out and took a picture to make sure I could send somethin’ to you, seein’ as I didn’t get to spend the time I wanted with you last year.”

“Oh,” Sarah chews at the inside of her cheek, “a girl?”

“Yes, babygirl.”

Sarah nods—the meticulous and intelligent child she is, she catches the lingering smile on Joel’s face and leans in, arm slung over the back of the couch as she asked another question.

“So, when you say friend—” She purses her lips together, eyes squinting with accusation

“Sarah.” It’s a warning to ease off, but if anything, it makes her giggle.

“Oh, so, not a friend.” She surmises, “Got it.”

She was too damn smart for her own good.

“Do you still talk to her?” She asks, fully aware of how things were with Joel and her mother, that they didn’t get along from the jump despite their willingness to work together to make sure she had some semblance of a normal childhood with both parents in the picture—it was never the way she wanted it to be, but it was out of her control.

She was fourteen now, she had the right to understand things. She questioned Joel everyday, sometimes about things even he didn’t understand. And he’s thankful to have her around, knowing she keeps him on his toes, never knowing what to expect.

“No, babygirl. I don’t.”

Joel’s bitterness about it isn’t evident in his voice, but she sees it in the way his eyes flick away briefly, toward his room. But, the knock at the door is a lifesaver, pulling them both out of the moment.

“Should be uncle Tommy, get the door.” He tells her.

She doesn’t ask about it again, thankfully. Joel doesn’t know how much more he could handle explaining to her, knowing you were only a memory to him now.

Christmas comes quick too, the year flying by as Joel switches into full dad mode without a single hesitation. School, sports, teenagers—it’s a big change but he handles it with as much ease as he can, along with work and everything else he’s taken on.

“Dad, you remember that bookstore we passed the other day?” Sarah asks, bugging her dad from the passenger seat as they leave their third store for the day, giving Sarah free-range to spend her money she’d accumulated over the holiday. “Next to that coffee shop you like to go to sometimes.”

“Yeah—that your last stop for the day?” Joel asks curiously, but also silently hoping she’d agree, exhausted out of his mind and ready to take a nap on the couch the moment they got home–a mix of older age and being a parent, never feeling like the sleep he got was enough.

“Yes, I promise.” Sarah smiles, settling into her seat comfortably and clicking the seatbelt into place.

Luckily, it isn’t too far of a drive from where they were, a few blocks down and a couple of turns later and Joel is taking an open parking spot in front of the coffee shop, not anticipating how busy the bookstore would be and Sarah can see it all over Joel’s face.

“People still read, dad.” Sarah chides, “You know that, right?”

‘Course I do, smartass.”

He was well aware of a certain someone’s reading habits.

The day after Christmas is almost never calm, packed to the brim with kids eager to spend their parent’s money on books and toys and things that would inevitably get trashed or lost eventually—but it’s nice. The shift will fly by, you’ll make a lot of children happy, and you’ll go home. An easy day.

So easy that it seemed too good to be true.

You find a lull in the rush, slipping into the backroom to grab a box of books for reshelving, too busy in your own head as your crouched on the floor behind the counter to open the box, unaware of the presence of a couple customers that loomed near the front entrance, circling a trove of books while a crowd of others filtered out through the front doors. The bells ring and despite looking, you still let out the normal greeting and a few kind words.

“Welcome in, I’ll be with you in a minute.” You say sweetly, tucked away and out of sight.

“Oh, that’s alright—my daughter is just havin’ a look around.”

And if there was a surefire way to make your heart stop—it was that voice.

That voice you knew so well that there wasn’t even the smallest doubt in your mind.

You take a deep breath, lugging the open box in your arms as you haul it to a nearby table and Joel doesn’t even think before he’s offering to help, still blissfully unaware of the trap he’s set himself up in, only freezing when you push his hand away gently.

“I’ve got it, Joel.” You say softly, your face tilting up into view and his eyes pulling to yours in an instant, the mix of panic and relief setting in at the same time—the feeling so intense he almost forgets where he is. “It’s fine.”

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at Sarah who is a few aisle deep, in her own world as she sifted through the selection of books.

“Well, I guess you found me.” You said playfully, a way to ease the worry that you could see crossing his face, thinking that he’d crossed a line unknowingly. Joel never asked where you worked, never even put together the connection or possibility that you could work in a bookstore this close to his home, the area he visited almost weekly. He’s gotten coffee next door more times than he can count on two hands and the idea that you were just a few feet out of reach—something dies inside of him. “Hey.”

His fist curls, restraining the instinct to reach out and touch you, held tight at his side as he trades a few quick looks between you and Sarah, like he’s fighting a losing battle within him.

It’s been a year. A year since he’s seen you, months since he’s thought about you like he did those first few weeks, vivid dreams like he was back in the cabin all over again. It all rushes back in an instant and you can see it in the trading gaze you share, your breath shallowing, slightly turning away to continue the task at hand, organizing the books in neat piles. Joel looks on the brink of saying something again before a young girl, bright and shining smile and ringlet curls that frame her face perfectly, bouncing at her shoulders as she comes to stand beside Joel.

Sarah. This was Sarah.

“Dad, come on,” She yanks at his wrist, fingers curling around his forearm, “I need you to carry the books I wanna buy.”

“O—okay, babygirl.” He nods, a responding touch as he placates her impatience and nods, “Let’s go.”

And when he leaves, even if it was just briefly, you have a moment to breathe. It stings, eyes squeezing closed as you force away the threat of burning tears, staring out at busy street to force yourself to think about anything but Joel—you were finally at a place where things felt normal, like you hadn’t been reeling over him for most of this time.

The roles were switched, where Joel should’ve been the one still caught up with the idea you, he was moved on and focused on other things—but you, it was the most intense heartache you’ve ever felt seeing him again.

He’s so much softer around her—a color to him that radiates around him. He hasn’t changed in the sense that he mostly appears the same. Same ridiculous flannel over a plain shirt, straight-cut jeans over heavy boots, for work or not. That same watch snug around his wrist, hair slightly grown out and curling at the ends, facial hair in full force.

It was like no time had passed.

But clearly, so much had.

Eventually you wrap up, hiding behind the counter again as you store the empty box away, tapping mindlessly at the surface of the counter as you try not to look his way and fail, catching his gaze everytime. He was looking at you too and he couldn’t stop—looking helpless as he hauled a mountain of books in his arm, pulled along by the younger girl.

Time passes slow, feeling torturous until Joel and Sarah finally make their way to the front counter, a forced smile flashing across your face that no one would be able to see through—it was perfected for times like these, feeling so out of your body that you worked on auto-pilot, scanning the books with a few off-hand compliments of how much you loved a certain one or if you enjoyed it, earning an innocent giggle from Sarah.

Joel smiles subtly, a hand on Sarah’s shoulder as he squeezes.

You note it, glancing up at Joel kindly.

He was happier, so much happier than you met him a year ago. And you had a good idea why.

You read out the total and Sarah hands over a wad of cash that you sift through, gathering her change and carefully placing her books in the paper bag, listening to Joel and Sarah’s idle conversation.

“Oh, can we stop at the coffee shop next door that you like to go to?” Sarah asks, “Please? Last stop, I promise.”

It hurts, the instant it leaves her mouth you feel the way Joel locks his eyes on you.

He’s been there, right under your nose this entire time.

How long? How long had this been going on? Before? After?

The coincidence of Joel being the one in that cabinet seemed insignificant then, but not now.

“Yeah—yeah, uh—can you wait in the truck for me?” He asks, praying she doesn’t ask any more questions. “I’m gonna check if they have somethin’ real quick.”

Sarah eyes him weirdly, glancing at you briefly before she shrugs. “Okay.”

Joel watches her leave, waits until she’s in the truck and out of sight before he speaks.

“I didn’t know.” Joel says immediately, “I swear—god, if I would’ve just—”

“Hey,” You stop him, placing a hand against his palm that is pressed flat against the counter, “you’re fine. It’s okay.”

Were you okay? No.

Working so hard to get him out of your mind was all for naught now, his palm turning face up to curl around your own briefly, his eyes flicking up slightly.

“I gotta go or she’s gonna bite my head off,” He tells you, but is quickly reaching for something in his back pocket.

His phone, which he swiftly slides across the table.

Is he asking for your number? Duh, of course he is.

“Just—in case you need anything.” Joel offers lamely, but you take it. “I—I thought you said you lived in the city?”

“I do,” You punch your number in quickly, without hesitation, “doesn’t mean I work there too.”

Fair point.

He wants to talk. You can see it on his face.

But, not here. Not like this.

He swipes his phone back, pocketing it with his free hand. And he nearly slips his hand from your own before you’re gripping him tight, holding him prisoner under your gaze.

“I’m free,” You tell him quickly, “L-later, after seven. Just—just text me, okay?”

The please felt too strong, so you restrain it in your mind.

A year—an entire fucking year. Wasted. There were so many questions you had, so many things you wanted answered. But, more importantly, you just wanted Joel.

Joel in whatever form he could offer, even if that was just a few minutes of his time after your shift, just for closure. Closure was all you needed to get over him.

“Got it, darlin.” He nods, pulling his hand from your grip gently. “I’ll be seein’ you.”

At least this time it was true.

Joel’s never been so thankful for Tommy in his life, cancelling his plans at the drop of hat for Sarah—which, given that it was his favorite and only niece, it was never an issue.

Joel didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, even at her age, and having Tommy around offered some peace of mind—but it also led to a line of questioning Joel wasn’t ready to answer.

“Got a hot date then?” Tommy jokes when he shows up at his front door later that evening, “Who is it?”

Joel closes the door with a silent click as he ignores his brother, walking back into the kitchen to pocket his car keys and sending a quick text to your number.

Joel: Now a good time?

You: I’m closing but I’ll be off in the next half hour.

Joel: Okay.

He was leaving already anyways, his mind itching for answers to lingering questions and the urge to be near you again after so long—his once clear head now filled with the thought of you, distant memories now vivid scenes playing in his head.

“Give me a couple hours,” Joel tells him, “that’s it—Sarah’s in her room, doubt she’ll come out for the rest of the night.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow in question, searching in the fridge for a beer he won’t find—it was a bad habit he was trying to break himself, so he settles on a can of soda and taps the top of the aluminum can before opening it.

“Some kind of project—I don’t know,” He didn’t try to understand anymore, Sarah was always working on something and Joel didn’t need to know everything, so he let it be, “just two hours, alright?”

“Got it, brother.” He tips the can gently in a way of saying get the fuck on already and leave, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

As if there was anything Tommy wouldn’t.

Joel rolls his eyes and leaves without another word.

When he pulls up around the back of the line of shops, the lights are already off in the surrounding businesses and he can spot a shadow by the backdoor, fumbling with a doorknob. He rolls down his window so you can see his face, like you might’ve forgotten the truck he drove—the same hunk of metal he brought with him then.

When you turn, you spot him with a smile. You hold up a finger in wait as you toss you belongings in your car, quickly locking the vehicle and pocketing your own keys into your jacket as you made your way to his truck, brimming with anxiety and uncertainty as you climbed inside, welcomed by the warmth of the air coming from the car vents, settling in as comfortably as you could.

It was exactly the same, aside from a small picture of Joel and Sarah that hung around the rearview mirror—it looked new, it had to be. You smile again, unsure and awkward.

“So, uh—”

“I didn’t know.” Joel quickly interrupts, easing the curiousness you had around the one question you were terrified to ask.

Had he known the entire time? Had he just been avoiding you until he couldn’t anymore? It seemed unlikely, but the doubt slipped in regardless.

You nod slowly, squeezing your hands together, the cold still prickling your skin uncomfortably.

Joel notices, turning in his seat to reach toward the back, pulling out a spare blanket he kept in the back for no particular reason other than just to have it—but suddenly he’s eternally thankful that it’s there.

“Thank you, Joel.” You tell him, draping it over your crossed legs.

He’s missed the way you say his name so gently, like he wasn’t the monster he constantly viewed himself as.

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Joel asks softly, hand gripping the steering wheel firmly, the other resting relaxed against his thigh.

“Uh, sure—I don’t really feel like going anywhere public, if that’s okay.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve been around people all day and I just need a minute.”

Joel understands, “I got the perfect spot for that, darlin’.”

And for a moment, you’re shifted back to before, the gentle smile he throws your way like a sudden flash of the Joel you’re familiar with.

Joel found the spot by accident, really. Years ago. It was on the outskirts of the neighborhood he lived in, a small cutoff near a flock of trees that led out to a larger opening and a small cliff—only a few feet of a drop off, but it granted a nice view of the city and businesses that lined the surrounding neighborhoods. And luckily, on a night like tonight with no glow of the moon to cast down, they were nearly invisible from where Joel had parked under a hanging tree, turning his truck off with finality as they were soon shrouded in darkness and silence, only the luminescence from the nearby streetlights allowing some type of visibility.

“So, how has your holiday been? With Sarah and all?”

You knew it was his turn this year, he’d explained that much. You felt terrible for pulling him away from her, even if it was just for a brief, selfish moment.

Joel laughs quietly, fumbling with his keys in his hands.

“Yeah, about that—” Joel doesn’t see why he needs to make up an excuse or be vague, considering how much you knew then and how much you know now, so he tells you, “she’s been with me since around the end of summer, not full time but mostly—to answer your question though, it’s been good.”

“O-Oh, and that’s…good, too. I’m hoping?” You ask hesitantly.

“Her mom was tryin’ to move without lettin’ me know—Sarah told me because she was scared. It was a long process but we eventually worked out an agreement with stipulations. Regardless, I’m happy with how things are now. Her mom was never around much for her anyways—like she was more of a chore to her than anything.”

“You deserve her, Joel. Sarah. I think she’s good for you, being around and stuff.” You tell him, despite how much you didn’t know or understand. He seemed lighter, happier, less burdened by his own thoughts.

“Thanks,” He says softly, “—and you, how have you been?”

He drops his keys in the cupholder and turns more toward you, knee hiked up slightly onto the seat—mimicking his actions you move too, feeling like you were back on the couch in the cabin, amped up and ready to talk for hours about nothing and everything.

“I’ve been okay,” You pull at the sleeve of your jacket, running your finger along the pattern of your sleeve, the bumps in the stitching, “I spent Christmas Eve with my parents, if that’s any indication.”

Joel smiles wider than, knowing you listened and took his advice.

He was lucky to have a second chance—sometimes that’s all anyone needed.

“I missed you—” You utter quietly, overwhelmed with the feelings as you look away, eyes turned downwards and stinging with tears that you couldn’t stop from flowing, blinking them away and wiping at the even quicker, “fuck, I’m sorry.”

Joel has an arm open to you silently when you look up, no pestering or ordering you around, allowing you to make the choose to seek comfort from him if you felt comfortable with it, knowing that a year without someone was a long time—and even longer when you had no inclination of ever seeing that person again.

But really, there was no way you would have been able to avoid each other any longer.

This had to mean something.

You scoot into his arms, adjusting the blanket over the both of you and crying quietly, the low hum of the wind picking up outside of the truck causing the cab to sway slightly. Joel squeezes you gently, hand tucked and curled around your bicep.

“It took me months to stop thinking about you,” You admit, “I tried—so hard, nothing worked. And then the one day that I don’t have a moment to stop and let my mind think, you walked in. What the fuck does that mean, Joel?”

Joel wipes your tears wordlessly, letting the emotion flow through you, feeling a rush of them all at once. He had learned to bury his own, keeping that steely gaze as he tried to remain steady for you, like an anchor.

“You know–Sarah asked about you a few weeks ago,” Joel tells you suddenly, pulling your gaze up to him in subtle shock, “not—not like that. She doesn’t know about you, but she asked about that picture, about who took it. I didn’t even think about that at the time, but she’s so damn intuitive.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her what she should hear,” Joel explains, “That I had a friend there—’course she knew it wasn’t just that. But, she’s young. She doesn’t need to know about any of that.”

You nod quietly and Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I just—I feel guilty for being so caught up in all of the shit going on in my life that I haven’t thought about you in so long. But, then I saw you today and it’s like my brain can’t focus on anything else. And I know if I let this go it would bother me more.”

“So, you need closure?” You ask hesitantly, wondering if that was the purpose of this.

And you could accept that. You would have to, no matter how much it hurt to do.

Joel’s brow furrows in frustration, “No—no, that’s not even—”

Joel sighs again, heavily through his nose.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

You stare up at him sadly, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as he looks down at you too, looking just as distraught.

He does know one thing he wants, but he’s not sure in what capacity he was allowed to have it—after all, you did say that he and you would never work in the real world.

Those words were more apparent than ever, Joel feeling forced to hide you. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t live like that. But, here he was—staring you down with nothing else on his mind other than the urge to kiss you, consume you, and keep you here with him for as long as he could.

He didn’t want to let you go again.

You need him to kiss you, hoping that the desperation in your eyes comes across to him, feeds him the signs he’s so desperately seeking and that you could pretend this could work for a brief time.

Neither of you ask, instead you both move at the same time. Lips connecting in a gentle kiss that is riddled with hesitancy, Joel’s hand slowly coming up to cup your cheek. The press of soft flesh against each other, inhaling sharply as you parted briefly before returning the kiss more forcefully, leaving Joel desperate to have you around him. He’s pulling at your arm, hoping that his silent conveyance of urgency will help.

You hike your leg over his, spreading yourself out over his lap easily, lips never disconnecting, too caught up in the moment to allow for even the smallest breath of air, kisses traded in a messy battle as Joel squeezes and grabs, like he’s trying to memorize you again, leaving no part of you untouched.

“What do you want, Joel?” You ask through a slew of kisses, finally able to fist his shirt and push him away a few inches, catching his lustful gaze, pupils dilated.

“Baby—I,” He chuckles, a sad noise that doesn’t come across as humorous, your head cradled between his hands, thumbs rubbing at the underside of your jaw, “I’m used to wanting things I can’t have. This ain’t new to me.”

You don’t speak, feeling he has more to say as he kisses you once more, a slow and passionate press of your lips before he parts again, briefly.

“My luck has changed. I’m aware. And everything in me is tellin’ me to push it and hope that I won’t have to let you go again, but that isn’t up to me.”

“There’s things you can’t separate yourself from, you know that.” You tell him, “And if you tie yourself to me, the things people will say about you—that they’ll say about me. You can’t be okay with that, can you?”

“I don’t care about them or any of that,” Joel tells you honestly, “the only thing I care about is the people in my life—baby, I want you in my life. Doesn’t matter how. But, if we cut ties here, tonight. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I worked so hard to stop thinking about you and I can throw that away for some half-assed closure.”

Sex. He meant sex, knowing you both were already halfway to the point of thinking it.

“I just—how do we know if this is real?” You question him.

It’s a valid thing to worry about, knowing how different things are on the outside, not miles away in a cabin that was only accessible to the both of you.

“I can show you, if you give this a chance.” Joel counters—and you try to search his face for any sign of hesitancy or uncertainness about you, but all it bleeds is adoration.

Something akin to love but not quite.

“How about a date first?” You ask softly.

Joel laughs heartily now, letting you slump against him as your foreheads pressed together.

“Alright, a date first.” Joel agrees.

“Think you can handle that?” You tease.

“Baby, I can handle you just fine.”

It isn’t what you’re asking, but the answer makes your heart thump rapidly all the same. You weren’t sure where this would lead, but you were willing to take that risk for Joel.

Thank you for anyone who has stuck with this all the way through with my weekly posting or anyone who is binge-reading this all at once and has finally reached this chapter! I appreciate you, thank you (again), and please always feel free to come yell at me!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x fem!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #my writing #MMITW #pedrostories

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cr4yolaas · 5 months ago

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blue spring — coping mechanism

prev: something sweet | masterlist | next: two-headed lamb

she doesn’t know how to handle the inconveniences that have been piling up. her portfolio, her tutoring sessions, her stepfather — they’re all closing in on her with a vice grip.

so, she does what feels the most natural.

she throws herself into work.

the sun hasn’t settled in the sky by the time she starts. it’s too early in the morning for her to be awake, but the itch of the burden of being keeps her up. studying — whether it was necessary or not — had always been a coping mechanism. it was routine. it was familiar. it was straightforward. it’s reliable for when she needs to put her mind elsewhere.

she works, and she works, and she works, until the material is spilling through her veins. a heavy breath falls from her lips, and she realizes her roommates are slowly awakening. she ignores it.

a knock on her door stirs her out of her trance, much to her irritation. yachi peeks her head through, her eyes scanning over the state of her roommate’s bedroom.

evidently, she comes to the conclusion that it’s horrible, if the drop in her jaw and the furrow in her brow is anything to go by.

there’s textbooks strewn across the carpet, and her phone has been tossed to the floor. stacks of papers, once neat and organized, have been haphazardly placed beneath her bed. yachi doesn’t know what to say. but she knows that this isn’t new.

“kageyama is outside,” she exclaims. she doesn’t comment on the state of the room, nor the state of her friend, and instead discusses what she knocked on the door for. “he said something about class today. he wants to walk you there. as thanks.”

they exchange a small nod before yachi returns to the hallway, the concern still clear on her face.

leaving her alone in the mess she created.

the reminder that she’s being waited on dawns on her. swiftly, she removes herself from the desk and gets changed, her face tense and her mind still awry. it’s an awful state to be in. but she can’t wash it away.

when she steps outside, kageyama is out there, waiting for her. his attention is on his phone, leaving him ignorant to her presence.

“hey,” she mutters, and his head whips towards hers. “you wanted to walk with me to class?”

a warm coat of red seeps into his face at the notion of being caught off guard. he nods sheepishly, and responds, “i felt bad about staying for so long last night.”

she shakes her head. “that was my mistake. you don’t owe me anything.”

regardless of her retort, she follows him down the hallway. she does her best to match his footsteps, the pitter patter of their shoes against the concrete being the only noise present. he doesn’t say much, and neither does she. it’s a comfortable silence.

she chooses not to question the convenience of this trip for him, but there’s a small, nagging feeling that he went out of his way for this. it irks her.

the bus ride is quiet, only momentarily, before he asks if she’s doing okay. something about the droopiness in her face, and her relentless fidgeting. the question almost slips past her. his eyes bore into her head, and she wants nothing more to escape.

she’s not meant to be attached. nor is she meant to be so open.

but with the way he keeps being so caring, she can’t help it. she can’t help the words tumbling out of her mouth and the admission of her exhaustion. she can’t stop rambling on about how she’s stressed, too stressed, and that she can’t escape it. it feels normal to explain these things to him.

the bus comes to a halt, cutting her rant short. they walk into class together, no other words exchanged, and sit beside each other. like normal.

there’s a burning sensation in her lungs, an itch to do nothing more than sleep. she’s tired. but when she looks to her left, she’s greeted with the sight of him filling out his notes dutifully, in the same manner that she does. it’s heartwarming, almost, and there’s a soft pattering sensation against her ribcage. there’s talks of an exam at the end of the week, and a collective sigh drenches the room. kageyama bears no reaction — rather, he looks content with the news. it’s new. she doesn’t know what to say about it.

she falls in and out of sleep for a majority of the lecture. it’s one of those weeks, where the build up of everything else weighs heavily on her shoulders and she crashes. however, it’s interrupted this time by none other than the boy sitting to her left. he’s nudging her awake, and she realizes her classmates are all filtering out of the room. her bag is already packed. her chest flutters again.

“do you wanna stop by the café? you look out of it.”

a mere nod is all she can give him before she’s following him out the door. it’s embarrassing, the way she trudges behind him. he slows his steps to match hers.

kuroo is there to greet them, and the chatter around in the building dissolves into white noise. he orders for her when he realizes she can’t focus enough to do so, and together, they sit.

“you should take a break,” he offers while taking a sip of his drink. it looks like plain milk, and it probably is. “you don’t have to tutor me anymore, if it’s stressing you out.”

“it’s not you,” she rushes to counter. “it’s a lot of things. things that aren’t your fault, nor are they your responsibility. don’t feel the need to put up with it.”

his glass clinks against the table. “sorry. i’m just- i’m worried about it. about you.”

“don’t be.”

“okay.”

she’s not meant to be attached, she reminds herself. it’s not meant for her.

the conversation ends there. he doesn’t ask about her next class, and she’s grateful. she can feel kuroo glancing over, she can feel kageyama trying too hard to not look at her, and she can feel her clothes tight against her skin.

she looks down at her phone. there’s nothing there. regardless, she claims that it’s time for her to go, that she doesn’t want to be late, and that she’ll pay him back for the drink another time. before he can respond, he’s left alone in the café, with his milk.

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs

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faytelumos · 11 months ago

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I'm trying to write a thing (probably only in my head, let's be realistic) and so I have some thoughts?

Sunshine x Grumpy prompts

(specifically a dommy Sunshine and a subby Grumpy, but read/swap these as you will)

Meetings

- They physically bump into each other in the street. Sunshine is trying to gather up Grumpy's stuff and straighten them out, but Grumpy is just trying to get away from Sunshine's overpowering energy.

-> Then afterwards, Grumpy is the one who keeps thinking about the encounter.

- There are no rooms left in the hotel/inn. Sunshine overhears Grumpy all but begging for any kind of room at all, and offers to share theirs.

- Every day, Grumpy walks past Sunshine dancing in a slightly inconvenient place (like a sidewalk or in front of a coffee shop). Eventually, they start watching Sunshine briefly when they come across them. Then, Sunshine makes direct eye contact and motions for them to dance, too.

-> Grumpy may not dance with them, but maybe Sunshine decides to make it their life's mission to tease out the dance moves in Grumpy's heart.

- Grumpy notices Sunshine gently handling a disliked/misunderstood animal. They instantly wonder if Sunshine would be willing to handle them (disliked and misunderstood as they are) so gently.

- People generally assume Grumpy is cruel/brutish in a fight. But when Sunshine sees them being merciful and diplomatic in the face of conflict, their heart goes all aflutter. They must not let this wonderful person slip through their fingers.

Acquaintances to Friends/Lovers

- They know each other only in passing, and Grumpy assumes Sunshine to be a total ditz. But when a fight between strangers breaks out in a tight space, Sunshine rushes into the fray to break it up. (Maybe the sight of Sunshine being strong and capable does something to Grumpy.)

-> Alternatively, it could be an emergency/crisis that Grumpy or another stranger are having (such as choking on something, a severe allergic reaction, or an illness or injury taking a sudden turn for the worse).

- They work together, and Sunshine has been making their way around the workplace day by day, doing something happy and cheerful and everything for each person. Grumpy is dreading the day it's their turn.

*Relationship Intensifies*

- Sunshine is a terrible cook. Grumpy pulls out the apron and shows them a thing or two.

- Sunshine opens up about their dark past during a quiet moment. It is remarkably (even freakishly) similar to what Grumpy went through.

- Sunshine notices that while Grumpy's actions say, "Do not perceive me," their body language screams, "I need you specifically to hold me."

- Over the past few weeks/months, Sunshine and Grumpy have been spending more and more time together. Right as Grumpy starts to feel comfortable opening up, they realize… Sunshine actually doesn't talk about themself. Practically at all.

After Dark

- Grumpy is too nervous/self-conscious to initiate, even though being with Sunshine is all they've been thinking about for the past ten minutes.

-> Sunshine miraculously notices and treats Grumpy so sweetly that Grumpy almost breaks.

->-> Or they do break, and Sunshine's happy to pick up the pieces afterwards.

- Sunshine's "I'll get a smile out of you yet!" attitude shifting into "You're mine and no one will ever hurt you" when things get hot.

- Grumpy's "I refuse to burden people with my presence" attitude becoming "Please, I need every last piece of you" when things get going.

- Grumpy and Sunshine have to switch roles a little when Sunshine drops after they're together.

#sunshine x grumpy #grumpy x sunshine #prompts #romance prompts #writeblr #sunshine x grumpy prompts #grumpy x sunshine prompts #meet cute #relationship prompts #steamy prompts #spicy prompts #🕸️#this is all I've got for now #I might just edit this and add a couple or reblog with more later #depends on how many more I have probably #I have no content for these two; only vibes #you know how it is

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bigtreefest · 5 months ago

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Chapter 6: Storm Warning

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: You have the suspicions you tried to push down for so long, confirmed.

Word count: 4,446

Content/warnings: heavy drinking, kissing, flirting, nervousness, fighting, yelling, Sam Wilson, a switch flip, swears, ANGSTTT, betrayal?

Author’s Note: You guys know that vine where the surfer is making all those sounds talking about the crazy waves? That’s how I felt writing this. *wapahh*

Anyway, can’t wait for your feedback on this one. I’d love to hear what you’ve got to say. Feel free to drop and ask, or a comment, or a reblog!! Those are my life source.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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On Tuesday afternoon after work, you were excited to see Steve. And honestly, you hadn’t been this excited for anything in a long time. Giddy, almost, and it felt completely out of character. You were so used to your schedule and your normal obligations, that the things out of the ordinary seemed like such a burden, but this was anything but. You weren’t sure how everything felt like it changed so quickly.

You pulled up to a modern townhouse on the edge of the city in an unbelievably nice area. Sure, it was gorgeous, and evidently expensive, but its inconvenience led you to believe that this wasn’t Steve’s only place. He probably had a country home, and an apartment in the heart of town in addition to this. This place seemed too relaxed to be where someone who had such an insane schedule, from what you could draw, would live. And that’s the thing, it didn’t seem very lived-in from what you could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows that flanked the front door.

As you rang the bell, you almost expected a house cleaner, or a butler to come greet you, but instead, you saw Steve emerge from some distant hallway. He was in a leather jacket, with a deep blue collared shirt underneath, not dressed down, but not dressed up at all compared to what you’d usually seen him wear to work.

As he saw you though the glass, though, and smiled brightly, you weren’t able to return it, feeling something shift in the air behind you. You whipped around to see if anything was there, but you were just met with an empty street, filled only by cars on the quiet block. It was similar to how you’d been feeling for the past week or so, but every time you turned around, nothing was there, so you tried to brush it off.

By the time you went to face forward again, Steve was at the door, looking down to where you stood on the steps. You nervously smiled up at him as he gestured for you to come in.

He grabbed your bag from you, giving a side hug that squeezed your shoulders, along with a greeting of a kiss on the top of your head. “Welcome, sweetheart. I’d give you a tour, but there’s not really much on this level. All the good stuff is downstairs. I’ll show you where you can get changed if you want.

You nodded along, still in your pantsuit, the product of sitting in the courthouse for another case today. But it wasn’t all bad, because you got to briefly hang out with DA Barber. He let you walk around his office during breaks, looking through his knick knacks. You spoke to his admin, who for some reason had dozens of pens on hand, offering you as many as you wanted. Of course you took a bunch, picking out a particularly nice one for Steve and tucking it in your jacket pocket to give to him this evening.

You walked through the house with its tall ceilings, awe-struck at its simple beauty, despite how barren it seemed. That was only the front entry way, though, because Steve led you down a set of steps to a basement which he had finished and turned into what you assumed was his man cave. The walls were lined with art, interesting and intricate, yet surprisingly complementary to the dark tones that filled the space. In the middle, near a fully stocked bar, sat a pool table. It really was a nice little setup.

Steve stopped just before you got there, though, turning around and showing you where the bathroom was and leaving you to it.

It was a relief to be out of that blazer, and when you emerged from the restroom, you could see Steve had laid out a set of hangers for you so it didn’t get wrinkled. He was leaning up against the bar, ankles crossed across each other, sipping a glass of water.

“So can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A cocktail? Dinner?”

You smiled and your eyes lit up. “Dinner?” He laughed and nodded, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as yours gravitated to his shoulders.

“Yeah, dinner. I’d say your favorite is already on the way, but I wanted to make sure you don’t get sick of it, so I figured I’d let you choose. Anything you want.”

He leaned in to press a quick peck to your lips that left you chasing for more, to which he happily obliged. You pulled away for breath, putting your forehead against his chest for a second to think. “Why don’t you surprise me. Something good. We’ll save the pasta for later this week. Maybe it can be road-trip food to take down to the farm. Bee will love it, too, I’m sure.”

He nodded, pulling out his phone to send in your surprise order, before walking back over to the bar and grabbing his beer, taking a sip and wordlessly offering you one, which you accepted. Before you took a sip, though, you remembered what you had brought him.

“Oh! By the way, I have something for you!” You went over to your bag, missing Steve’s surprised expression, but hearing a faint “oh?” followed by his footsteps in your direction.

You fished around, speaking over your shoulder intermittently. “It’s not much, but I figured since you sent me all those nice things the other week, that I should return the favor. Plus, I felt kinda bad for kicking you out of my apartment on Saturday.”

Steve set down his bottle, walking to your side when you finally found what you were looking for. “Ah! Here it is.”

When you stood, your face was almost right next to his, so you took half a step back, awkwardly shoving your hand between the two of you. “I got you a pen-But it’s uh… a really nice pen. One of those ones people use to sign official documents and stuff. I stole it from the DA’s office, so I guess it’s not an official gift, but I thought you would like it and I figured you do that kind of stuff a lot in day-to-day life, although I’m not really sure-“

You were cut off from your rambling by his hand over yours, accepting the present, and engulfing your digits in his. You took in a sharp gasp, looking between where the two of you met and his warm gaze.

“Thank you, Sweetheart. I really appreciate it. No matter where you got it.”

You tried to force yourself to swallow, your mouth growing dry at the contact. Even though you had kissed, something about this moment had seemed more intimate than before. You raised your other hand, bracing it against his chest because you were worried that if you didn’t, your jello arm would drop, pulling the rest of your body along with it. “And, um. A deck of cards. I got you a really nice deck of cards. Professional grade.”

You could feel the puff of air that came from his breathy laugh as his other hand came up to meet yours. “Thank you. This really wasn’t necessary, but I love it.” You simply nodded and pushed yourself away from him, trying to break the moment. Sure, you loved being that close, and you couldn’t have gotten a better response, but it was a lot to take in.

You turned around to get out of your own head and attempt to regain some logic since your mind had almost gone empty right there. “So…um..pool, right? You think you can beat me?”

You had pulled in on yourself, arms close to your chest, but pointing toward the table, as you finally brought your body to turn around again and face Steve. You were met with a view of his broad back, carefully setting your gifts on a shelf and reaching for the cues.

“You know, now that I know what your nickname means, I’m not sure. It’s my understanding that you’re far better than you let on and you were keeping it a secret.”

Somehow he had already put you at ease again. He walked past you, towards a brick pillar off to the side of the room to grab the rest of the equipment you needed to start. You rolled your eyes, shifting your feet so you continued to face him. “I wasn’t keeping anything a secret. I just don’t blab about that stuff. And to be fair, you never asked me.”

Steve shrugged as he handed you the cue. “I guess you’re right. And you wouldn’t be mad at me either, for not telling you something you didn’t ask specifically, right?”

That was weird. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Your eyebrows went from relaxed, to drawn inward with suspicion. “Well, it depends on the thing, I guess…”

You tried to brush it off, and it helped that Steve did, too. Maybe he was just curious and had some sort of surprise planned. Or maybe it was something else, but the way he quickly moved onto the next subject helped you to do the same, as you started the first round.

Steve had let you break to start out, which led to your immediate win. He had a smile laced with several emotions all at once as he watched you move with grace, confidence, and ease around the table. By the time you were starting the second game, Steve breaking this time, you heard someone walking down the stairs. It would’ve concerned you that someone random was in his home if Steve wasn’t acting so casual about it.

“Ah, that must be Sam with dinner. Bar food for the bar mood. I hope you like fries.”

Just then, the figure emerged from the staircase, wearing a suit. Figures. He made a beeline for you, reaching out your hand and shaking it. “Hi, you must be Decks. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sam. I was at the farm all those weeks ago, but I’m sorry we didn’t get to cross paths.”

You shook his hand happily before he asked to pull Steve aside for a moment. He seemed really nice, and who could complain about someone who appeared to be a friend, bearing food?

You took the opportunity to open the paper bag, setting everything out on the bar, fries packaged separately from a plethora of toppings to stay crispy. How thoughtful. You began your snacking before Steve came back.

He returned with a feigned offended look on his face. “So, what? I leave for a second and you’ve already started without me? How’s that fair?”

You laughed and looked at him, fry sticking out of your mouth like a cigarette, simply shrugging until he surprised you by jumping forward and chomping off the other end of the fry, cutting it short.

If you weren’t so focused on not losing what bit was left in your mouth, your jaw would’ve dropped in shock. Steve carried on like almost nothing had happened and picked up his cue again, speaking with his mouth half full. “So it’s my turn still, right?”

The games continued on like that, you and Steve going back and forth on who started, taking shots with fries hanging out of your mouths, and you still winning effortlessly. But as the night went on, though, Steve seemed to be getting more focused on the game. He paid more attention to the angle of your shots, and was almost rooting for you to be better than him with a weird seriousness to it. It wasn’t really fun anymore, or at least the excitement seemed like it was starting to fade for some odd reason. He didn’t try to make any more moves on you, instead letting you be in your zone, making you feel like this was hardly a date anymore. It got to the point where he, rejoined by Sam, was just watching, beer long abandoned to sober up and focus. You’d just about had enough of it. Something wasn’t being spoken out into the open air. After this evaluation, you decided to run an experiment. To see if your hunch was right. On what should’ve been an easy shot, you instead moved an inch to the side, and sunk the 8 ball into the pocket before you were supposed to do. The tension in the room got worse and you could audibly hear Steve wince with a soft “shit.”

You turned around at that. You were right. Something was off about this whole thing.

“Okay, what is going on? Ever since I got here, you’ve been going through waves of being so serious, but that was the last nail in the coffin. I thought it was just because we were both nervous for my first time being at your place, but this is much more than that. I’m sure of it. So tell me what it is. Why are you pushing so hard for me to win?”

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. Sam straightened in a bar stool next to him, his eyes roaming everywhere, not wanting to linger on you and the fire raising in your expression. This isn’t how Steve wanted this to go, but you knew too well something was up. He still stayed silent.

“Steve, why do we have to go back to the farm this weekend and why do I have to practice? Why is Bee not returning my calls, either? What’s riding on this game? Why is it such a big deal? And what do you have to do with this? Why are you so personally invested?”

Steve still didn’t say anything, finally daring himself to look up and into your eyes through his lashes. His expression was troubled. He started to open his mouth, but nothing came out. Suddenly it was all dry from your rage. This was his worst fear, well, besides the unspeakable things Lloyd might have planned if you lost. You were getting impatient, though. Even when Steve wasn’t smooth, he would still talk to you. Talking was something you thought the two of you did pretty well, but apparently not right now.

“Steven. Words!”

Steve let out a sigh, signaling for Sam to give the two of you the room. There was no escaping this now. He’d pushed the limit on the timeframe he had to tell you the truth. “Listen, Sweetheart. You’re right. There’s… a lot… you should know, that I haven’t told you, so let me start at the beginning.”

You didn’t have time for him to try and sugarcoat this. You wanted the whole truth and you wanted it now. And so help you if there was something going on that you weren’t aware about, that was causing you issues you could’ve prevented, someone was getting the brunt of it.

You dropped your cue on the table, stomping over to the beer fridge and grabbing another bottle, hell, why not two, and storming towards a comfy leather chair, throwing yourself down and crossing your legs. “Go on, Stevie. Speak.”

Normally, he would’ve been elated to hear you call him that, but it was nowhere near the tender manner he was hoping you’d use the first time. It was bitter, and biting, and he hadn’t even said anything yet. This was not going to go well.

He sighed and started, eyes on you as if he was trying not to spook a wounded animal, but you were already worse than spooked, you were angry. And no physical wound could hurt more than the distrust you were feeling right now.

“I guess I’ll start with what you already know. You know Bucky and I work with and own a lot of businesses. And you know that Bee’s farm is one of the ones we’re working with, and Bee’s been facing a lot of pressure from Cole lately to sell the farm.”

You nodded along, chugging down your beer and slamming it on the coffee table next to you, ditching the second bottle in favor of something stronger. You walked back over to the bar, not sparing Steve a glance, as you pulled the rolling ladder over to grab the bottle of Macallan off the shelf. You didn’t care what year it was. You just knew it was expensive, and he owed you at least this much after lying.

You stepped back down, deciding to forego a glass, and walked to your seat again, finally looking into his eyes. “Okay, now tell me what I don’t know.”

He hated how hard your eyes had become. How they’d grown dull already where they used to have a sparkle when they reflected his face. “The businesses that Bucky and I run… not all of them are legal. A few of them run outside the law, and at first, it was just because that’s how we were brought up, but we realized that we could change things, so we did.”

You took a swig from the bottle. You did not like where this was going. Steve fidgeted with the pool cue still standing in his hands.

“We were raised in a certain way, to be cutthroat, and unrelenting, and aggressive. Ready to serve our superiors, because that’s what we had to do to survive. To provide for our struggling families. And we were good at it. We were good at following orders, and playing the system, so it put us in leadership at a pretty young age. It seemed like the right thing, especially once both our parents were gone. But as time went on, we saw how damaging what we did could be, and wanted to fix it. Except there were some people who didn’t feel the same way. Some people who were simply power and money hungry and didn’t care who they were hurting. In specific, this one guy named Lloyd.”

You kept nodding along, getting slightly dizzy from the straight alcohol hitting you, and not expecting the lore to go this deep. You thought it could’ve been something more minor. Maybe Steve was in the witness protection program or something, because that could’ve been better than this trip of an explanation.

“Lloyd was a friend of ours, along with his sister. And Bucky was especially close with her. But they both left to go off to college, and we were really proud of them, but when they came back, they were different. Aggressive, uncaring for quality of goods, money hungry. Lillian, Lloyd’s sister became a huge lawyer, used to do his dirty business bidding, and Lloyd tried to start from the ground up, stepping on the territory Bucky and I fixed and taking advantage of people already in terrible positions. We don’t do what he does. We regulate things so people like him don’t take over. And we collected a lot of allies and truly good businesses along the way to help out with keeping the other side under wraps.”

You rolled your eyes waving your hand signaling that he was going on and on and on. “Okay, so you’re a criminal. What does this have to do with my best friend’s farm? And why I’m here right now, evidently practicing pool like my life depends on it?”

He rubbed a hand down his face, looking past you, over your shoulder, and out the window at the far end of the room. “Our business with Bee isn’t on the legal side. It’s on the other one. And it wasn’t until a few weeks in or so that we saw Lloyd was connected with Cole. So we were getting harassed from both ends. From Lloyd on our end, and Cole on hers. I assume she hasn’t been telling you this, but Cole’s been on her ass since Bucky left, and Lloyd has been on ours for months. Bee made a bet to end it for once and for all. A single game of pool. Winner takes all. Friends and family only, no pros, and she wants you to play for her side. She hasn’t been picking up your calls because I told her not to. I wanted the chance to lay this all out on the table for you. So you’d hear it from me. I know you’re a woman of the law, and I work outside it a lot, so I understand if you’re upset about that.”

You clenched your jaw, and if you did it any harder, your teeth might’ve broken. Your breaths were heaving out of flared nostrils. You took another sip, trying to find the proper way to reply to all of this, but your brain was too fuzzed for that. And it’s not like you would’ve wanted to do the right thing even if you were thinking clearly. Yelling seemed like a good option right now.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? She bet the farm on this game!? And you’re what? A crime lord!? But that’s not even what I’m the most mad about. You lied to me Steve. I trusted you and I gave you my time and I let you in easily to see things no one else does, and you lied.”

You tried to stand up, but were becoming too dizzy to do so. You were humbled, only briefly, so you asked another, softer question. “So what really is even your job then? Who are you and Bucky exactly?”

Steve put his pool cue back. “Bucky’s the boss.”

“And you?”

“Second in command.”

“And what’s Sam?”

“Number three.”

You nodded, yelling to Sam who you could still see standing on the staircase, listening to the whole thing.

“Hey! Number three! Can you bring me more fries from over there?”

Sam looked between you and Steve and Steve nodded, a solemn look on his face, letting Sam run over to the bar, and bring you the rest of the basket of fries. Once you’d had your fill, and the carbs soaked up some of the alcohol, you stood up, staring Steve down.

“Okay, fine. Since everyone thought they were best to make decisions regarding my own life, and make stupid ones in theirs without consulting me, I’ll give. You want me to practice more pool? I’ll practice. Rack ‘em.”

Steve wanted to tell you this wasn’t necessary. That he’d made a mistake. That you’ve proven yourself enough and that he was sorry, but his mouth was paralyzed. He believed that the best thing right now was just to give into whatever you needed to stay sane.

You broke the balls with more force than necessary, already getting a striped ball in a pocket, then kept making shots, not missing a single one. You called the eight ball to the far corner pocket before sinking it easily, even drunk off your ass.

“There. Happy? I won’t screw this up. So you can see I’ll do my best to make sure our friend keeps her farm and you get your little business deals to stay protected. I’ll see you on Saturday, tell Gio I’ll be waiting for him outside my apartment, and then hopefully, after I do my job, you and I won’t need to see each other… never again.”

Steve stood with his eyes focusing on you, yet he was zoned out. He should’ve told you sooner. He should’ve seen this all coming from waiting too long. What was worse than you finding out? You getting hurt. And he did that. He hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to you because your guard was down because you didn’t know your true proximity to everything, but now that you did, he could see a thousand ways that it would’ve all gone smoother if he would’ve just been honest from the beginning.

You stormed across the basement, back towards where Sam was, and tossed him your keys. “You’re driving me home, Three.”

He followed you out the door, and you didn’t even care that you left your work clothes, and Steve, behind.

Sam drove you home like a chauffeur, after you insisted on getting on the back seat so you could lay down. Now was as good of a time as ever to try calling Bee again, and this time, she finally picked up.

“Hey, Decks. How did your date with Steve go? He told me you were coming over tonight.” Even in your state, you could sense the caution in her tone.

“It was fucking awful, but I think you know that. I can’t believe you lied to me, too. Some guy I just met is one thing, but my best friend is another. And on top of that, I can’t believe you were stupid enough to make this big of a bet and put it on my shoulders.”

She simply hummed. She could probably tell you were drunk, she was one of the few to have seen it this bad before. She sighed before giving her response. “You know me. And you know I wouldn’t have made this sort of a deal if it wasn’t necessary. If I wasn’t desperate. But I’m not worried.”

She was silent for a second, but you let her be. She was gathering the right thing to say, and anything you wanted to throw in that free space would’ve made things worse.

“Decks, no one I know is better than you. When it comes to you as a person and you playing pool. And plus, it’s not like he can bring a pro or even semi-pro to come beat you. You’ve got this in the bag, knock on wood, and I hoped you would understand. The bet and the business.”

You sighed. You wanted to be snarky and mean, but she was just so logical, and you knew how grounded she was with that heart of gold and shit. She was the one who always shared reason with you. But it still didn’t excuse how reckless this all felt.

“Bee, using this skill to swindle people out of a couple bucks hardly counts as being good enough to save your legacy. That farm is your life. I have no quantification of the probability of my win, but I’ll do my best, I guess. I’m getting really tired, now, so I’m gonna let you go, and you and I can talk about your poor taste in men and this little lying streak of yours later.”

And with that, you hung up the phone and the world went black.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Another vine reference: Did you guys [read] that? I’m really scared.

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year ago

Text

crying over it all // clement novalak

summary: there are few things in this world more mortifying than failing your drivers test when everyone else your age has a license. it’s made even worse when your boyfriend is a racing driver

pairing: clement novalak x female reader

warnings: reader fails her driving test, which leads to significant self loathing, clem is just trying to be supportive and god I need someone like him right now

authors note: guess who failed her drivers test 🙃 I’ve rebooked it but now I have to commute by way of three buses to my college campus :( and don't even get me started on field placement...i wish i had never left it this long but at this point i need to trust to process and find some sort of way to move past it.

“I’m sorry, but you will need to retake your road driving test. I understand that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you need some more practice. you can see the full list of mistakes inside.”

it had been twenty minutes since she’s heard those words, and she still felt shaky on her feet. her hands had shook and tears fell down her face as she went inside, taking a number and waiting in a notoriously long dmv line to admit to the woman at the desk that she needed to rebook her test.

she didn’t want clement to see her like this, utterly defeated and trying not to scream her lungs out as she watched four teenagers in line in front of her get their licenses.

she was twenty one, for god sakes. she should have been driving by now.

she was sitting on the wooden bench, slouched I gracefully and letting the tears fall as she played with her car keys when clement found her.

what was the point of even owning a fucking car if she couldn’t drive it?

“oh, love." clem frowned, feeling his own stomach sink when he saw how distraught she was. "i take it that things didn't go well."

"could you tell?" she sobbed, trying to wipe her eyes. "was it that obvious? i hate myself, clement. how is it that i can't do something that pretty much everybody my age has been able to do since they were sixteen."

his heart ached as he heard her words. he'd passed his test on the first try, and he drove things for a living, so he's never really thought about what it must have been like for her, having to bum rides off her friends and family or to be bound to the transit schedule. while she was in college, it hadn't been the biggest deal, although it was a minor inconvenience. now that she would be working full time, the stakes were higher.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl." he frowned, pulling her closer, allowing her rest her head on his shoulder. "but you can take it again, and you know what you did wrong, right?"

"i start work next week, clem. i've looked up the commute and if i take public transit, it's almost two hours each way. and i feel like i'm a burden by constantly asking people for rides, or telling them that if they can't pick me up, we can't hang out. hell, my mother had to drive to my first date with you!"

clem chuckled at the memory, the image of a frazzled y/n stepping out of her mother's suv and frantically scanning the parking lot for clement. moments later, her mother had insisted to getting out of the car and introducing herself to clem. y/n thought that she would combust then and there.

"your mother loves me!"

"yeah, but imagine being a grown-ass adult and still having to get your mother to drive you to appointments because you don;t want to chance the bus route not aligning with your appointment time? i feel like my grandmother, and she's ninety, clement. she had her license revoked because she has cataracts."

"i know it hurts right now, but you are never a burden, y/n. your friends love having you in the car when they drive. hell, i feel like i drive better when you're next to me. i don't mind driving you places, you know. it means that i get to spend more time with you."

she smiled at the gesture, turning to allow clem to cup her chin and wipe some of her tears away. her face was flushed, eyes red and puffy. she couldn't shake the idea that she might have made a scene inside the testing center.

"i know. i just wish i could be more independent. transiting gives me so much fucking anxiety. i went over the curb when i three=point-turned and an old lady on a mobility scooter started yelling at me."

"but you never go over the curb."

"exactly! i think i was nervous, when i practiced the route with my dad, there were never any cars on the road. and i think after that happened, i got into my head and it screwed everything else up. i'm such a fuck up. i feel like i've let everybody down, especially you, since you helped pay for my fucking car."

'"hey, hey, don;t talk like that. you'll get it. i promise you. you know jenson button didn't pass his road test on his first try, right?"

she snorted, sitting up straighter, but still clutching clem's hand. "did he really?"

"yeah, and i think lando failed as well."

"yeah well, i've seen how lando drives. that doesn't surprise me at all."

having a laugh seemed to help, and at least now if people mwere staring at her it was because of the f2 driver sitting next to her, not because she was a grown woman who still couldn't drive and decided to cry about it, and then fling her keys onto the grass.

"i have some plans i might have to move around, and then i need to call my parents, and then my dad can take me out to practice a bit more but i have to trust that when i take it again in october, something goes right. because i know exactly what i fucked up."

she moved to get up from the bench, clm following closely behind as she shamefacedly handed him the keys to her volkswagen. well, the volkswagen now, since she couldn't drive it without someone who'd had their license for five years present.

"i'm proud of you for trying. i know that this was something you put off for a long time because of your anxiety, and even though it didn't work out, at least you tried." clem encouraged, his arms comfortably slung around her shoulders as she laced her fingers with his. "hey, it could be worse. you could have had your dad drive you here."

"clement, don't even joke!" she laughed. "you know that i hate taking transit, and that i don't always feel safe going places alone."

"i know. and if you ever feel unsafe, or too anxious to function, or just like you want to see my gorgeous face, call me. as long as im in the country, i will come and get you. and if im not, i'll send someone i trust."

"like who? max fewtrell? his driving is worse than landos."

clem snorted. "i meant ria. or pietra.

"thank you, clement." she sighed, leaning into him as he unlocked the car. "i love you."

"i love you more, pretty girl." he kissed the top of her head softly. "it will all work itself out, love. just you wait. and then you'll be the one driving me places."

TAGS:

@httpiastri @magnummagnussen @oconso @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @clemswrld @love4lando

#clement novalak x reader #clement novalak #formula 2 x reader #formula two x reader #f2 x reader #clement novalak imagine #formula 2 imagine

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