#i have been awake for twenty-nine hours :)

[cleromancy]

i do think that insisting we should ~let~ jason get his own ~stuff~ instead of just ~stealing his big brother's~ (real actual opinion regarding jasons friendship with roy i had to see with my own two eyes) ... is coming from a very bland and ahistorical place wrt jason characterization.

like, not even going to start talking about brothers in blood bc im not going to ask you to take the "tentacle monster jason steals a nightwing suit and vores a guy" arc seriously for characterization choices...

but look, i really don't think it would be wrong to call jason the hand-me-down robin. for a while jason inherited what dick either left behind, or else walked behind him in his shadow. and looking at preboot jason specifically, post-resurrection jason has a complex relationship to the relics and symbols of the past--and what they mean to the tragedy of his life and death--where they simultaneously make him angry, he resents them, but also he actively surrounds himself with them at all times. it's part of his whole thing where he's purposely making himself a revenant; this is not something he's likely to give up doing as long as he's going by the name the red god damn hood.

anyway. robin. ...can i just say nuff said? whether its the copy-pasted circus background strawberry blond colorswap jason or how being robin gives him magic, robin was this whole thing for him, you might have heard about it. probably you can draw the connections yourself.

but as far as hand-me-down friendships go--this is, very explicitly in the text, the deal with jason!robin and donna in their very moving situation in new teen titans. she saw the uniform and wanted to react as though he were dick and look to him to lead, and at the time Jason's not at all offended, but he does have to establish that. he's not dick, which was what she was looking to him to be. and they do rekindle their relationship after jason is resurrected but ummmmm. it was in countdown lol. there was a lot going on in countdown.

anyway jason and *barbara* is significantly less on-the-page than jay and donna--btw all of this is preboot do not talk to me about post-reboot barbara. i am not joking--but he did fall into a friendship with her too, and what few interactions we do have from that time are both really cute and very reminiscent of robin-dickie and babsgirl. on top of that barbara was his tutor, and she was one of the (counting on my fingers) four. i believe. people at jason's funeral. shes notably absent *during* under the hood except for a conversation bruce and dick have about how she washed her hands of them lmao, and jason explicitly making a parallel btwn what the joker did to him and to her in the climax. after that i don't recall any incidents of her mentioning him or anything like that... not off the top of my head anyway.

anyway. there is also, of course, bruce. according to starlin, who we hate, something something bruce was lonely and missed dick so he scooped a new orphan off the street. whatever starlin. wolfman also toys with this idea but with significantly more nuance, leaning into the ways bruce might be different with a second war-- oh, excuse me, what was that?

yeah see bruce actually adopted this one

which is where the hand-me-down thing starts quivering trembling falling to pieces. it is, i think, a pretty fair reading of *whistles* the time period immediately before, up through, and after the crisis was redefining bruce and dicks history together to take it as... bruce was a lot less complicated with jason than he was with dick. not out of loving dick any less, because. well. bruces interpersonal issues have never stemmed from a deficit of love for the people he hurts, and lets down. and i do think thats a whole nother post, and its certainly not the only reading even just of the bits of canon im referencing right now, but for the sake of argument just suppose bruce was more consistent, and tbh *way* more of a dad, to robin-era jason than he was to dick.

but jason, i think, was too young to get that, without also the outside perspective that would let him see that bruce and dicks relationship wasnt *just* strained bc dick left. that actually maybe dick and bruces relationship was, fundamentally, a whole different animal than what jason had with bruce.

and we do have indications that jason saw dick as a perfect example he could never live up to (remember when i said i wasnt going to get into brothers in blood. Well i lied. its almost as gauche as it is outlandish). and as interesting as it is to consider how jasons perspective would have developed as he grew up if he had that stable loving relationship with bruce--and, imo, personally experienced it falling apart in real time the way dick did--thats not whats on the page. so, again, we have jason and these relationships and perspectives from before his death, frozen forever, and we have jason the revenant wreaking havoc on two relationships in particular--the one with bruce, and the one with dick--and, for the most part, leaving the others from before his death alone. (iirc, he pretty much stumbled into the thing with donna instead of seeking her out... don't actually take my word on that one though.) even alfred--and we do actually have interactions that support that they were pretty close, it's not just fanon; among other things theres a tear-jerker that culminates in alfred and jasons ghost having tea together--jason doesn't especially make any attempt to connect (or menace, as the case may be) except for the fucking rare first edition book thing, which was 100% about bruce anyway. god i love the fucking first edition book thing.

anyway. after his big bad master plan very literally blows up in his face, jason proceeds thereafter to rattle around the dc universe(s), deeply lonely and ever so fucking unwell, aimlessly menacing people, causing ruckuses, being a scoundrel, etc. also! murder. lots n lots of murder. he's a busy little bee. (for the record--anytime someone says jason tried to kill someone, go ahead and double check that for yourself. imo the only time A Wild Jason Attacked! and its actually ambiguous whether he expected them to survive--preboot--is battle for the cowl. generally speaking when jason puts his whole hoodussy into killing someone, he succeeds.) (battle for the cowl is also, for the record, one of the worst books detective comics comics has ever fucking shat out. worse than the tentacle monster jason vore arc, which is at least FUN. ----and also, i do think its worth noting that both possible victims of gun batman [large version, not to be confused with gun batman small version], tim and damian, are up and about pretty soon after what do look like potentially lethal injuries. and tim Jason does have pretty good reason to think died albeit from a wound that absolutely should not have killed him (but from jasons pov its like he hit tim with a batarang that shattered and killed him instantly which is. really funny). it's just like. we don't really know what was going thru tony daniels mind at the time. like *if* tony daniel had any thoughts at all, its entirely possible all he had between his ears writing/drawing it was lint and elevator music.) (this isnt even me being a jason apologist, this time anyway. i think if jason had killed tim for real that would have been high camp. battle for the cowl is just so goddamn badly written and stupid.)

anyway. no, i don't think what jason needs is to Stop Stealing Dick's Friends. i also think that "he was dicks first >:(" re roy is the dumbest argument ever to say as a person reading comics, but also extremely funny bc. well. dick would agree with you. dick would love it if jason got his own friends and left his (not jason's >:()(dick's)(dick's friends) alone. however like. dick grayson is not well. i know i distracted you by talking at length about what an absolute basket case jason is, but dick is also an insane person and prone to irrational jealousy and can not, and should not, get everything he wants. sorry dickie but the good news is: theyll still be your friends even if they're also jasons friends. and, given the fact that jason is extraordinarily prickly and difficult to get along with (on purpose), theyll probably even still like you better.

anyway look. what it boils down to is, post-resurrection jason as a character will always be defined by his own death. not only is it the central trauma of his life, he actively remade himself around it. and part of that is how he relates now as the self-made revenant to the hand-me-down pixie boots he used to fill. and you want him to completely stop doing this...why? because itd be "healthier"? what are you, a cop?

but no really like. yeah actually i do want jason to make some better choices, be on the stable side, be a fully developed antihero who poses a moral counterpoint to the bats, asks difficult questions, causes problems on purpose but not in a way where he's purposely burning down everything he loves, etc. i do want those things. but i think ripping him away from his past makes (...made...) him unrecognizable, and generic, and doesnt really take the character in an interesting direction that actually tracks with the character concept established in under the hood and developed (such as it was) in the *waves hands* aforementioned stories. according to ~me~ anyway, obviously when it comes to writing everyone can do what they want forever, unfortunately up to and including my enemy scott lobdell who i would dearly love to kill with a rock. for his crimes.

did i ever actually explain why i think its interesting & compelling for jason personally to keep throwing him at dicks friends? ...maybe not. but i did lay some groundwork and talk about one of my favorite boys. and in the end well roy is one of my other favorite boys so like. stream green arrow, vote worlds finest: teen titans, put your money where your mouth is and support our boy. (i am referring to roy obviously. jason can die in a ditch.)

[usmsgutterson]

becoming nocturnal has progressed to a whole entire different stage. 

I went from NEEDING eight hours of sleep in one go to being able to manage running on four. I went to bed at nine this morning and I woke up at half past one. What the hell is this. 

[izels-writing]

j. potter — 5 times james showed you he loved you + the 1st time he said it

Pairing: james potter x childhood best friend!fem!reader

Summary: james is in love with you, as you are with him.

Warnings: longer than usual, FLUFFF, a bit specific (y/n have a big family and nut allergy), a break up (not james ), confession scene is bad but i feel that’s what childhood best friend love confession would look like😭, ALSO I USED A LITTLE DIALOGUE FROM GILMORE GIRLS AND B99 BC I JUST HAD TO OKAY IT WAS FUNNY

a/n: i tried so hard with this one, pls tell me if u like it! it’s a bit different than my usual writing

august 12th, 1969:

"what're you two doing?" euphemia potter asked, a small smile gracing her lips as she noticed you and james sat across each other on his bedroom floor.

you placed your piece down, grinning at james' utter disappointment as you took his piece in the process. he groaned.

"we're playing muggle chess," he told his mother. "and y/n's beating me!"

you smiled. "i told him it wasn't as easy as he thought!" you countered, noticing euphemia's chuckle.

"well, it's getting late you two," she said. "i don't suppose you two expect to be up until the wee hours playing this game," though she tried to be stern, you and james knew how incapable she was when it came to the two of you.

"mum! we're nine now! can't we just have a little bit longer? nine o'clock it too early," james complained. "how about ten thirty?"

euphemia crossed her arms in thought. "how about ten o'clock?"

"ten-twenty," james countered.

"ten-fifteen," euphemia concluded, "take it or leave it,"

"we'll take it!" you exclaimed. james nodded in agreement, though, he always agreed with whatever you said.

you supposed that was part of the best friends thing.

you and james had been best friends since you were five years old, when your parents inherited the house next door to his—which was a blessing given the large family you had. three brothers, two sisters, and you—making a total of six kids. your three bedroom apartment wasn't cutting it anymore at that point.

so, to escape your loud and obnoxious family, you often spent all of your time at the potters. it helped that you and james didn't go to school, given euphemia taught you at home. out of all of your siblings, only you and two of your brothers had inherited magic. whereas the rest of them had to attend muggle school, you, james, and your two brothers were homeschooled by euphemia.

and everyone knew since the day you moved in, you and james were inseparable.

"alright then, either of you fancy a snack?" euphemia asked. "i don't want either of you eating too late,"

"no, thank you, mrs. potter," you replied with a small smile.

"yeah, we're okay mum, thank you," james added.

"of course," euphemia grinned. she eerily looked like a girl version of james when she did grinned, you supposed that's why you found her so comforting. "and y/n, dear, how many times have i told you to call me mia?"

you smiled sheepishly. "i'm sorry, i can't,"

and truthfully, as much as you tried, it felt way to disrespectful to call her by her name and not mrs. potter.

"yeah," james snickered, "she's got this weird compulsion where she has to be perfect and respectful all the time," james taunted.

"shut up," you laughed, shoving james gently.

"alright, well, ten-fifteen...alright?" she looked at you both warningly.

"yes ma'am," you and james chorused, but as soon as she left, you two burst into a fit of laughter.

even if lights were out by ten-fifteen, you two would still be awake all hours of the night laughing and talking about seemingly nothing.

you let him play his turn, smiling as he made a rookie mistake. you quickly showed him how bad his mistake was.

"y/n!" he groaned.

"face it, potter," you sighed. "i'm just better..."

he rolled his eyes and shoved the pillow in his lap at your face. you, being you, caught it with a laugh and threw it aside. analyzing the board as he went to make his next move.

he'd never admit he let you win just so he could see the smile on your face when you did.

——

march 15th, 1996:

"stop painting her nails and help me find an outfit!" sirius exclaimed. "moony won't wait forever!"

james looked up from your hand as you both turned to look at sirius. though he'd never admit it aloud, james loved painting your nails ever since you forced him to do it the first time because your hands were too shaky.

"red shirt, leather jacket, and..." you squinted before turning to james to let him decide what pants your lovesick friend should wear.

"black jeans," he decided. you nodded in agreement.

"thank you, mr. and mrs. potter," sirius sighed, pulling out the exact clothes you two had picked out. "finally you pay attention to me,"

his nickname for you both made you shift slightly, as it always did. not that either of them noticed.

"don't be dramatic, sirius," you replied, rolling your eyes. "painting nails is tedious work,"

"you're tedious work," sirius grumbled, quickly changing. the boys had no qualms changing in front of you despite the fact that you were a girl, they'd known you as long as they'd known james—given you were a package deal when you got to hogwarts.

"how are you two planning to spend the afternoon?" he asked, making conversation as he finished up his eyeliner.

"napping," you replied. you had pulled the longest study session ever last night, and still had to wake up in time for classes. to say you were tired was an understatement.

james didn't like naps as much as you, but he laid with you until you fell asleep because he was so warm. you practically forced him to.

"cuddle session?" sirius asked, ruffling his hair in style.

"that's the one," james replied, finishing your last nail.

"it never ceases to amaze me how close you two are without being in love," sirius chuckled before slipping on his shoes. "anyway, bye...don't wait up for me and moony," he winked before closing the door behind him.

he wasn't entirely truthful. sirius knew about your long haboured crush in james since your third year of hogwarts. at first, you were convinced it was just teen hormones and it'd wear off.

it did not.

if anything, it got worse ever since then. you couldn't be near the boy without smiling and you certainly spent most of your time with him if not with mary or the other boys you two had befriended. he just understood you, he was your person.

the worst part was that you knew he didn't feel the same. you'd known since your first year about his undying love for lily evans, which had progressed so much more over the years.

you supposed you'd get over it eventually.

you scoffed. "look at him, flaunting what we don't have—remus,"

"i know, the utter torture knowing remus will never be ours," he sighed sarcastically. you laughed,

he lied down, arm behind his head which flexed all the right muscles. meanwhile you blew at your nails to make them dry faster. you marveled at the beautiful pink color, perfectly done by your best friend.

"you can take the girl out of the muggle world, but not the muggle world out of the girl," james teased before grabbing his wand and waving it wordlessly. in an instant, your nails were fully dry.

you scoffed. "please, you love the muggle world,"

he grinned. "yeah, i do," he shrugged.

you lied beside him, curling up into him to wrap your arms around his waist and your legs around his hips. it wasn't always the most comfortable position for him, but he put up with it for you, unbeknownst to you. you lied your head on his shoulder, breathing in his aromatic cologne.

you never understood why you tortured yourself like this. you knew these moments would just make you fall harder for him, but you couldn't help yourself. even if he'd never be your boyfriend, at least you had him in your life.

"alright, see you in two hours," you mumbled, adjusting your head comfortably.

"i'll be here," he sighed in fake annoyance. "waiting..."

"shut up," you muttered sleepily.

a few movements later, he smiled softly as you began to snore quietly. he kissed your head ever so softly, as to not wake you, pushing hair out of your face.

he really did hate naps.

but not the ones with you.

——

september 22nd, 1974:

the five of you sat in the greats hall, piling your plates as everyone chattered during their dinner. you laughed at whatever sirius said, waiting for remus to let go of the spoon for the macaroni bowl.

"pads, wipe your mouth," james scolded, handing the friend in question a cloth. sirius rolled his eyes and grabbed it, wiping his mouth aggressively.

"happy?" the grey-eyed got asked in feign annoyance.

you laughed as james rolled his eyes and nodded.

"y/n, do you want some?" peter asked, showing you a plate of fruit bars with nuts in it.

"do you want her to die?!" james exclaimed, though it was drowned out by the loudness of the great hall.

you, sirius, and remus exchanged looks. james took all of you guys' allergies seriously, but for some reason, with yours he became scandalized. you took a deep breath, sending an apologetic look toward peter.

james scoffed. "does she look like snivellus to you?"

peter blinked at him.

"does she?" james demanded. the four of you didn't know whether he was genuinely being serious.

"no...?" peter replied.

"then why are you trying to poison her?!" he snapped.

peter sighed, remembering your allergy suddenly. "i'm sorry, y/n," he said. "i forgot,"

"it's okay," you replied with a small smile.

james glared at peter.

"what?!" peter exclaimed. "i said sorry! it's not like i shoved it down her throat!"

"shame on you, wormy," he shook his head.

"james, believe it or not," you said. "i'm a big girl, i can just tell peter no when he offers,"

"it's about principle, y/n!" he replied.

"and you call yourself one of her best friends," james scoffed, shaking his head at peter again.

"james, if you don't stop, i'll put normal milk in your cereal, you lactose-intolerant freak," peter threatened.

remus sighed. "one peaceful dinner, it's all i ask," he grumbled. sirius rubbed his arm comfortingly.

you laughed loudly, making the other four turn to you. quickly, the rest of them broke and laughter filled the table. quickly, remus, sirius, and peter resumed their own conversation—leaving you to talk to james.

"thanks for remembering, it's very kind of you," you admitted to him lowly. "even though you're such a drama queen about it," you taunted.

"of course, i actually know you," he whispered back. "not like these posers,"

you laughed, shoving him playfully. "you're such a loser,"

"takes one to know one," he fired back.

you rolled your eyes and joined in the conversation in front of you, grabbing a cookie and breaking it in half. without breaking your conversation, you handed one half to james and began to eat the other.

he smiled at you and ate his half.

of course he remembered everything about you. how could he not? you were going to be in his life for the rest of it. that he was sure of.

——

june 12th, 1975:

you sniffled, wiping your nose on a tissue as you went through your various polaroids. your boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend now, had broken up with you a couple hours ago. as much as you tried not to cry over a boy, especially one that wasn't your best friend, you couldn't help but feel hurt nonetheless.

you liked him. and he just made a bet to date you for five months.

mary, marlene, emmeline, and lily had tried to comfort you but to no avail. you asked them to leave you be and they complied, silently agreeing to get the one person who they all knew could comfort you.

you held back a sob, cutting up the pictures and discarding them in the dorm trash. god, you felt pathetic. he wasn't worth it. but it still hurt.

a knock at the door caught your attention.

"come in," you sniffled, thinking it was one of the girls trying to get to your shared room that you selfishly kicked them out of. you hated crying in front of people.

a tall, lean raven-headed boy entered the room. he held a box of tissues and a buttload of snacks. he set everything down on your desk, eyes scanning you sadly.

"he dated me on a bet, james," you sniffled as your voice wavered slightly. "he broke up with me this morning,"

you met his eyes, seeing how worried he looked, and got shoved your face into your hands—a quiet sob escaping your lips, muffled by your hands.

"i'm so sorry, love," he mumbled, sitting in front of you to pull you into a hug. you hugged him back tightly, crying quietly into his shoulder. you felt terrible for his tear-stained shoulder, but the tears wouldn't stop.

you just felt so pathetic and used. how could you fall for it so easily? but you suppose if there was anyone you could be vulnerable with, it was your best friend in the entire world.

"why didn't he like me?" you mumbled tearfully.

"because he's an idiot," james replied, holding you tightly. "because he doesn't know what a great girl is even if it slapped him in the face,"

you let go. "how could i be so stupid? i mean i should've known! in all my five years at hogwarts, no boy has ever asked me out... i should've trusted my gut," you shook your head disappointedly.

"you're not stupid," james assured you. "he is, don't get it twisted. you liked him, there's nothing wrong with that, he just happened to be a prat,"

you frowned. "i suppose. but i mean i should've known..."

james cupped your face, looking into your eyes. "listen to me, y/n," he said seriously. "you are the most beautiful girl i know, you're smart and kind and funny and understanding...i could go on and on. he lost a great girl and he will pay for it for the rest of his life, do not feel pathetic and upset over some stupid bloke—got me?"

you let a smile grace your face. "you think i'm beautiful?"

he huffed and let go of your face, though you could see his playful expression. "is that really the only thing you got from that?"

you shook your head. "no, i heard you loud and clear," you admitted with a small smile. "thank you, j, you're the ultimate best friend,"

he grinned. "i know, it's a talent,"

you rolled your eyes. without you having to say anything, he grabbed the snacks and began to open them up for you, the both of you beginning to eat from the packages of snacks.

"am i more beautiful than farrah fawcett?" you asked teasingly.

"don't push your luck," he huffed.

you let out a melodic laugh and instantly, a smile spread across james' face. that's all he wanted, was to make you laugh.

the very next week, your ex boyfriend ended up in the hospital wing after a few humiliating yet harmless hexes being cast on him. unfortunately, all four marauders received detention for something they had very obviously done.

james didn't care. he'd go through millions of detentions if it meant protecting you.

——

may 27th, 1976:

a thousand used tissues and a finished vial of cold medicine later, you had only gotten through the first five chapters of your potions book. despite your efforts, you hadn’t made much progress in the years worth of material you were set to cover. exams were in two weeks and you were much more behind than you had realized. you had no time to recover, not when o.w.l’s determined what classes you received next year.

your eyes drooped as you turned the page, leaning your head in your hand tiredly. you weren’t even sure you were retaining anything anymore, just studying so you could say you had done it.

lily and mary had left you some time ago, tired themselves. they had begged you and pleaded for you to join them in your dorm, so you could sleep off the medicine. you were the only one sick—just your luck.

you refused and moreover, begun to ignore them. they didn’t take it personally, they knew how you could get around exam time. they muttered that they’d come back to check on you soon. that had been four hours ago, and you were happy that they seemingly weren’t going to come back any time soon.

a loud clatter across the library made you sit up from your medicine-potion-induced trance. your eyes opened wider, scanning the dark library for any movement. madam pince had left two hours ago, given the library had closed and she had no idea you were back here.

“hello?” you whispered, mentally cursing yourself for the stupid mistake. if there was someone here, like a teacher, you surely had just given yourself away.

thankfully for you, it wasn’t a teacher or staff member. instead, it was your best friend.

“y/n? what’re you doing here? it’s twelve-a.m.!” james whispered loudly, moving the books that had blocked your view effortlessly. he kneeled by you on the chair, your body relaxing as you realized it was him.

“baking a cake,” you replied sarcastically. “what does it look like i’m doing, potter?”

“first of all, you know last names hurt me,” james replied. “secondly, you look like shit,”

he felt your forehead. “and you feel like shit,”

“wow, you sure know how to charm a lady, james,” you replied with a playfully eye roll. “don’t worry, i’m on my way back to the dorms, just twenty more minutes,”

james gave you a deadpan look. “mary and lily told me you said that four hours ago,”

so that’s who revealed your location. the traitors.

“james, i have to study! i can’t just not pass my potions o.w.l’s?” you replied.

james sat on the chair diagonal to you, looking at your very obviously sick form. it had to be some strain of the summer flu, given remus had gotten it just a week prior.

“to quote my mother, you have to sleep—it’s what keeps you beautiful,” he tried persuasively. you were not nothing if not vain.

you scoffed. “who’s gonna cares about beauty if i fail my finals?!”

“your future husband?” james tried.

“i won’t be marrying anyone that vain,” you concluded.

“that should make me feel better,” he replied. “but you working yourself to death does not,”

“okay, you can study for twenty more minutes,” he sighed after a moment of you staring at each other. “i’ll go make you a tea and wait with you to make sure you actually come to bed,”

you rolled your eyes and waved him off, returning to your potions textbook in no time. james quickly ambled out of the library and made his way to the kitchen.

thankfully for him, filch was on leave for a few days, not that anyone knew that. he had walked into a particularly nasty prank by james and sirius, leaving him stuck in the hospital wing for a few days. all the staff elected to not tell students, in hopes it’d scare them into not sneaking out at night.

james quickly made his way back to the kitchen, asked the house elves for a tea, and began making his way back. it was in a tiny coffee to go cup—why the house elves had them, james had no idea, but it certainly made his life easier.

he couldn’t have been gone more than a ten minutes, but as james got back, he quickly noticed the angle of the light from your wand was not the same as it had been when he left. james quietly made his way over and smiled warmly at the sight.

there you were, head lying on the table, hands tucked into your sweatshirt in attempts to be warm. you were sound asleep, the potion having finally caught up to you. granted, james was just glad the amount you had drank hadn’t killed you—as he was sure it wasn’t safe at all to finish a vial in one day.

he walked over and summoned a blanket with the flick of his wand, allowing for his hand to catch it immediately. he placed the tea down on the table. then, he pushed the hair out of your face and draped the cover over you, kissing your head gently as he had felt you do to him so many times.

he wrapped it around you and with one swift motion, he wrapped an arm around your knees and another around your neck—cradling you close to his chest. you woke for a moment, brief and unaware, to wrap your arms around his neck. he tried to fight the nerves that twisted in his stomach at your touch.

and all the way from the library to the common room, james held you tight and carried you all the way back, careful not to wake you. you were burning up, but other than that, you looked comfortable. much more comfortable than before.

the fat lady, without a word, swung open when she saw james and he safely brought you inside—laying you down on the couch. you stirred a bit and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“thanks, j,” you whispered.

“of course,” he grinned, sitting beside you, moving your legs on his lap. “now get some sleep, i’ll wait here with you,”

“you’re a good best friend,” you mumbled through a yawn.

james smiled and kissed his fingers, gently placing them on your head. you smiled happily and fell asleep in no time.

he only wished that one day he’d be more than just your best friend.

——

october 11th, 1977:

you sat in front of james on his bed, finishing up an essay you two had worked on together. the entire day, no—the entire week, he’d been acting strange. james was usually strange, but not this strange. he had been gentler and his face would burn up whenever sirius mentioned his little nickname for both of you.

it was beginning to scare you. what if he was becoming uncomfortable with the jokes? the nicknames? what if he had a girlfriend and he didn’t know how to tell you that your relationship with each other would have to change? how would you even react to that?

you looked up at him, noticing the boy wringing his hands. despite this, you said nothing. maybe you could live in denial just a little longer.

“i have something to tell you,” james spoke suddenly.

you looked up, eying him carefully. “what’s up, j?”

james’ face flushed a light pink as he looked up at you sincerely. he swallowed thickly. for a moment, he stared at you. you both just looked into each others eyes and you were unsure what to do next. he’d never been this serious with you.

“you alrig—“

“i love you,” he blurted. “as more than a best friend,”

you would like to say that what you did next was completely intentional, but it wasn’t. as a matter of fact, you weren’t quite sure where it came from.

THUD!

you covered your mouth, looking in shock as james landed on the ground. he wasn’t terribly hurt, just shocked. you were shocked as well.

“that is…not what i expected,” james muttered, standing up and sitting in front of you again.

“what was that for?” he asked.

“i dunno…” you mumbled. “i panicked, i didn’t know what to say…”

james softened his gaze at you and a smile curled onto his lips. soon enough, you began to smile too. and then you both burst into laughter. after you both sobered up, you smiled at him.

“i love you too, as more than a best friend,” you finally replied. it felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders—you finally confesses your biggest secret to james. “just so you know,”

he smiled. “i’m glad to hear that,”

“wow, what a loser,” you commented playfully. “usually this is the scene where the guy kisses the girl,”

he grinned. “really? sort of like this?”

he pulled you in, your lips touching quickly. if this is what heaven felt like, you understood why everyone wanted to go so bad. you pulled him closer, refusing to break the kiss.

you broke apart finally. “yeah…like that,” you grinned.

“will you…?” james stumbled on his words.

you grinned, knowing him perfectly enough to know exactly what he’s asking. “yes, james, i will be your girlfriend,” you replied happily.

he smiled, pulling you in again.

he’d finally confessed it.

bonus;

“what’re you two doing?” you grinned, leaning against the doorway of your son harry’s room.

he threw down a card, glaring at ginny as she placed down her own card with a smirk.

“we’re playing uno,” ginny replied with a smile. “ron didn’t want to play so harry and i decided to go against each other,”

“how is it a muggle game and she’s beating me?! she’s never even played before!” harry exclaimed.

“you underestimate weasley’s,” ginny grinned. “we’re not as ignorant as you think,”

“well, it’s getting late you two,” you commented, glancing at the clock in harry’s room. “i don’t suppose you two plan on playing until the wee hours,”

“mum! we’re thirteen now!” harry groaned. “we can stay up a little later than nine-thirty, right?”

ginny nodded and shrugged. “i mean i’m twelve, but still…”

you sighed in feign annoyance. “fine, ten-fifteen, and then ginny will go sleep in your sisters room and you and ron will have to go to bed—sound good, you two?”

“but—“ harry began.

you smirked. your son—ever the clone of james potter, your husband. “let me rephrase, ten-fifteen, take it or leave it,”

“we’ll take it!” ginny replied quickly.

“yeah, we will,” harry smiled, glancing at ginny with a little glint in his eyes. you and james knew full well the future of harry and ginny’s relationship, even if no one else did.

“good, ten-fifteen,” you said warningly before making your way downstairs.

james lounged on the couch, clicking through tv channels. you curled up beside him.

“they’re doing the thing,” you commented, knowing james would know exactly what you meant.

“remember when we were that young and in love?” james grinned.

“aren’t we still young and in love?” you teased.

“not that young anymore, but in love? yes,” he replied with a smirk. you rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek, wrapping your arms around his chest and draping your legs across his lap.

“i’m glad it’s ginny, she’s a bold little lady,” your husband grinned. “just the other day, she defended your son against this kid at the little league quidditch try-outs, even punched his nose,”

“i know, harry came home and told me all about it,” you grinned. “all impressed and admiring, even ron saw how in love he looked,”

“well, we potter men love ballsy ladies,” james joked.

you rolled your eyes. “don’t i know it…”

[daisyblog]

Birthday Twin

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry welcome their baby girl into the world.

Warning: labour, delivery, child birth, gas and air

11th of April 2024

35 weeks and 5 days pregnant

The Tomlinson family had all travelled to Doncaster for a few days of celebrating YN turning thirty. 

“Your last couple of days of being twenty nine Kiddo!”. Louis gently ruffled YN’s hair as he walked by her in their grandparents kitchen. Both filling their plates with some more food from the buffet spread their Nan had made. 

“Don’t remind me!” YN groaned as she reached over and put some extra sandwiches on her plate. 

“Fookin’ ‘ell, is baby girl hungry tonight?”. Louis joked as he watched his sister continue to fill her plate that was already slightly full of food. 

YN laughed as she looked at her plate compared to Louis. “Your niece is a foodie, what can I say?”. She naturally ran her hand over her large bump. 

“Can I?” Louis gestured towards her tummy, his way of asking if he could touch. When YN nodded, Louis placed his hand over bump. “‘ello little one, are you gonna come and meet us soon?”. 

“You’re going to spoil her rotten aren’t you?”. YN couldn’t help but smile at the small interaction. She had witnessed her brother as a brother, dad and uncle already and she could tell how much love he already had for her little girl. 

“Uh obviously, I just hope she comes before tour starts again.” 

---

12th of April 2024

35 weeks 6 days pregnant 

8:30am

YN suddenly woke from small niggles in her lower stomach, something she had been experiencing for a few weeks. She tried to ignore the dull ache and go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning, she gave in and got up. 

As she entered the kitchen she noticed her grandmother sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hand. “Morning my love, you’re awake early!”. 

YN began to make herself a cup of tea, as she sat beside Jen. “Morning Nan, yeah braxton hicks again!”. 

“You’ve been having them a lot haven’t you darling?”. Jen had a concerned look on her face as she watched her eldest granddaughter stir her tea. 

YN only shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently it’s normal at this stage, I just didn’t realise how painful they could be”. 

11:00am

As the morning went on YN noticed how the niggles only continued and become a tad more painful. But not wanting to draw attention or to cause everyone to worry, especially Harry, she suggested her and Harry take Teddy for a walk.

They were walking through the quiet field, Teddy running just a bit in front of them, when YN stopped suddenly and held her tummy as a sharp pain caught her off guard.

“What’s wrong babe? Are you alright?” Harry immediately went into panic mode, worry evident all over his face. His hand protectively wrapped around her smaller frame. 

“Yeah, just cramp that’s all”. YN noticed Harry’s worried look, his eyebrows in a tight frown and tried her best to hide how much pain she was really in. “I’m fine, it’s braxton hicks again.”. 

Although Harry wasn’t fully convinced, they continued their walk before heading back to the house. 

2:00pm 

Within a few hours, the pain had gotten worse with YN baring her weight on anyone or anything to try and ease the pain. It was when YN cried out in pain, as she grabbed onto Louis’ hand, that Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. 

“I’m phoning the hospital, this can’t just be braxton hicks!” Harry announced as he began to dial the number on his phone. 

“Harry’s right Tiny, you’re in far too much pain for this not to be real labour”. Louis agreed with Harry, taking note at how much his sister was squeezing his hand. 

After phoning the hospital and explaining everything to the midwife, Harry was told that it sounded like YN was in early labour and they needed to monitor and time how quick she was having contractions. 

At this news Daisy, Phoebe and the other men decided to take Lucky and Olive to Phoebe and Jack’s house to give YN some space before she had to go to hospital. 

“Ahhhh!” YN cried out in pain as she held onto Harry for support. “This hurts so fookin’ much!”.

Harry rubbed circles on YN’s back, trying to comfort her as much as he could. “I know baby…but you’re doing so well.”.

“You’re doing so well YN”. Lottie praised her sister from where she sat next to Louis. “All the pain is worth it in the end, trust me”.

“Lottie’s right Tiny…just think you’ll be holding your baby sooner than you thought”. Louis gave Harry a small smile, knowing how special that moment will be for them both. 

5:30pm

With her contractions lasting around a minute and only being five minutes apart, YN found herself in the hospital with gas and air being her new best friend. 

YN was lying down on the bed, the gas and air attachment in her mouth as she breathed through another contraction. Harry sat on one side of the bed telling her how proud of her he was and saying how it wouldn’t be long until their little one would be here. 

“Harry…baby…I can’t do this!”. YN’s head hit the white plump pillow behind her, as the contraction ended. “I’m so tired already.”.

“You can do it and you are doing it”. Harry brushed some of her away from her face. “You’re making me so proud!”. 

“YN, you’re doing amazing and just remember nothing worth having is easy”. Lottie encouraged her sister, having been through labour and birth herself, she what to say. 

“Listen to your birthing partners YN, you’re doing amazing”. The midwife smiled proudly at how supportive and calm they both were. “How about trying to the birthing pool?”. 

Harry helped YN into the pool and instantly YN’s once tense body was now relaxed. In between contractions she began to make jokes about how she’s glad she had shaved her legs before that day. 

When the next contraction hit, Harry was quick to kneel down beside the pool and hold onto YN’s hand as she took in the gas and air to numb the pain. “That’s it, keep breathing through the pain, you’re doing so well love”. 

8:00pm

“So how did you two meet?”. The midwife began to make conversation with the couple as another contraction ended.

YN was back sitting on the bed, the attachment still in her hand whilst her other one held Harry’s. “He was my brother’s best friend”.

“Oh how interesting!” The midwife leaned forward in her chair, eager to hear more. “How did that go? You know breaking the news to him?”.

“Not well but he came around pretty quickly”. Harry explained as YN worked her way through another sharp pain. 

“I wouldn’t have listened even if he didn’t come around”. YN allowed the gas and air to do a little bit of talking. “Couldn’t resist the charm”. 

Before anyone could respond, a gush of water surrounded YN and turned the blue sheet below a darker shade. “And that’s your water breaking!” The midwife announced before she helps YN to clean herself up. 

11:45pm

The contractions were coming thick and fast, YN was attached to the gas and air more than ever and Harry tried to hide how hard she was squeezing his hand. 

“YN I’m going to exam you, is that alright darling?”. The midwife stood at the bottom on the bed, gloves covering her fingers ready for the examination. With YN’s permission, the midwife began to see how far YN was dilated. “Oh darling, I can feel baby’s head, do you feel like you-“.

Before the midwife finished; YN let out a small groan as she bore down and began to push. Harry was overwhelmed with joy, excitement but also nervousness that any minute now their whole world was about to change. 

“Keep listening to your body YN, you’re doing amazing my darling” the midwife encouraged as she continued to watch the baby’s head begin to crown. 

“Aww I can see her head!”. Lottie’s excited voice could be heard as she took in every moment of watching her niece being born. 

YN took a rest in between contractions before she needed to push again. “I love you  “. Harry placed a peck to YN’s forehead. 

“I love you too!”. 

0:01am

After several more pushes, Harry and Lottie were in awe as the tiny little baby appeared and was placed on YN’s bear chest. The tears streamed down YN and Harry’s cheeks. 

“Hello baby girl!”. YN held her daughter tight, and kissed her head gently. Despite all the pain YN was still in, a large smile covered her face as she looked down at the small version of herself and Harry.

“Baby girl born one minute past midnight on the thirteen of April, weighting six pound exactly”. The midwife announced to the three of them. 

Harry smiled down at his wife and newborn daughter. “Happy birthday baby!”. It was in that moment that YN had realised that their little girl was born on her thirtieth birthday. 

---

13th of April 2024

6 hours old

“Thank you.” Harry spoke into the quiet and calm room as he held their newborn in his bare arms. “You’re a real life superwoman for doing all that and bringing our girl into the world!”.

“I’d do it a thousand times again because she was totally worth it”. YN watched as Harry’s hand held onto the tiny newborn fingers. “I couldn’t have done it without you or Lotts though.”.

“She’s your double”. Harry smiled as he observed the little’s one features, all resembling her mother’s. “She looks like your Mum too!”. He gave YN a sad smile. 

YN didn’t want to get too emotional at the thought that her Mum wasn’t there to meet her daughter, so she tried to remain positive. “I think me Mum sent her as a birthday gift and it’s the best gift I’ve ever had”. 

---

Instagram Reel:

Made by Lottie

The black and white video begins, the sound of Heartbeat by James Arthur playing over it. 

YN is sat on the birthing ball, her hips moving slowly, in her grandparents living room. Harry kneeling down in front of her, holding her gently and whispering how well she’s doing. Louis is sat to her side, holding onto her hand and being a support whilst he can. 

In the hospital corridor, YN has her neck tucked into Harry’s chest as they stop to allow her to breathe through a contraction. Harry places small pecks to the top of her head. 

Sitting crossed leg on the bed, YN takes in the gas and air that she’s holding up to her mouth. Her eyes are closed as she’s breathing through each contraction. 

YN is in the birthing pool, the gas and air still attached to her hand has she takes in another breath, Harry is kneeling down by her side. She holds onto his hand, he looks on with a slight frown on his face as he watches his wife work through another contraction. 

Now lying on the bed, YN cradles her new born daughter to her chest, tears running down her and Harry’s face as they meet their little baby for the first time. Grace Johannah Robyn Styles had stolen their hearts and YN couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift. 

---

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson, and 5,634,543 others

ynstyles Grace Johannah Robyn Styles🤍 View all 15,788 comments

niallhoran Aww my little bestie❤️Can’t wait to meet her xx ⌞ ynstyles Little Grace is excited to meet her Uncle Niall!!

gemmastyles I’M AN AUNTIE🥰❤️Thank you both for blessing me with the most beautiful niece xx ⌞ynstyles AUNTIE GEM🩷

annetwist My family grows and my heart is so full❤️Congratulations my darlings! Grace is a beautiful little girl and I love you all very much xxx ⌞ynstyles We love you😘🥰Thank you for being the best Grandma already❤️

lottietomlinson Our beautiful Grace!! What a magical moment watching her come into the world. Love you all ❤️ ⌞ynstyles Thank you for being there every step of the way Lotts!! I’m so glad I got to share that special moment with you. Love you lots🩷

louist91 Can’t wait for more cuddles!! Proud of you both!! Grace is amazing!!xx ⌞ynstyles Grace loved her snuggles with Uncle Lou xxx ⌞harryfan3 Uncle Louis🥹 ⌞louisfan7 I bet Louis is the best uncle!!!!

zayn congrats guys! So happy for you. Big love x ⌞ynstyles Thanks Z! Hope to see you soon xx ⌞1dfan6 OMG!!! WE’RE GETTING A REUNION!

louteasdale 🥹🥹🥹Congratulations babes, can’t wait for a cuddle xx

liampayne Congratulations both. Can’t wait to meet her!

the.daisytomlinson Another precious niece to love🩷 So proud of you sis xx

thephoebetomlinson Olive’s little bestie🩷🩷

marktommo1111 Beyond proud❤️Another chapter begins!xx

mrlewisburton Congratulations to both of you. Welcome to parenthood❤️

sallietommo A precious baby girl! So proud of you beautiful girl❤️❤️❤️

perrieedwards Congratulations babes🩷Welcome to motherhood xx

pillowpersonpp Wow! What a cutie🥹

daniellepeazer Beautiful name🤍Can’t wait to meet her☺️

ryan.viggars ❤️

jefezoff Congrats guys! Very happy for you both!

j_corden A huge congratulations. Can’t wait to meet the little one

jack.varley7 Congrats guys!!

brianasrealaccount Congratulations Auntie YN and Uncle Harry. I can’t wait to meet baby Grace. I love you so much, love from Freddie❤️ ⌞ynstyles We can’t wait to see you Fred! Grace can’t wait for cuddles from her big cousin. Love and miss you soooooo much😘

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream @treehouse-mouse

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"concrete" - hotch x fem!bau!reader

your crush on your boss is so nearly at its breaking point; based on the request found here

cw: canonical violence, mutual pining, mild miscommunication, not a happy ending but not an unhappy ending lmao sorry luv ya

word count: 1.4k

------

You’ve been crushing on your boss for exactly ten months and nine days. You’ve known him for close to a year, but when you think about it, that two month difference in time is just about what it takes to warm up to Aaron Hotchner. 

He was a statue when you first met him. Unwavering, stoic, and maybe even a little strict (definitely very strict). He didn’t crack a smile around you until the first case you ever worked with the BAU was wrapped up, and he definitely didn’t make any jokes until much later on. You discovered underneath the stalwart, brick wall you met was the same man, only softer. Like one of those hard-shell candies with a jelly center. He was incredibly kind, patient, observant, and honorable. 

And he would do anything for anyone on his team at the drop of a hat. 

You also got to see the more playful side of him as you got to know him, as your caseload with the BAU only grew. Sure, he was a stickler for paperwork and procedure, but was he though? 

You once saw him take over a report JJ was supposed to finish so she could make it to Henry’s t-ball game. You definitely witnessed him reassuring Penelope that it was okay that she hacked into the Interpol database for info on an UnSub, and when Derek needed help tracking down his cousin in Chicago, Hotch had the whole team pitch in, which was certainly some kind of ethics violation. 

Little did you know that Aaron was crushing on you, too. He didn’t word it that way in his head, of course, but the second he watched you stride into the conference room to consult on a case, he knew he was in trouble. He expedited the transfer paperwork himself, even followed Strauss in the elevator on her way out one night to make her sign it. 

He grew fond of you quickly, of your insights, your compassion with victims’ families, your quick wit. You always bring homemade cookies or cupcakes for the entire team when it’s someone’s birthday, and you always have a different perspective to offer on cases. He especially loves when you are clearly thinking hard about something, so you cross your ankles - sitting or standing, he’s noticed - and tap your toes against the floor. 

Aaron’s ways of showing affection were not lost on you. He brought you coffee on more than one occasion, but he also brought coffee to the rest of the team. He straddles the invisible line between Caring Boss and More Than That so well. You’re not exactly sure what his actions mean.

Like today, for example. The team is in a small town in Kentucky, and you’re deep into a case - a spree, four murders in four days. You have been awake for about twenty straight hours, give or take, and the world around you has turned hazy. 

You are combing through a suspect’s letters with Spencer, your eyes growing heavier by the second. Your chin is propped up by your arm, and you finally close your eyes, just for one second of respite. Your arm gives out and your head whacks against the table, a wake-up call no amount of espresso could ever provide. 

“Shit, Y/N. Are you okay?” Spencer’s out of his chair in an instant as you lift your head, rubbing the already-formed welt on your forehead. 

The spot is tender and red and you’re dizzy, the wheels on your chair not helping matters. Why are there three Reids hovering over you? They meld back into one Reid after you blink a few times, and as you’re nodding to reassure Spencer you’re okay, you hear Hotch walk in. “I heard a thud. What happened?” 

The conference room in the police precinct is teeny and already cramped, so Spencer has to move out of the way for Hotch to get to you. 

“She smacked her head on the table,” Spencer explains hurriedly. “I’ll get you an ice pack,” he scurries off, likely to ask one of the local officers, leaving you alone with Hotch. 

You’re still reeling and a bit disoriented from the contact with the solid oak table. Hotch takes the rolling desk chair beside yours, previously occupied by Spencer, and is hunching to meet your eye line. “You should really go back to the hotel and sleep for a little bit,” he says.

“Nobody else is,” you protest just as Hotch squares up to you to examine the welt on your forehead. You see him visibly grimace, his lips pressing deep into his face.

His thumb is suddenly on your forehead, padding around the bruise. It’s tender, and you know it would hurt if he touched you even a centimeter to the left, but he’s hitting it at just the right spot. You can see the lines on his palm.

“Yeah, well, no one else just concussed themselves,” he points out. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s tired, too. His eyes are heavy, the bags under them puffier than usual. 

“If I’m concussed, then I really shouldn’t go to sleep,” you point out, and Hotch’s expression tightens. 

“What day is it today?” He asks, retracting his hand and pulling back into his own space. 

“Wednesday,” you reply, then your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. 12:17 AM. “Thursday,” you correct. 

Hotch releases a pressure-cooker sigh and narrows his eyes at you scrupulously. You lean forward in your chair in a challenge. “I’m fine,” you insist. 

“I just wish you’d take care of yourself so I wouldn’t have to.” 

This catches you off guard. Your brows furrow and you frown at Hotchner, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” you ask, feeling offended. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “You don’t think I take care of myself?”

Hotch’s mouth is hanging open just slightly, and he’s shaking his head. “No, Y/N, that’s not what I-” 

“You and I both know you would tell me if my performance was inadequate,” you decide in that moment - maybe it’s the potential concussion, or maybe it’s the exhaustion - to rip into him. “I don’t need a babysitter, Aaron.” 

Hotchner shakes his head again. “I know you don’t need a babysitter,” he says calmly. Irritatingly calmly. “I just meant that there are many other things I’d rather be doing…” 

Your mouth goes dry. Obnoxiously, with the cadence of a confused basset hound, you say, “huh?” 

Aaron’s cheeks are pink now, and he swallows hard. “I’d better go check on Reid and that ice pack,” he murmurs, but before he can roll away, you grab the arm of his chair.  

“Aaron,” you breathe out, and suddenly he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, like there’s a spotlight shining down on you from the ceiling of a little police precinct in Middle of Nowhere, Kentucky. 

His brown eyes are so soft at this moment. His eyebrows have softened from their usual piercing, investigative furrow. He knees press into yours, and you want so badly to bridge that gap between his face and yours. His mouth is hanging open, only slightly, and you watch with bated breath as his tongue juts out - just barely - to moisten his lips. 

The door flies open at that moment, and Spencer’s shifting three different ice packs among his hands. “I’ve got gel, I’ve got water-based, and they also had one of those beaded eye masks that people put in the freezer for self-care at home,” he laughs at this, stopping at the head of the table when he realizes he very clearly interrupted something. “Should… should I go?” 

You’re rolling back from Hotch, crossing your ankles and shaking your head. “No, you’re fine, Spence,” you say hurriedly and squeakily, just as Hotch clears his throat and rises from his seat. He lingers in the door on his way out. As you’re taking the gel ice pack from Spencer and placing it gingerly against your forehead, your gaze meets Hotch’s. 

He’s boring into you with those beautiful molten chocolate eyes, and he purses his lips pensively for one fleeting moment, as if to say, to be continued. 

“What was all that about?” Spencer asks as he sits back down. You shake your head. 

“Nothing,” you feel concrete tension in your jaw that radiates all the way down to your toes. You grab the next pile of letters and open one. The fact that you have to pretend like nothing just happened, like you didn’t just share an absurd amount of tension with your boss? It feels like your entire body is on pins and needles. “Let’s just keep going.”

[chasedbyatlantic]

flawless, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — joel miller comes to you hurt and in pain, after realizing that you are the only one that he can find peace with - you're there to welcome him with open arms.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, boston qz era!joel, gender neutral!reader, no use of y/n, frenemies to lovers type trope, angsty to fluff, mentions of blood/injuries/death (lightly mentioned), joel being so sappy i love it, swearing, cute ending. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.9k

a/n: i hope u love this as much as i do. i've been meaning to write it for a while, and it's a bit of a diff style from my writing but i love how it turned out! make sure to reblog, like, comment and follow for more! xoxo

—

It had to have been three in the morning by now. When Joel said he was going to be at your place by seven, you believed him. He was a man of his word after all - or at least ninety nine percent of the time he was. He had told you this morning that he was heading outside of the walls after his shift at the "graveyard" (the nickname given to where the bodies of infected were burned), and he would be back just after sunset. You had protested to join him on his well-travelled route, but he had forbid you from going with him. Despite not going with him, he had promised to swing by your place once he was back and drop off any goods he may have scavenged while out.

You weren't sure why he wouldn't agree to let you come, it wasn't like he was your father, or brother, or boyfriend - you guys were friends. Sure, the two of you had hooked up every so often, but that gives him no right to make decisions for you, about what you can do or where you can go. It's the zombie apocalypse for Christ sake, you can do what you want when you want.

You had been up for an extra few hours, it was way past the time you would usually be asleep. You were waiting for that knock on the door, you were waiting for the bickers on why you were awake and waiting for his return, you were waiting for Joel. In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were up. Maybe it was the thought in the back of your head that he was dead, or stranded alone somewhere far outside of the walls.

You had to shake those gruesome thoughts out of your head as you were forced up and toward your window, having to close it due to the newly started rain. As soon as the window was shut, the sounds of pitter-patter were echoed through your entire apartment, the only thing it did was put you on edge. He was probably at home, you thought to yourself, thinking it was too late to bother you and that he would see you first thing tomorrow. You could only hope for that.

You had decided it would be best to go and sit down on your sofa, the one in front of the TV that hadn't worked for twenty something years. It wouldn't hurt you if you remained up for the next little bit, just in case. In case there would be a knock on your door, in case he showed up. You took a seat on the well weared in part of the sofa, kicking your shoes off and cuddling up to the blanket covering the arm. It wouldn't hurt you if you stayed up waiting with your eyes shut, would it?

It was a quarter to five when a few sets of knocks went off at your door. You had shot up from the light rest you had fallen into, mentally cursing yourself for not being able to stay up. Was it Joel? You really shouldn't be caring this much about him, or this situation. You were sure it wasn't anything serious, but this is what friends do for each other, right?

You had gotten up as quick as you could, tripping over your shoes and almost face planting on the ground. Without spending any time to worry about it, you moved over to the door. Whoever it was on the other side, Joel or not, mustn’t have heard you make your way over to the door since there was another set of desperate knocks. It felt like an eternity while you undid all four locks, before swinging it open.

Your eyes could only fall into the gaze of the grey ones in front of you. You weren't sure if he was crying, or if the paths under his eyes were extra watery from the torrential downpour happening outside (though, you wouldn't question him about it). Your eyes had scanned over his saddened face, to the puddle of water beneath his shoes. Your hand had automatically found its way to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his skin as gentle as possible, "Fuck, Joel."

You could feel him soften his muscles when you did this, despite his facial expression remaining neutral, "I gotta come in." He had mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You had immediately dropped your hand from his face, and moved out of the doorframe, allowing Joel to enter. It was only when the dull light from your candle lit lamp engulfed Joel that you could really see what had happened to him.

A black eye, a busted lip, small bruises littered around every masculine feature he had. You were going to kill whoever did this to him. "I got clothes that'll fit you, hold on." You had turned and shuffled your way into your room, digging through the drawers when you had reached them. You had a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you, but would most likely fit Joel. Before leaving the room, you swiped a shirt that was laying in the pile of clean clothes off to the side.

You emerged not long after, seeing the barely-clothed man remove his last sock off his right foot. You two were past the point of being embarrassed in front of each other, you had learned to adapt due to the many years spent surviving together. As you walked past Joel, toward the kitchen, you shoved the clothes into his arms. You wanted to give him a little privacy, so he could hold onto his pride, if he managed to have any left.

Making your way into the kitchen, you immediately got out a mug from your tiny mug collection, and turned the gas-powered stove top on. Placing the mug beside the stove, you had brought over a little pot and dumped an entire bottle of water into it. It didn't take long for the water to boil, so once it was done, you immediately put it in the mug labeled "World's Best Boss" and started to scavenge. You hadn't opened the box of tea you were looking for, you wanted to save it for a special occasion. Tonight was special enough, right?

You had found it after a moment of searching, taking a packet out of the box and moving back over to the living room. Your eyes fell on the emptiness of the sofa, the man nowhere to be found. He couldn't have left, you didn't hear the door open or close. Just before you were going to call out for him, he walked out of the darkness (his limp more noticeable than before). "Put the clothes'n y'ur bath tub, didn't want the floor all wet for ya' to clean." His voice was hoarse.

You shot him an almost unapologetic look as you placed the mug down, dropping the tea bag inside. "Stop worryin' 'bout that, now sit down and let me help." For once in his life, Joel Miller kept quiet and did what you told him. You had wished it would be under different circumstances, but a win is a win. "Now," You began, "I know you like coffee, but this was all I could find."

It had to taken Joel a moment before he realized that there was a warm drink waiting for him, his nose too stuffed to have taken in the scent. It had been a while since Joel had something warm to drink, a while since someone's cared enough about him to make him something like that. Even though he despised any sort of drink other than coffee (and water, of course), he would not complain about this. Not now, not ever. He reached forward for the mug, carefully bringing it back to his lap. "Best boss, hm?"

You could only giggle as you were now opposite of Joel, instead of being on the couch, you had pushed it away and were digging on the floor. Months ago, you had figured out there were two layers of wood that divided you and the person who occupied the apartment below you. That space served as a cubby, so you figured why not use it for its purpose? "You're gonna be jumpin' with joy, Joel Miller." He looked puzzled, trying his best to ignore the immense pounding that came from everywhere in his body. That's when he caught glimpse of what you were holding, headache medicine.

Sure, headache medicine was some measly little thing that probably didn't work as well as it used to anymore, not many people would bat an eye at it before the apocalypse. But now, it was gold. People were sentenced to the firing squad if any guard in the QZ found out about medicine that wasn't recorded, since it was so scarce. "Why the fuck do you have that?" Was all Joel could say, forgetting about himself for a moment, and worrying about you. That's what friends do, right?

"For emergencies like this." You had gotten up from the floor, kicking the wooden plank back into its home before moving over to Joel. You had opened the cap, taking out four. Four would send you into the doctors office if you took them before they expired, but since they expired twenty years ago, they only worked half (if you were lucky) of what they usually would. You had reached out for Joel's hand and placed the pills in there, "Drink tea with'em to help them go down easier."

He listened to you, silent for a moment. After he had swallowed the mouthful (literally) of pills, he broke silence. "I don't want you runnin' 'round'n gettin' shit like that." He was referring to the pills, "You know what happens if ya' get caught." How could even talk this much with a busted lip, you thought to yourself. You repeated the 'if ya' get caught' part to him as you slipped away once more into the kitchen.

Joel called your name out a few times as you left, leaning farther back into the couch each time. By you talking to him, he was distracted. Distracted from the crushing headache, the horrible tension that rose to his lips every time words were escaping from his mouth, the pain throughout his body. He would tell you what happened, when you came back, but only if you asked.

You returned with a small bowl and a rag, something to clean up his face (and anywhere under the clothes he may want cleaned). You sat down beside Joel, on the sofa, "Lay down." He looked confused, not really understanding what you had meant. Not wanting to waste anymore time with those open wounds leaking every so often, you grabbed his shoulders and forcefully (yet carefully) brought him down so his head was rested in your lap.

You could tell that it hurt Joel when you did that by the small grunts he had managed to let escape his lips. You didn't mean to hurt him, not at all, but you couldn't deal with any bickering if he decided to start now. "So, Mister Miller," You began, dipping the rag into the bowl, "How did you get your shit rocked so badly?"

He wasn't impressed by the way you put it, shooting you a quick glare, "Runners." Was all he said. Runners? How could runners do this to him? A million thoughts ran through your head, but you quickly cut yourself short. "Are you-" Joel knew what you were asking, was he bit? "No." He responded, a bit too quick, before continuing his short, yet descriptive, story, "Was with a few people ya'dunno, came across Runners out in a building, they all turned on me'n tried to get out." He paused for a moment, "Four'o them plus two runners on me, would've killed 'em myself if the runners didn't get 'em first."

You could tell Joel was hesitant to tell you, thinking you would see him as weak. No, far from that actually. You could only think highly of the man laying in your lap, for he's how you were thriving in this apocalypse. You brought the dampened rag to the gash on his cheek, he jumped as it was alcohol, and not water, "Don't beat yourself up too much for it," Joel flinched at the stinging sensation, "Your secret's safe with me."

Joel had crossed his arms, his hands brushing past your thighs. You felt as if they lingered too long, maybe it wasn't a passing matter. He's comfortable with you, you know that. This is what friends do, right? You had assessed the other wounds on his face, almost all disinfected completely. The bowl of alcohol now having a slight red tone to it.

After a moment, Joel broke the comfortable silence the two of you were in, "I shouldn't have came. Wastin' all y'ur supplies'n all." This didn't impress you, so Joel had earned a slight slap on his shoulder. "Just let me take care of you, god dammit. How many times have you done it for me?" He was silent after that, knowing. Countless times, after roudy street fights for ration cards, Joel had cleaned you up. Cleaned the blood from your face and stitched the deep gashes that would appear. You were only returning the favour, because that's what friends do.

"Plus," You added now, "we can just scavenge more stuff the next time we take a vacation from this place." If you taking out medicine for him didn't piss him off, this sure as hell did. Without thinking, he reached forward and grabbed your wrist, the wrist that was cleaning up his purpled lip. "Ya' ain't goin' out there, not now, not ever." You had shooed his hand off from you, brushing the comment off, "Can't protect me forever, boss. What's a little fun anyway?" You shouldn't have had the playful grin on your face, but you couldn't help yourself.

Joel could only give you an unhappy look, knowing that you couldn't be stopped with it, as much as he might've tried. He wasn't in the mood to fight you, he wasn't ever really in the mood to fight you. Joel had sat up without a warning, almost causing whatever was left in the bowl to go flying. This earned a whack from you.

"Uhm, ow." He muttered, maybe you shouldn't have done that, added to his pain and all. "Gotta get goin', though." He didn't want to say that, you could tell. It was the tone that he said it in. You could only meet his gaze for a moment, "Stay the night." When someone was hurting like this, how could you say no. How could you turn your best friend away, and let him go home, when he wasn't okay?

You weren't expecting Joel to agree to stay, or at least not cave in without any convincing. It was strange, really, he was acting different. It had to have been the drugs that you had given him, you thought to yourself, maybe it had something that made you nicer to the people you're close with.

You had helped the man up, and left the dirty rag on the table. That was tomorrow (well, when you woke up)'s problem. You took his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, helping him walk better. You would mother him about his limp and legs when he was recovered. Joel was holding onto you as he moved in sync with you to your room.

Once you got there, you had let go of him. He looked at you for a moment, before turning away. "Can ya', uh, help with my shirt?" He asked. You could only nod your head, maybe a bit too quick for your liking. "Yeah, o'course." Then, following what you just agreed to do, you grabbed the hems of the shirt Joel was wearing and helped to slide it off of him. This is what friends do, right?

You tried your best not to stare, you really did, but the marks on his chest pulled you in. After taking a moment longer to let your eyes linger, you pulled away and helped him under the comforter. "I'll take care'o those tomorrow." You had turned to make your way the door, to sleep on the couch, to give Joel as much space as he could. He grabbed your wrist, though, before you were able to get too far from him. "Can you, er, stay?"

Joel wasn't looking at you when he asked that, he was looking anywhere but. You wanted to stay, really did you, but you felt like you couldn't. "Listen, Joel, I want to, bu-" You were cut off by him interrupting you, "Please." Please. Joel Miller doesn't say please. This took you almost by shock, but you tried not to show it. You only nodded your head, and moved over to the other side of the bed.

You could feel Joel watching your every move, but you didn't care at this moment. You removed your pants, but kept your shirt undergarments on. You would call today a day of victories, not for Joel, but for you. He had listened to you so much, and didn't fight it. You wish it was under different circumstances, but a win is a win. You knew he wasn't up to his usual par, but it still counted.

It happened with a blink of an eye. First you were hesitant to get into the bed with him, not wanting any mixed signals to be sent at the current moment, next you were laying right beside him, and his current good arm wrapped around your waist. If Joel was happy, you were happy. The sounds of rain made it better, made it more peaceful for Joel. He could relax, and take his mind off of the pain he was feeling. This is what friends do for each other.

—

flawless, the neighbourhood

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The most anticipated race of the year is here, and the most controversial, Las Vegas GP. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, angst, injury WC: 3.5k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Round Twenty Two - Las Vegas

Kristian sat on a weight bench, flipping through the pages of the motherhood magazine he was reading. Every so often he would look up and give some guidance until the tips became a nuisance.

“I should have fired you,” you muttered as you rose up from the last lunge.

“You say that a lot but you should keep your back straight,” he shot back, grating you further with the slow scrape of the page turning. “And keep your feet in line with your hips.”

“Can we play some decent music at least?” you whined between the gulps of water you swallowed down. The training was far less intensive than they used to be with everything focused on just maintaining fitness and health rather than a goal weight or strength like before.

“Nope,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying being able to boss you around the gym again. “Baroque is good for the baby.”

“Bullshit.” There was no way the classical music meant anything to her, she was only the size of an avocado - or so Lando said. He had an app that he checked daily and uploaded photos onto as a keepsake. 

Kristian turned back to the start of the magazine and turned it around, tapping the title of the article. “So you think you know more than Harvard scholars now, Spitfire?”

He took your silence for defeat and pointed to the pool door. “Twenty lap cool down and then it’s breakfast.”

Your stomach grumbled at the mention of food and you grabbed a towel as you passed the door to the changing room. Breakfast didn’t feel like the right term since it was well past lunchtime. The whole Las Vegas schedule had screwed your body clock with the late night practices and qualifying rounds but you were grateful it was the last night of it. 

Lando and Charles had been fast asleep when you slipped out of the room. Something had disturbed you from the dream you were having and despite the room being pitch black with the thick blockout curtains your body could tell it was daytime. Thankfully Kristian was already awake and happy to move your fitness session up a few hours. 

Cool water washed over you as you dove into the tepid pool and started to glide along the surface. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe. The monotony was therapeutic and you didn’t even bother to keep count of the laps - your mind was elsewhere.

You had been dead on your feet in the wee hours of the morning after you finally left the track with Lando and Charles after qualifying finished. They still had adrenaline flooding their systems and had no hope of sleeping when they sunk into the couch cushions and pulled your exhausted body over their legs. 

You were in a drowsy state, half asleep but half aware of the other two chatting quietly together. Their hands had softly caressed your skin, brushing your shirt up so they could feel the warmth of your abdomen beneath their palms. 

“She’s so beautiful, Cha, and she’s carrying our kid. I don’t think I have ever been this happy in my life,” Lando hummed as he rested his head on Charles’ shoulder and smiled at their hands. 

“We are very lucky to have her,” he agreed as he kissed Lando softly.

“So…” You tasted the mischief in Lando’s drawn out tone and it stirred some energy back into your body. “When can I start calling you daddy?”

Charles’ legs shifted beneath you with a groan and you willed your eyes to open as his cheeks flushed pink. “Mon cher...”

“You can call me papi chulo,” Lando smirked. “It means-”

“I know what it means,” Charles choked, knowing exactly who had taught him that too. “Carlos is a menace, but if anyone is going to be papi chulo it’s me.”  

You nearly swallowed a mouthful of water as the memory of what had happened next led to a lapse in your count and you pulled yourself out of the pool with a splutter. Those two had a lot to answer for.

“Here,” Kristian said as he tossed a bottle of water to you. “Try not to drink from the pool.”

“What would I do without you?” you asked dryly. 

“I don’t dare to think about that,” he joked before he said your favourite words. “Let’s go eat.”

You stared at the egg on your plate before pushing it away with disinterest. Charles looked up from his own plate and frowned at the rare sight of the food that remained on yours. 

“Would you like something else, mamie?”

You smiled at the new endearment and watched Lando cut an avocado in half before passing one part over to you. The vibrant green flesh did look delicious but when you held it in your hand you could only think about the bump that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. You hadn’t noticed it before changing into your swimsuit but when you peeled the tight layer off in the gym's changing room you had frozen. The mirrored wall caught your side profile under glaring fluorescent lights and there, just below your belly button it swelled ever so slightly. 

A hand waved in front of your face and you broke away from the memory to see both your boyfriends watching you with worried frowns. One of them had obviously spoken to you but you couldn’t recall hearing them as you stared at the avocado. 

“You’re crying,” Lando murmured as he swiped away the tear on your cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s this big already. Our baby is the size of an avocado. She’s so tiny,” you said with a small laugh, raising the fruit higher for inspection. They looked at you like you were a little crazy and it wouldn’t have been the first time that was suspected but you pushed the chair out and placed the avocado back on the table. “Come, I want to show you something.”

You led them to the bedroom and Charles opened his mouth to break the bad news that they didn’t have time for even a quickie. The thought had crossed your mind when you found them still naked and splayed across the bed before breakfast was ready, but they needed to get to the track soon for media duties and to prepare for the race. 

“That’s a shame but also not what I came here for,” you admitted as you started to remove your shirt. 

“I’m getting mixed messages here,” Lando chuckled as he reached for his own shirt. “But I don’t mind being late.”

“Stop, before I really do make you stay,” you chuckled knowing they would do anything for you. You dropped your shirt and turned sideways while you stared at the reflection in the mirror. “Look…”

Their eyes followed the wave of your hand, the way your palm drifted over your hip to cradle the small bump, and Lando gasped along with Charles soft praise. Knees hit the soft carpet below your feet and warm lips replaced your hand, teasing your skin with kisses. Two heads of dark hair bowed against your stomach and whispered words of promise you couldn’t quite hear, but they weren’t for your ears. Finally they looked up, emerald and azure eyes filled with enough love that you were certain your chest was going to crack open.

You reached for their cheeks and felt the same dampness that coated yours. “She’s real,” you whispered. It had taken a few weeks but finally it all felt real. She wasn’t just a picture on a piece of paper or measurements of a hormone in a blood test. She was real, and she was yours.

“You look like a twat,” you greeted Max with a grin, flapping the collar of his race suit made to replicate Elvis Presley. “You’re just missing the blue suede shoes.”

Max rolled his eyes and ducked his head when you tried to mess his gelled hair up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Oh I am,” you laughed, slipping back into Charles’ side. “I’m actually happy to sit out this circus act.”

Max narrowed his eyes as he scanned your face for a lie or bitterness but all he saw was a bright smile and genuine amusement sparkling in your eyes. A sense of relief washed over him as for the first time since losing your seat you looked completely content and happy.

“I don’t blame you,” he finally replied and looked down at the costume he had been given. He would be glad when all this was over too. “I’ll see you at Omnia?”

The sun had already set on the strip and the temperature was quickly dropping as the hour grew late, and closer to the start of the race. “Maybe, if it’s a boring race I might not even be awake to see the end of it.”

“Fair enough.” He hoped you would be there to celebrate whatever the results were but he knew you were more exhausted in your current state and wouldn’t hold it against you. Christian waved at Max from across the street that divided the hospitality area from the garages and he gave you a quick hug, clapping Charles in the shoulder as he passed. “The Ring Master calls.”

“Drive safe!” He threw a thumbs up over his shoulder in answer and you laced your fingers with Charles’ before continuing to the McLaren garage.

It was strangely quiet for a race that had been hyped up so much over the last year, but you were kind of relieved that there were less people to weave between. It was great that the sport was growing in popularity but it was a pain in the ass trying to get anywhere when you are squashed like sardines in the paddock.

Somehow you still managed to bump into someone.

“Shit, sorry, Logan.”

“That was my bad,” he apologised as he turned to face the direction he was walking, waving back to the fan who had stopped him. His eyes widened when he saw who he had collided with and regret painted on his face. “Shit, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I, or the, um…” he waved a hand to your stomach and you tilted your head wondering who had told him.

“I’m fine, but you knew?”

Logan scratched the back of his neck nervously and shrugged. “The walls were thin in the medical centre.”

You were dumbfounded and the sound that bubbled from your chest confirmed it. “Huh.”

“I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t,” he promised before his name was called and he waved to his PT. “Oh, congratulations though, I probably should have started with that.”

Charles laughed and shook the American’s hand. “Thanks, mate.”

You smiled and accepted the half hug he offered, probably thinking a handshake would be even more awkward. “Thanks, and congrats on your first point too.”

“Not as exciting as a baby.”

“Yeah it is,” you laughed, remembering your first point for Alpha Tauri. “That’s your baby right now.”

His smile grew as he set off to his PT and you carried on your way to see Lando before the race. There was still over an hour until lights out but every minute had been scheduled for media duties, meet and greets, and the driver parade. You wanted to have a few moments of their time before releasing them to the wild.

Charles’ hand slipped from yours as you reached McLaren and he cradled your cheek before kissing you. “Are you alright to get back on your own?”

You rolled your eyes before looking at the Ferrari space four garages down. “I don’t know, it’s pretty far…I might get lost and end up in the Bellagio.”

“If you do, bet it all on Red for me,” he joked. The smile on his face dimmed as he saw the magician and Carlos waiting for him. “I’ll see you after the race, mamie. Je t’aime.”

“Love you too.”

“And Lando too.” He would have preferred to tell Lando himself but he just ran out of time with all the activities his team had planned for race day.

“I’ll let him know, and I’ll even give him a kiss from you,” you teased as you stole another kiss for good measure.

“Any advice from the current world champion?” he asked as he started to back away.

You shook your head. “It’s Vegas, baby, just give them one hell of a show.”

To say the atmosphere in Ferrari was charged was an understatement. There was resentment for Carlos’ car being destroyed and his mechanics gritted their teeth as they walked to the middle of the grid thanks to the penalties for fixing the car. On the other side of the garage, the side where you sat with Joris, excitement permeated the air as you watched Charles’ walk to his car parked in pole position.

You were torn between that excitement and the sadness that had followed you since leaving McLaren. Lando was being too hard on himself again for the bad luck he had qualifying 15th, but he was determined to make his way to the front of the pack. If anyone was going to be called Spitfire in the race, it was going to be him. He was going to dogfight his way forward from the moment the lights went out.

One of the cameras panned the crowd and you spotted him walking up from his spot three quarters of the way down the grid, all the way to the front where Charles was talking to Max. For a moment you were once again hit with the sense of longing to be out there but the feeling washed away as quick as it came.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Joris asked as he looked up from his phone. You chuckled knowing Charles would have sent the reminder text but you shook your head. 

“I’m fine, thank you. And you can tell Charles I am keeping hydrated too,” you said with a smile, shaking your water bottle for him to see. 

“You can always trust him to worry more about others, even when he’s meant to be focusing on the race,” he laughed as he sent the reply. “Have you thought any more about where you want to go for the maternity shoot?”

Charles had been eager to lock his friend in as the official bump photographer but there was still another four months until it was the best time to have them taken. He was also open to taking photos while you were in labour but you weren't too sure how you felt about that yet.

“Somewhere warm.”

“So no alpine backdrops then,” he chuckled, probably remembering how much you had complained about hiking in the snow last winter.

You scoffed at the idea, an adamant refusal to it. “Not if you’re expecting me to wear something that shows the bump.”

The action around the garages stilled as the guests on the grid were guided away for the formation lap to begin and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charles made it back to the first box without drama. Even Joris released a nervous laugh beside you. 

“That’s a better start,” he murmured so the engineers around him didn’t hear. 

“Couldn’t get any worse than the last one,” you replied just as quietly. 

You held your breath and felt the same rush of adrenalin fill you as if you were right out there in front of the lights with them. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the muscle memory begging them to prepare for action as each red light appeared, then all five were gone. The keen whines of twenty engines accelerating to their limit screamed into the night and you grinned at the sound even though it was muted by the headset. 

“Oh, fuck off, Max,” you screamed as he pushed Charles wide and they both went off track before pulling back on with your brother taking the lead. Suddenly your attention was brought to the back of the pack where multiple cars had been involved in an incident, but Lando had managed to avoid it and slip ahead a few places too. “Come on, baby, you can do it.”

Although there had been a lot of complaints about the showy nature of racing in Las Vegas, there was no denying it was a track that offered a lot of entertainment with long straights to overtake and high risk high reward corners too. You could barely sit still with your eyes glued to the many screens around the garage offering almost every angle of the race. 

“Ok, I think this race has just redeemed itself,” you commented with a smile as you watched the battles taking place around the track. 

“It is pretty amazing,” Joris said with his own excited grin, but shock fell over him and you snapped your head back to screen dreading seeing Charles out of the race again. But it wasn’t Charles. 

Sparks flew as the floor hit the asphalt and your brain couldn’t seem to understand why Lando’s car was facing the wrong way. Still it kept skidding along the straight at full speed, spinning back around just before it collided with the barrier at the end of the runoff. Your breath left your lungs with the force of the collision and your entire body stiffened as your ears began to ring loudly. Your stomach lurched as you desperately hit the keys on the screen to select the driver view and you saw Lando’s shaking hands pull his steering console out.

“I, I need to go,” you whispered as you stood up on weak legs. “Can you tell Charles?”

“Xavi can do that, I’ll walk with you,” he said with a shake of his head. His arm looped with yours and stabilised you as you tried to rush out of the garage. They weren’t even stopping the race because he wasn’t on track and that made you feel even sicker. What if someone else went into the runoff? 

“Mr Norris,” Joris called out, waving the worried man down. You blinked as you realised you were already in the McLaren garage, but you couldn’t remember the walk there. 

“He’s alright,” Adam assured you as he pulled you into his side and thanked Joris for the escort. “I spoke to him after he got out of the car. They are going to the medical centre. Come on, darling, we can go together.”

“He’s alright?” you double checked, your vision blurring with tears. 

Adam gave a sure nod as he started back the way you came, except he went towards the medical centre instead of the other garages. “His ribs hurt but he’s tough.”

Max said that when he was a child he would sleep walk, Vicki too. You imagined this was how they felt. Detached. Moving through darkness. Closing your eyes and waking in a new place. You blinked and the concrete path you were on was suddenly linoleum. 

“Lando…” you sighed as you found him on a gurney, white blankets tucked in close around him. 

“Heeeey,” he slurred happily, wincing as he snaked a hand out of his swaddle to reach for you. “It’s my girls.”

“You’re on the strong stuff, aren’t you, my love?” You faked a smile for him and took his hand, tilting your head towards Adam and the doctor explaining what was happening. You carefully leaned over the bed and kissed Lando until he broke out in giggles and his head lolled lazily back against the pillow. 

“They’re taking him to the hospital for some scans just in case there’s any broken ribs,” Adam relayed when he reached your side and gave Lando a kiss on his forehead. “How are you feeling, son?”

“It hurts to breathe, but this is good,” he said, holding up his hand that was connected to the IV bag filled with strong painkillers. 

A nurse came and unlocked the wheels on the gurney before asking who was going to ride in the ambulance with Lando. Adam looked at you and nodded, and though you knew he would have wanted to go with his son himself you were selfish and couldn’t leave his side. 

“I’ll follow behind,” Adam promised before Lando was wheeled away. 

You walked at Lando’s side out of the medical centre and found tv crews waiting, their cameras zoomed in on Lando and capturing his almost drunken state. A little loopy from the drugs in his system, he waved his fingers at the camera. “This will be on Netflix next year,” he laughed before wincing at the pain that flared. “So it’s safe to tell them, ‘I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER!’ and they can’t say a thing.”

Adam froze at his son’s outburst, though it was no secret that he was eager to shout to the world his joy. “Lando…” he growled, looking at your wide eyes.

“What? They aren’t allowed to use the footage for months,” he huffed. 

“That’s not Netflix,” you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat as you watched the tv crew almost tremble with excitement. “That’s Sky TV.”

Click here for the next part.

[archangeldyke-all]

Hii! Wanted to say that I check your blog the second I start checking my phone every single morning! I love your blog sm and I'd like to thank you for all these wonderful sevika content. You make my day every day<<<3

So, what about sev with reader while reader is suffering from postpartum depression? Maybe reader doesn't want to hold little fucker or breastfeed her.

thank u for such a sweet note! hehe the idea that i'm part of ur morning routine is so sweet i'm like the lesbian newspaper lolol

men and minors dni

sevika knew this was a possibility.

the moment she learned you were pregnant, sevika went into Research Mode. not just for the baby-- how to babyproof a house and pick a baby name and not pass on generational trauma-- but for you too.

so while it breaks her fucking heart seeing you like this-- she's thankful for the fact that she was prepared for it, and knew what to look for.

it's been two months since you gave birth to your perfect little girl, and your postpartum blues have officially become postpartum depression.

you feel truly horrible. in all senses of the word.

physically, you're still recovering from a rough labor and delivery.

mentally, you're so exhausted and foggy that all you can find the energy to do is cry.

and emotionally, you feel like a failure.

for nine months, you were anxiously awaiting the arrival of your beautiful, healthy baby girl. and now she's here, the most important, precious thing in your life... and you can't even hold her.

sevika's been a fucking godsend.

she's constantly reminding you that this is normal. that 15% of people experience what you're experiencing after birth, that the act of giving birth is so intense and hormonal and disruptive and it's no wonder you're still out of wack afterwards, that your daughter loves you, that she loves you.

she's been dragging you to the doctors office once a week, your daughter in her carrier on her left hand, a list of concerns she has about you in her right.

she's been gently feeding you the medicine you've been prescribed each night with a nice warm cup of tea, kissing up your tears when they fall.

she knows that when this ends, what will come next is the endless guilt for being sick during your daughters first few moments. so, she's been taking endless pictures and videos for you-- little fucker throwing up, little fucker sleeping, little fucker's pooping face, and her first sink-bath, and her fast asleep on sevika's chest.

each night, sevika will crawl into bed beside you, little fucker in her arms, and the two of them will sit beside you and tell you what they did all day.

"and then after our walk, what did we do baby?" sevika asks your daughter, an adoring smile on her face. you want to cry but you've been out of tears since dinner, so instead you just reach out and hold sevika's hand. "oh, right, you took a nap and mommy washed all your new clothes from the store-- you're gettin' too big for your newborn clothes, baby girl!" she coos, running her finger against your daughter's chubby cheek.

then, she'll lay a sleeping little fucker down in her crib at the foot of your bed, and pay attention to you.

she helps you pump, holding you and kissing your head while you cry against her shoulder.

"i give it two months 'til you're back to normal babe." sevika whispers, rubbing your back.

you chuckle. "what makes you think that?"

sevika shrugs. "remember how much worse you were a month ago before you got your medicine? before you started goin' to your new-mom support group?" she asks. back then, you were sleeping more than your newborn, close to twenty hours a day, and when you were awake, you were just crying and staring at the ceiling. "look at you now, honey." sevika whispers. "went on a walk with us this morning, pumping three times a day, reading in bed instead'a sleepin'... you're coming around."

you melt into your wifes arms. "how am i ever gonna thank you for this, sev?" you ask.

"thank me?" she asks. you nod.

"for taking care of me. and our girl. holdin' down the fort with a fuckin' newborn while i get my head back on right."

"honey." sevika sighs, kissing you firmly on your forehead. "you never gotta thank me. 'm your wife, did you forget that?" she teases. you snort, pinching her side. "i'd do this forever-- 'til the end of time-- if it means i get to be spending time with my girls."

you fall asleep crying-- which isn't unusual nowadays. but, today, instead of crying from dread or anxiety or the pit of darkness in your chest-- you're crying out of love.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

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[dreamerschroniclesofstories]

clementina pt3.

A/N: hello again! once again i want to thank everyone for the likes on pt 1&pt 2 of this fanfic. To be honest, i didn't expect anyone to read this and actually leave a like. the support is much appreciated. the next part after this will be the end, making this series four parts.Also, the picture used for this part is the faceclaim for clementina. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR YOU TO REPOST THIS ON OTHER WEBSITES AND TRANSLATION OF THIS FIC.

italics: flashbacks.

pt1. pt2. pt4

Summery: The Shelby family are in for a shock when they find out they have a sister hiding in plain sight.

Word count: 664 

Tommy gently wraps his dark blue coat around the young girls shivering body, Polly stands up and grabs her purse whilst Tommy hooks his arm under the girls legs then hooks his other arm behind her back. Tommy frowns slightly when he realises how light she felt. It was clear that the girl was extremely malnourished for her age. from the paperwork in her folder, Tommy knew she was nine years old but by the looks of her she looks barely six years old. Arthur was already in one of the cars outside ready to drive off as soon as Tommy get in with clementina. Tommy rushes out of the room he found the young girl in.

Polly rushes behind him then gets into the other car “ Arthur, drive like your life fucking depends on it” Polly demands, turning on the car engine.

Tommy sits beside Arthur with clementina in his arms. the drive would be twenty minutes but with Arthur driving, it would only take roughly ten minutes.

Clementina had been in hospital for the past week, she had been unconscious for majority of her stay. when she woke up, she saw the same woman she saw in the orphanage. She introduced herself as Polly and reassured clementina was safe and won't have to see the nuns again.

“ hello?”  clementina calls out, look around at the hospital room she was currently placed in, she couldn't remember how she got here, her chest rises and falls rapidly as she realises she was alone in the cold, white room. Clementina was always scared to be alone even before she was in the orphanage, her father would leave her alone for hours in the warn down small flat that was her mothers before she passed.

Before clementina could call out again, she heard the door opening quietly then shutting less then three seconds later. The young girl looks towards the noise, immediately noticing a woman with curly brown hair walling over to her. She recognises her as the woman from the orphanage.

“hello darling, i was wondering when you would awake”  Polly sits down on the chair beside Clementina's bed, putting her purse on the floor gently.

Clementina watches Polly, her eyes telling Polly that she was scared of her “ who are you“ Clementina whispers fearfully.

Polly smiles softly, placing her hand on top of Clementinas' small hand “ i'm Polly, your aunt”  she introduces herself, using her other hand to move a strand of Clementinas hair from her face, Polly's eyes sparkle as she looks over the young girls face “ you have a big family waiting for you”

Clementina eyebrows twitch as her eyes widen “family? i have a family”she whispers, ever since Clementina was placed into the orphanage she prayed every morning and night for her to get a family.

Polly chuckles softly, nodding “ you have four brothers and a sister” she smiles happily “Finn your youngest brother is closest to your age, hes nineteen”

Clementina blinks slowly, listening as Polly spoke. she always wanted siblings but now she has five of them, she felt slightly overwhelmed there was a man” she whispers, remembering seeing a man pointing a gun at the nun that was punishing her.

“ that would be Tommy, your second oldest brother, hes here right now talking to the doctor that helped you” Polly clarified for the young girl, sensing that the information was confusing her.

Polly stayed in that hospital room for a couple of hours, keeping Clementina company as Tommy was making arrangements with the doctors to discharge her into his care.

outside of the hospital room, the sounds of the young girls giggles could be heard, the time Polly spent with her, the more she felt comfortable and relaxed with Polly. The young girl didn't hear as Tommy opens the door and lights his cigarette.

Tommy leans against the door frame, watching them. he blows some smoke from his mouth and smiles slightly “ hello clementina” he greets the young girl.

a/n: i don't really like this part, it feels rushed and not that interesting but i want to post daily for this series. i hope you enjoyed it. please leave a like, comment or re-blog it will be most appreciated xxx

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Other Works in This Series: 'Repentance' (Prequel to 'My Ghost') • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my best outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

Masterlist

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, angst, language, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI)

A/N: I only edited this once, I apologize for any errors I missed, I have been sick the past week but wanted to make sure to get this chapter out to you all :)

Chapter Twenty

April 2005

The dim morning light seeped through the curtains with a bluish hue as the sun just began to rise. Although it was early, Joel had been awake for almost an hour for the second time that week, his hand clutching at his bare chest as he focused on his breathing. He had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at your empty side of the bed and trying to go back to sleep. Eventually, his intrusive thoughts won the war, and just like every other time that happened, his chest began to tighten. He closed his eyes and imagined you putting your small hand over his heart, reminding him to breathe. He focused as hard as he could on the image, hearing you say it over and over until he felt his chest loosen and his lungs could drag in more air. When it finally passed, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, catching his breath and listening to the birds chirp outside his window.

It had been almost four months since you left. At first, he gave you your space, but after a month, he couldn't stay away. He found himself leaning against the bar of the Tipsy Bison every night, throwing back whiskey and waiting for you to show up. He figured you would eventually have to go there to eat, but you must have been making food at Maria's house, or maybe Maria had been bringing food back to you because you never came.

Then he was at Maria's door, drunkenly begging to see you from the porch. If Maria was home, she would send him on his way, gently telling him you wanted to be left alone. If no one answered, he would sit there for at least an hour, even in the freezing cold of winter, hoping you would change your mind and let him in.

He knew it was pathetic, but he didn't care. If he didn't have you, there was no point. He was determined to explain himself. He should have told you months ago when you thought he was just being jealous. You weren't wrong, he was a little jealous and possessive at the way Jake spoke to you, looked at you, kissed you. But the main reason, the real reason why he lost all control that night was because of Kansas City. At the time, he didn't want to burden you with his problems, knowing you had enough to worry about, enough trauma to work through on your own that he wasn't going to saddle you with his, but that night in Kansas City changed him. He didn't realize it until months later, too focused on you and trying to keep you going, trying to keep you safe. But after talking with Tommy, he realized he must have had some unresolved trauma from the whole event. The panic attacks, the flashbacks, and his hesitancy to be physical with you all stemmed from that night.

Tommy told him he had to forgive himself for what happened to you, that until he did, he would never be able to move on. However, he couldn't work on that without talking to you first, to apologize and explain why he did what he did, but you kept yourself hidden away.

You still went to work at the greenhouse, but he wouldn't corner you there. He wanted you to talk to him on your own terms. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would catch you from a distance crossing the street hurriedly as you made your way to work, your head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone until you made it inside the safety of the greenhouse.

You had been right, there was a town vote on whether Joel should be asked to leave. He had the right to state his case, so he was there that night, hoping to see you up close, but you didn't go. Tommy had helped him prepare a speech, told him to focus on all the good he did for the town with the construction of the wall, that it was a one-time incident and beg the people not to judge him too harshly for it. It must have worked because they only received nine votes wanting him to leave. The matter was settled, he was allowed to stay. He thought once you heard the news that you would be open to talking with him, but he was wrong.

Even though it was spring, the mornings were still cool. He looked over at your side of the bed and wondered if you were cold, if you missed his touch the way he missed yours.

He sighed and sat up in bed, tossing his legs over the side of the mattress. He stretched and grabbed some clothes, heading out the door to the bathroom. He glanced once at the closed door across the hall before entering the bathroom. As quietly as he could, he turned the water on in the shower and pulled the curtain shut, letting the hot water sear his skin. He was trying to be careful not to wake Tommy or his new neighbor, an older man named Luther.

Jake was in the infirmary for almost two weeks before he was released. Obviously, neither he nor Joel wanted to live in the same house anymore, so one day when Joel was at work, Jake, with some help, came to collect his belongings. He ended up switching rooms with Luther, who had previously been living above the infirmary. Luther was in his 70s and at the time, was probably the only person in town who didn't care about living so close to Joel. Even though only nine people wanted him gone, the town kept their distance from him for a while, avoiding his eye when he walked down the street, sitting far away from him at the dining hall. If it wasn't for Tommy and Maria, he would have been completely alone.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, deciding he might as well get an early start on the day. The wall was just about finished. He estimated it would be fully complete by the end of next week, so long as they didn't get any major rain that delayed construction.

He quietly boiled some water for instant coffee, too impatient to wait for the coffee maker, and poured it into a thermos. He slid on his boots and grabbed a jacket but didn't put it on as he walked out the door. He paused to take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, early morning air. He walked down the steps, glancing up and down the street before turning to head towards the new neighborhood. It was early, the rest of the town was still asleep. Or so he thought.

He took a sip from his thermos, tipping his head back and cursing when he burnt his tongue. He rounded the corner of the street, wiping coffee from his chin when he collided headfirst into you.

He smelled your shampoo before he even saw your face, and his heart began to thud wildly in his chest. His breath caught in his throat when you looked up at him, your beautiful eyes wide with shock.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, your gaze raking down his body quickly before looking back up at him. "S-sorry," you said, blush creeping along your cheeks as you moved to the side to walk past him.

"It's alright," he murmured, still taking in every detail of you now that he's finally seen you up close. Your face looked thinner, and your hair was a little longer, but otherwise you still looked the same. You began to walk away, your eyes fixed on your destination and trying not to give your emotions away when he called your name. You stopped, but you didn't turn around.

He struggled with what to say, not expecting you to stop.

"How are you?" he asked softly. Idiot.

"I'm good," you said. Your voice sounded so small. His eyes drifted to the thermos in his hand, trying to think of something else to say when, to his surprise, you spoke again.

"How are you?"

You still had your back to him, but your head was turned slightly to the side.

"Good," he replied, but shook his head and dropped his shoulders.

"That's a lie. I'm fuckin' terrible."

He heard you suck in air at his admission, and he shifted his weight to his other foot, waiting for you to say something, anything else.

"You look tired," you said, turning slightly to face him now.

"Can't sleep without you," he said, his eyebrows pinched. It looked like you wanted to say something else but held back, choosing instead to bite down on your lip and look away as you rocked on your heels.

"I look for you every day," he whispered. Your eyes fluttered shut and you pressed your lips together. "Miss you so much, it hurts."

"Joel..." you said, wiping a tear from your cheek. He swallowed and clenched his fist at his side, trying to restrain himself from wrapping you up in his arms. 

"You need to stop coming by Maria's," you told him, eyes still shut. "You're making this so much harder than it has to be."

"Will you at least talk to me?" he begged. His throat felt tight from trying to stifle his emotions. When you didn't respond, he tried again.

"I'll leave you alone, but please, just talk to me, once. One time. That's all."

You opened your eyes and looked at him now, seeing the desperation and pain written all over his face.

He could hear someone's front door open and shut, then two people's voices breaking the morning silence and heading in your direction.

"Let me think about it," you said, then quickly turned from him to head towards the greenhouse.

He released the breath he didn't realize he was holding as he watched you leave.

That was the most you've spoken to him in months. Progress.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him as you rounded the corner, out of sight.

You pushed the greenhouse door open and slammed it shut behind you, leaning against it to catch your breath. Joel was never out this early. You always tried to sneak around town whenever you knew he was working or sleeping, desperately attempting to avoid what just happened because you knew when you finally did see him, you would crack.

You buried your face in your hands, grateful to be alone for once so you could gather yourself. Carrie still helped in the greenhouse when she could, but the night of the fight, Bill, the town doctor, enlisted her assistance in patching Jake up. Apparently, she did an outstanding job and Bill was eager to keep her around more at the infirmary. Carrie had always been more interested in medicine and always so excited to learn whenever Bill gave her the chance, so you understood that she wanted to prioritize that over the greenhouse.

She never held it against you once you tearfully explained to her what happened. In fact, she felt bad that she had put you in that position in the first place, which you immediately brushed off, assuring her it was not her fault, and that both the men were idiots.

You had feared the worst that night. Afraid Joel had beaten Jake so badly that he wouldn't make it, knowing if that happened, he most definitely would be asked to leave Jackson. You were so grateful that Carrie provided you with constant updates on his improving condition. You didn't want to go visit him and give the wrong impression to anybody in town, least of all Jake.

You shrugged your coat off and hung it by the door, heading to the office to review the notes you had made regarding the various stages of herbs and vegetables. This was the week you had planned on harvesting a crop of medicinal herbs to bring over to Bill, so you pulled your gloves on and grabbed your shears, getting to work.

You replayed your interaction with Joel over and over in your mind as you clipped the herbs, carefully knotting them together with twine and labeling them before moving on. You had been successfully avoiding him for months, but you knew this would happen someday. You used to be so angry with him for what he did: not letting you take care of yourself, not believing you when you told him you handled the situation, then went and embarrassed you in front of the whole town and risked the chance of getting kicked out. But as time went on, that anger melted away, and every day you felt yourself weaken even more.

He sat outside on Maria's porch most nights, hoping you would come to him. And so many times, you almost did. You stood on the other side of the door, resting your forehead against it, listening to the war raging inside you until you either gave up and went back to your room, or he left. It was killing you having him out there. You couldn't think straight, couldn't work through your feelings when you knew he was there, standing vigil outside your door.

And now, you finally ran into him. Literally, ran into him. And he smelled so good. You could tell he had just showered; his hair was still slicked back in the way you secretly loved but never told him. And he was warm. His rough hand on you was so warm and inviting, it dragged back so many memories of what those hands could do that you needed to take a step back to collect yourself.

When you saw the pain in his face, you tried your best to look away, to avoid eye contact because if you didn't you knew you would give in and go to him, and you still hadn't figured out after all this time if that was what you wanted. His constant presence was making your mind muddled and it was impossible to sort through your feelings. The only place you found refuge was in the greenhouse, where you were primarily alone, with no external stimulus to distract you. Here is where you could finally think.

And you were beginning to think you wanted him back.

You groaned, shaking your head as you tried to focus.

You finished up harvesting the medicinal herbs, making a mental note to check on the seedlings when you returned. You packed the herbs into a basket and made your way outside.

The sun was out, but the air was still brisk. You had pulled your coat on, but five minutes into the walk to the infirmary, you regretted wearing it. As you walked down the now busy street, your eyes naturally traveled to the new neighborhood where Joel was working. Sure enough, you spotted him talking to someone and pointing at the small unfinished portion of the wall. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and you watched his forearms flex. You always were so mesmerized by his arms, and the familiar pull in your abdomen reminded you he still had that effect.

The man he was speaking to walked in the direction Joel had been pointing, and then he stood there with his hands on his hips. As if he felt your gaze, he turned towards your direction, searching the crowd. You quickly averted your eyes and focused your attention on the infirmary. You walked up the steps and gave two quick knocks before pushing the door open, and you swore you felt Joel's gaze on your back until you closed the door behind you.

"Bill?" you called out, the place surprisingly quiet. "Carrie?"

You peered around a corner into an exam room to find it empty. You frowned and kept moving down the hall.

"Hello?" you called out again, softer this time. You placed your hand on a doorknob when you heard something fall at the end of the hall. You dropped your hand and moved in the direction of the noise.

"Bill?" you said timidly. "It's me. I have turmeric and ginger for you."

Still not getting a response, your heart rate began to pick up, wondering what the hell was going on.

Your hand hovered over the doorknob of the last exam room, listening intently, trying to figure out if anyone or anything was behind the door. You gripped your basket tightly in your hand, and pushed the door open with a start.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, covering your eyes. You had been expecting the worst, wondering if someone had gotten bit and turned, but what you didn't expect was Jake half naked on top of Carrie on the exam room bed.

"I'm sorry!" you said, slamming the door behind you, still covering your eyes. You heard hushed whispers on the other side of the door, and you dropped your hand, rushing to the front of the office and placing your basket down, figuring Carrie could bring it back empty for her next shift.

You hustled out of the building, your face bright red as you made your way back. You had no idea if Joel saw you this time, too embarrassed to look. You kept your head down until you made it back to the sanctity of the greenhouse, and for the second time that morning, collecting yourself as you caught your breath against the door.

"Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later," Maria said after you told her about your conversation with Joel. She was fixing her hair in the bathroom, about to head out to dinner with Tommy, while you stood against the door frame and regaled her with your story.

"Yeah, I know," you muttered, rolling your head against the wall.

"How long are you gonna make him suffer?" she teased you. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're always welcome here, but the new neighborhood will be done soon..."

"How much longer til it's done?" you asked.

"Joel thinks by end of next week. I'm going to head over there tomorrow and start assigning houses."

You nodded, thinking back to Joel's request from that morning.

"Maybe I should at least talk to him," you suggested, and Maria squealed, making you jump.

"I'm sorry, but please, I'm begging you. I didn't want to make you feel bad, but he's just so miserable sitting at that bar all alone every night, then hanging around my porch."

"Well, it's not like I'm torturing him for no reason!" you argued. She held up her hands in defeat.

"I know. You're right. What he did was wrong. Hell, I was ready to kick his ass that night. But he's redeemed himself. He's done so much for the town, and he's never had another altercation. Even when Jake is around, there's no problem anymore." Maria flicked the light off and headed down the hall to the kitchen.

"Speaking of Jake, I saw him today when I was dropping off herbs to Bill," you said, trailing after her.

"Oh, yeah? Was it awkward?"

You laughed, and she turned to look at you, giving you a curious smile.

"Uh, yeah, it was awkward, but not for the reason you're thinking."

You went on to tell her how you walked in on him and Carrie and she clamped her hands over her mouth as she listened to your story. The two of you were doubling over with laughter when Tommy entered the kitchen with a smile on his face.

"What're you girls laughin' about?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Maria and giving her a kiss on the top of her head. You looked away, trying not to remember how Joel used to pull that exact move on you.

"Oh, I'll tell you about it later. You wanna join us?" Maria asked, turning to you. Even though your answer was always no, she asked you every night anyway.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll just get something to bring back here," you said, breezing past them and ignoring their surprised faces.

Maria turned to Tommy and mouthed the word "Joel" behind your back, exchanging looks.

"Ready?" you asked them over your shoulder, pulling the door open.

"Yep!" Maria said, dragging Tommy behind her and out the door.

Joel settled into his usual spot at the bar and waited for Seth to bring over his glass of whiskey. He glanced around the room as Seth put the drink in front of him, envious of all the happy and smiling faces. He stared down at the full glass in his hands, just watching the liquid swirl around without taking a sip. He had no idea what he would do tonight now that he promised you he would stop going to Maria's house. Even though you never opened the door, it eased his mind knowing you were near, that you were safe. It was the only good part of his day.

He rubbed his face into the palms of his hands, trying not to let the panic swell up inside his chest. He breathed deeply a few times, but it wasn't helping.

'Shit,' he thought, 'This can't happen here.’

He stood from his stool, abandoning his untouched glass of whiskey and yanked on his coat, his vision getting narrow. He heard Tommy and Maria enter from across the room like they usually did around this time. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they wouldn't see him as he shuffled his way towards the door, keeping his head down and flexing his fingers, trying to keep them from going numb.

"Joel?"

He froze, unsure if he really heard your voice. Maybe he was going crazy.

Then you reached out to put a hand on his arm, and just like that, his hands didn't feel tingly anymore. He looked up and met your concerned gaze. He must have looked like a wreck because you turned back towards the door, tugging his elbow, forcing him to follow you.

You pulled him outside and down the street a bit, finding a bench in a quiet area and made him sit down. He hung his head between his knees as he struggled for air.

"Come on," you said softly, rubbing his back. "You're ok. Lift your head up," you tugged gently on his shoulder, making him sit upright to look at you. His eyes were glassy and his jaw tense as he clutched at his chest.

"Joel, come on, you can do this," you told him firmly, removing his hand and replacing it with your own over his heart. His eyes slid shut and his head tipped back, relief instantly flooding through him at your touch.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth," you said quietly, and he immediately obeyed. You didn't remove your hand until you felt his heartbeat return to normal and his eyes reopened.

"Thank you," he panted lightly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Does that happen a lot?" you asked, picking at the seam of your jeans. He nodded.

"Yeah," was all he offered, and you swallowed. They never used to happen that often.

"This might be a bad time but did you... did you want to still have that talk?" you asked him, chewing on your lower lip nervously.

"Never a bad time if I'm with you," he said weakly, still rattled from his panic attack but his eyes were wide and hopeful. You blushed and nodded your head down the street.

"Let's take a walk," you suggested, standing up.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, joining you as you slowly meandered down the almost empty street.

For the first time since you met, you were uncomfortable and not sure what to say. So, you decided to keep it to small talk, keep it safe. 

"Maria told me the wall is almost done," you said.

"Yeah, another week should do it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked alongside you.

"What will you do when it's finished?" you asked, glancing at him. He looked nervous.

"Oh, I got some stuff I gotta work on over there for a bit, then I reckon Tommy'll have me on patrol."

"Patrol?" you repeated, your brows furrowed.

"Yeah, why? You don't want me on patrol?" he asked when he saw your face, then bit his cheek after he realized what he said. He wasn't even sure you were together anymore, but he was talking like you were.

"No," you shrugged, "do whatever you want."

You walked in silence for a couple minutes, slowly making your way down the street before you realized you were heading toward the stables. The horses were out in the pasture grazing and enjoying the last bit of daylight. You walked up to the fence and leaned against it, watching the horses flick their ears and tails.

"It probably won't mean much now," Joel said, taking a deep breath. "But I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry. I was stupid and I overreacted. And I shoulda listened to you. You told me you handled it, and you did, it's just..."

His jaw ticked and he looked away from you.

"I just got some stuff to work through, is all. It's my fault," he said, still looking away. You watched him carefully now that his face was turned away. You could tell he was struggling with something, like he was holding something back, but he seemed sincere.

"Thank you," you said quietly, and rested your chin on the top of your hands as you looked out at the pasture. Joel looked back at you, admiring the way the evening sun highlighted your delicate features.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful," he whispered in awe. You felt a shiver go up your spine and you tried to hide it by awkwardly shifting your weight.

"Joel..." you said, trying to make your tone come off as a warning, but failing. He was breaking you down, you could feel it.

"Gimme another chance," he begged, turning his body to face you, leaning his side against the fence. "Please. I-I can't stop thinkin' about you. I'll do whatever it takes. Please."

You knew it would be your downfall, but you did it anyway. You turned your head and looked into his deep, brown eyes, filled with regret and anguish. His expression was pleading as he nervously picked at the paint on the fence without looking.

After everything the two of you had been through, saving each other's lives, being there for each other through it all, and defying all odds at survival, how could you not give in?

"Okay," you whispered, and his face lit up. He reached out a hand to you with a smile and you took it, pulling you into a tight hug and burying his nose in your hair, breathing deep. You smelled like roses and some strong herb that you grew in the greenhouse he couldn't quite identify, and fuck did he miss that smell. He missed the way you fit perfectly into his arms and how you always knew exactly what to do to help with his attacks. He didn't deserve you, he’d known that for a while, but he also knew he would never love anybody else the way he loved you.

"I don't think I can just jump right back to the way we were before," you murmured against his chest, and he nodded.

"I know," he said, "I understand." Even though he said the words, his heart broke a little realizing you wouldn't be in bed next to him tonight. But you were giving him another chance, that's what was important, and he wasn't going to fuck it up again.

"Will you walk me back?" you asked quietly, still clutched in his embrace.

"'Course I will," he said, taking a step back. He dropped his arm to his side and laced his fingers in between yours.

The day had turned to dusk, the string lights that weaved above your heads began to flicker on as he walked you back to Maria's house in a comfortable silence. He tried to go slow, wanting to soak up every second he could before he had to go back to Tommy's all alone.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Joel asked you, hoping he didn't sound as needy as he felt. You thought about it for a moment.

"How about lunch?" you offered, and he couldn't keep the smile from pulling across his face as he led you up the steps to Maria's porch.

"Sounds perfect," he said. You turned and looked up at him through your eyelashes as you stood in front of the door.

"Thanks for walking me back," you said, letting his hand go and dropping it to your side.

"Thank you for not givin' up on me," he replied with a sad smile.

You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug, pressing your face against his neck.

"I just wish you would have trusted me," you murmured into his skin. "But I'll never give up on you, Joel."

He pulled back from you just enough so he could lean down and capture your lips with his, bringing one of his hands up to cup your cheek. His kiss took you by surprise, but you only needed a moment before reacting. You massaged your lips against his slowly and gently, like you were trying to commit every second to memory. You didn't look to deepen the kiss. You just wanted to feel him close to you, not realizing how badly you missed him and his touch. You let one of your hands fall to his collar from the back of his neck, gripping the fabric there tightly in your fist.

He tried to match your pace, he tried to go slow, but it had been four agonizing months without you, and he found it impossible to restrain himself. He pressed his lips against yours firmly, increasing the pace and frequency of kisses he planted against your mouth. He slid his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, holding you against him. That's when you moaned softly, and his judgement began to slip. He reluctantly pulled away from you, a gasp escaping your lips at the sudden loss.

"Sorry," he whispered, panting for air. "It's just... if we keep goin', we'll be gettin' breakfast instead of lunch."

You laughed breathlessly as you felt heat creep up your neck. He grinned, pleased he could make you laugh.

You reached for the door, your hand on the knob, and turned back to him before pushing it open.

"Good night, Joel," you said quietly.

"G'night, sweetheart," he replied as he watched you enter the house, shutting the door softly behind you.

The next morning, Joel awoke early, like usual, but the anxiety that typically greeted him was absent. He laid in the bed you once shared, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the birds awaken outside, waiting for his chest to constrict, but it never came. Instead, his thoughts were filled with you from the day before. How sweet and gentle you were when you helped him through his panic attack. The way you looked at him with your soft, beautiful eyes, your hair pulled back but still some strands made their way to rest against your collarbone, and the shy smiles you offered that reminded him of when you had first met.

He closed his eyes, replaying the kiss you shared outside of Maria's house. He could tell he took you off guard. He knew he took a risk, but he couldn't help himself. And the soft, slow way you kissed him back was unlike anything the two of you had shared before. He was used to the passionate, hungry way you typically were with one another, but yesterday felt different. Yesterday felt like love. He wanted more, wishing he hadn't allowed himself to pick up the pace and then stopped the moment too soon.

He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he got ready, looking forward to meeting you for lunch. Maria was supposed to stop by the new neighborhood that morning, he was hoping that would help make his day go by fast so he could see you again.

He jogged lightly down the stairs, a spring in his step as he reached for his usual thermos, noticing the coffee had already been brewed. He turned around, looking for evidence of his roommates, shocked Tommy or Luther had been up at this hour. He shrugged, pouring some coffee into his thermos when he heard the downstairs bathroom door open.

"You're up early," Joel said over his shoulder, turning around. His jaw fell open and his eyebrows shot up in embarrassment when instead of meeting Tommy's gaze, he met Maria's, with only a towel wrapped around herself, frozen in the hallway. Joel whipped back around to face the coffee maker and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, thought you were Tommy," Joel said, staring down at the coffee in his hands.

"No problem!" Maria squeaked, making a beeline for Tommy's bedroom and shutting the door. He could hear hushed whispers from the room as Joel slid his boots on. He was tying them up when Tommy emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"G'mornin'," Tommy mumbled, still half asleep.

"Yeah, looks like you are havin' a good mornin'," Joel chuckled, reaching for the other boot's laces. Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that seemed to run in the family.

"Thought you might've stayed the night at Maria's," Tommy said as Joel stood, snatching his coffee from the bottom stair. Joel looked at him, confused, before he elaborated.

"We saw you two last night," Tommy explained with a grin. "Comin' back from dinner. We saw you on Maria's porch. So, I took her back here, thought you could use the privacy."

"Oh," Joel said, nodding. He picked his coat from the hook by the door but just held it in his hand, not sure yet what the temperature was like outside. "No, nothin' like that."

Joel must have had a dejected look on his face because Tommy's face turned to one of concern.

"Everythin' alright now?" he prodded.

"Yeah. Or, it will be. I think. She's givin' me another chance, but I think we both got stuff we need to work out. Tryin' to take it slow."

"Hey, now that's good news! And I'll bet once she sees that house, it'll all be forgotten," Tommy said, clapping Joel on the shoulder before heading over to the coffee.

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, tell Maria I'll see her in a bit," Joel replied as he tossed his coat over his arm and walked out the front door.

He hoped Tommy was right. He has been working on that house for weeks, ever since the weather broke and he had the opportunity to spend extra time there after work. The house itself was in good condition, but he wanted it to be perfect. He had knocked down a wall, opening up the kitchen and the living room. He fixed a few broken things around the house: a door that wouldn't shut properly, a cabinet that was missing a handle. But most recently, he had been working on the outside. There was a small porch already installed, but it wasn't a wraparound porch, and that was what you told him you always wanted. So, he built it for you, taking great care as he went to make it perfect, and even carved some decorative designs into the wood when the mood struck and when he found the time. He had just finished construction on the porch and yesterday he had begun to paint the siding white with some paint Tommy had looted for him at a nearby hardware store.

He was keeping the house a secret until he had it just the way he wanted it for you. Just the way you always deserved.

'One step at a time,' he told himself as he approached the house, testing the wooden swing he built on the porch before taking a seat, sipping from his thermos as he looked around the quiet neighborhood. One step at a time.

"What is wrong with me?" you muttered to yourself as you strode down the street towards the Tipsy Bison. Your hands were trembling as you walked, your nerves creeping up on you ever since you left the greenhouse. Why were you so anxious to see Joel? He was the only constant in your life for so long, this should be easy. But for some reason, you were nervous to see him. Nervous about what to say. You were so lost in your thoughts that it took Carrie twice to call out your name before you heard her, turning around. You must have walked right by her and Jake without realizing it.

"Oh!" you said, shaking your head and giving her a smile. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Your eyes drifted to Jake's and gave him a small smile. You hadn't seen him since the fight, and you wouldn't really count the time you walked in on him and Carrie all over each other. Fortunately, he seemed fully healed and looked happy, giving you a warm smile with his arm draped around Carrie's shoulder.

"Heading to lunch?" Carrie asked you brightly. You nodded, deciding to leave Joel's name out of it.

"Yep, how about you guys?"

"We packed a little picnic!" Carrie said, lifting a basket in her hand. "We're going to enjoy some of this nice weather, this winter has been so horrible, I've just been dying to get outside." Her eyes shifted to Jake, noticing he was rather quiet.

"Um, why don't I go on ahead and find a good spot in the park?" Carrie said quietly to Jake. He gave her an adoring smile and nodded. You frowned, confused at the obvious setup that was taking place.

"I'll see you tomorrow at work," she told you with a wave and one more reassuring glance at Jake before heading towards the small park near the center of town.

"Everything alright?" you asked him curiously, and he nodded.

"Oh yeah, everything's fine. She just wanted us to clear the air about, y'know," he gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, and you nodded.

"Right," you said, looking down at your feet. "Well, I'm sorry I didn't visit, I was just so embarrassed, and I knew everyone in town would talk... but I asked Carrie for updates all the time. It's not like I didn't care, I just..." you trailed off, glancing around you nervously, looking for Joel.

"I know, it's alright," he said with a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I actually wanted to apologize to you." You frowned, finally looking back up at him.

"Apologize? For what?" you asked incredulously.

"Well, kissing you, for one. I know I already explained it was a misunderstanding, but that night got me all worked up and I had this stupid idea that you would be happier with me... I don't know, I guess I just let my feelings get the best of me. And I'm sorry I put you in that position," he said sincerely, looking you straight in the eye to try to drive his point home. "And secondly, I'm sorry for what I said to you during the fight. It wasn't right, I had no place to say that to you. I-I don't have any idea what your relationship with Joel is like, I was just pissed and talking out of my ass."

Jake looked relieved once he finished his speech, and you wondered briefly if he rehearsed it. It certainly felt like it. You had no idea he was feeling responsible for what happened that night. You were too wrapped up in what you and Joel were going through to give Jake a second thought.

"Oh, you don't need to apologize, but I appreciate it all the same," you said, waving him off and feeling guilty you didn't consider his side of things until now. "I'm sorry - about what Joel did. We've just been through a lot out there," you gestured to the world beyond Jackson. "It's no excuse, but I think we were both a little distrusting of new people at the time. And I'm just glad you're okay."

"It's alright," he said, awkwardly shifting his weight and glancing around at the now busy street. "Hell, maybe it was meant to be," he chuckled, and you gave him a confused smile. "Carrie," he clarified, gesturing in the direction she had walked toward earlier. "She took care of me after that, and I got to know her. You were right to try to set us up. She's awesome," he said, gazing longingly towards the park. You turned and looked in the same direction, as if you could see her from where you were standing.

"Hm, you're right," you said, turning back to him. "Maybe you owe me one, then." He laughed at your joke, finally looking more relaxed.

"Well, anyway, I won't keep you. Just wanted to, y'know, go back to normal," he said with a shrug.

"Yeah, thanks Jake," you said, and you meant it. "I'll see you around."

You gave him a wave and turned to head back towards the Tipsy Bison, nervous to see Joel for an entirely different reason now.

You pushed the door open and looked around the packed dining hall. He noticed you immediately and stood up from the table he had claimed, drawing your attention and a smile. You squeezed through the full tables of neighbors laughing and eating. Once you reached the table, Joel wrapped you into a quick one-armed hug before sliding your chair out for you.

"Wow, pulling out all the stops?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood. He grinned and sat down.

"Well, I'm still from the south. Old habits and all that," he said, tapping his fingers anxiously on the table. The noise drew your attention to his hands, and you frowned, reaching over to pick up one of his hands gently in yours.

"Why are your hands red?" you asked.

"Oh, just some paint," he said, watching you turn his hand over in yours to examine it closer before letting it go, already missing your touch.

"Sheesh, I thought it was blood or something. Are you painting the wall?" you asked, confused. He shook his head.

"Nah, just somethin' else I'm workin' on," he explained, desperate to change the subject. "Was there a plant emergency or somethin'?" he joked, making you laugh heartily, and you shook your head.

"No, I'm sorry I'm late. I ran into someone, and they were talking my ear off," you said, looking down at the table, avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, alright. Thought maybe I dreamed up our conversation last night, had me worried I was losin' it," he said, his hand entering your field of vision to reach for yours. You smiled and looked back up at him, then decided if you were starting over, you should be honest.

"It was Jake," you said, maintaining eye contact to gauge his reaction. He stilled for a moment, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but he forced a smile anyway.

"Okay," he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. "So, how was your morning?"

"You aren't going to ask me what he wanted?" you asked, keeping a close eye on his reaction. He shook his head, still smiling at you.

"Nope. Not unless you feel like tellin' me. I trust you," he said, sitting back in his chair and looked up at the busy bar. "I'll go up and order us somethin', what'dya feel like havin'?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," you said, a bewildered look on your face. He stood up and headed over to the bar, leaning against it to get Seth's attention.

You sat there, shocked, as you waited for Joel to return with your food. You could tell Joel still had a reaction to hearing Jake's name, but he controlled himself and didn't lash out.  You were touched, noticing how hard he was trying. He even made a point to say he trusted you.

You watched as he made his way back to your table, people inadvertently moving out of his way, unlike you who had to squeeze through the crowds.

"What?" Joel asked with a smirk, seeing the look on your face.

"I was just thinking about when we used to work together," you told him, and he groaned, setting down a sandwich in front of you.

"Seems like a lifetime ago," he said, taking a bite of his food. "What made you think of that?"

"Just the way everyone moved out of your way," you told him, unwrapping your sandwich. "Everyone at the office was terrified of you."

"Not you," he said, catching your eye.

"You sure about that?" you teased, knowing he was referencing the intense conversation you both had in the conference room. He smiled, pleased you remembered that night.

"He apologized, by the way," you said, offering up the information he wanted, even though he refused to ask. He raised his eyebrows.

"I should be the one to apologize to him," he admitted, looking down.

"I kind of did that for you," you said, shrugging. "I just explained we had trouble trusting people. Besides, he's more than happy with the way things turned out."

You went on to tell Joel about Jake and Carrie, how they stared at each other and couldn't keep their hands off the other. When you told him how you walked in on the two of them at the clinic, he nearly choked on his sandwich, making you giggle.

"Goddamn, you had yourself a day, huh?" he said, leaning back in his chair and crumpling up the paper from his sandwich.

"Mhmm," you said, finishing your food. "From beginning to end," you said, giving him a look. His gaze grew heated as he thought about the kiss you shared last night, leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed.

"Thought about you a lot after I left," he said lowly, and your breath hitched in your throat.

"Oh, yeah?" you murmured, leaning onto the table, mimicking him. "What did you think about?"

"I don't think that answer's appropriate for a lady such as yourself to hear," he smirked, his pulse thudding in his neck at the direction the conversation was taking.

You hummed, flashing him a flirty smile as you inched your hand out across the table towards him.

"There are those southern manners again," you said, watching his hand reached towards yours, his fingertips lightly brushing against your own.

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," he said, hooking a finger under one of your own.

"I can recall many times when those manners seemed to escape you, Mr. Miller," you said quietly, watching his eyes flicker at the formal title. "In fact, I remember you saying some very filthy things -"

Joel cut you off with a loud clearing of his throat. He subtly glanced around at the tables nearby, looking to see if anyone had been eavesdropping on your conversation before turning back to you.

"Why are you always rilin' me up in this building?" he asked you, giving your finger a tug with his own. You shrugged, leaning back with a giggle.

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," you said, repeating his words back to him. "I guess I have a thing for tacky western decor."

He laughed, rubbing his face with his hand while his other remained hooked around your finger.

"This was nice," he said, dropping his hand to his lap.

"Yeah, it was," you said, shifting in your seat. "Do you have time to walk me back to work?"

"For you, I got all the time in the world," he replied. You rolled your eyes at the corny line, but you couldn't keep the smile from sneaking across your face.

Joel held the door open for you as you stepped out of the Tipsy Bison. You quirked an eyebrow at him as you exited, the corner of your mouth turning up into a half smile.

"Manners," he reminded you, bending his arm and offering you his elbow. You threw your head back and laughed at how far he was taking the joke, but you gave in and tucked your hand into the crook of his arm as he escorted you down the street towards the greenhouse.

"Maria mentioned this mornin' she was gonna have a small party for the town to celebrate the new neighborhood," he said, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, that's a nice idea. It's been such a long winter and we are all sick of being cooped up in each other's houses, it'll be good to have a little fun."

"So, you'll go?" Joel asked, turning his face towards you now.

"Sure, I'll go," you said, squinting up at him, trying to see his face through the bright sunlight. He cleared his throat.

"Would you be my date?" he asked sheepishly. You stopped walking, already finding yourself standing in front of the greenhouse door.

"I'm not sure we've ever been on a date," you said with a smile.

"I'd consider this a date," he said, taking a step towards you.

"I suppose you're right," you agreed, watching his eyes drift to your mouth as you bit your lower lip.

"So, is that a 'yes'?" he asked, raising an arm up to lean against the side of the greenhouse.

"I'd love to," you told him, and he grinned. You leaned up, resting one hand on his shoulder for balance, and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. He turned his head to try to capture your lips, but you had already released his shoulder and backed away.

"Don't want to rile you up," you said over your shoulder, pushing the door open and disappearing inside.

Over the next week, Joel fell into the habit of walking you to and from work every day, since he couldn't meet you for lunch as often as he would have liked. He ended up working through lunch, feeling the pressure to make sure the new neighborhood was ready for the party. It seemed like that's all anyone could talk about around town. The teachers at the school in town even had the kids make decorations. He was making mental notes about what still needed to be done in your house when you swung Maria's door open, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Good morning," you said softly, trying not to disturb Tommy and Maria as you shut the door behind you.

"Mornin'," Joel replied, his hand immediately finding yours at your side as he led you down the street.

"You excited for tonight?" you asked him, but he was distracted, still thinking about your house, wondering if he forgot anything. "Joel?" His tired eyes snapped up to yours, finally processing your question.

"Oh, yeah. Should be fun," he said.

"What's wrong?" you asked, frowning. He shook his head.

"Nothin', just a little anxious. Hopin' I didn't miss anythin'," he explained truthfully, just leaving out the part about your house.

"How have your panic attacks been?" you asked tentatively as you walked side by side.

"Good. Actually haven't had one in about a week," he said, looking down at you. "Wonder why that is."

You smiled and rubbed his arm with your free hand.

"That's good. I'm sure everything will go great, try not to worry too much."

You approached the greenhouse door all too soon, but before Joel could drop your hand, you gave him a small tug.

"I have something for you, do you have a second?" you asked, tilting your head towards the door.

"'Course I do," he said with a grin, and followed you inside, the humidity hitting him like a ton of bricks.

"Jesus, I forgot how warm it is in here," he said, shedding his coat and hanging it by the door next to yours, following you towards the small office in the back of the building.

"Alright, now I don't know how good it is, I was reading some books about how to make tea and I think I got it right. I was going to try some out myself first, but it sounds like you could use it now," you rambled, opening a drawer and rummaging around for a small bag, holding it out to him. He took it gently from your hand, inspecting the dried tea leaves closely.

"It's chamomile. It's supposed to help with anxiety," you explained as he still stared down at the bag in his hands. "I know you prefer coffee, but caffeine just makes anxiety worse so I thought maybe you could give this a try now and then."

He looked up at you now, his eyes round and filled with warmth.

"You did this for me?" he asked softly, and you nodded.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the small desk behind you, and dipped down, his lips slotting against yours. His free hand came up to cup your jaw gently, and your hands drifted to rest on his hips as you sighed against his mouth. His lips were soft and warm, pressing languidly against your own, pouring all the adoration he felt for you into it. The small room was already hot, but the intensity behind his kiss was making it even more so, feeling the sweat beading on the back of your neck. You flicked your tongue against his lips, and you felt him smile, opening his mouth to grant you access.

You slipped your tongue partially into his mouth, pulling a low groan from Joel's throat as his grip on your jaw tightened. His other hand flattened against the desk behind you, pushing you back and causing you to lift your hips so you could sit on the desktop. Joel took another step forward, pushing your knees apart so he could stand between your dangling legs while his tongue licked at the inside of your mouth.

You gasped and tipped your head back, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. He kept his hand firmly on your cheek as his mouth made its way down your jaw before latching onto your pulse point, sucking the skin there and leaving a mark.

"What if I said I also grew some lavender for you?" you whispered with your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on your skin. He growled against your throat.

"Then I'd say I don't deserve you, and I owe you one," he said as he made his way slowly down to your collarbone.

"Hmm, just one?" you asked breathlessly, rolling your head to the side, and he chuckled.

"As many as you want, sweetheart," he tugged at the collar of your shirt, exposing your shoulder. "Anything you want, I'll give it to you."

You opened your mouth to say all you wanted was him when a loud gasp interrupted you, your eyes snapping open to find Carrie at the doorway, her hand cupped over her mouth, stifling a giggle.

You pushed on Joel's shoulder, causing him to look up at you and follow your gaze.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Joel muttered, stepping away as he ran a hand through his hair.

"That's ok, I'd say we're even now," Carrie said, giving you a wink as Joel picked up the tea he had dropped on the desk behind you. Carrie moved to the side so Joel could exit the office.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, giving you a smirk before heading down the aisle of plants towards the door.

"Looks like you two finally worked things out," Carrie said, raising an eyebrow as she pulled the chair out from the corner of the room to take a seat, looking up at you still perched on the desk.

"Yeah," you said shyly, trying to keep the blush from spreading across your cheeks. "We've been taking it slow."

"That didn't look too slow to me," she teased, and you rolled your eyes, sliding down from the desk to pull on a pair of gloves.

"Come on, let's get going. I don't want to work late tonight, and we have a ton to do," you said, playfully kicking her chair.

"Right, the party. Should be fun!" she said, standing up to follow you over to the vegetables that needed to be harvested and delivered for the party that night.

"Alright, how do I look?" Maria asked as she stepped out of the bathroom. She was wearing a black knee length wrapped skirt with a red V-neck sleeveless blouse. She had just put the finishing touches on her makeup, deciding at the last minute to go with a red lip.

"Amazing!" you said excitedly after you popped your head out into the hallway from your bedroom. "I love red on you, it's definitely your color." She grinned and waved you off, embarrassed at your compliment.

"Are you ready?" she asked as she made her way down the hallway towards your door, fixing an earring as she walked.

"Pretty much," you said, taking one last look in the mirror. You couldn't remember the last time you wore a dress. You used to wear one almost every day at work, but you had been living in jeans for so long that putting the soft, light pink material on felt foreign.

You spun around and looked over your shoulder at the mirror, checking out the back of the dress, which plunged lower than you had expected. Maria gave you a low whistle from the door.

"You're gonna be cold tonight, but damn, it'll be worth it," she said, giving you a grin. "You look incredible." You laughed, thanking her and holding up a light sweater.

"That won't help your legs, but it's better than nothing. C'mon, they should be here any minute," Maria said, turning on her heel, heading into the kitchen. You draped the sweater over your arms and bent down to zip up the booties you had found when you heard a knock on the front door.

You quickly checked what little makeup you had on in the mirror as you heard Maria greet Tommy and Joel, calling out your name and telling you to hurry up. You flicked off the light and hurried into the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, hold your horses," you said as you walked into the room, your eyes immediately finding Joel. He was wearing a white thermal shirt tucked into a dark pair of jeans you didn't recognize, with a black untucked dress shirt left unbuttoned over the top.

"Hey," you said with a smile, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. You could feel how tense his muscles were when you rested your hand on his arm for balance. You leaned back and looked him in the eye, noticing his dark gaze.

"Are you alright?" you murmured to him as Maria fixed Tommy's collar, chatting quietly amongst themselves. "Don't be nervous, it will be fine."

"Not nervous," he said lowly, his eyes raking up and down your body. When you realized you mistook his lust for anxiety, you grinned.

"I wanted to look good for you," you said quietly, your eyes briefly checking in on Tommy and Maria to make sure they couldn't hear you.

"You look so fuckin' beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, that dress is somethin' else," Joel rambled as his eyes darted all over your body.

"So much for those manners," you teased, but he ignored your joke, pinning you with a dark stare. "You don't look so bad yourself, you know."

He swallowed roughly as he took your dress in one more time, his eyes filled with need.

"You two ready?" Tommy asked, giving you a smile.

"Yep!" you said, grabbing Joel's hand and giving him a tug. "Come on," you urged, looking at him over your shoulder as you followed Tommy and Maria out the front door.

"Lead the way," he murmured, staring at your ass before falling in line next to you on the street.

It was beginning to get a little cold, but Joel's arm around you kept you warm as you made your way to the Tipsy Bison. You figured you would be inside most of the night, anyway, so hopefully the temperature wouldn't be a concern. Maria was chatting about what Seth was serving, the decorations made by the kids in town, and she made sure she had Joel's attention when she mentioned the ribbon cutting ceremony.

"Nah, you can do all that," Joel told her over the top of your head.

"Oh come on, Joel, we wouldn't have been able to do this without you!" Maria pleaded.

"Sure you woulda. You did the first wall before me," he pointed out, and she waved him off.

"Yeah, but it took us forever. You made this happen so much faster, and the town's grateful, Joel," Tommy added. "Just cut the damn ribbon and smile."

Joel grunted as he made his way up the steps to the bar, holding the door open for everyone, then slipped inside, wrapping his arm around your waist as he led you up to the bar.

Maria ended up abandoning you as she mingled with the rest of the town, dragging Tommy along with her. You hummed along to a familiar song blaring from the speakers while Joel ordered you both drinks. His finger traced an invisible pattern on the top of your hand, getting your attention so he could nudge the cold glass of vodka toward you. You picked it up, raising it in the air to clink against his whiskey.

"To Joel Miller, contactor extraordinaire," you said over the music, sipping from your drink. He smiled as he swallowed down a big gulp of his whiskey.

"You sure you're alright?" you asked him, not wanting to dampen the mood, but he seemed nervous.

"Yeah, I'm good," he assured you. His eyes traveled down to your dress, then back up to your face, realizing the perfect deflection was standing right in front of him. "You got me riled up again, is all. Gonna be a long night of tryin' to keep my hands to myself." You took another sip of your drink and leaned forward, closer to his ear.

"What if I didn't want you to keep your hands to yourself?"

He groaned, his hand coming up to rest on your waist.

"You heard 'em, I gotta cut the goddamn ribbon," he muttered as he stared down at you, his brown eyes darkening.

"Hm, that's true. Can't disappoint the town," you said, leaning back a bit to sip on your drink and glance around the room. You smiled as kids ran around playing tag, weaving through the throngs of people in the middle of the room where tables had been pushed to the side so there was room to dance. You spotted Maria across the room talking to an older couple, holding some papers and a marker in her hands, while Tommy stood dutifully beside her, looking bored.

"Ha, poor Tommy. Bet he can't wait til all the schmoozing is over so they can have a little fun," you said with a laugh. You looked back up to Joel and your smile slipped from your face. He hadn't looked away from you once while you had been people watching. His expression was serious, and it was clear something was weighing heavily on his mind.

"Alright, out with it, what's going on with you?" you pushed him with a frown. "I can tell something is wrong."

Just then, a slow song picked up over the speakers, and all the bodies surrounding you that were once loud and jovial turned quieter as people began to pair off to dance.

"Dance with me?" Joel asked, ignoring your question and holding his hand out. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, knowing full well he was trying to distract you, but you gave in anyway, putting your drink on the bar and taking his hand. He led you out to the middle of the room and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he held your other hand gently to the side. You brought your free hand up to rest on his shoulder as you gazed up at him, taking a moment to appreciate how handsome he was in that moment, the string lights hanging above the bar illuminating his chiseled jaw and his perfect, crooked nose.

"You're right, you know," he said, looking down at you. "Somethin' is botherin' me."

You frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"These past few months gave me a lot of time to think 'bout what I did," he began, and you wondered why on earth he was bringing that up now. "And I didn't tell you this before 'cause you were goin' through your own stuff, and that was way more important."

He could feel your body slow down in his arms, but he encouraged you to keep dancing.

"But I was talkin' with Tommy, and I think maybe I got some kind of... PTSD from what happened to you in Kansas City. He said soliders he knew in the miliary got it all the time, said what I was feelin' sounded a lot like that." He avoided your gaze as he spoke, embarrassment creeping up, but he took a deep breath and pushed on.

"Anyway, it's no excuse for what I did to Jake that night, but I wanted to tell you. Maybe help you understand what was goin' through my head. I was just so fuckin' terrified of that happenin' to you again that I just saw red." He finally let himself look at you, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Oh, Joel," you whispered, dropping your hand from his shoulder to wrap around his waist, pulling him tight against you as you rested your head on his chest. "I'm so sorry, I never even thought -"

"Shh, don't be sorry," he said, his lips pressed against the top of your head. "Nothin' to be sorry for. I didn't even realize it til recently. And I'm workin' on it, I swear."

"Can I do anything to help?" you asked, pulling back to look up at his face again.

"You already do help. Every day. Just by bein' you," he said, squeezing your hand. "Promise. I'm alright. I just wanted to explain myself."

You nodded and squeezed your eyes shut, resting your head against his chest again.

"Thank you for telling me," you said. "I'll help you work through it, just like you helped me."

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, giving you a kiss on the top of your head as the song ended. He brushed his thumb along your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. "Now, let's have a fun night, ok?"

You nodded, giving him a small smile as he led you back to your waiting drinks at the bar.

Joel had just ordered you both your second round when Maria turned the music off to get everyone's attention.

"Hope everyone's having a good time tonight!" Maria shouted, which was followed by a chorus of cheers.

"I figured before you all got too drunk, we should get to the main event of the evening," she said, a chuckle rippling through the crowd. "I've got everyone's house assignments right here, but if you all want to head outside first, the kids made a very impressive ribbon for us to cut to mark the special occasion."

Maria gestured toward the door and people began to slowly file out. You dragged Joel behind you, feeling his hesitancy with each step. You tightened your sweater around your shoulders once the cool night air hit you. Joel's arm came up to wrap around you, keeping you warm.

"Maria was right," you muttered to him as you found a spot in the crowd, waiting for her to continue. "This dress is too short." He groaned.

"Don't talk about that right now, I'm about to walk up there in front of everyone," he warned, shifting his weight and keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. You giggled and leaned into his arm.

"Sorry," you whispered.

Once Maria quieted down the crowd, she gave a brief speech about Jackson and how proud she was of the community.

"Every single person in this town had a hand in building what we have here today: a safe, quaint place to live in peace and harmony. And when I say "building", I mean it quite literally when I'm referring to Joel Miller."

Maria reached out an arm towards Joel as he gave a shy wave. The town turned to applaud him, and his grip on your shoulder tightened a fraction.

"Without Joel's help, we wouldn't be looking at expanding to this neighborhood as quickly as we are tonight. Which is why I asked him to come up to cut the ribbon and help usher in a new era for Jackson."

"Go on," you said, giving him a small shove forward as the town smiled and clapped for him. He made his way to the front of the crowd, a few of the men patting him on the back as he went. You watched with your arms wrapped around your body as Joel picked up the gardening shears. He turned to face the town, the shears open and hovering over the ribbon.

"Welcome home," he said, his eyes finding yours. With a smile, he snapped the shears and the ribbon fell, followed by a cheer from the crowd.

"A man of few words," you murmured against his mouth when he made his way back to you, planting a quick kiss to your lips. He shrugged off the black dress shirt he was wearing over his thermal and wrapped it around your shoulders.

"C'mon, I got somethin' to show you," he said, pulling you away from the crowd surrounding Maria, who was giving out house numbers to people waiting in line.

"You know, I've never even explored this part of town before. It's huge," you said, your eyes taking in the wall surrounding the new street. A few families had made their way down already, entering their new homes with squeals of excitement.

"Yeah, hopin' I won't have to build another damn wall for a while," he said, tugging gently on your hand as he rounded a corner.

"Well, wait a minute, I wanted to see the rest of the street first," you protested, looking behind you. But then Joel came to an abrupt stop, making you stumble. You gave him a confused look and followed his gaze, your jaw dropping.

You blinked rapidly a few times, wondering if what you were seeing was real. There before you stood a white two-story house with a wraparound porch, a red door and blue shutters.

The style of the house was different, of course, but you instantly made the connection to the house you stayed at in Hidden Springs. You let your hand slowly drop from his grip as you stared, slack jawed, at the house, taking in every little feature as you stood stock-still on the street.

Joel watched you nervously, his heart thudding in his chest, waiting for your reaction. When a few minutes went by without you saying anything, he cleared his throat.

"It's yours," he said, and you finally turned your head to face him, your expression unreadable. His gaze darted nervously between your eyes, and he swallowed.

"What do you think?"

You looked back at the house to make sure it was still there, like you couldn't believe your eyes.

"Did you... build this porch?" you asked softly.

"Yeah. Well, that part and over there where it wraps around." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving you.

"Wow," you whispered, shaking your head.

"C'mon, sweetheart, talk to me," he begged, and you dragged your eyes away from the house once more to look at him.

"I love it," you said simply, tears welling in your eyes now as relief washed over him. "I can't believe... it looks so much like the other one," you said, a tear falling down your cheek.

"Well, I made you a promise, and I know how much you wanted to stay in that house," he reached out a hand to brush your tear away with his thumb. Your hand came up to cover his against your face as you looked up into his eyes. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that the tears began to flow steady now.

"This is our home, Joel," you told him tearfully. He smiled, still wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"'Our'?" he repeated hopefully. You nodded, and he leaned down to press a kiss against your lips, his hand sliding back from your cheek, getting tangled in your hair before he pulled away.

"C'mon, I'll show you inside," he said, his hand falling to grasp yours as he led you up the porch steps, your head swiveling around as you walked so you could take in every detail up close.

Joel walked you through the house, pointing out the changes he made as he went, explaining how he knocked out a wall to open up the kitchen and let in more light. You watched him while he spoke, his eyes sparkled with excitement and pride. You could tell he had given this house a lot of thought and time, and it finally occurred to you what was making him so nervous this week. Looking around, you wondered how he could ever think you wouldn't love this place.

He was in the middle of explaining an idea he had to make the pantry bigger when you cut him off.

"Why don't you show me upstairs?" you asked, squeezing his hand as you took a step backwards.

"Sure, okay," he said, his eyebrows raised as you led him to the stairs. Once you got to the top, you turned to him expectantly, and he cleared his throat.

"Well, this house isn't as big as the other one, but you still got an extra room at the end of the hall," he pointed towards a door down on the left. "And this is the master," he said, pushing open the door behind you that was left ajar. He led you inside and flicked the light on by the bed.

"You got a bathroom and a decent sized closet. Again, not as big, but if you need the extra space, maybe you can use the spare bedroom."

"We," you said, correcting him. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your mouth.

"We," he confirmed, finally taking a step forward and grabbing your face in both hands, hungrily devouring your mouth with his while your hands raked up his back, pulling him closer. You could feel the desperation and heat rolling off him as his tongue swirled around yours, walking you backwards towards the bed. He pushed his shirt from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before breaking the kiss. You sat on the mattress and crawled backwards up the bed, your eyes never leaving his while he watched you, his lips parted.

"C'mere," you said impatiently, your head resting on the pillow.

"Just takin' a minute," he said, his eyes dark as he swallowed roughly. "Been waitin' a long time for this."

You sat up and reached behind you, tugging at the zipper of the dress, but he stopped you.

"Leave it on," he said gruffly, finally leaning forward and crawling up the bed, pushing you back down with his body. His mouth latched onto your neck as his hand slid up your thigh, under your dress, and squeezed at the meaty part of your hip. You moaned softly under him, your hands coming up to rake through his hair.

"Joel," you whimpered, lifting your hips up greedily towards him. He seemed to understand since he hooked his fingers around your underwear, giving them a quick yank. He pulled them from your ankles and dangled them between you, shaking his head.

"You might've ruined these pretty little panties of yours," he murmured, showing you the soaked fabric before he shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. All you could manage to do was watch him with half closed eyes, your chest heaving as you waited for his touch.

He ran both hands up your legs, resting them temporarily on the inside of your thighs before flattening your legs with his palms, exposing your aching center to the cool air. You gripped the pillow behind your head when he ran his thumb up the length of your seam, drawing out a low moan from your throat.

"Shit," he hissed when he felt the pool of arousal waiting for him. He ran his thumb down again, dipping inside briefly to collect some of the wetness there, then dragged it up to your swollen clit, circling slowly, his open palm pressed against your thigh.

You slid your eyes closed and rolled your head to the side with a sigh while his thumb continued its pace. You yearned for his hands for so long that even the smallest touch was setting your nerves on fire.

He watched your face closely, reading the cues he had come to know so well.

You let out a frustrated whine and arched your back, your eyes opening to lock onto his.

"I know, sweetheart, I got you," he said lowly, turning his hand so he could push a finger inside you while his thumb remained pressed on your clit. He always knew exactly what you needed with every sound you made and every thrust of your hips. You cursed and tipped your head back as he pumped his finger inside a few times before adding a second. You rewarded him with a delicious gasp, your hips rocking against his hand. He smirked, his free hand grasping the side of your hip, helping you move against him.

"That's it, c'mon," he said, his gaze dark and transfixed on your face as he watched you come undone. Your breaths were becoming ragged, your jaw slack. He could tell you were close. He pumped his fingers faster, burying them all the way to his knuckles, and applied a firmer pressure to your clit, wiggling his thumb back and forth now in lieu of circles.

"Fuck! Joel, please," you cried out, your eyes squeezed shut as you gasped for air.

"Look at me," he grunted, still rocking your hip up and down on his hand. Your eyes flew open and locked onto him, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched you.

"That's right, eyes on me," he panted. He saw the flush creeping up your chest and neck as you bit down on your lip. "No need to be shy, now. It's just us."

He curled his fingers inside you and your jaw dropped back open, but your eyes remained on him. He felt your muscles tighten around his fingers and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Let go for me," he told you, his pace relentless, and you moaned. "C'mon, I know you're close, aren't you? Fuck, been wantin' to do this since the moment I saw you in this little dress. Come all over my fingers, then I'm gonna make you come again on my cock, d’you understand?"

"Fuck, Joel, ohmygod!" you cried, his words doing you in as your walls clamped down around his fingers and your back arched off the bed. He loosened his grasp on your hip, rubbing the skin there gently to make sure he didn't hurt you as his fingers and thumb slowed down.

"Good girl," he murmured, removing his thumb from your clit before you became overly sensitive, but he gave you a few more slow thrusts with his fingers before sliding them out.  You watched lazily as he popped his fingers in his mouth, cleaning them off before he leaned down to slip his tongue inside your mouth to give you a taste.

"Take this off now," he commanded, pulling gently at the top of your dress. You immediately sat up and fumbled with the zipper, his strong hand sliding down your exposed back to help pull it down. You shrugged the top of the dress down, exposing your naked chest, and lifted your hips so he could pull it down your legs. He kneeled next to you on the bed, panting, as he took in your naked form.

"Your turn," you told him, yanking at the waistband of his jeans. He blinked, then untucked his thermal shirt before lifting it over his head and tossing it on the floor. He quickly unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving your body, and pushed his jeans and boxers off, crawling back between your legs and hovering over you.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, nipping at your jaw while he slowly thrusted his hips, dragging his leaking cock over your stomach, desperate to feel your skin.

"I want you, Joel," you whimpered. You felt him smile, then his face dipped lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and chest until he reached your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You gasped, arching your back to push your breasts into him further while his hand pinched your other nipple. You felt his teeth graze your skin gently before he released, moving over to give the other one the same attention.

"Joel," you gasped, squirming underneath him. He ignored you, still lavishing attention on your tits, so you tried a different approach.

"Baby, please, I want you to fuck me," you murmured. The combination of your pet name for him and your request made him growl, his mouth abandoning your chest. His hand gripped your jaw, holding your mouth open as his tongue darted inside your mouth hungrily, playfully biting your lower lip when he pulled away and released your jaw.

"Since you asked so nicely," he said, running his nose alongside yours affectionately as he reached down between you both, lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance, then brought his arm back up to rest next to your head.

"You alright?" he asked softly as he felt your body tense in anticipation, searching your eyes while tracing a finger down your cheek. You nodded, bringing your hands up to wrap around each of his shoulders, spreading your legs wider.

He lightly brushed his lips against yours as he slowly pressed himself inside you. You exhaled harshly at the sensation, enjoying the slight sting as he kept pushing his cock into you. He released a strangled groan once he bottomed out, dropping his forehead against your shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh, fuck, I missed that," he gasped against your skin, and you hummed in response, rotating your hips a bit as you adjusted to his size.

"Me too," you whispered as you felt yourself relax around him. He took a breath, then began to rock his hips gently, languidly dragging his cock in and out of you while he peppered small kisses along your collarbone. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, your eyes sliding shut, focusing on how perfectly he fit inside you.

"Tell me how it feels," he mumbled against your neck, his hips keeping their slow, gentle pace.

"Good," you told him. "You always feel so good," you sighed, a lazy smirk spilling across his face.

"You know you won't break me, right?" you teased, and he shook his head.

"I know, just not in any rush. Wanna take my time, wanna feel you," he said with a groan, then slowed to a stop. He pushed himself up by his hands, hovering over you, a layer of sweat already coating his chest and neck.

You let out a pathetic whine at the loss of contact, staring up at him with a confused look.

He didn't say a word, just stared deep into your eyes for a moment before snapping his hips once into you, making you squeak.

"You want it like that?" he asked you, snapping his hips again, eliciting the same response. Your hands gripped the sheets as he looked down at you, his eyes dark. He did it a third time, leaving you panting as you stared up at him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I know what you like," he said softly, his hands traveling to your sides as he shifted his weight to his knees. He rolled his hips against you roughly, pulling your own hips into him. You let out an appreciative groan and your eyes fluttered shut once his coarse hair made contact with your clit.

"There we go," he said, watching your reaction as he continued. "How's that? This what you need?"

"Yes," you gasped, his grip on you tightening. "Fuck, yes, Joel," you moaned, tipping your head back as he picked up the pace, still rolling his hips perfectly into you.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful like this," he grunted. "Always take my cock so well."

You moaned at the praise, goosebumps prickling your skin as you felt your second orgasm building.

"More," you whimpered, looking back up at him now. His neck was red and splotchy, and his eyes burned with desire.

"More what, sweetheart?" he croaked, still rolling himself in and out of you at the same steady pace. "Use your words, tell me."

"Deeper," you gasped. "I want your cock deeper and faster. Please."

At hearing your words, he groaned, falling forward on his hands again but quickly hooked his fingers under one of your knees and pressed it as far back against your chest as he could.

He leaned forward, sinking himself impossibly deeper into you, making you cry out from the intense angle.

"How's that feel?" he asked again, thrusting into you much faster now.

"Full," you choked out, barely able to string a sentence together. "So full, don't stop, please don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he told you, panting for air as he kept up the brutal pace. He leaned down further to scrape his teeth against your jaw before planting a bruising kiss on your lips, muffling your sounds.

He felt your walls clenching around him, his groan lost in the sea of your cries as you babbled his name mixed with curses. Your hands came up to his arms and you dug your fingers into his muscles.

"Joel," you whined, your eyes flicking to his, trying to silently communicate what you needed.

"I got you," he said. He withheld his usual demand to 'use your words', and instead brought his hand between your bodies. He found your clit, pressing quick, firm circles as he watched your face closely. When he saw your eyebrows pinch together, he switched from circles to rubbing his finger back and forth on your bundle of nerves, drawing out another orgasm from you almost instantly.

"That's it, that's my girl. Fuck, you're so pretty when you come. Look at you, so perfect."

"Joel!" You wailed, arching your back. Your nails most certainly leaving marks on his arms as you dug them in harder, gasping for breath as you came back down to earth. His hand slowed before he removed it entirely, placing it back down on the bed next to you.

"You feel so good, comin' on my cock like that," he gritted out, your mind hazy as he chased his release.

He had pushed your knee back so your leg was straight, so you wrapped both your legs around his waist, pulling him into you as close as you could.

"You always make me feel so good, baby," you murmured, your hands reaching up to his hair. His thrusts were becoming sloppy as you gently scraped your nails against his scalp, making him whimper.

"No one's ever made me feel this good, did you know that?" you asked, bringing him to the edge with your voice. He shook his head, then let his forehead drop to your shoulder as his hips began to stutter. Your cunt was growing sore now from the overstimulation, but you ignored it.

"I've never felt this way about anybody before," you continued, whispering into his ear, and he bit down gently on your neck.

"Give it to me," you said, louder now. "Come for me, Joel."

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, and as if he was waiting for your permission, quickly pulled out, spilling his warm spend all over your stomach.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his features slack as he watched the last of his cum shoot out across your skin. He looked up at you, both panting for air and covered in sweat.

"Fuck," he repeated, leaning back and running a hand through his hair, eyes drifting to your stomach again.

He resisted the urge to collapse next to you, afraid if he did, he would never get back up. Instead, he pushed himself off the bed and into the bathroom. Your head rolled lazily to the side as you watched him fumble around in the linen closet to find a washcloth, dampening it at the sink before returning to you.

He leaned over the side of the bed and gently cleaned you up, then used the washcloth on himself before tossing it over the side of the tub and coming back to bed, flopping down naked next to you.

"I don't have any of my things here," you said, staring at the ceiling.

"I'll get your stuff in the mornin'," he said hoarsely, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. "You ain't goin' anywhere tonight."

You giggled as you pulled at the sheets, tossing them haphazardly over you both before leaning back into his embrace.

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you thought of was warm. You were so unbelievably warm, Joel's body like a furnace against you, never letting you go throughout the night. You could feel his deep breaths against your neck, telling you he was still fast asleep. Your eyes flickered to the window, trying to judge the time based on how light it was outside. You figured it was pretty early. Unfortunately, the urge to pee was not allowing you to stay tucked into bed much longer, so you slowly and carefully extracted yourself from Joel's arms, shoving your pillow next to him instead, then tiptoed to the bathroom, scooping up his boxers and black dress shirt along the way.

The second thought that hit you once you stood was sore. Deliciously sore from last night. And when you stood in front of the mirror to button up Joel's shirt, you noticed bite marks left all over your shoulder and collarbone, the sight making you bite down on your lip. You didn't want to admit it, but there was something undeniably sexy about the way he left his mark on you.

You cracked the bathroom door open and peered out, finding Joel exactly where you left him. You were too awake and too excited to finally be in your own house, so you slipped out the bedroom door and headed downstairs.

You wandered aimlessly around your kitchen, opening the mostly empty cupboards and drawers until you found a lone can of ground coffee stored right above the coffee maker. You pulled the can down and scooped the grounds into the filter, filling up the reservoir with water and hitting the button to brew. In the pantry you found an old sleeve of disposable paper cups, so you grabbed two and set them on the counter.

As you waited for the coffee to finish, you looked around the living room, reading a few titles of books left behind on bookshelves before leaning against the window frame, looking out onto the quiet street. You smiled when you noticed the swing at the end of the porch, and at the same time you heard the coffee finish brewing.

You poured a cup of coffee and then snatched a blanket from the back of the couch as you headed out the front door, quietly closing it behind you. You shivered at the cool morning air; your legs still bare. You sat down on the wooden swing and draped the soft blanket over you, holding the coffee in your hands to help warm you up.

The street was quiet, the town most likely all recovering from the night before. You took a few sips of coffee, wincing when it burned your tongue. It only took about fifteen minutes before you saw movement through the living room window. Joel stepped out of the front door and rounded the corner in his jeans and thermal from the night before, holding his own cup of coffee.

"May I join you?" he asked with a grin, which you returned, and scooted down on the swing to make room.

He slung his arm over the back of the swing, and you leaned against his chest, breathing in his scent mixed with the early morning dew.

"What are you thinkin' about?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I was just thinking about this one time in the woods, after we had to leave the other house, we sat against a tree just like this drinking coffee. Do you remember?"

"The day we first said 'I love you'," he said immediately, and your eyes shot up to his in surprise. "What? I remember things," he said defensively, and you laughed.

"Well, I remember wishing we were on the porch at the old house drinking coffee instead of in the middle of the woods, fighting for our lives," you told him, his hand moving from the back of the swing to squeeze your shoulder.

"And now?" he asked you, his eyes sparkling.

"And now you've made that wish come true," you said, gazing at him adoringly.

"Thank you," you whispered, nuzzling your face against his chest. He rubbed your arm affectionately and sipped his coffee.

"Anythin' for you, sweetheart," he said, leaning back into the swing as he watched a few people slowly begin to emerge from their houses and trudge down the street.

Contentment washed over you as he held you against him on the porch he built for you, in the town he fought like hell to get you to, and living the life he promised you as you watched the sun rise together, welcoming the next phase of your lives.

Epilogue

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, like, reblog, comment, follow .... basically anything! It makes me so happy that anyone even took a chance to read this, I started this story thinking it was just going to be for me to read, and I am beyond happy so many of you like it, as well. I really hope I did these characters justice for you! And I do plan on writing a little Epilogue (hint: Yellowstone) and some one-shots in the future!

Again, thank you so much!

[chimivx]

public occurrences. // myg.

pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader

summary: It's been almost a year since Vegas. As one would expect, life hasn't gotten any easier. If anything it's gotten even more chaotic. The world knows who you are now... There aren't anymore secrets to hide.

words: 6k

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS. use of cuss words, they talk of anxiety, some mental health situations, talks about a miscarriage, talks about Jin and other members leaving. other than that- not much else. If I missed anything PLEASE let me know.

a/n: CAN'T BELIEVE ANOTHER VEGAS IS HERE. Enjoy my loves. Thank you for all the love and support always. <3 It's just a short little drabble of one specific moment of time, but I thought it was pretty important.

~ the end of february 2023 ~

A dull pain begins to erupt where you’ve had your jaw clenched for the last twenty minutes. A soreness in your jaw you’re not quite sure will ever be able to go away. For the past few months it’s found itself in this compromised position.

Your entire body is made of steel, your joints creaking as you attempt to pull yourself together amidst the panic ensuing within your nervous system. Limbs heavy to the point you aren’t sure whether or not you’ll be able to exit the vehicle.

Breathe in, breathe out. The words repeat.

Breath in, breathe out. It made you want to sing Hobi’s song. Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhaaale. But there was no time for fun. Not when you were about to walk outside in front of cameras for the first time in eight years.

The morning was spent in a blur, the attempts to perfect your hair and makeup happening at an hour too early, much like how you rolled out of bed. An hour too early. You were awake before your daughter even had the chance to stir.

Anxiety had been simmering beneath your skin for weeks. You could barely eat, the nausea would rip through you violently. Again, for the past few months that’s how life has been, nausea, anxiety, melancholy thoughts and dreams, however this event seemed to be adding twice as much. These past few days you’ve probably accumulated a total of nine hours of sleep. You had more shuteye the week after your daughter's birth.

There seemed to be a butterfly effect from the events in Vegas. The incident that caused countless meetings and endless discussions because the company just couldn’t handle anymore media control or protection. You should never have trusted that girl.

BigHit took their time, the company drug out the announcement as long as they could so it would surpass Jin’s deployment and your goddamn wedding. Now, with it being the end of February, Yoongi’s been traveling absolutely everywhere for basketball games, photoshoots, and he’s announced a tour… It was about to happen. For the very first time in eight years you were officially about to be on camera, branded by flashes, posted online permanently, forever going to be seen and known as Min Yoongi’s wife.

Next to you, Yoongi grips your knee tight, in hopes to settle your worries. Glancing down to his knobby hand you sigh and suck in a deep breath.

“We’ll be fine,” he said softly. Meeting his comforting gaze, you attempt to smile, one that makes him laugh. “I promise. Remember everything we talked about?”

You do. Of course you do. It’s been playing on repeat for one hundred and sixty eight hours. 

That’s how many hours are in a week. You had to google that.

When this entire plan was set in place you requested a play by play, a step by step tutorial- a rehearsal even! You were walking out into the public eye with your child for the first time. People knew who you were now. 

There were going to be cameras, and fans, and paparazzi, and loud noises, and people rushing you, and standards to follow. It was all too much, it all seemed to be entirely too much. You were going to have a toddler on your hip, one who could barely stand to be in a room full of people her father worked with let alone god knows how many strangers at an airport.

“What happens first?” Yoongi asked, reaching for one of your hands to tangle his fingers with yours. He could feel your panic. “Tell me the first thing we’re going to do.”

Gulping, you respond, “Park.” Looking up at his short hair that you’re livid with- his long hair was dreamy, and sexy, and you could pull it- you receive another laugh. He hadn’t expected you to be so literal.

“Good, we’ll park,” he praised. “And then what?” Tipping his chin down his eyes widened a bit, becoming all the more endearing.

“Then, Branson and his team get out,” you said, feeling a bit better looking into his eyes. Yoongi gives you a soft smile, dragging his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Has Branson ever let you down?”

“Never,” you whispered. Almost nine incident free years with the man, after Yoongi, you depended on. 

Your husband leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Exactly,” he said. “What happens next?”

Going through the last three simple steps, everything seemed ready to go to plan. Once Branson was ready, you were going to take your daughter out of her carseat, exit the car, and follow the men inside. You would be the one to carry your daughter, just in case. People were unpredictable in these situations, and Yoongi agreed that if something were to happen to him here, you should be the one to carry her inside. As much as that little comment terrified you to hear him say, he was right.

Simple as pie. You hoped.

In a perfect world that’s how it would happen, and you want nothing more than for this to go smoothly.

People knew your name. Everyone has found out that it’s been years. The company was prepared for mass destruction, and so were you and Yoongi. A first public appearance, this is where it would all go to shit. There isn’t much chaos people can fully ensue over the internet.

As for your friends, the two of you personally asked them to stay out of it and at the drop of a hat they agreed. The five boys and Sunny shook on it. No one would say a word publicly, no one would do any interviews, no tweets, no Instagram posts, no stories pushed, no Weverse comments. Silence. Radio silence.

Jin has most definitely heard what has happened, and the next time you and Yoongi get to see him, there will be tea to spill. Your heart aches whenever you think about him, especially for Yoongi. He’s had to go through this madness and so much more without his best friend.

The week after he left was complete and utter hell for your family. And not just because of Jin.

Pushing aside all thoughts of having to redo the motions with Hobi very soon, you come to realize that steps one and two of the plan have already commenced.

The black SUV was parked in front of the airport, and Branson and his team were setting themselves up. Through the dark tinted windows there are crowds upon crowds of people, masses of them so large one would think the entire band was here. It reminded you of a concert, they were all waiting in groups with their phones out, pointing them at the vehicles that you and your team were in.

Slapping your hand on top of Yoongi's, you grip it tight, digging your nails into his palm. He places his other right on top of yours.

“I can’t do it,” you mumbled, whipping your head to shoot him a terrified look.

Yoongi smiles, though your fear threatens to crack him. If this wasn’t ordered by the company he’d whisk you away to safety, getting inside the airport without a soul knowing. He’s broken these rules before, going against what his company wants for your sake, it’s been eight years of you coming first, you topping all things that have to do with his job. 

Now that the gig was up, now that people knew who you were and knew that it’s been forever, he feels as though he owes it to his fans to do a three minute appearance. As much as he was deeply in love with you, he loved his fans almost as much. He wanted to show you off, he wanted the world to see who’s been keeping him sane all this time, who’s been the source of his happiness for years.

“Yanno, the last time you told me that you seemed to handle everything just fine,” he said, glancing at your sleeping daughter beside you. Blowing a gust of air through your lips, you roll your eyes.

“I didn’t have to do any work, D, they cut her out of me,” you grilled back, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t-” your words are cut off by a sudden short breath. “I feel like I can’t breathe,” escapes you in a whisper. 

Branson taps his fist on the window a couple of times gently, signaling that he was ready for the three of you to come out. The murmurs from the crowds can be heard, leaking through the cracks in the doors, swarming around you constricting your chest.

Yoongi slips an arm around your back, holding you against him tight. Burying your face into his chest, he rests his chin on top of your head and takes a deep breath. You can feel his beating heart steady between his lungs. This was just another day for him. He’s had ten years to grow used to this.

“I was afraid this was going to happen,” he said softly. Peeking up at him, you frown.

“What?” you question, lowering your brows. He nods a couple of times, giving you a small smile.

“I was afraid this was going to happen, because I knew this was going to happen,” he said.

“Me freaking out, right?” you sighed, your tone completely breathless. A soft hum leaves his chest as he ponders what you’ve said, then he shakes his head. “What?” you question again with more vigor.

“Well,” he huffs a gentle laugh, “I figured something along the lines of that would happen, but only ‘cause of her,” he nods to your daughter, “Not because you’re scared of going out there. You’re only worried for her. If it were seven years ago you think you’d feel this way?”

Shaking your head to answer him, the electricity coursing through your veins seems to subside.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Before her you were dancing in the streets before my shows, you were talking to people, my fans! You were prancing around stadiums and concerts like it was nothing.”

“I loved doing that,” you smiled. 

“Fuck yeah, you loved doing that,” he said, giving you the smallest shake. “And, you know what? It’s not just you going out there as my wife, right? They know what you’ve done for us, they know what you’ve made for us.”

Your smile starts to grow. He was right. The fans, the people, they loved your work. The music videos, the art, the TinyTan, the creative concepts, the photoshoots, all of it. They finally knew that it was you. The ghost creator had been unveiled.

“You probably have fans of your own,” Yoongi said matter of factly. “I guarantee you all these people are here for you, not me.” Frowning humorously, you make him laugh.

“Doubt that,” you said flatly.

“Alright, half and half,” he winked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can do this, you can do this. We’re doing it together, like we do everything. We’ll get through this together. We always do. Just think, next time we see Jin we have to tell him all about this, he’ll never believe it.” 

Averting your eyes from his, your mind is suffocated by the many, many things you’re going to have to tell Jin when you’re with him again, which you’re hoping is soon. So much has happened, so much has changed, and it’d only been about three months.

“Yeah,” you whispered, flickering your eyes up to Yoongi who’s flashing you a curious look. “He probably still thinks I’m pregnant.”

A flash of discomfort wrecks his expression for all of two seconds as he glances away from you with a breath. Swallowing hard, he relaxes his face and looks back at you, his lips pressed together tight.

“He, uh,” he began in a whisper, “He... knows.” Before you have a chance to say anything, the subtle shock on your face telling him plenty, he cuts you off. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to tell him, it’s Jin, that’s my best friend, he’s the only one I could even say the words to.”

Sitting up a bit, you reach a hand up to cup his cheek, dragging your thumb over his smooth skin. “D, it’s okay,” you reassured him, bobbing your head. His lips form a pout, one that gets you to giggle. “I promise, it’s okay.”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you, feelings swirling around the empty air as you both choose what to do or say next. Yoongi leans into you, kissing your forehead once more before placing his own there.

“You’re so incredible,” he said, watching you flutter your eyes shut. “The strongest woman I know, the most talented woman I know. On top of having such a beautiful, creative mind, you’re a fucking fantastic mother.” Yoongi pauses, taking a deep breath, as do you. “He was lucky to have you for as long as he did.”

A lump lodges in your throat. Scrunching your face, you shake your head, rubbing your forehead to his.

“Don’t make me cry,” you said, voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“Cry?” a tiny voice speaks up from your right, a yawn of the same intensity coming out of her straight after. Popping your eyes open you share a small smile with your husband, and just as you’re about to turn to your little one, Yoongi slips a hand beneath your chin, holding you in place.

“Hey,” his voice is soothing. “I love you.” Your heart flutters.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, accepting the quick kiss he gives you.

Turning to the carseat that has secured a permanent spot in this car, you smile at your daughter who has her head turned toward you and her father. Her sleepy eyes entice a happy hum from you.

“You were supposed to sleep through this,” you said sarcastically sweet. Yoongi chuckles, unbuckling from his seat. The clang of the metal on the door makes your heart skip a beat.

“No,” your daughter said. “No sleep. All done.” Her voice is tiny, and slightly broken, and not hitting all of the right sounds, but her speech has only been improving. The two of you speak to her like she’s a human being, saving the baby voices for when she’s feeling silly, which can attest to her strong vocabulary and understanding of conversation.

You’re beginning to think she is a genius like her father.

“Mama, up,” she cooed, reaching out her arms that were finally starting to get a little chubby. Her cheeks had caught up to her as well, they were finally perfectly pinchable.

Freeing her from the car seats restraints, your daughter aids you in her escape, launching herself forward and up into your arms with a shout.

“Oh!” she giggles once her arms are around your neck and her face is buried in your hair. 

“Oh!” you and Yoongi copy her, to which she responds with another shout.

Her attentive eyes point out the window when she sits herself up, tapping on your shoulder a couple of times with her palm. Lifting a hand, she tries to point at the crowds of people.

“Where?” she asked curiously, looking to either of her parents for an answer. Her voice turned you into a complete puddle, the sound coming out as ‘Wheh?’, the middle syllable is even more pronounced when she questions the two of you again.

Yoongi brings a hand to her forehead, brushing away a few dark hairs that fell into her eyes. The girl hated bows, you stopped trying.

 “We’re at the airport,” he told her, and she listened with all of her might. “We’re going on a plane, isn’t that fun? You like flying.” Her eyes blink a few times, taking her time to process the words. 

Sighing aloud, dramatically of course, she glances out the window and mumbles a jumble of sounds. Following her gaze, you gulp. 

Eager eyes of bystanders attempted to shatter the glass of the tinted windows.

“Mama,” your daughter said, looking at you. “Go, Mama,” she bounced once. “Go,” she bounced twice. You knew the moment you stepped out into the noise and the flashing lights that she would have a meltdown, but you admired her desire to get out of the car. Yoongi was right, she loved flying, it was her second favorite thing right now. Securely at number one was Jungkook, for a year and seven months. That spot was unattainable for anyone else.

“Shall we?” Yoongi offered, watching you fiercely, letting you take the lead. He waited patiently for your answer, heaving a sigh of relief when you finally gave him a tentative nod of your head.

“Dada, go,” your daughter babbled. “Mama, go. Dada, go. Mama, go.”

Sharing a laugh with Yoongi, you take a long deep breath and tighten your grip around her back, holding her in front of your chest. Smiling at you, your baby touched a hand to your cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered to her. She leans her head toward you and puts her nose on yours.

“Ah-luh-oo,” she tried her best to repeat. Stealing a kiss from her, you let Yoongi press a thousand to her cheek to make her giggle, and then it’s time.

Everything seems to move in slow motion, your vision tunneling as your husband opens the car door. Pulling a mask over his face, he sends you a reassuring wink before he rounds the vehicle.

Screams erupt from every corner of the space, and shouting from the team can already be heard. Strict shouting, like things were getting crazy already. Your daughter’s eyes are wide as she looks out the windows and up at you. Her curiosity has been swapped for a little bit of fear. 

You couldn’t let her see you panic.

Sliding off of the leather seat and onto the concrete of the airport lot, you pull a mask over your own face and instantly slip a hand to the back of your baby's head. Her legs were wrapped around your torso, and the moment you stepped outside her arms clung around your neck for safety. You already had a suspicion that you weren’t going to have to actively try to hide her face, she would want to do that herself.

Your bags were already taken care of, there wasn’t anything else you needed to grab from the car other than your child and yourself. Everything else would be taken care of for you.

With another deep, dramatic breath, you hold your daughter close, allowing her to bury her face into your neck, and you circle the car like Yoongi had. Upon rounding the back, cameras that were already flashing began to flash faster, quicker. Wide eyed and stunned by the greeting of screams, you barely have time to process anything before Branson grabs your arm. 

It’s a gentle tug, one to help keep you on track. He pulls you close to him, staying one step ahead of you as you wait for a couple of seconds in front of the car. Glancing amongst the crowd, it’s mainly full of paparazzi and probably some journalists. Behind the tall men and their cameras you can see the fans, the ones holding up their phones and jumping up and down trying to catch a glimpse at the commotion.

Airport security guards held some people back, though no one seemed to be trying to push through excessively, which was your main fear. 

“Another minute here,” Branson said to you, leaning into your ear. “They need photos, then we go.” Nodding, you peek down at your girl who was content clinging to her mother and hiding from the chaos. A sound of admiration rips through the crowd as you stroke her back, one that surprises you.

Up ahead, close to the doors, Yoongi was walking backward slowly, watching you. His fans twisted their heads side to side, from him, to you, and back again. To spice things up a bit, he gives you a wave, and everyone goes nuts.

You can’t help but laugh at him, eyes crinkling at the sides. For some reason you had thought he’d treat you differently when you were outside, but aside from following the rules, he was still your husband. He points to the baby on your chest and questions you with a thumbs up. Another giant ‘Awh!’ rolls through the chattering crowd.

Sending a thumbs up back, the fans laugh, and cheer. Then, your heart plummets to your stomach.

From somewhere within the crowd your name is shouted. And then again. Before you knew it, the entire crowd wanted your attention. Overwhelmed, feeling utterly insane, your eyes well up with tears. You're unable to make out anything else they’re saying though, there were too many people talking at once, and to you, that was a good thing.

God forbid anybody had anything bad to say. You’ve heard it before, but you don’t need to live it in real time.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled. Branson leans into you again, questioning what you’ve said. Turning to him, you smile and repeat, “Holy shit!” 

“You’re okay?” he asked, gently putting a hand over your shoulder blade. 

“I- I think so?” you said to him, raising your voice over the crowd that was only getting louder. Glancing down to your daughter who’s little fists were attempting to rip holes in your sweater, you send a look to Yoongi, and he stops walking all together. Bundled up in the safety of her mothers arms wasn’t enough for the baby, she needed to be out of this situation immediately. “Branson we have to go.”

“I don’t have the signal yet, we need Yoongi inside before we move forward,” he said. Frowning, you knew the man was just doing his job, but a cry from your daughter flipped a switch within you.

“We need to go,” you insisted, shooting him a glare. Cradling the back of her head, you press your masked lips to her hair and take a deep breath, hoping she’d feel as much of your love as possible. 

“Go! Get him inside,” Branson spoke into the tiny walkie he carried on his chest, gesturing toward the door with persistence. 

The crowd, now roaring, and growing larger, began to push. The barriers that were blocked by guards were spilling over the edge.

Branson placed a hand to the top of your shoulder and held onto you tight. Grabbing the little speaker, he spoke clearer. “We need to move forward, and we cannot do that if you cannot get him indoors.”

Up ahead your husband was watching you with a heated gaze. His attention didn’t deter from you once. His heart twisted when you cradled your daughter, when he saw Branson begin to get defensive. The hand that was placed protectively on your shoulder could make him scream, and the team behind him, calling after him to get him to step inside the airport made his thoughts fuzzy.

What the hell was he doing? Why would he ever allow the two of you, the most important people in his life, why would he allow you to do it alone? This was the very first time you’ve done this, and he’s realized now that he’s made the biggest mistake.

Forgetting everything he was told, everything he’s learned, Yoongi bounds toward you, using the fast paced walk that his fans clown him for. They absolutely lose their minds, the people around you. 

Wide eyed and shocked, you’d never think he’d break the rules on this one, you sigh in relief when he reaches your side. An arm wraps around your shoulder, Yoongi closing you in front of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you asked, giving your head a small shake.

Your husband smiles, reaching up to pull his mask off of his face, removing yours as well.

“Not letting you do it alone,” he said to you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. As you could’ve guessed, the collective lost their minds. 

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you smiled up at him, laughing as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

“You two are always worth it,” he said. “Now, c’mon,” he stepped aside to hold you behind your back, keeping you tucked beneath his arm. Using his other hand he rubbed the baby’s back and gave her cheek a quick kiss, happy to find that once he joined you two she had calmed down. “Let’s go see Kookie.”

Her head shot right up with enormous dark eyes full of stars. “Koo-hee?!”

“Koo-hee!” Both you and Yoongi copy her tiny voice, making her giggle with the silly smiles you flash at her.

The world around you seemed to melt away the second you were in your husband's arms, like all of a sudden you had the strength to handle anything the world would have thrown at you. His grip around your body as he walked with you into the airport was enough to silence the crowd, and power your legs to get through the doors without an incident.

A mere twenty minutes later, the three of you were seated on the plane, your daughter snoozing soundly on her fathers chest while you scrolled through your phone, curious to see what the internet has had to say of your appearance already. Resting his head on your shoulder, Yoongi followed along, making a sweet comment at every single photo of you.

“Oh, that one is the best,” he said quietly, your Twitter scroll stopping on a picture of the three of you before you walked off. The big, genuine, happy smiles you and Yoongi wore were priceless as you grinned at your baby girl, one whose face didn’t make it into any photos- thank the good Lord that somebody believes in. “You should post that one.”

Giving him a sideways glance, you huff a gentle laugh. “To my Instagram? It’s just gone public, you want me to blow it up even more?”

Yoongi tips his chin up, flashing you pouty puppy dog eyes. “I just want them all to know you’re mine. Both of you. I want everyone to know I’m yours, and I always have been.” You gave his forehead a kiss.

“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll post it. Her face isn’t in any of these, so I can post as many as I want.”

Settling comfortably on your shoulder once again, Yoongi gave you caption advice for the post- an emoji that seemingly had nothing to do with the photo… But, you used it anyway. The angel emoji, with a halo and little wings.

“That one’s perfect,” he whispered, tapping on it for you.

“If you say so,” you smiled. Yoongi sat up a bit, carefully to not disturb his sleeping daughter. “You always pick the random ones.”

“Every single one I use means something,” Yoongi gazed at you fiercely. “That little guy,” he pointed to the angel, “That makes four of us.”

Your lips parted in surprise, unsure of what to say. That week in December devastated you both. Your stomach flips while you watch him study your face. The whirlwind life you live hasn’t given either of you proper time to process, or grieve.

“Baby,” he whispered, closing the space between you to touch his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to post it if you don’t want to.”

Sucking in a deep breath, your eyes welling with tears, you furrow your brows. “What did I do wrong,” escaped you in an exasperated gust of air. Yoongi shifted, wrapping an arm around your back. 

“No,” he said, putting on his strong facade. “We don’t do that, we’ve talked about this. You know there wasn’t anything you did wrong. There wasn’t anything I did wrong. You heard the doctor say it, baby, multiple times. You gave him the perfect home, you’re healthy.” Yoongi paused to gauge where you were, praying that you were listening to him.

You respond after a few seconds, bobbing your head. Taking a deep breath, Yoongi swallows down the lump in his throat.

“It just wasn’t his time,” he whispered. “He wasn’t ready.”

“Yeah,” you whispered fast. Yoongi’s thumb found your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“And, you remember the last time we were there, they said we could try again whenever we were ready,” he said. The end of last month you had a check-up with your doctor, just to make sure things were back to normal, and that your body was holding up alright. Your second pregnancy was a surprise, much like the first, you and Yoongi haven’t seemed to learn your lesson. However, losing your son before you had even gotten the chance to hold him in your arms put a lot of things into perspective for the two of you.

There were routine check-ups, you were eating better- both of you! This second child was something that you and your husband both wanted, and though each of your emotions have been through the wringer… You would be willing to try again when you felt like you could handle it.

“I want to,” you whispered. Yoongi smiled, but you could see his own worries within it. “I know, I feel the same way.”

“Together,” he cuts off the nervousness quickly. “We’ll do it together.”

“Uh, we kinda have to,” you giggled, making him laugh.

“I can’t wait,” he sing-songed through clenched teeth with a grin, stealing a kiss from you. Yoongi backs away from you to check on your sleeping daughter who hasn’t made a peep. He was surprised she had let her eyes shut while she was beside the window, normally she’d be gazing out at the clouds passing by.

Picking your phone up off of your lap, you smile at the angel emoji and click post, letting the notifications flood in like wildfire. This was all brand new. You were allowed to make your Instagram public about a week ago, and since then you’ve reached four million followers, while you used to have forty-six. Silencing the notifications from the app, every photo you’ve ever posted amassed an incredible amount of likes. Your feed was a feast, and the public was hungry. 

Four million followers and counting. The number was only going to get bigger.

Watching the photo gain twenty thousand likes whenever you refreshed the page, you nudged Yoongi’s shoulder to show him what was happening, and when he turned his head to look, an unknown number you’ve never seen before popped onto your screen, calling you.

“What the…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi snatched the phone from your hand and quickly snapped a photo of the screen with his own, then he silenced yours and went into it, blocking the number who tried to reach you. He called Branson over and showed him the photo, letting the head of security take his phone with him.

“Trace this, or, do something. Tell me who's number this is,” his voice is stern, on alert.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you said, laying your head down on his shoulder. “People get scam calls all the time.”

“Not us,” he said, tone flat.

Not even ten minutes passed before Branson came back, kneeling on the row of chairs in front of your family. He placed his elbows on the head rests and took a deep breath, darting his eyes back and forth from Yoongi to yours.

“Well?” Yoongi asked. Branson handed him his phone and frowned.

“Uh,” he stumbled over a few words, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. “We, um… The phone number belongs to your mother.” His voice is hushed, quiet, like he was afraid to tell you, when in actuality he was afraid to tell Yoongi. Touchy subject. Especially now.

There had been a restraining order set in place since the day after your daughter's first birthday. Yoongi held the meetings and took care of everything, all you had to do was sign. 

Neither one of your parents were allowed to contact you, speak to you or your daughter, or try to see you in person. They were not allowed to mail anything to you, send anyone to see you in place of themselves, nor were they allowed to be in touch with anyone close to you. Sunny included. You had to make a list.

Expecting him to jump out of his seat, you stretch a hand over his lap and grab his other hand, the one on your daughter's back. Sitting up, you turn toward him ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his expression. It had not faltered. He was stone faced, and you were sick to your stomach.

“Sue her,” he said. Turning to you, he sighed. “We’re changing your number again.”

“D, come on, it’s not like-”

“I don’t care,” he said, peering down to admire his daughter. “She clearly hasn’t gotten the message that you don’t want anything to do with her.” He pointed his focus back to Branson. “Fight it. Do what you can.”

“Got it,” the guard said, and whisked himself away.

It’s quiet for a moment before Yoongi said, “Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not defending her,” you said, and he raised a brow, giving you a funny look. “It’s just… Super annoying to give everyone a new phone number for the third time.” Both your lips turn up into a smile. “Sue the bitch, I don’t care, D.” Yoongi laughs. “Just don’t make me change my number again, I beg of you.”

“Alright,” he said. “No new number. BUT!” His raised volume made your daughter stir. “One more thing happens, you’re changing it.” The little one lifted her head, blinking a few times before she grinned at her father.

“Fine,” you whispered, not that he was paying attention anymore anyway. Your daughter took his full focus, and all of his kisses. 

It seemed silly to just now realize that today was something of a confirmation of the last eight years. Living your life, being a secret to millions of others, while you and the people you cared most about knew, was nice, and secure, and peaceful. But, now… Now that everyone knew, the peace grew. It swallowed you whole, engulfing you and your family with stability and ease.

No more accidental reveals. No more false stories. No more rumors the company had to shut down. No more hiding.

You were absolutely free, and for now, that was everything.

thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece! 

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[bloodychazorite]

It was clear to Phil from the first hour his team was going to lose it.

Whether “it” was the challenge or their minds was up for discussion.

Jaiden sat under his right wing, muttering to Baghera who’s head lay in the blue-bird's lap. Foolish used his left wing as a blanket, legs sprawled messily in front of him. Charlie found his place splayed across the totem’s legs, Cellbit draped over him like a blanket.

The weak, wooden floor creaked beneath them. It was clear that if Foolish had any more energy, he wouldn’t have had to see the floor before ripping it to shreds.

Exhaustion, aches and cramps tore at Phil’s every nerve, but he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

He assumed it had something to do with the timer on each of their wrists. If he was right--and he prayed he was--he only had a little over ten minutes left.

“Do you think they are laughing at us?” Baghera asked quietly, feathers rustling beside her.

Phil mulled over their first day, and how promises of hope and optimism shifted to wails of agony and begging for retribution. Burn scars tainted the bodies of his team from their pleas for providence.

“They’ve got to be,” Cell snapped, “What else do they do?” He shifted slightly, burrowing his chin into Charlie’s neck.

“Mmh… oww...”

“Eh, sorry Slime. Time, anyone?”

Hysteria spread like infection, starting with the Slime and ending with Phil himself because—Void, despite living in the wild for months on end, Charlie was not built for this.

None of them were.

“Seven minutes..!” Baghera whispered.

“Around nine, I think.” Phil muttered.

“Damn, thirteen minutes.” Foolish’s head lolled backward.

Cell had twenty.

Jaiden had thirty-two.

Charlie had forty-eight.

Phil felt bad for them, condemned to linger awake, stewing in their suffering and fatigue.

It must’ve been comical, to some extent, to watch them suffer.

To clip an Avian’s wings and toss them off a cliff, just to watch them flail.

To hold a Feline’s head underwater, just to watch them thrash and choke.

To throw a Slime into the desert, just to watch them burn dehydrate and weaken, only to burn.

Someone had to find it funny.

Phil groaned as his eyes attempted to slip shut, old ghosts of burns and stabs and respawns gnawing at his bones.

His team was warm and cracking incoherent jokes, somehow, despite everything. A wobbly smile crept onto his face with no right to be there.

These were the cards they were dealt.

This was their chance at genesis.

Consciousness oozed from his ears, rendering him entirely immobile for the night.

Phil was sure tomorrow wouldn’t be any better.

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

most people

Tony Stark x F!Reader

Prompt: “i can't believe you don't like hugs."

Summary: you come home to the tower to hear that your teammate tony has been awake for days. you take it upon yourself to get to complete some much-needed self-care.

Warnings: fluff.

Word Count: 1,741

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The door sounded with a quiet, welcoming ding as the elevator arrived on your floor, the lights of your suite already on and pleasantly dimmed to accommodate to the tenderness of your eyes this late at night. It was a little before three in the morning, and while your flight had had no major issues and the traffic between the airport and Avengers Tower had been blessedly in your favor, it was still agonizing to be getting home so late.

Home.

It still surprised you how quickly you’d come to think of this place as more than just a place to sleep, more than what had originally felt like a ridiculously over-sized hotel room. It had been only six months since Loki’s attack on New York, and while the renovations to the Tower were not yet finished, your suite had been one of the first floors to be completed. And now it somehow felt far more familiar to you than any of the countless beds you had claimed over the last twenty-seven years.

“Welcome back, Ms. Y/L/N,” the cool, friendly voice of Tony’s personal assistant sounded from the invisible speakers above you. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“It was, for a nine-hour flight in a broken seat,” you replied with a sigh, stretching out the lingering kink in your lower back. You set your suitcase down by the elevator doors. “And how many times do I have to tell you; it’s just Y/N.”

“I’m sure only once more,” he replied. “As always.”

You chuckled, a small, tired smile lingering on your lips. “Are the others here?”

“Only Mr. Stark is in residence at the moment,” the A.I. informed you as you made your way further into your suite. You toed off your shoes, shedding your jacket and tossing it onto the nearby sofa. “Shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to wake him.”

There was a slight pause. “Mr. Stark is not asleep, Ms. Y/L/N.”

How an A.I. could have a variation in tone, you weren’t sure, but you stopped halfway to unbuttoning your jeans. “And how long exactly has Tony been awake?”

“…Almost eighty-three hours, ma’am.”

“I think I hate ‘ma’am’ even more than my last name.” you sighed, casting a glance towards the room to your left. The door was ajar, and you swore your bed was calling to you. “Where is he?”

“In the lab.”

“…Okay.”

***

A wall of sound greeted you as you stepped into the lab, and you flinched. It lowered immediately to a more bearable level, and you silently praised whatever part of JARVIS’ programming it was that could pick up on your discomfort like that.

“JARVIS,” Tony said without looking up from his work. “Don’t mess with my music.”

He was at the far end of the lab, moving between a couple of workbenches and the hologram of his latest designs with the disorganized, staccato rhythm you had begun to recognize as being a sign of sleep deprivation. There was a half-empty coffee pot on the bench closest to you, the scent of it gone stale. Tony’s clothes were rumpled, as was his hair, and you frowned when you noticed the shadows under his eyes. They were made darker by the blue light of the hologram between the two of you.

“I think we can do better on these reflector panels, J.,” he continued as though he hadn’t noticed you enter. “If this suit is going to work for stealth, I’m going to need the change to be instantaneous.” He waved a hand, and parts of the suit projected in front of him dropped away. “Scrap ‘em. Take it from the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hello to you, too, Stark.” you said snidely despite your concern. “Or am I expected to call you ‘sir’ in here, too?”

“Only if you want me to get all tingly over it,” he retorted teasingly, finally pausing long enough to meet your eye. He gave you a genuine, if distracted and exhausted, smile.

“Most people just say ‘welcome home’.”

Tony returned to one of the benches, eyes fixating on a tablet screen. “Are you implying that I could possibly be ‘most people’?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, sidestepping an abandoned helmet prototype. There was an empty coffee mug sitting inside it. The crockery was stained with dark brown rings. You made you way around to his workbench, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of it beside him. “Tony, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, pointedly avoiding your eye and focusing his gaze on the work in front of him. “Or did you come all the way down here just for a hug?”

“A hug? Hardly,” you said with a scoff.

Tony met your eye, raising a brow. There was a teasing tilt to his lips, a challenge in his expression. “I don’t accept that.”

“Accept what?”

“I can’t believe that you don’t like hugs.” he said, straightening. He moved to stand in front of you, his hands claiming your knees. You felt a warmth spread up from where he touched you to heat your belly, and you straightened slightly, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “I refuse to accept it. I mean, for a woman completely capable of breaking every bone in my body with her bare hands, you’re downright cuddly.”

As he said the last words he reached up and touched the tip of his finger to your nose tauntingly, and you wrinkled it in response. He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him. Something about sleep deprivation always made him lighter, more teasing. While his usual jokes were witty and occasionally flirty, when you found him like this, he was… softer. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a massive dork?”

Tony’s grin widened, and he stepped back, holding up his hands as though you’d just proved his point. “See, anyone else would call me an asshole, but you – sweet, innocent thing that you are – go with ‘dork’.”

“Oh, Stark. Trust me,” you snickered, pushing yourself up off the edge of the table. It closed much of the distance between the two of you, your chest almost meeting his. You made a show of casting your eyes down over him before meeting his eye with a smirk. “If you actually knew me, the last word you’d be using to describe me is ‘innocent’.”

Intrigue flashed in his eyes, a curve to his parted lips sending an unexpected thrill up your spine. He made move to speak, but you pressed a finger to his lips. His smile widened against your skin.

“I’m sure whatever you were about to say would have been rife with innuendo, Tony,” you said. “But honestly, you kind of stink. How long’s it been since you had a shower?”

***

“Y’know, I’m not really sure why I had to stick around for this.” you called out over the sound of rushing water, folding your arms over your chest. You were standing outside the penthouse bathroom, your back against the wall beside the door. Steam billowed out of the open doorway, clinging to your bare arms.

The water shut off, and Tony’s reply came a few moments later, his voice echoing off the tile. “And here I thought you were worried about my wellbeing, sweetheart.”

“You’re not exactly at risk of drowning in the shower, Tony,” you pointed out. You heard his answering chuckle and the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of shaving cream being sprayed and a razor against skin. “And you survived it. So, can I go to bed now?”

“And miss out on this quality team-bonding time?” he called out. “Shudder to think.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smile. “‘Team-bonding’? We’re missing a couple of key members here. Unless you’ve got Rogers stashed in your shower caddy.”

“Not exactly the member I’d pick for that,” he replied as he stepped through the doorway, wiping at his jaw with a towel. Another was slung securely around his hips. Rivulets of water marked his bare torso, droplets clinging to his chest. There was a teasing smirk on his lips, and you swallowed. “Now, Romanoff on the other hand—”

“I’m going to stop you there before this conversation devolves into casual misogyny,” you eye-rolled, holding up a hand.

“I’ll have you know I’m an equal opportunity lech.” Tony shot back, amused. “I just didn’t think Thor would fit in the caddy.”

You snorted a laugh.

“Right…” you said. He’d missed a tiny patch of shaving cream on the corner of his jaw, and you reached up to wipe it away with two fingers. Tony’s smile widened as you wiped it on his bare chest. You cleared your throat as you realized the intimacy of your actions. “Well, you’ve managed to navigate the perils of a penthouse bathroom, Iron Man. Congrats.”

“So, what’s your excuse now?”

Confusion creased the skin between your brows. “For what?”

Tony’s smirk twitched, and you recognized the challenge in his eyes. Something in the pit of your stomach fluttered. “For turning down a hug.”

You laughed, shaking your head disbelieving. “God, Stark, you are such a—”

Tony took hold of your arm, surprising you by pulling you toward him and bringing his lips to yours. They were soft and warm, teasing with the taste of spearmint. The clean scent of his body wash enveloped you, his fingers gentle but firm on your arm. The warmth of his body – still bolstered by the heat of the shower – leached into your skin, wrapping you in a ghost of an embrace that made you lean into him. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled back again, that expression of taunting flirtation still in place.

You pressed your lips together, your skin tingling. “What was that for?”

He shrugged a shoulder, tightening the towel around his waist. There was an annoying note of nonchalance in his expression, and self-assuredness that told you he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you. “Call it a thank you.”

“I—” you swallowed, forcing your breath to steady. “Most people just say ‘thank you’.”

He grinned, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t we agree that I’m not ‘most people’?”

.

.

.

tags: @trekkingaroundasgard @ccbsrms @lina-mar@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13@lol-you-thought@sebbystanlover-vk@mikariell95@csigeoblue@abrunettefangirlnerd@babyblues915@aar-journey@moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley@diesinspanishbcimhispanic@sentimentalalien@agustdowney@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@patheticallysentimental@loki-is-loved

[princetofbone]

i know that as a dark academia/studyblr blog it is SO WEIRD that I am super anti-caffeine, but it makes me into a walking nightmare, so I try my best to avoid it unless I know the coffee at a café is really good or it's a tea I love. anyways here is how I survived school + a twenty seven hour per week extra curricular with no caffeine:

I sleep a lot. I go to bed around 7:30/8 if I can, and wake around 5/5:30. that's nine hours, and I typically take about an hour worth of naps through the day. even getting the recommended 7-9 hours will help with reduction (note to any grad students/med students/phds, this may not be possible, and I am deeply sorry because being well rested is the best feeling ever)

I manage to get that much sleep because I am a beast when it comes to organizing my schedule- i spend very little time on my phone, and I spend any "gap time" in my schedule (those random bits of time where you have nothing to do) doing my homework/studying. I also block out two hours after school to do work, and I typically get it all done then. (I have two hours at school where I don't have class, and I do work then as well)

having fun tasty caffeine free drinks makes life good- you can still drink good tea even if it's low caffeine/decaf (I have not yet had good decaf coffee). there are all sorts of fun bubbly waters, or you can cut up fruit and make drinks- i was gifted a book of zero proof cocktails that i sometimes make for myself- or I just pour pomegranate juice into a wine glass and drink that. Fun drinks for the win.

i am a freak of nature, but i stay awake better without caffeine- with the caveat that if i've been drinking caffeine I don't. so before anyone gets grumpy about not being able to stay awake- detox for like a week (those caffeine withdrawals suck ass) and see if you can make it happen

It works for me- I've saved like $150 a month on coffee, which i now use to buy fancy socks and other exciting things that make me happy late at night when i'm staying awake doing hw. my methods wont work for everyone, but if you wanted to change things up, you might try it