#i need to write shorter chapters i swear

[feeshies]

might update chips and chances tonight!

[bloodydeanwinchester]

okay starting writing is always the hardest part so im gonna go do that right now. i've only got like 1k more words before i FINALLY finish this chapter!!!!!

[sinnamongirls]

ALL NATURAL, CHAPTER ONE: drop the game.

a 2016 college au patrick zweig x f!reader fic

you’re a reporter for the stanford daily forced to cover a speech and debate tournament. lucky for you, there’s a really hot nerd there.

author notes: this is literally the first time I’ve published fanfic since middle school eek! but im really proud of this one heheh even though it is incredibly long (the next chapter will be shorter I swear)

contains: mentions of alcohol, suggestive language, dual pov’s (patrick and reader), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, but no physical traits are described.

“Speech and debate? Seriously? Kendall, come on.”

Kendall just rolled their eyes at you. It was 10 am, and you, the Stanford Daily’s head general coverage reporter, were already pissed.

It was Kendall’s fault, really.

If they’d given you the co-executive editor position, they wouldn't be dealing with your smart ass complaining about assignments every time you got one.

Last year, you were quiet as a church mouse, never complaining with the previous editor about your assignments.

But the last editor wasn’t your childhood best friend, turned roommate and coworker. The last editor was a bitch, frankly. And you both were a year closer to graduating. So you really cared about what you were writing.

And you weren’t a sports person, or an editorial person. You liked campus, the hustle and bustle of it all. And that meant covering it all, even the lame ass stuff like speech and debate.

“Don’t complain. I won’t give you anything if you keep it up.” It was a lie. You both knew it.

“But.. speech and debate? Seriously?”

“It needs coverage, and it’s too far off campus for me or the advisors to feel comfortable sending an underclassman. You have that much of an issue, take it up with Nadine or Lucas.”

You huffed.

“Fine.” Walking out of the editor’s office of the Stanford Daily, letting the door slam behind you, you sighed. First issue of junior year, and your article’s on fucking speech and debate. At least it wasn’t Model UN.

You looked at your phone. Class was in 20 minutes, and the building you needed to be in was 10 minutes away. Time to hustle.

“Okay, remember: first exam next Monday, you all are gonna crush it if you study!” Dr. Abernathy’s voice was so high, most times she sounded like a chipmunk, especially when you were walking out of the lecture hall after hearing her voice for almost two hours twice a week. But, she was the only one who taught media psychology, so there wasn’t much of a choice. The midterm, however, had you worried. There was a saying in the Stanford journalism program: pass any of Phoebe Abernathy’s exams, buy a Powerball ticket immediately.

That mantra had found its home on a sticky note on your bedroom mirror for the whole summer. Preparing you. Kendall thought it was stupid, but Kendall also considered themselves president of the Dr. Phoebe Abernathy fan club. It was a stupid club, with one member: Kendall Jefferson-Mcall.

Walking back to your car, you checked your texts. There were about 10 from Kendall. Your assignment for tonight: where it was, what needed to be photographed, and who needed to be interviewed. You skimmed it while walking, making sure not to walk straight into traffic.

One of the interviewees' names rang a bell in your head. It was a distant one, though, because you couldn’t tell where you knew it from:

Patrick Zweig, co-captain. Junior. Pre-law. You’ll know him when you see him.

“Really helpful, Kendall.” Muttering as you climb into the car, you stare at the text for a while. Then you see the time. The tournament was at Berkeley, so you needed to hustle back to your apartment and get ready.

Berkeley was full of cunts.

Grade A, top tier, cunts.

Patrick would rather die than debate them. They’d been shit since Patrick had joined the speech and debate team. His freshman year was the year Berkeley won the national championship, and they had never let it go. And it got to Stanford pretty bad— they’d lost every time they’d competed against Berkeley since Patrick was a freshman.

It was annoying as hell, and every time they had to travel to Berkeley for a debate, Patrick wanted to die.

Seriously, he’d considered faking sick, or taking a whole bottle of Benadryl before.

But, he’d finally convinced Tashi and Art to make the hour journey to Berkeley to watch him. They supported him when they had tournaments at Stanford, sure, but any tournament that required driving more than 30 minutes? Forget it.

Patrick Zweig was more than Stanford’s men’s tennis star. A whole lot more. Co-captain of the speech and debate team, vice president of his fraternity, Phi Iota Chi, member of the Pre-Law Society, and one of the best students in his class.

But deep down, a part of him hated people knowing that he was smart. He liked being the hot athlete in the top frat on campus. High school was his time to be smart- he was valedictorian, student body president.

College was his time to be the best at tennis, get shit faced, and generally, have fun.

His dad did it, and that’s how he became one of the best real estate lawyers in Upstate New York.

But he still found himself pacing the green room in Wheeler Auditorium, wondering if he should stop dumbing himself down in front of normal people, be more proud of his intelligence, and accomplishments.

But day drinking on the weekends was way more fun, and didn’t require thinking, for the most part.

“Pssst, Zweig,” It was his teammate, Samira. She’d cracked the door open, peeking her head in. Patrick turned to look at her— she had a new hijab on- cardinal red. Samira was Stanford, as far as Patrick was concerned. That girl bled school spirit. She was ready to kick Berkeley’s ass. “We’re on in 5 minutes, you wanna prep with me, or are you good?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’m fine, I think.” He wasn’t, but he couldn’t let Samira know, or she’d flip out, and Samira being emotional would fuck up their entire strategy against Berkeley.

“Good, good, I’m glad. See you in five.” She smiled, and shut the door. Patrick let out a long, exasperated sigh once the door was shut.

“Fuck.” Patrick really, really needed a win. Not just a speech and debate one, but a win in general.

Wheeler auditorium was massive. The biggest auditorium on UC Berkeley’s campus, it was also the oldest, and it was a national historic landmark.

That made up for the hour-long drive across the bay.

You studied the people in the room, trying to spot the best places to get pictures of the action. Good thing you had a press pass, because there were a lot of ugly looks. Surprisingly, the auditorium was pretty full on both sides, and you could’ve sworn you saw Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson sitting on Stanford’s side. But you put that aside, as the action was starting.

4 people took the stage: two from each school- you could tell who was who- the girl and guy from Berkeley both wore outfits with blue and gold. And then Stanford’s team came out: a woman, about 5’5” in a modest black dress with a cardinal red hijab, and a tall, toned man with curly black hair, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He stood at the right podium, closer to the back of the stage. The woman stood closer to the stage's edge. You could read her name clearly from where you were crouched on the floor: Samira Hadi.

You couldn’t quite tell what his name tag said, though.

The debate was interesting, all things considered. You resisted the urge to scroll on your phone in the middle of it when it got boring.

But at the very least, Stanford won. So it wasn’t a total waste of your Monday night.

Patrick was pretty sure he blacked out when he heard the words “First place, Stanford University!” Come out of the announcer's mouth.

He snapped out of it when he felt Samira bear hug him, the weight of her body (he was pretty sure she did powerlifting or something, she was jacked) and the smell of her vanilla musk perfume brought him down to earth. If Samira drank, Patrick would buy her as many drinks as she wanted tonight.

But as Samira hugged him, jumping up and down from excitement, he noticed someone in the front row. Well, in front of the front row.

Dressed in business casual, she was out of place— usually Patrick saw the same 20 people in the crowd for his tournaments. But then he saw the reason for this, incredibly attractive, outlier: a shiny Stanford Daily press badge dangling from your neck.

Aha. It made sense. He figured you were either a poor freshman forced to trek to Berkeley for their first assignment, or an overworked upperclassman fed up with the paper.

But just as quickly as Patrick saw you, you were gone.

And Samira had drug him back to the green room, where Tashi and Art were waiting, with flowers no less.

“Guys, really?” Patrick feigned being upset at them. He could never. They were good friends. He didn’t mind being their third wheel. Honestly, he didn’t have a choice: Tashi was Phi Chi’s sweetheart, and Art was the vice president of membership education, so the world of Phi Chi and Patrick’s friend group got a little incestuous. In a good way, though. Tashi sat the flowers down on a table behind her, and hugged Patrick. Tashi was wearing her favorite green satin dress, and like always, it fit her perfectly. Art wore a basic black suit, but it looked good on him, too. That was the thing- Patrick may have been a legacy of Phi Iota Chi, but he used it for good, like making sure every single member has at least one perfectly tailored suit.

Because Patrick, and Patrick’s father, hated a sloppy suit.

“We had to, hell, Tashi was gonna give them to you even if you lost.” Art smiled as he handed Patrick the flowers. They were the high-dollar grocery store ones- a sign it really was Tashi’s idea- she worked part time in the flower department at the Whole Foods by campus. Patrick looked at Tashi.

“You made this bouquet, didn’t you?” Tashi gave him a sly smile in response.

Samira lingered by the door, but a knock, and the muttering of one of their coaches caused her to leave, leaving the green room to just be Patrick, Art, and Tashi.

The dim lighting of the hallway was honestly kind of eerie, but the main auditorium area was filled with loud, butt-hurt Berkeley fans, and that’s no place for an interview.

“Can you say and spell your full name, your class, and your position on the team for me?” The recorder rested in your hand at about chest level for you and Samira.

“Samira, S-A-M-I-R-A, Hadi, H-A-D-I. Senior, Captain of Stanford’s Speech and Debate Team.”

“Thank you. So, this win against Berkeley, I know it’s been a long time coming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it has. They won at Nationals back in 2014, and they haven’t let us, or anyone really, live it down. So it’s very fulfilling for the entire team.”

You looked behind Samira’s shoulder at the green room door. You know the guy on Stanford’s team was in there. But when Samira was pulled out of the room by the team’s faculty advisor, you could hear some other voices in there- another male voice, and maybe a female one, too.

She could tell you were looking back there, but didn’t say anything. You continued the interview, and after the recorder clicked off, Samira spoke.

“You need to interview him?” Even though you knew it was coming, the question caught you off guard.

“Huh?” You replied.

“If you need a quote from him, I can go grab him.” She never said his name, which you found odd. But maybe Kendall was right, maybe you’d know ‘him’ when you saw him.

“N-no, I think I’m okay. I got 2 quotes from you and from your faculty advisor. I think I’m good.”

“Okay. If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna head out before it gets too dark.” Samira smiled, and walked off. You were standing in the hallway, alone.

You looked at your watch. It was around 8:30 now. You needed to head back too. If you didn’t, Kendall would think you’d died.

By the time you got back across the bay and back to your apartment, it was 9:30. You opened the door to your apartment, and there Kendall was, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, how’d it go?” They were sprawled out on the couch in their PJs, a bowl of guacamole on the coffee table and a bag of chips by their side. Some shitty Lifetime movie was playing softly on the TV.

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, bending down to take your kitten heels off. “It was okay.”

“Get good quotes? Good pictures?”

“Yeah, I got good material. You can look at it tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Did you see him?”

“Who?” You cocked your head to the side, sighing as you stood flat footed on the cold hardwood floor.

“Patrick, dipshit. I figured you’d drool all over him.”

So he was Patrick. That name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it.

“I mean, I saw him. I got pictures of him, b-but he had friends visiting him after the competition, I think. He was in the green room, I couldn’t get a quote. But I got a quote from Samira and the faculty advisors.”

Kendall nodded, popping a guac covered chip in their mouth. “Good enough, thanks, babe.” The two of you had called each other babe since junior year of high school. It was a great way to piss off anyone who thought the two of you were dating.

“Yeah. What are you watching?” You studied the TV screen. The volume was turned down, but you could see women yelling passionately, and a very scared, blood-covered man behind them.

“Some Lifetime true crime movie, I dunno. I watched Miss Congeniality, and Pretty Woman, then settled on… This. It’s honestly trash.”

“Why not watch Housewives?”

“Didn’t wanna watch it without you. Plus, it was a rerun of DC, so.”

“Oh, ew.”

You walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water out, and then headed towards the couch, sitting next to Kendall. They switched the channel to Bravo, where you were both greeted by another scene of two women screaming at each other. It was the glorious world of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and the two of you watched at least 2 hours worth of toxic, shitty reality TV, until you checked the time and noticed it was almost midnight.

“I have class at 9 in the morning, I need to head to bed.” You yawned, standing up. Kendall turned the TV off. They looked up at you, their green eyes twinkling in the warm lighting of your shared living room.

“Okay, grandma. You have fun with that.” Kendall turned their phone on, typing rapidly. You envied them, in a way. They didn’t have class until 3pm tomorrow, but they still spent most of the day working on the paper. Busy busy bee.

“Goodnight, Kendall,” you called out as you walked into your bedroom.

“Night, bitch.” They replied from the couch. You shut your bedroom door, sighing.

You resisted the urge to stalk Patrick on instagram. He definitely had a girlfriend. He was good looking.

But why did you know his name?

Your phone lit up with a notification. A reminder of an assignment due tomorrow. It was your sign to go to bed.

You could stalk Patrick tomorrow. Consider it research while you write your article tomorrow.

Tonight, you needed to rest.

So you changed into your pajamas, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. And dreamt of him.

When Samira left the green room, Tashi broke her silence.

“Wanna go out?”

“Fuck yes.” Art and Patrick replied.

So the three musketeers drove back across the bay, went to some bar on the edge of Stanford’s campus, and got royally shitfaced, resulting in Art getting a pledge to drive the three back to the Phi Chi house.

Being a fraternity executive team member had it's perks. Living in the house was one of them.

Patrick told Tashi and Art goodnight, and headed down the hall to his room.

The whole time they were out, he couldn’t shake the face of the reporter from the Daily out of his head.

And to make matters worse, he didn’t have a name to go with a face.

Shit.

His head started throbbing, and he took that as his sign to go to bed.

He wondered if Tashi knew her.

Tashi knew everyone.

But he fell asleep before he could think about asking Tashi about you.

He may or may not have woken up the next morning, dealing with the aftermath of a wet dream and a next-level hangover. You woke up perfectly fine, ready to face the day.

Some would say that’s a match made in heaven. But we’re not there yet.

[tookthe-405]

On our way

Chapter 1 :

We’ll keep falling on each other

DONATIONS & LINKS 🇵🇸

DAILY CLICK🍉

Loser!ellie x ex-bsf!reader

ROADTRIPPPP

authors note: first chapterrr🤪 ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO PLS

And pls tell me if the chapters should be shorter and what kind of perspective I should write from (Ellie pov will come later when I’ll fit), LONG AF

Summary: modern Jackson au!

you and Ellie were best friends through your childhood. Now your just neighbours who act like enemies towards each other, but after an incidence you both decide to run away together.

Joel lives 💯

warnings: anxiety , Panik attack?, alcohol, smoking, feeling of throwing up (only mentioned once) smut in future chapters!!, chaotic and stupid arguing between reader and Ellie, school anxiety, messy af (I mostly write at night when the demons come out🐺)

(ellie is 18 and reader is 17 (soon 18))

Readers pov:

6/25

You couldn’t remember the fall out.

For a matter of fact you couldn’t remember anything that happened that night.

You just knew that the next morning Ellie and you weren’t friends anymore. You guys weren’t anything, just total strangers who knew more about each other than any other.

“Iced Coffee and 4 chocolate donuts should be your order”

Your head snaps up and an older guy holds out a bag of donuts.

“Yes, thank you”

You quickly scurry out of the waiting crowd, out the dinner and into the summer air.

2:25 p.m. If Jody would finally pick you up, the both of you might only be 10 minutes late to the game.

While you're waiting, you take a donut out of the bag and realize as you're eating that you don't have a cold ice coffee in your other hand.

"Fuck”

you really wanted that coffee, and by any normal logic you should just go back.

But the fear of embarrassment won. so you decide to just wait outside without a coffee, feeling the dizziness of the lack of sleep in your brain.

The day before was the last exam and you couldn’t sleep the whole night, because of your anxious thoughts that are so unjustified that it’s actually embarrassing.

you watched the cars drive by, as you wait for Judy to pull over.

Today was the last school day. Ever. This morning was the last morning you would ever be in a high school class room to study.

After waiting for a while you hear the horn of Judy`s car or rather her parents car, since both of you are broke and only one of you has their license.

"i forgot my coffee" you complain as you collapse into the passager seat.

"yeah but you didn`t forgot the donuts and thats the really important thing here" Jody happily takes the box full of donuts, out of your hand

"footbal games always stress me out" you rummage through your bag, looking for gumm or just something that will help your body through this hard time.

"i hope my exams were good" you tell her anxious.

"It was our last fucking day, dont worry about something that is over soon. Those last days don`t really matter no one cares"

"I do"

Judy scoffs, puting the donute to her mouth again, all while looking at the street.

"I know, thats your problem. Really, you need to fix that. Your grades are amazing and whatever college you wanna go to, will say yes."

Now you scoff.

"right then why haven’t they replied yet then?"

"because you were too anxious too send your application, you almost threw up in my room"

Your face contorts at the memory. Judy's poor cat hissed at you the whole time because you couldn't sit still at all.

"yeah sorry he gets like that, but not all cats are this easy to annoy i swear"

Your giggle fills the car and you share the last donute, as judy tries to find a parking spot which is obviossly not that easy anymore.

"goddamit those wild people are so greedy" her hands grab the steerig wheel harder, but theres simply no other free spot anymore.

You grow even more annoyed now.

The thoughts in your head take more space than you usually allow them.

The whole morning was shit, the whole day is shit and your life is fucked if you don’t get into university.

"i think we need to use the other one" judy says

"then we`ll have to run through the whole fucking school, were already late, Malik is playing!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she looks at you, thinking, and finally sighs.

"get out I’ll park the car" You immediantly regret snapping at her.

"you dont have to-"

she interrupts you (no suprise)

"bro get out of my car. It’s my fault we`re too late anyway and we both know im only here for the fries"

For a few seconds you hesitate, but then you grab your bag and the donut, and get out the car. Outside, a warm brise tickles your skin, now that the sun is shining right on your face. You pinch you eyes.

Judy dissapers around the corner and you wave, hoping she saw it, but the worry leaves with her because you start running towards the football field.

The whole row was full, every seat. You try to push your way through the crowd on the front, which didn't make it any easier because everyone was pushing forward against the bar to see better.

And it was so loud, every type of noises from every angle. This is your last game of course everyone will be loud, Jesus you’ll be loud, but the game hasn’t even started.

Arriving in the almost last row, Lyla waves to you and you sprint towards her.

"I don't know how you manage to save us seats, thank you so much," You almost scream, because the large group sitting behind her started singing the fucking national anthem.

lyla quickly hugs you and sits right back down. "I don't know how either, but here you go. Where's Judy?"

Her gaze wanders behind you to look out for her, as if judy is hiding behind you "Looking for another parking spot and getting us some fries"

You feel the light box in your hand and remember the one donut inside it.

“Here we’ve left you a donut”

“How generous” lyla replies smirking

Your attention turns to the football field. No one’s there.

“Everyone is still in the cabins, you're not as late as you think" she adds while slurping her milshake.

Malik is Lylas brother and a good friend of yours. Even Judy likes him, and that's saying something.

After the "incident" you tried so hard to find another group of friends, that one day it actually happened.

Which wasnt easy, before ellie you didnt relly need other friends. You also didnt want other ones. You always thought she felt the same way.

Her company, her words, her feelings and thoughts were all you wanted.

"Holy shit im not late!"

Judy's loud voice pulls you out of your thoughts. She quickly sits down next to you and hands you the large french fries package. You grin at her and pass them on to lyla. The loud noises became quieter and quieter, which made you hear the microphone voice.

"Dear seniors and juniors, After weeks full of learning and exams, one last football game with our beloved team and a guest team of their choice should be enough for you. I don't understand why you wanted to have this when every one of you’ve seen so many other games, but as you want. That’s the last one really though, please."

Judy giggles at the voice of the principal, but with empathy rather than mockery.

"Poor Ms. Servopoulos, juniors and seniors are not easy. The Other Class's prank surpassed everything"

lylas eyes widened at the memory. "Which of the 20 One?" She asks, leaning a bit over my lap to hear judy better.

"The one where they all had their tables outside at the_" Judy's bright voice gets stuck in the air, and she looks past me with squinted eyes in dismay.

You know why and didn't want to turn around.

But you do it anyway.

She wore her typical short baggy shorts and a red oversize t shirt with a fucking beanie , which makes her look like the love child of Adam Sandler and Jesse Pinkman.

You’d be happy to laugh at her if she didn't look so fucking good. But you chuckle a bit in your head at the Beanie, because it’s fucking june.

She looks down at you , just standing there.

Ellie has always been a bit taller than you. You might be sitting right know, but you still know That hasn't changed yet. You don't have to get up to be sure. You would notice if she grew even 1 cm. You don't know if she would still recognize that about you.

The familiar, soft and light brown freckles on her face. As a tween you always wanted to connect them, to find out how it would turn out. Or how she would look. Or react. You wanted to make her laugh so bad it hurt.

"Seth told me to bring this too you"

The Ice Caffee, with your name on it, is suddenly right in front of your face.

"Why should I accept it? It's already warm anyway" The irritated pitch in your voice cannot be ignored

Elie's gaze remains neutral, but there was some caution in her expression. "He forced me when I was paying, just take it and throw it away."

"Why didn't you throw it away?"

"Because im at a point where I listen to that old man for my benefits. Seth hates me already. He didn't even tell me about the senior special last week" she protests

You roll your eyes in annoyance.

"i dont give a shit about you or the now hot coffee"

Your argument became more intense, Judy and lyla exchanged glances but stayed out of it. You want to sort out your shit yourself and they know that.

"just fucking throw it away ellie!"

"No, I'm sitting at the top and have to go down all the fucking stairs and-"

"I don't care Ellie"

The people around slowly became aware of the both of you screaming, and you wonder for a second how strange you both must look right now. How you line up like little kids. But ellie also hurt the child version of you. God she has hurt so fucking many versions of you.

"just be happy that I’m even bringing this too you, i didnt really had to do that"

Her hand holds the plastic cup so hard in front of your face that it looks like it's about to explode.

The fact that she thinks she has a right to be angry with you bothers you even more, as you try to hold back your tears. You try to imagine her as adam sandler, screaming at you in this fucked up voice from grown ups, to make the tears go away.

"right i didn’t ask you to do anything, you decided to be so stupid and come over here"

she chuckles sligtly at your words, really pissed now. "you bitch-"

The last words never came out of her mouth. But the coffee out the cup. On your shirt.

Frightened, you take a loud breath in and stand up. Ellie has already put a safe distance between the both of you and her own mouth is open with surprise and startle.

Behind her stands a paralyzed Joshua, with his hand on his mouth.

"I swear, he ran into me...," she babbles desperately to herslef, waving her hands in the air, the empty cup on the floor now. Looks like the rest of the liquor soaked your shoes.

Yo didn’t let her finish. You mumble to lyla and judy not to follow you and that you would call them later. You grabbed your bag and Then left.

And you cried the whole ride home with your mom next to you. And not because of the coffee.

The smoke comes out of your mouth, you take the ciggarette to you lips again, and breathe in deeply.

If you smoke in your room, you always have to lean almost completely out of the window, now with the shadows of the trees falling in your face.

The light, split by the limbs, danced to the movements of the branches. There was a small and almost sweet breeze in the air.

The sun is still shining, but the golden hour is almost here.

You get goose bums on your arm as a cold breeze comes, and you put out the cigarette on your ashtray.

As you lie down on your bed and just stare at the wall for a while, the dark smell of cigarettes is still in the air. your parents don't care as long as it doesn't get into the rest of the house.

You grab a book from your bedside table and start reading.

"And when you at last find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter- they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped darek inside yous so long"

You close the book with a jerk.

Yes, maybe no sylvia plath for today.

The buzzing of your phone makes your head move to the side.

Judy: Malik won

Judy: Tonights a party at the beach, everyones going

Your eyes stare back into the void of your ceiling.

Ellie has had so much influence over you and your feelings for so long, that has to stop at some point. And with all the anger in you, you think that today it will.

You get up and stand in front of your closet, you rummage around to find something and you do. A t shirt that belonged to ellie.

Your fingers brush over the dark green material. It was a fucking normal t shirt. Except that it wasn't.

"Today it will stops"

You put the t-shirt in your backpack and look for an outfit that was well suited for the beach. In the end, you wear short jeans shorts, where your grandma had sewn in flower patterns years ago, With a light blue shirt it goes nicely with the flowers.

you: can you pick me up?

Judy: I would love too :)

You quickly brush your teeth to get rid of the smell of smoke. Outside, you can already hear Judy's honking. You sprint down the stairs with your backpack and look for your beach shoes.

"Where are you going" Your mother is standing behind you with her arms crossed. In her old cardigan, she looked like she did a few years ago and you almost get a déjà vu.

"A party, Judys picking me up"

"how long are you gonna be there?"

"Mom im going to be 18 in what now 4 days you dont have to ask me that anymore"

she scoffs

"yes i do and guess what? i also want you to text me So i know youll be fine"

Nervously, you look out to see if Judy's car is still there, maybe she thinks you've changed your mind.

"Ok, Mom, I'll probably go to Judy's and be gone till midnight."

Suspiciously, she looks at you from head to toe, but (luckily) gives in.

"okay but please call me if something happens. Be smarter than your brother"

Your body flinches at the mention of him. "Has… he called lately?" you murmur

She looked at the floor and you thought for a moment she was going to cry. "No, but maybe if you call him, he'll answer"

You nod, but you know you won't do it.

He doesn't care about you either.

~

"I'm proud that you're coming along" Judy and you are walking, with beer in your arms, towards the beach where a few people have already gathered.

"I mean, that was a great show, a few people definitely noticed it"

You sigh at the unpleasant memory. "Then that's the way it is, I think a few other things are going to happen tonight, that are far more interesting than a girl with coffee on her T-shirt"

"I hope so" A mischievous smile on her face.

You look around to find lyla and malik, But because of all the people, it doesn’t really work. You were sure that there weren't that many seniors and juniors, but that a few friends of others came along. There was a big fire and even a barbecue.

After wandering around for a while, you find the two siblings. They had already made themselves comfortable on the big blanket and had taken some alcohol with them, but the bottles will probably spread over the whole beach anyway.

"Finally I see you, everything ok with you?" Malik mentions as he stands up, giving you a vigorouslyhug. "Really fucked up what happened"

You digress with a wave of your hand and sit down

"im fine, but you won, tell me abou it!" You try to make your voice as shrill as possible to make it clear that you don't want to talk about it.

“oh yeah we won, I made a touchdown, obviouly"

"almost didn’t catch it tho" throws lyla into the round and you giggle.

"Shut up, we only won our last game Ever, Because of me!”

Pride, but also the quiet pain of the loss of his team, can be noticed on his face andin his voice. The reality that you try so hard to run away from hits you again. high school is over, real life begins now.

“whatever, im getting something to drink and then im gonna tell sam to put on some music” Lyla ties you back into the moment. "I'm going with you , I need a drink of Voda-Coke"

~

Later that night Mr. Brightside was what got you on your feet and into the crowd.

Mesmerizingly, the fire flares higher and leaves just light trail of smoke behind. Malik and Judy are now singing along loudly with the others.

All these people who so clumsily sing the song about a heartbroken man, as if they would die if they don't do it, carry the same fate with them. They will all wake up tomorrow with a headache and worries about the next day. as it is one day closer to real life.

Some have broken families or parents, complicated friends, grief and draining fear of the future.

Knowing that it was like that but everyone was still singing along motivates you to do it too.

"Here more vodka has to work not taste good" Judy pours more vodak into your cup, but misses more than ends up in it.

Now you just laugh, because why did you thought so long about everything, this night was a good decision.

"I need to dance like I physically need to dance"

She grabs Malik's arm as he pours more beer next to her.

“let’s danceee!"

Lyla stands next to you, grinning and sober, and you both watch her.

"he likes her"

Lyla explains

"I know" you reply.

“That’s fucked up”

She looks a bit worried, as she watches the two of them dance and sing, with her arms crossed

"is that bad? or are you the "dont date my fucking brother" type of girl, please dont be by the way its always a bit-"

Your brain is mush, your tongue works on its own and Lyla obviously didn't like that

"no of course not, i don't care about him or who he dates"

The light from the fire reflected on her skin, she looked like a painting drawn at sunset and you wished you had your camera with you. It would be a shot of a very sad girl, with a lot of repressed feelings that she will never explain to a human soul.

But she didn't have to, because you understand.

You once looked at someone like that, from a distance where these looks were not visible to the person, where they were safe.

Comforting her was your first thought, dumb decision because a drunk person comforting a sober one never works out.

"I'm sure judy likes you back"

Alarm bells could be seen in her eyes.

"shut up you don't know that"

you laugh but it sounds unstable.

“No your right I don’t”

It looked like a lot of fun, everyone singing and drinking away their worries, you just wanted to join the dancing crowd when you see her. Again.

Fast an quickly, just ignore her, act like you didn’t see her.

But your eyes lock with hers and your stomach sinks.

In that moment you wish you could just admit that Ellie will always be a part of your mind. Wherever you are, with whomever, she will always appear In your mind and she will haunt you.

The worst thing is that it was also your fault, you allowed this relationship to be far too deep and perplexed even though you knew that it was becoming too emotional.

Ellie's presence on the other side of the fire, fills you with all those deeply buried feelings, as if she dug them up with her own hands. As if you told her where you buried them.

“I really don't understand you two"

with a snap you arrive back on planet earth.

"what?"

"the both of you. starring at each other, like you're about to run through fire to be just a bit closer. Makes me want to puke" lyla repeats.

Disbelief and vulnerability spreads through your chest and all those lights are too bright, the music is too loud and Ellie is too close.

"It's ok to forgive, we don't even know what happened so be honest, how bad was it?"

brushing all those feelings off, or at least trying to, you turn around and disappear into the darkness.

In a kind of trance you push your way through the many people, a few call after you, and you are sure that you have run into someone. You just didn't notice anything about it.

You stop in front of the many cars. You used to drive with your father to the local supermarket or other short distances, but you're not willing to steal a car.

Your head turns to the right then left, looking for something, anything that will take you away from here.

Cars, skateboards and bicycles.

Without thinking about it, you grab an unchained bike and get on it. The adrenaline in your veins works on its own and has far too much influence on your body.

It took some time to get stable on it, because the tears in your eyes made it difficult to see. Nobody seems to have noticed that you ran away and that you are riding a bike that doesn't belong to you.

The road was pitch black dark.

The warm summer wind wipes your tears away, the bright street lights of the city can be seen in the distance.

You step on the pedals and realize that you have arrived on the local road.

Out of breath, you press your fingers on the brake lever.

Desperately trying to get your lungs to return to normal, mind concentrate on the outline of your shadow that was visible on the floor, because of the street lanterns.

You get off the bike in silence, put it down next to you on the sidewalk and sit down.

The pumping of your veins feels like electricity.

You could still hear a few cars in the background.

You brush away strands of hair from your forehead.

“Fuck” you hear yourself whisper.

The tears were just about to come back when you hear a car turning.

She still drives Joel's old truck.

The vehicle stops in front of your feet and you notice that some of the light green paint has rusted off.

That wasn't the case the last time you saw that thing.

Ellie slams the car door loudly behind her, so she looks back to see if everything is still fine.

The feeling of shame just bubbles out of you and drips onto the floor, as she steps in front of you with even louder steps.

your head lifts up just a bit, to look at her. Her nose is a bit crooked and she's breathing just as fast as you were a few seconds ago, it looks a bit like she was running after you.

“What the fuck are you doing”

Ellie Williams will always come from the far corner of the world and remind you that you will never let go of her.

The effects of the alcohol still had an influence on your brain, so you stay calm.

“calming down"

For a few seconds it's eerily quiet, for a moment you thought Ellie had left again, but the squeaking of her sneakers prove the opposite. Her body settles down next to you.

"You look really stupid, sitting here like that."

You scoff mockingly.

"yes, that's exactly why you're sitting next to me bitch"

"don't fucki-"

"Don’t act so innocent, remember what you said today before you spilled my coffee on my shirt”

Her head turns to you, sweet regret and longing in her moss green eyes. She scans the bike next to you.

"i think i stole that" the embaressment goes up your cheeks.

"yeah totally badass, but we have to bring that back later" she chuckles softly.

The bright beam of light from the lantern above you gives her face an bright tint , like the beach sun always did in the evening.

"sorry... about the coffee, joshua ran into me and-"

"Yes, I know you've said that before"

She drops her head. No idea why she's sitting here, but you don't mind. you just wanted to capture her and keep her close to you, like a butterfly.

"your brother called me" Ellie mentions it so casually that it shocks you to the bone.

He can even call her but not you. After she just sat down, you were as close as ever.

"what did he say"

"He wants us to come visit him."

Her pupils were large, but you assumed it was because she just drove a dark route and not because she was high. She's way too lucid to be high.

"why? and why the both of us?"

Ellie shrugs her shoulders cluelessly

"He said that we would like Florida, that he was getting a new apartment next week and that we should visit him. You didn't tell him anything about me?"

"I haven't told him anything Ellie, we haven't been able to get in touch with him for months"

You can clearly see from her expression that it makes as little sense to her as it does to you, which worries you even more. something is wrong.

You can feel how your hands shaking, you tried to tell yourself that your just cold.

"Alex said that he tried to call you and your parents, but the line never got through, fuck he even reached Joel"

You continue to shake and Ellie gently grabs your shoulder like she has often before, when you were lost in your head, when you were so afraid of roller coasters that you almost vomited or when you cried because Alex moved out 3 years ago.

Ellie's own security was always an anchor for you, when things got too confusing she strengthened you and even though you didn't talk to each other for almost a year, she still decided to tell you that your brother was fine.

That he wants you with him.

Sometimes, on the particularly melancholic nights when loneliness and nostalgia take over, you read Sylvia's poems and it just clicks. That all because this girl with her hair that is way too short and her pants that are way too big and her full lips, her unhealthy obsession with the universe and planets, exists on the same time as you.

“There’s gonna be a explanation or a reason whatever but just calm down for now okay?”

her voice is suppressed but still safe. yes the Ellie Anchor effect, fuck that shit

“Okay yes your right what the fuck”

“Yeah I can be right sometimes”

“ I Doubt that”

Her lips pucker upwards and yours follow suit. you are still too close to each other, it all feels too new and yet too nostalgic.

The old patterns gave your heart a little sting, you quickly shook off her hand on your shoulder. You clear your throat, thanking the universe or whoever there is that it's night.

Otherwise Ellie wouldn't have been able to miss your red cheeks. In your mind you beat yourself up because you still feel this way after everything she did.

"Show me your phone"

Your hand goes protectively to your back trouser pocket. "um no?!"

Ellie Scoffs thinking your joking, but when she sees that you’re serious, she laughs.

"just give it? the fuck do you think im gonna do"

"I don't know"

With a little nudge to your foot, she gives you that look again that shows trust and you give in.

"fine"

It's a little painful for you, this morning you had a mental crisis because of her, now you letting her scroll through your contacts.

"yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but this is not your bros number"

But that must be his.

Your parents gave it to you.

Oh.

"show me" you said firmly, having a really fucked up scenario in your head, about why this is the wrong number.

Ellie takes out her phone and shows you your brother's contact. chats, phone calls, everything is there. the one from this week too.

"this doesn't make any sense, I just- I don't get it"

"Your parents gave you the number?"

You nod, "My mom said, a few Months ago he had to change his number, in the beginning we texted a bit but never really called"

your eyes switch from her phone to yours to check the numbers again and again .

"After a few days, he didn't get in touch at all, with no one. We thought he was just done with his old life." you pronounce the words and your stomach turns.

Ellie's eyes stare thoughtfully at the asgap in front of you. You're helplessly trying to build up eye contact to figure out what you're thinking.

"I think they lied to you… He said something like this could happen" She says it so fucking sure.

You couldn't take in any more and you get up with your eyes are watering "What the fuck are you talking about Ellie" Your voice broke with the trust in your parents, even Ellie looks at you sympathetically.

"Alex said on the phone that he has been trying to reach someone from home for a long time, but it doesn't work. He was so desperate that he even called me and joel. Do you think your parents or your mom-"

you raise your hand to tell her not to finish the sentence. "Why… would they do that?"

She gets up and comes closer to you. "He mentioned that your mother said he shouldn’t call her anymore or you anymore, that even you don't him in your life anymore"

It feels like your whole past is falling apart, all the beautiful moments with your family, you even want the bad memories back.

"Hey"

Ellie's soft fingertips gently touch the back of your hand. Roughness was still there, she hasn`t stopped playing guitar.

"lets run away"

a/n: omg, the chapters are gonna be shorter next time and we’re also on the road PLS STICK W IT

(and reblog😍)

anyways if you’ve come this far ur a real survivor thanks 🫶

@yourelliewillms @bready101 @liasxeatt @darkerstarsstuff @elliezato @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @lovelyxbaby @yalaysbee @macaroni676

[citrusandcyanide]

Can't Lose You | L.G.

Part 2

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x f!Reader

an. Okay this part is a lot shorter than I expected just cause I think it was a good place to end the scene. I got more coming, but this had to stand on its own. I forgot to mention in the last part that I changed Lips college to UChicago instead of Chicago Polytechnic. Also Thank you for the kind messages and reblogs!!! They really motivate me to write and put out chapters quicker. Thank you for the love <3333

Synopsis. Lip doesn't want to go to college unlike his best friend who has her mind set on leaving Chicago and her feelings for Lip behind. Lip won't let her leave so easily.

words. 1.2k

Warnings. Drinking. angst, swearing. idk clutch your pearls.

Part 1 Part 3 (Final)

“Berkeley…” Lip said as he held the acceptance letter in his hand. “California.” 

“Cali-fucking-fornia,” You said with a grin, giggling a bit from the beers. You had gone through more than a few. You were tipping over the edge of tipsy. Lip was going at a much slower pace. You were laying down on his bed while he was sitting on the edge of it. His eyes kept scanning over the paper. His expression was bare. You were too gone to care what he was thinking. “I fucking did it. I’m fucking out of here. All that work, fuck… I was hoping it would do something but I didn’t think it would.I got in. to BERKELEY. THE UC BERKELEY.”

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Lip applauded, but his voice didn’t show any enthusiasm . You stood up to grab the letter from him. Only then did you notice his clenched jaw and dissociated expression. You stared at him until he looked over. He straightened his back and handed you the letter. “I’m sorry it’s just far.” 

“Yeah that’s the point: Far. Away. Not here,” You replied, rolling your eyes. You knew he would do this, but you thought he would at least try and pretend to be happy for you. This was all you had been wanting, a life outside of Chicago. But he couldn’t bring himself to entertain the idea for a moment. He wasn’t going to let you leave easy. 

“What about the, uh–what’s it called? The institute. ISA something,” Lip asked. You interrupted him briefly to correct him before he continued.  “That’s a perfectly good option.” 

“Why? I told you I don’t want to stay here,” You sighed and fixed your position on the bed so you were fully facing him. 

“Yeah but is it really that bad here? It’s not sunshine and rainbows but it’s fine. It’s not like Berkeley is gonna be any different,” He said, looking at you fully. There was something behind his eyes you couldn’t quite place. Like a part of him was offended you wanted to leave. You didn’t like it. 

“There isn’t anything left for me here.” The excitement left your voice. You stated it plainly. It was a fact. There wasn’t. Lip wasn’t yours. Lip had never been and never would be. You had no other attachment to Chicago than him. You waited long enough for something that wouldn’t happen. Lip scoffed. 

“We’re here. Our friendship, us,” Lip said, pain evident in his voice. He was taking it personally that you were ignoring the fact he was here. He didn’t realize he was exactly the reason you needed to leave. “Is it selfish of me to say that I don’t want you to leave me behind?”

“You have your own ticket out. You are personally capable of leaving on your own,” You quickly replied. It hurt you having to justify your reason for leaving to your best friend when he’s known how important it’s meant for you this whole time. He couldn’t be happy for you for a moment without thinking of what it meant for himself and his life. 

“I’m not going to fucking Boston,” He replied offended, shaking his head in disgust. 

“There’s nothing keeping you here. That’s your choice,” You argued back. You weren’t going to let him paint himself out to be the victim. He had equal the chance to leave Chicago behind and start something good for himself. You wanted that for him. You desperately wanted to see him succeed and find happiness outside of what your current life had to offer. He just couldnt see the same for you.

“You’re keeping me here. We– Us,” Lip turned fully to face you. His eyes pierced deep into yours. It didn’t sound like an excuse. He said it and you could tell he actually believed it. It was the first time in years that he was admitting that a part of him needs you in his life. He cared about having you with him. He cared that you grew up together. That you were his other half, but it was delusional to believe the two of you hadn’t been growing apart. And whatever this is was a plea to hold on to what was left. 

“Stop repeating that as if it was a thing. There hasn’t been an us in years,” Your voice was stern. 

“But there can be. Me at UChicago, you at SAIC. a few miles away from eachother,” Lip put a hand on your knee. “I haven’t been fair to you or your feelings and I know what I said before but not having you here is so much worse—” 

“Don’t bring my feelings into this.” You winced. You shut your eyes in an attempt to control your emotions. 

“It’s not just yours,” He argued. 

“Stop.” You kept your eyes closed. 

“They’re mine too.” You felt the bed move under you as he inched closer to where you were sitting. 

“Stop.” 

 “I love you–” You cut him off before he could finish. 

“Don’t say that. You don’t want me. I know how this will go,” You said opening your eyes. The alcohol had made you dizzy but your head was as clear as day. You’re heart was pulling you towards him and it made you angry. “ You’ll keep me here and play with someone else’s heart instead cause you think it’s kinder than to do it to me, but you are playing with my heart. All of this is hurting me. You’re hurting me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He reached his hand out towards you. You quickly pulled it away. 

“You can’t help it,” You spat back. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as your rage began bubbling instead you. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shook his head and tried to reach for your hand again. You held your own close to your chest. Clenching your shirt over your pounding heart.

“You don’t love me.” With each of his words you felt your walls being chipped away. 

“I do,” His voice sounded like he was pleading. 

“You don’t want me.” You were convincing yourself, not Lip. He was your weakness. He always was.  

“Y/n, if you stay I’m yours.” 

The world stopped. As you looked at the boy in front of you, your walls broke. He won. Lip gets what he wants and he wants you to stay. To give up the dream you had been working so hard for and you were about to. He was offering you another dream.

“Let me be yours… please,” He pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. Your hand fell into his. He gently pulled you forward to him, closer and closer until your noses touched. You closed your eyes. His lips touched yours. How could you ever say no to Lip Gallagher?

~~~~

an. poor Mandy lol

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 5

Find the series masterlist 

In which Logan makes his grand entrance (and there is a lot less bloodshed than most of you seem prepped for). Some discussions are had. 

Side note: JTF2 is a Canadian special forces unit. Also, I’m thinking of writing a side chapter that is just Logan and the 141 pack. Thoughts? 

Warnings: Swearing, Logan is a jerk, Price needs a warning label, world building, shifter behavior, pack cuddles. 

Word count: 2.2k

Eventual John Price x f!reader

The plane landed back in England and you leaned back a bit, watching the pack. Soap was glued to one side of you, Gaz napping on your other side. Price was watching all three of you, something undeniably soft in his gaze. 

You hadn't forgotten about Logan, but you hadn't expected him to find you so bloody fast. 

You got to put your things down in your room, at least, before Price was knocking on your door, expression thunderous. 

"Who did you tell about this base?" He asked in a low snarl. 

"No one," you snapped, frowning. "Signed too damn many NDAs to tell anyone." 

"Then why do you have a visitor at the gate?" 

You froze. "Oh hell," you breathed. "That bastard!" You stepped around Price and took off towards the gate, barely paying attention as the pack all gathered behind you. 

Sure enough, Logan stood on the other side of the gate, smirking, all 5’6” of him in jeans and a flannel, duffel bag dropped at his side. But his hair was a little shorter than the last time you’d seen him, and his beard was nicely trimmed. 

“I told you not to come,” you growled, ignoring the gate guard and striding straight up to Logan. 

“Good to see you too, kid.” His smirk widened as he looked past you. “That them?”

You finally turned to find the pack had followed you and had settled into a loose cluster behind you. You hissed out a breath. 

“It doesn’t matter because you are going home.”

“Aw, but I came all the way out here just for you, kid.” Logan’s grin reached shit-eating proportions. 

“You are not supposed to be here,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at Logan. “And I don’t just mean because I told you not to.”

“Been here once before.” Logan shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seen him before, too.” He nodded to Ghost. When you turned to look, Ghost returned the nod. 

“...What?” You felt like he’d pulled a rug from under you. 

“Few years back,” Logan said, tipping his head as he looked up at the bigger shifter. “You lot needed help finding someone.”

“Right.” Ghost huffed what might have been a laugh. “Good to see you again.” 

“When was this?” You frowned a little as you looked at Logan. 

“You were down south,” he said, scratching his chin slowly. “The pack in Ohio, I think it was.” 

“And you worked together?” Price looked at Ghost to confirm. 

“Joint op with JTF2,” Ghost confirmed with a solid nod. 

Soap whistled lowly. “Now that’s not easy to get into,” he said, looking at Logan with new respect. 

“Mmhm.” Logan grinned. “Now, you gonna invite me onto base, or we gonna shoot the shit out here?” 

You hung your head with a low groan before you looked back at Price. It was his call, his territory. 

Price clenched his jaw briefly but nodded. “Be welcome on my territory.” 

“Gonna introduce me?” Logan drawled, one finger hooking through your belt loop before you could escape.

You looked up at the sky for a moment. Looked like rain. You wouldn’t mind a good soak right then. “Logan, that is Alpha Price, Ghost you apparently know, and those two are Soap and Gaz. This is Logan, the longest-running pain in my ass.” 

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be her wolverine friend, would you?” Gaz stepped closer, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Talkin’ about me, kid?” Logan smirked, looking far too amused. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, hunching your shoulders. “I’m gonna go find something tall to throw myself off of now.”

“Good luck, have fun.” 

You gave up, jogging ahead to catch up to Price as the other three hung back with Logan. “I swear I didn’t ask him to come here, or tell him where I even was.”

“I know,” Price murmured soothingly. One hand touched yours. “If he’s JTF2, he’s got his own resources.”

“He’s quasi-retired. Which I’m sure is why he was able to drop everything and fly out here.” You rubbed a hand over your face. You should never have called him. 

“Hey.” Price’s hand fit warm over the back of your neck. “You’re fine. Don’t stress about it.”

You sighed, some of the tension running out of your shoulders. “Yeah, alright.” You drew in a deep breath. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Price shrugged, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of your neck. “Today’s an off day since we just got back. I’ll probably be working on paperwork, but they’re free to do whatever they want.”

“Right.” You pursed your lips. You could find places to hide on base and be out of the way. “I’ll stop bothering you, then.��

“Not bothering me.” He glanced at you, eyes dark, hand squeezing the back of your neck lightly. “Stop worrying.”

“It is literally my job to worry.” 

“Then maybe you need a day off.” He stopped outside one of the buildings, hand shifting just a little lower to squeeze again. Your eyes slid half-closed in pleasure, and his lips quirked. “You know where my office is?”

“Nope.” You blinked slowly at him.

“Ask one of them. I’ll be there all day if you need anything.” He ducked his head a little to meet your eyes for a moment before he released you and walked away. 

You blinked after him and then turned to find four shifters all watching you curiously. You warmed and flapped your hands at them. “Shoo, you hooligans. Go cause chaos somewhere else.” And you promptly fled. 

You ended up on top of the barracks (and briefly told yourself to talk to someone about this habit of going high places when in distress). The sky was still threatening rain, but so far activity on the base hadn’t ceased. 

Soft swearing made you finally look away from the view, spotting Logan climbing up onto the roof. He shot a mistrustful look at the sky before he walked over and sat next to you.

“So?”

“So what?” you asked, looking back out over the base.

“You like them.” He nudged you, just once. 

You blew out a sigh. You could try to lie, or deflect. But it wouldn’t work for long. Logan knew all your tells. “I do.” 

“So make it work.”

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It’s never that simple.” Logan snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You glowered at him and then gave up, sighing and looking away again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, I have no idea how they feel.”

“Don’t you?” Logan looped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Or are you just ignoring signals?”

“Stop being so damn perceptive,” you growled. 

“Well, no snowbanks to throw you into here,” Logan rumbled. “This is my next best bet.”

You groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re stubborn, makes us even.” 

The first fat drop of rain landed right on top of your head, followed immediately by one landing on your nose. 

“Aw, fuck,” Logan grumbled. “Weather here is still shit.” 

You snorted, getting to your feet. “You live in Canada.”

“And?”

“You have snow at least half the year!”

“Snow is easy. This is just wet.” Logan motioned you to go down first, keeping a close eye on you. You got down to the ground with no issues and moved out of the way so Logan could get down too, grimacing at the pull of wet clothes. It had gone from threatening to downpour in less than a minute. 

“Did they give you a room yet?” you asked, jogging to the door to the barracks and heading inside.

“Nah, mentioned something about it.” Logan shrugged, unconcerned, following you. 

“Guess we’re going back to mine, then.” You led the way, unlocking the door and letting him in first. Not that there was much to see. 

“You don’t travel with any pictures?” He frowned a little, gaze darting around the room. 

“No. Usually I try to give my full attention to the pack I’m working with.” You pulled out a clean top and dry sweatpants. “Besides, I talk to people almost every day.”

Logan grumbled, displeased, but changed as well. His duffel bag had been left in your room, although you weren’t sure if it was a joke, an easy place to put it temporarily, or because someone had assumed something about the nature of your relationship. 

With the both of you in dry clothes, you debated what else to do now. You hadn’t exactly come equipped to entertain, after all. 

A knock on your door made you blink, but you pulled it open to see Soap and Gaz. 

“Movie day?” Gaz asked with a hopeful smile. 

“Alright,” you agreed. “You okay if he tags along? He gets bored on his own.” You jerked a thumb back over your shoulder at Logan. 

“Watch it, kid,” he grumbled without any heat. 

“Sure.” Soap grinned. “More the merrier. I’ll drag LT in later.”

You snorted softly but followed Gaz to the rec room. Soap and Gaz immediately ensconced you between them on the couch, and Logan chuckled as he settled in a chair. 

“You two are menaces,” you said without heat, letting Gaz spread a blanket over the three of you. But you forced yourself to look at them a little more closely, to actually note how they behaved and their body language. While neither of them really fussed, they both paid attention to you, and to have you squished between them like this? This was a definite sign of favor, of acceptance, only enhanced by how relaxed they both were with you. 

Almost reflexively, you wanted to pull away, to hide. To protect yourself from the inevitable hurt. But you forced yourself to pause, to breathe through it. You relaxed back into the couch, breathing slowly. 

Soap made a pleased noise and cuddled in closer to you. Touch was important to pack, and cuddle times like this, or even sleeping together in a pile, was not unusual. But it also was another sign that he wanted you here.

Maybe even for longer than just this job. 

You met Logan’s eyes across the room, knowing you were showing your internal struggle. He just smiled a little, almost the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, and very intentionally closed his eyes. One of the biggest signs of trust from a shifter. 

You swallowed hard and relaxed between Gaz and Soap, warm and comfortable and comforted. 

Sometime after the first movie, Ghost settled in the room. In a chair, of course, away from the pile of you on the couch. Gaz freed himself enough to start texting someone rapidly, glancing at you a few times. 

“What are you planning?” you asked him quietly, eyes narrowing a little.

“Nothing,” he immediately protested. “Well. Nothing bad.” He met your gaze for a long moment before he looked back at his phone. You blinked, startled. He… Had he just…? No. No way. 

His little noise of triumph distracted you, and he hopped to his feet. 

“Back in a mo,” he said before darting out of the room. 

“You have any idea what he’s planning?” you asked Soap, taking the chance to get up and bring back water for everyone. Ghost blinked when you set his down in front of him, apparently surprised.

“Not really.” Soap grinned and took his, watching you go back for snacks. “Ye ken we can get our own, aye?”

“Oh hush. You’re always hungry.” You threw a protein bar at his head. 

“You’re not wrong about that.”

You jumped at Price’s voice behind you, in the doorway. You turned to find a very amused Price standing there, a smug-looking Gaz behind him. 

“You’re a menace,” you grumbled without heat. “Giving up on the paperwork for the day?”

“Something like that.” He glanced around the room before refocusing on you. 

You tossed Ghost a snack and chucked one at Logan too before you dropped a few more on the table in front of the couch and sat back down. Soap plastered himself to your side again, looking smug. 

“Are we finishing this movie or starting something else?” you asked, giving everyone time to settle down. 

But you were surprised when Price dropped down next to you instead of Gaz. He leaned back into the couch, big and warm, his arm draped across the back of the couch. You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the screen even as a playful bout of bantering went straight over your head. 

You hadn’t spent a lot of time with Price, and him being this close was… distracting. More than you had accounted for. Especially since he was relaxed, at ease. This close, that lovely rumbling laugh could be felt and heard. 

This was dangerous. You needed to go, needed to get out before you got in too deep–

Logan caught your eye across the room, holding your gaze. You stilled. He breathed in deliberately slowly, not looking away, almost forcing you to follow along until the urge to flee vanished. Then he blinked and looked away. 

“Alright there?” Price asked quietly, though you were well aware everyone in the room could hear him. 

“Yeah.” Your lips quirked into something close to a smile as you leaned back and just a little bit into him, already steadier. “I’m good.” 

Nobody but you noticed the smug smirk on Logan’s face.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

For What It's Worth - Chapter 6

Max Verstappen x Reader

Chapter 6: What line is he willing to cross? 

Chapter summary: Carlos flirts and Max is willing to risk it all to make sure he figures this out properly. 

Warnings: Swearing. 

Word Count: 2791

Authors note: Hello, I’m back, life is slightly less hectic so hello :D This chapter is slightly shorter, it has taken me forever to write and it is a little more hectic, but I am really excited with where this story is heading :D I can’t wait to hear what you all think :)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

______

Lando could hear people shouting for him as he sprinted through the paddock, panting as his feet hit the ground below him, pushing him forward. He would never admit it, but you and Max had made him believe in true love, that there was someone for everyone in this world that so often made you feel alone, that maybe all of those rom-coms might actually be on to something, and since you had made him believe in that, he was going to make sure he played a role in getting you and Max together. 

So he ignored the burn in his lungs and how hard Carlos’driver room door was as he ran into it, forced to spend an extra precious couple of seconds, which Max really depended on, trying to get the door open in his panic. 

Both Lando and Carlos flinched as the door hit the wall from the force that Lando swung it open and from the moment that Lando recovered from the shock, Carlos was subject to an onslaught of information that there was no way he could possibly follow. 

“Slow down!” Carlos attempted to calm his friend down all while rapidly trying to process the information coming from Lando, “Did you just call Y/n hot?”

This finally shut Lando up. 

“Like Max’s Y/n?” The nod surprised Carlos, no one ever called you hot, well, not unless it was in whispered tones far, far, far away from Max. 

“Yes, Jesus, just, were you not paying attention to anything I just said?” Lando swiftly closed the door behind him, strategically standing in front of the slight chip in the wall that now existed.

 “How can anyone pay attention-” he was getting sidetracked, he needed to understand exactly what was happening with you and Lando, “Are you seeing her?”

“Who?” A confused look instantly adorned Landos face as he tried to catch up to Carlo’s question. 

“Y/N, You know, Max’s girl? I gotta know, is it like a shared agreement between the three of you or are you actually seeing Max’s girl behind his back?” Carlos couldn't help the unamused look on his friends face and he couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as he continued, “Or is this you asking me how to make a move on Max’s girl?”

“Actually, I’m here to warn you that she’s coming to make a move on you.” A smug grin spread across Lando’s face as he watched the panic spread on his friend, “She’s wearing a cute little sundress on top of it, determined to get her man.”

“And she thinks that man is me?” Lando shrugged before relenting and sharing a small amount of information with Carlos. 

“She isn’t sure who it is.” The frustration seeped off of Carlos, “You going to listen to me this time round?” 

“Hurry up or get out.” And so Lado began to explain the entire story, start to finish, rushing through the parts that specifically made Max look really bad, with Carlos asking him to repeat those parts too many times and finally, between the two of them, they came up with a plan. 

One that would be kind to you and let you down easily and maybe get Max to actually make a move on you, and now all they had to do was wait until they ran into you. 

_____

Max could feel his face heat up as he watched you leave the motorhome and he was ushered into yet another meeting. He was torn between desperately trying to get your attention and not wanting to look at you for a second longer because every part of him was losing the battle of not just telling you exactly how he felt. 

How had he gotten himself into this mess, how had he finally been brave enough to say how he felt and then subsequently ended up helping you look for the love of your life? A man that you clearly were more interested in than him. 

“You’re staring” Daniel nudged him as you finally slipped out the motorhome doors, dragging his attention back to the meeting. 

“How can I not? This might be the last time I ever see her without the love of her life on her arm.” Dejection filtered through his voice as he allowed his thoughts to escape him, finally allowing himself to begin the grieving process. 

“Oh, you mean you’re finally going to tell her the truth?” Ever the optimist, Daniel couldn’t help but try and be positive about the situation, knowing deep in his soul that if any two people belonged together, it was you and Max. 

“I need you to stop.” Max couldn’t handle it. 

“Stop what?” Daniel could have guessed what he meant, but he was also willing to take advantage of any opportunity he could to convince Max that all he needed was to be a little brave. 

There was a long silence as Max picked at his nail beds, seeking out any distraction from the truth. 

“Giving me hope.” The loudest Max could get out was a whisper, not risking the crack in his voice. Not risking breaking the waterline of the first tears, of many he assumed, when he truly thought about the ramifications of the situation he could only blame himself for. “Please don’t give me hope when I'm about to watch the only woman I will ever love end up with another driver.”

“All you have to be is honest Max.” The glassy eyes didn’t surprise Daniel like he thought it would, but for the first time Daniel realized just how broken Max was in this situation. What had seemed so obvious, so simple, to Daniel, was completely lost on Max. He truly did not realize that you and him were it. You were always going to be together in the end. To Max, this was the end, and he wasn’t in it with you. 

Before Max could protest an alert sounded on both their phones, the exact same message brightening their screens. 

NoRizz: Okay, don’t be mad. 

NoRizz added Chili.

Maxie: Why would I be mad? 

Chili: Because I’m standing here looking at your girl in that sundress, kind of glad you fucked up. 

Maxie: I’m going to kill you. 

NoRizz: He isn’t going to do anything. 

Chili: You didn’t tell me she looked this good. 

NoRizz: HE ISN’T GOING TO DO ANYTHING. 

BigRicc: Carlos, stay away from her until we get there. 

NoRizz: Too late. 

Maxie: What do you mean too late?

NoRizz: She saw him and now they’re talking. 

BigRicc: So stop them? Get involved in the conversation!

NoRizz: Please don’t make me do that right now. There’s a lot of touching. 

Maxie: So you’re just going to let him take my girl?

NoRizz: I mean, technically she isn’t your girl. 

BigRicc: Jesus Lando.

Maxie: I’m going to kill you. 

Maxie: Both of you. 

Daniel could literally see the water in his glass splashing over as the table shook. Max’s leg bouncing rapidly underneath the table from a combination of anxiety and rage. 

Not a single second of this meeting has been absorbed by Max and it took less then a second before Max was moving out the door of the motorhome with Daniel hot on his heels when Horner dismissed them. He rushed through the paddock frantically searching for you amongst too many people. Normally it was like you were a beacon in any space, he was always drawn to you, like you were inexplicably connected somehow, but now Max felt as if that had been severed. He couldn’t see you. He couldn’t feel you. 

He was suddenly lost. 

Suddenly your laugh rang out through the crowd and Max couldn’t help but stop for a second and admire you.

The sun on your skin as you tilted your head back, laughing at whatever Carlos has said. It didn't even matter that it wasn’t him making you laugh, you just looked so beautiful. 

Maybe he could live with you ending up with Carlos if it meant that he got to see you this happy? 

That goddamn sundress really did look good on you. 

“Carlos! There you are.” Daniel made his way past Max and over to you, glaring at a skittish Lando in the distance. 

“You were looking for me?”  Carlos didn’t even bother taking his eyes off you as he addressed the two other drivers making their way over. 

“ Yeah, I wanted to wish you luck for qualifiers, Max over here is looking pretty angry so I think I’m a little nervous for all of us out there today.”  It was both a threat and a warning to the other driver, one Carlos couldn’t help but laugh at. 

“You’re angry? Why? What's wrong? Did something happen with Horner?” Max softened entirely the moment you turned towards him, concern detached in your brows, his heart fluttered as you placed your palm to his chest, a subconscious habit you had now developed whenever Max was feeling angry or anxious, finding that the physical touch calmed him completely. 

He loved how well you knew him, even if you weren’t completely conscious of just how much you did. 

Suddenly you had turned away from him, leaning closer towards Carlos as he moved to comment. 

“I can only assume he is upset over this whole flower situation.” Confusion replaced concern on your face as Carlos couldn’t help but laugh at the cute expression. 

“Why would Max be angry over the flower situation?” Despite Max’s anxiety, he couldn’t help but smile at the exact same thing Carlos was. The tilt of your head and furrowed brows as you tried to piece together everything that was being said. 

“Because whoever sent those flowers shouldn’t be a coward and just say how he feels instead of making you run all over the grid trying to figure out who it is.”  Daniel offered up as an explanation. 

“So it wasn’t Carlos?” Max was looking directly at the driver just mentioned, the question a lot more layered than what you understood? 

“I did not get her the flowers,” a breath of relief left Max, his hand coming up to wrap around yours, anchoring himself even more in your presence, in your reality. 

He still had a chance. 

“But I did tell her that I had a pretty good idea of who it was.”  Daniel couldn’t help but feel proud of Carlos, this is what Max needed, a little bit of pressure, and they were going to make sure he was getting it from all sides. 

“And he has decided to be cruel and make me wait till he tells me just exactly who it is.” Not even your pout could distract Max from the stare he and Carlos were locked in. Carlos was going to make you wait, which meant Max had some time. 

“He has two weeks.” Two weeks. Max could do two weeks. That was enough time for him to figure this all out, “Unless he pisses me off on the track.” Another threat and warning disguised as a joke. 

Max just gave a slight nod as your head was turned away from him, a promise that he would confess in the next two weeks, a promise that he’d let Carlos win whatever he wanted if he just gave him this time to figure it out.

Max couldn’t help but think about how easy it was to get into match fixing because this entire situation has him willing to throw the entire championship out the window if that's what it took. 

“You're technically Max’s PA right?” Suddenly Lando had popped back up into the conversation. 

“I am, why?” No one liked where this was headed. 

“Could you get us all coffee?” A slap to the back of his head was followed quickly by admonishment from the entire group. 

“My PA, not yours, and she’s not the type of PA to get coffee you dick.” Max had subconsciously moved between you and Lando, challenging him. 

“Redbull, whatever, can she just please?” There was a slight desperation in Lando’s voice prompting Max to give you a pleading look, knowing that he was apologize a million times over after this.

“4 Redbulls coming up.” You rolled your eyes as you moved away from the four men, not missing the very short words Max was having with Lando regarding your treatment.

“Listen, this isn’t about, just, wait, Carlos, why did you flirt like that?” Suddenly all the attention was off of Lando and back on Carlos. 

“You flirted with her?” Daniel let out a sigh so deep it could have only come from the very depths of his soul. 

“After the way Max treated her, she deserved to have her ego boosted a little bit,” it was so obvious and so nonchalant that none of the other drivers could even say anything against it, “Plus, Jesus, that dress.” A groan left Carlos tat every single one of them couldn’t help but agree with, none of them scared of admitting it in front of Max at this point, knowing he had absolutely no leg to stand on until he made a move. 

“At least you can flirt with her.” Max couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. 

“I mean, you could if you weren’t such a pussy.” The deadpan look he received was physically painful in its truth. 

“And she is really fun to flirt with, she gets this very rosy cheek when you do, at least it starts at her cheeks, eventually her entire chest is pink the more you -” 

“I advise you shut your mouth right now.”  Max couldn’t be damned if Carlos told, he wasn’t prepared to let him sit there and talk about you like that. 

“But apparently Carlos is so good with his mouth?” You blew a kiss towards Carlos and before he could even pretend that he had caught it, Lando had stepped in between you two, wildly moving his arms in the air, an attempt to usher off your blown kiss in another direction. 

“Don’t be gross.” All except Max and Lando laughed at his response. 

“Weren’t you just checking out my boobs all morning at breakfast?” Lando whipped his head towards Max, hyper aware of how red Max’s neck was getting. That was pure rage and Lando did not want to stick around for that. 

“You’ve done me dirty, and now since you have, I am leaving for my meeting early.” He made a big show of huffing as he turned around, urging Carlos to follow him off, all but ready to run if that's what saved his life from Max’s wrath. 

And then there were three of you, silently all deciding that it was time you made your way back to the motorhome. 

“Quali starts soon, I assume you boys need to get ready?” It was more of a statement than a question, you knew they needed to go and you were thankful for a moment to lick your wounds. That was your third rejection of the weekend and you’re not sure how many more of them you could go through. 

Before either of them could nod, you’d made your way to your work studio, ready to get this day over with, leaving Max and Daniel to get ready in their respective drivers rooms. 

As soon as Max had closed the door to his, he fully rested against the table in the middle of the room, attempting to figure out his next move as Carlos’s threat played over in his mind again and again. 

______

“Explain to me exactly how Carlos got that close to you in q3?” Daniel didn’t want to believe Max was willing to actually throw these next two weeks to keep Carlos quiet. 

“The Ferrari is quick.”  Max didn’t feel like talking, instead continuing to shove his clothes into his bag so he could just find you and get back to the hotel. 

“Not that quick. Max, you can’t let him win over some girl.” That stopped Max. 

“Not some girl.” Daniel knew what you were to him so why would this surprise him? 

“This is illegal.” Daniel couldn't believe his ears. There was no way Max was actually going to go easy on Carlos for the next two weeks. 

“I got P1, nothing illegal happened.”  He shoved his wallet into his pants and pulled out his phone ready to call you. 

“And what happens when you get closer to the deadline?” Daniel stopped him just before he could leave, stranded between the safety of the drivers room and the world outside. Stranded between a line that if crossed, he would never deserve to be a driver again. 

“She’s not some girl.” 

_____

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[moon-fics]

The Truth-Peter Parker

A/n: Ok, so the original angst fic I wanted to post is taking longer than I thought to finish. Here's a shorter angst-to-fluff fic that I think you'll enjoy!

Summary: Peter has been different recently and you don't like it.

Warning: Swears, Peter being stupid

Today is not your day, not even close. You realize that while staring down at the chapter text you didn't study for. You always tell yourself college grades are the most important thing in your life, but somehow you fucked this one up. Probably because your best friend has been on and off the grid for the past month.

You choose random answers for half a page, rubbing your forehead in frustration as the questions get harder. You glance over your shoulder to see Peter in the back of the class, practically breezing through the test. Of course, you aren't surprised seeing as he's already an expert in organic chemistry. You mentally curse him out for being smart enough not to study.

You still have five questions unanswered but at this point, you're at a low. With a deep breath you write down random answers you hope are bullshit enough to be accepted. You quickly stand from your chair, placing the test on the professor's desk. You get the shortest look at the class, half of them are already gone. You grab your backpack, swinging it over your shoulder. Right as you pass the professor's desk you hear shuffling from the very back, knowing it's Peter.

You don't spare him a glance, speeding up as you walk through the campus halls. You're about to turn the corner towards the exit when you hear footsteps gaining on you. You don't have to look to know who it is.

You push open the doors, heading straight to your car in hopes Peter doesn't reach you. Sadly, today is really not your day.

You only get halfway through the parking lot when he calls out to you. You can't pretend to not hear him because even a senile old man would. With a heavy sigh, you turn on your heel and watch him approach you.

"Hey, what's the rush?" He asks innocently, stopping a few feet in front of you. He hasn't even broken a sweat but he's breathing like he's run a mile. "I saw that you didn't do too well on the test." He tries to strike up a conversation.

"How would you know that? You were in the back of the class." You raise an eyebrow, genuinely wondering how he'd know that. You watch his face change as he tries to come up with a reason. It's either going to be a lie or he'll brush it off. That's what he's been doing recently, lying to you or avoiding you altogether.

"You left in a bad mood." He answers, shrugging his shoulders. You decide not to press further, knowing it'll lead nowhere. "You should have asked if you needed help, I could have rambled about organic chemistry until you'd become a secondhand expert!" This makes you lose your politeness.

"When could I have asked you?" You scoff, crossing your arms. "We barely talk and when I text you I get left on delivered." You point out with a frown. You could probably pull up his contact and scroll through the constant unanswered messages that are paired with random texts from him, usually at unreasonable hours. At one point you tried matching whatever sleep schedule he's on, but eventually had to stop for your sanity.

Peter nods his head, not defending himself. "I know I've been busy, I should have tried to talk to you more." He says in a genuine tone. He looks down at the asphalt, rubbing the back of his neck. You can't lie, even when you're close to ditching him in the parking lot, he looks good. "I promise that I'm not distracted anymore, I swear on my test score!" His eyes shift to look at you, his head ducked down a bit still. He looks adorable at that angle.

"And I'm supposed to care why?" You shift your weight onto one leg, the weight of your backpack making your back ache. A part of you wants to just forgive him and pretend like the past few weeks didn't happen, the other half wants to reject him and drive home.

"I was hoping we could hang out, you know like friends do." He chuckles. If his smile wasn't so perfect you'd call him insane, maybe even dramatically march away. Instead, you find yourself excited about the idea of spending time with him again. Your heart betraying your stubborn brain.

"And if I were to say yes, what would we do?" You enquire, pretending to not be interested. It's too bad you never made the starring role in any school plays.

"I'd order us pizza and invite you to watch a movie at my apartment." You've forgotten how much his internships are paying him, OSCORP definitely loves him. "I'll even buy those cupcakes you loved from that bakery." That catches your interest.

"Hmm, I'll have to see." You pretend to think, making him groan. You both know you're more than free, but you enjoy tormenting him. Honestly, spending time with Peter while eating free food is a double win. "I guess I'll do it." You relent, watching as his smile grows even more. You can see his eyes brighten once you agree, making your heart race.

"Perfect, Friday night at 6 o'clock!" He details, and you mentally note it. There's no way you'd miss it, not for the world.

-

It's pouring rain when you finally reach his apartment, you're dripping down the hallway. You know how to get to his apartment by heart having done it so much. The hallway filled with apartment doors is warm enough to keep you from shivering.

You reach his door, knocking a few times. You wait awkwardly, noticing how dead quiet it is. You hope he has clothes you can borrow so yours can dry, wet clothes are anything but comfortable.

You wait a few seconds before knocking again, still having hope about tonight. You assure yourself he's probably listening to music or in the shower. You send him a text letting him know you're outside.

After a few minutes, you call him, becoming impatient. The warmth of the hallway is no longer enough, your skin covered in bumps and your teeth chattering. There's no answer, you go straight to voicemail.

You don't want to believe he's not home. You try to come up with an excuse, anything that could stop the ache in your chest. However, you've been in this situation before. You know how tonight will end and it doesn't include free pizza and cupcakes.

You wait five more minutes before you have no patients left in you. You turn away from the door, heading back down the hallway, into the elevator, and back into the rainy night. On the way out you open his contact, sending one last message telling him to forget about it.

-

You wake up to the sound of your ringtone blaring in your ears. With a sleepy groan, you pick up your charging phone, seeing Peter's contact name in bold letters. You stare at the call, turning your sound off. You wait until the call ends before checking the time, seeing it's almost 3AM. No way in hell are you answering his calls this early in the morning, not after he stood you up.

You put your phone down, rolling away from it on your bed. You just want to sleep the day away, feeling disgusting from getting caught in the rain.

You fall asleep for a few hours before hearing a knock. You groggily sit up, heading to your bedroom door. You assume it's your roommate but when you open the door no one is there. You hear the knocking again, it's from your window.

Your body tenses, fear creeping up your back. You don't want to turn around in case your childhood fears were real and there's a killer on your fire escape.

There's a third round of knocks that come in a specific rhythm. You know that knock and you kind of wish it was a killer instead. You don't want to see Peter, but it's too late to act as if you're still asleep. Even if you did go back to sleep, you have no choice but to look at him while walking to your bed.

You know you'll regret this decision later, but you head to your window anyway. You lean on the windowsill, glaring daggers into Peter's soul through the glass. He gets the message instantly, giving you a pleading look. He points to the lock on your window, silently asking you to open it.

You huff, unlocking the window and pushing it open. You're itching to chew him out, to confront him about making you feel like shit. You want to get the first word, but the moment the window opens Peter is speaking.

"I'm so so so sorry! I promise I didn't leave you hanging on purpose!" He begins, talking at the speed of sound. He's sweating, his hair flat compared to his usual updo. "Something came up and I couldn't check my phone!" Another excuse.

"Just say you forgot and let me sleep." You grumble, eye locked with his. He knows you aren't messing around and that this is the last straw. He's fucked up for the last time and now he's grasping at anything to fix it. "At least spare me the truth."

"I swear I'm telling the truth, there was an emergency and I tried to get to my apartment in time." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's still withholding the truth and you know you'll never get it like this.

"Alright, Peter, I'm done." You pat your legs before reaching to shut your window. Before you can even touch the wooden frame, something sticky touches your wrist. Your eyes land on a white substance pulling on your skin slightly. You follow the string down to Peter's wrist, his eyes wide. There's a wristband with some sort of mechanism on it. "What the fuck?"

Before you can think he's climbing through your window, disconnecting his web from his wrist. You stare at the substance still attached to you, it reminds you of a spider's web. Spiderweb.

"OH, MY-" Peter places a hand over your mouth, shushing you. His palms are rough but warm. Your eyes are wide and the tips of your fingers are numb as things slowly get put into place in your mind.

"Please, don't scream," Peter begs, slowly removing his hand from your mouth. Your jaw is on the floor and you both know you have a lot to talk about.

-

Not in a million years did you expect tonight to go like this. You did not foresee Peter confessing to being Spider-Man or sitting on a rooftop as he explains his powers. You have no idea what time it is, but the sun is beginning to rise.

"So, this whole time you've been fighting crime and going to college?" That's the thing you can't wrap your head around. He has amazing grades, you're even jealous of him for it. You're trying to figure out how he doesn't pass out all the time from exhaustion.

"Yeah, I've been balancing everything." He admits. Your heart pangs at the idea of him wearing himself out constantly and then still trying to make time for you. "I promise if last night wasn't a serious emergency I would have been there." He shakes his head.

For the first time in a while, you believe him. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about it." You comfort him, rubbing his back. Now that you know the full truth, everything makes sense. You don't feel bad for being upset, but you can't hold onto the anger anymore.

"I tried so hard to make any time for you," He mumbles, watching the sunrise and the sky changes colors. "Every time I thought about messaging you or even talking to you, someone would commit a crime." He chuckles, handing his head between his knees.

"Well, now that I know I forgive you." You num, nudging him playfully. Honestly, knowing he's a secret superhero makes him ten times more attractive. "Besides, now I know you aren't trying to avoid me." You joke.

"Avoid you? Never." He scoffs, wrapping an arm around you. "If anything you're one of the reasons I fight for this city. I want you to live in a place that's protected." There's a long silence as you digest his words, trying to figure out if he's saying what you think he is. After an awkward amount of quiet, he speaks again, "I just want to make sure I wasn't being too subtle, I've been in love with you since freshman year." He says bluntly, putting it all out in the air.

"Oh." That is all you can say. The guy you've had a crush on has liked you for the same amount of time and all you can say is 'Oh'. You really need to slap yourself.

"Oh." He repeats, tapping his knees. "So, uhm, I love this chat I've created." He thins his lips, trying not to look directly at you.

It takes a second but your brain finally catches up with your heart. You turn to face him, your eyes are wide. You grip his arm as if he's leaving. "OH!" Your voice raises in a few octaves, "You're in love with me!"

"Yeah, I am." He laughs, taking your hand in his. Your heart is slamming against your chest, trying to find the correct words to say.

"I'm in love with you, too!" You shout, finally forming words. You sound extremely stupid and socially broken. "I just thought you were a dick!"

"No, you were right. I was being a dick." Peter nods his head with a smile on his face. You don't disagree with him, instead, you keep your eyes on his face. You're soaking up his features, taking in every pore and micro-scar on his face. "But I wish I had confessed sooner."

"I wish you did too, but I'm glad it's now instead of never." You lean your head on his shoulder, hand still in his. He brushes his finger over the back of your palm. "Besides, now we can be one of those couples at graduation who post like fifty photos." You tease.

"Couple?" His head snaps to look at you, "You still want to date me?" He asks in such a quiet voice, almost unsure you'll say yes. It shatters your heart to see him like this, believing that years of friendship and pining will go away after a couple rough patches.

"Oh, I'd date the fuck out of you," You nod your head with a serious look. His expression brightens more than before, and his free hand reaches to touch your face.

"Can I please kiss you?" He asks, his lips about to graze yours.

"If you don't I think I might jump off this roof." You lean closer and Peter doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. The kiss is rough for just a second before mellowing out. You don't realize how much you've been craving this until it's actually happening.

He finally pulls away for air, resting his forehead on yours. "Holy shit." He gasps, trying to catch his breath. "I think this is the best moment of my life."

"It better be." You respond, going in for another kiss.

[dustydaddyyy]

no strings attached | joel miller x fem!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

summary: you can't deny there's always been something between you and joel miller. The question is, is either of you going to do something about it?

warnings: swearing, unspecified age gap (reader is her late 20s and joel is canon age) canon-typical descriptions of violence, some good old fashioned pining, fluff, mentions of grief/death, implications of sex/smut, no actual smut, joel is disgustingly gentlemanly, no use of y/n

a/n:…………I know this isn't the next chapter of flashpoint guys, I know. But this has been in my drafts forever and I had some inspiration to finish off the final part. and now here it is, so please enjoy!! don't forget to let me know what you thought through reblog/likes/comments/asks, I love to hear all of your thoughts aka pls interact with my work or my motivation to write shrivels and dies inside

You had never been a fan of cold, which was funny, considering it was cold in Jackson almost all year round. Even the summers were mild, but you still found yourself aching for them every time the winter came around, nights getting longer and the days getting shorter. 

You're standing on the main square in Jackson, hands clasped around a steaming mug of something as you look up at the building in front of you, but more specifically, the men standing on the makeshift scaffolding, working on the building. In your other hand you're gripping a large thermos, almost too large for your single grip, but you manage to keep it between your fingers.

They'd been working on the outer façade of the building for the past two weeks, after part of it had collapsed after a particularly rough storm.

There's a presence to your left as your eyes sweep over the scaffolding, and you turn your head to look at Maria as she lets loose a sharp whistle.

"Come have some coffee," she shouts at those working, and you chuckle slightly to yourself as they start to come down.

"Like dogs," you say jokingly, taking a sip of your mug, "Man, I need to learn how to whistle like that,"

"Don't say that to their face," Maria warns you jokingly, "There's much too much ego to go around in that group to take that with any kind of grace,"

You let out another chuckle, shaking your head with a laugh as you look away from her and towards the people walking in your direction. It was a relatively small group, maybe 5 or 6 men, and as they approach, you recognize Eugene's smile.

"Finally came out of your cave, eh?" he asks jokingly, and you narrow your eyes at him as you lift the coffee thermos.

"I'm happy to take this home with me," you inform him, and he laughs, before he extends an arm and pulls you sideways against him, almost spilling your drink.

You'd been in Jackson for 3 years now, having arrived at their large wooden gates early one morning in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, severely hypothermic, dehydrated and covered in injuries. You'd been barely conscious, almost collapsing onto the snow but managing long enough to explain your situation to the guard on patrol, who had been Eugene. You'd come from California, more specifically Santa Barbara, where the Rattlers, a group of militaristic slavers, had pillaged your settlement. You'd barely escaped with your life, and it had been a damn near miracle that you'd managed the two-week trek on foot with nothing but a handgun and a limited supply of bullets. Your only advantage had been that you'd had to walk across large parts of Nevada, the state in which you'd grown up and spent the first 9 years of your life before the world went to shit.

Hence the disdain for cold weather.   

"She's cute when she gets all frowny, isn't she?" Eugene jokes again, and you roll your eyes, albeit jokingly.

"Let's see how cute I am when I shove my boot up your ass," you half-threaten, and Eugene lets out a booming laugh as the rest of the men arrive where you'd been standing, and he looks down at you. 

"Cute and violent. . . " he muses, before turning to the group with a raised eyebrow, "Any takers?"

"I'm not cattle," you say with a scoff, shrugging him off of you with a sideways shove, before straightening out, "Now you better drink this coffee before I spit in it, Eugene,"

"I hear ya," he says with a chuckle, taking the thermos from you as you move your gaze towards the group of men talking.

You know most of them pretty well, and you watch as they huddle, taking cups from Maria. Only the two at the back are standing a little away from the group, talking to each other animatedly under their breath.

The Miller brothers had been an interesting addition to Jackson.

Tommy had been here when you'd gotten there, but only a few months himself, and it had been nice to talk to someone who hadn't been living in the settlement for years, already. You'd been fast friends, Tommy's open personality and kind heart matching with your own personality well. You'd watched him fall in love with Maria, even been the one standing by his side as a witness when they'd gotten married. Tommy was easy; and open book, you could almost always tell what was going in his head.

Joel, however. . . Joel had been an entirely different story. You'd only been in Jackson 2 years when he'd first arrived. It had been strange, watching as Tommy had reconnected, albeit not smoothly, with someone he'd only ever told you about. You'd heard stories of Joel, though not many, and so when he came to Jackson, you found yourself slightly disappointed by him. He'd been the most regular man you'd ever laid eyes on, not some superhuman killing machine, and together with Ellie, they'd felt like two feral cats waiting to be rehomed.

Then they'd gone again, only coming back a few weeks later, and you'd known something wasn't right. Ellie had been muted, almost a ghost of the person she'd been when she'd first arrived, and Joel had been. . . you hadn't quite managed to put your finger on it at first, but after a few weeks observing him, some things had started to make sense. He'd had a wound, on his left side, which had been stitched horribly and gotten infected, and hadn't been healing right. You'd never been much of a healer, but when you'd first arrived in Jackson the sick bay is where you'd originally been assigned, to work under one of the few doctors in Jackson, and so you'd been in charge of dressing the wound and making sure it healed, despite Joel's vociferous protests.

You hadn't taken it personally, ignoring his cold exterior and treating him the same way you had everyone else, until finally, he began to accept your help, and your tentative friendship. Still, you hadn't managed to put your finger on what had happened to Joel and Ellie, and every time you talked to him, it felt as though he was holding back, keeping something from you, from everyone.

It wasn't until you'd brought a pair of Joel's pants, which you'd found stuffed into a bag under his bed, to the laundry, and you'd cleaned the spatters of blood running up the side of Joel's pant leg that you'd figured it out. Well, about half of it, anyway.

You'd been discreet, washing the blood off the clothes quietly and without attracting attention, before bringing them with you one day when you had to change his dressing, and dumping them out in front of him.

"Explain," you'd said, your voice calm and your gaze open, raising an eyebrow.

He'd been angry with you at first, eyes widening in shock at the idea that you'd been snooping around in his house, but you had paid him no heed and sat patiently in the chair until his anger subsided and he was ready to talk. 

You hadn't judged him as he'd spoken, and when Joel had told you everything, all the way from Ellie's immunity down to what had gone down in Salt Lake City, you'd sat in silence for a second, processing, before you'd nodded and moved onto treating his wound.

You hadn't talked about it past that, but Joel's attitude towards you had changed that day; he'd been expecting you to yell and scream at him, to be horrified at what he'd done and the fact that he'd probably doomed all of humanity to hell in one split-second decision, but you hadn't.

"I understand," you'd told him, as you cleaned his wound, "We all do horrible things in the name of love,"

In that moment, in the face of his horrible confession, you were calm, collected and accepting, and it was the first time Joel had felt comfortable around someone in Jackson that hadn't been Ellie or Tommy.

What Joel doesn't know, is that the minute you came home, you had hurled the contents of your stomach into your sink.

You didn't know what you'd been expecting, but it hadn't been that.

Maybe it had been a combination of the cold-blooded violence you knew he'd committed, and the idea of a cure so close within the world's grasp, but it had been such a deeply visceral reaction you were shocked you had managed to keep your face so impassive for the time it took for you to finish treating him.

Then again, you did understand. Joel Miller was not the only one who had committed atrocities for the people he loved; god knows your own hands were far from clean in that regard.

"Hey. . . you still with us?" comes a voice through your thoughts, and you shake yourself out of your mind, eyes moving up to look straight into Joel's.

It had been almost a year since his first admission, and since then, despite your initial reaction, you had found yourself getting closer to Joel. You didn't talk about it, and nothing had ever happened between the two of you, but it didn't take a genius to know something was there. Not acting on it had been a conscious choice from your side, and Joel had just never initiated anything either, which you supposed was in character for him.

"Yeah," you say, blinking a few times as you clear your throat and give him a weak smile, "Just zoned out a little,"

"You look tired," he offers, his eyebrows knitting into a slight frown, "You sleeping okay?"

"Gee, thanks," you let out in a scoff, and he gives you a look as you cover your exhaustion with a chuckle, "I'm sleeping fine, but it's good to know I apparently don't look that way,"

Joel lets out a breath through his nose at your tone, rolling his eyes slightly at your joke. "You ain't funny," 

The truth? Joel was right, you hadn't been sleeping.

You'd always suffered from night terrors as a child, sometimes waking up in all hours of the night screaming and crying and inconsolable for long period of time until your parents would wake you up and snap you out of it. You'd grown out of them, though, or so you thought.

They'd started up again a few months ago, ranging anywhere from waking up in the middle of the night in your bed with tears running down your face, to bouts of stomach-churning sleep paralysis that would leave you so shaken you wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night. 

"Miller!" comes Eugene's voice from your left, "You want some coffee, or do you get your kicks out of chatting up younger women?"

"He's doing it a right sight better than you ever did," you fire back, almost immediately, "So you really shouldn't be saying shit,"

The men around Eugene burst into raucous laughter, and you watch as the corners of Joel's mouth turn up into the hint of a smile as his gaze moves down to his feet for a second, before he clears his throat and looks back up at you.

"Nice," he comments, and you give him a smirk, raising a confident eyebrow and bowing your head.

"Why thank you," you say jokingly, your chest blooming with the compliment, and he shakes his head slightly with a chuckle, before stepping away from you for a second to get some coffee. You watch him go, eyes following him as he pours himself a mug, eyes running over the expanse of his large hands–

You hadn't even noticed Maria coming to stand next to you until she'd cleared her throat, forcing you to look away from Joel hastily and to her. She's giving you a look, raising a single eyebrow as her eyes move between you and him.

"Not a word," you tell her, and purses her lips with a smile, shaking her head.

"Wasn't going to say anything," she muses, and you roll your eyes, before taking a deep breath.

"I think I'm gonna go,"

"Already?" comes Tommy's voice as he steps towards the both of you with a steaming cup in his hand, "You just got here,"

"I did what I came to do," you tell him, before raising a brow, "I ain't got all day,"

Maria's nose crinkles. "Ain't?" she repeats, before raising her eyebrows at you, "Some of that Texan charm rubbing off on you, kiddo?"

"I resent that nickname," you inform her, actively avoiding answering her question, your underlying tone humorous, "As if we aren't only a decade apart,"

"Hmm," Maria hums sarcastically into her cup, "That's a generous definition of decade,"

"You not sleeping well, kiddo? You look tired," Tommy asks, brow creased in concern as he looks at you, and you let out a groan, hands coming up slightly in exasperation.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, just as Joel steps back towards your group, his ears picking up the tail end of your sentence, "What is it with you Millers? You really tell it like it is, don't you?"

"You look radiant," Maria supplies, and you give her a false, sweet smile.

"Oh, thank you," you half-mutter, before shaking your head with a smile, "But I'm wrecked. . . I worked the double shift for Seth last night and again tomorrow night, so I need to just take a day and sleep,"

"That's fair enough," Tommy says with a grimace, before he gives your shoulder a pet, "Sweet dreams,"

"Thanks," you breathe through a laugh, before you look at Joel with a small smile, "I'll see you later,"

He gives you one of those rare smiles of his own, and it makes his features only more handsome, "See you later,"

Your gaze tears away from him to nod at Maria, who gives you a strangely knowing smile which you ignore, turning on your heel and trudging back through the snow.

Joel had never meant to be standing on your doorstep later that day. Yet, here he was, fingers twitching nervously at his side as he knocks on your door.

He's not even sure you're awake, but it's evening now, the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon and darkening the sky, so he guesses you might be. He's holding a plastic bag of groceries; it's nothing much, just some fruit and vegetables and some sausages he'd managed to trade for yesterday because Ellie loved them so much. But Ellie hadn't been in when Joel had got home that afternoon, leaving a note that she was spending the evening with a friend, but would be home for the night. He'd sat in his living room for a few hours, reading and trying to occupy himself, before deciding he didn't want to eat alone, and packing a few things from the fridge into a bag.

And now, here he was.

At your door.  

After almost an entire minute of silence, Joel thinks to himself that you're probably still passed out somewhere, and just as he's about to turn and leave, the door flies inward.

The first thing Joel notices is your eyes. They're wet, as if you'd been crying, but somehow still filled with a groggy sleep at the same time. Your chest is moving quickly as your eyes focus on him standing on your doorstep, and some of the concern in your features melts.

"Joel," you let out his name, and your voice small, and tired, before you clear your throat, "Hi,"

"Are you okay?" he asks almost immediately, frowning slightly at your appearance, and he sounds alarmed, "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she reassures him, shaking your head slightly, "I was just having a nightmare. . . I'm kind of glad your loud ass knocking woke me,"

You say that last part with a weak chuckle, voice lightening slightly as you try for a smile, "What can I do for you?"

Shit, Joel thinks to himself, and he finds himself rooted to the spot.

"I uh–" he clears his throat, "Ellie isn't in tonight, and, well. . . no one's seen you all day, so I assumed you didn't have any dinner plans,"

"You're not wrong. . . if I have my way it's going to be some stale crackers and cheese," you comment with a grimace. 

"Not very nutritious," Joel hums, and you chuckle, nodding, "I'm no chef but I can definitely do better than crackers and cheese," 

Another beat of silence passes, before your eyes go slightly wide and you open the door further. "Sorry, sorry. . . forgot this was the part where I invite you in, I'm still half-asleep. . . come on in, please,"

Joel doesn't need to be asked twice, following you through over threshold of your front door as you disappear down the hall and into the kitchen, back of your hand coming up to wipe your eyes.

Joel isn't often in your house; it isn't entirely your own, and he'd heard from Tommy when he'd first gotten here that houses in Jackson were often shared to maximize space. He'd met your housemate, Bonnie, only a handful of times, including most of that handful when he'd fixed the wobbly bannister of your staircase a few months ago.

The house looks different since the last time he's been, and he can't help but notice new paintings hanging on your wall. They're strange, a haphazard mix of colored strokes with no particular pattern or purpose, but they're nice nevertheless. 

"Where'd you get those?"

"You want the honest answer?" you ask, as you step out of the kitchen and watch him looking, and Joel frowns jokingly as he looks at you, waiting for you to go on, "Bonnie and I got high last month and painted them,"

Joel's eyebrows fly up his forehead. "You what?"

Your smile becomes bashful as you purse your lips, Joel's inquisitive look making you squirm slightly.

"Yeah. . . " you say, clearing your throat with another bashful smile, before you try to shrug it off, "Eugene has–. . . anyways, it doesn't matter,"

You disappear back into the kitchen, and Joel looks back at the paintings, considering the new bit of context you'd supplied him with.

"You want a drink?" you half-holler, and you hear Joel's footsteps enter the kitchen as you reach into one of the cabinets, "I have tea or. . . gin, honestly. I know you're more of a whiskey man, but Bonnie makes it in the basement, and it isn't even half-bad,"

"You make gin in your basement?" Joel asks, and again you hear the same surprise in his voice as earlier, "Do you also run an undercover gambling ring, or. . . ?"

"Oh yeah," you respond, playing along as you step onto your tip toes reach into the back of the cupboard for two clean glasses, "We also occasionally organize cock fights, they're a big hit," 

Joel chuckles, setting the groceries down on your kitchen table, before he notices you struggling.

"Jesus Bonnie," you mutter to yourself, "Why do you always have to put the glasses in the back?"

"Here," Joel says, and he doesn't even think as he steps towards you, arm extending over yours to reach the glasses you're aiming for, the front of his chest brushing up against your shoulder as he grabs them, "I got it,"

The sound of his gravelly voice so close in your ear, and the feeling of his breath on the nape of your neck, makes you fight an urge to shiver, deciding instead to take a deep breath as you swivel around, facing him just as his arm comes down, two glasses clamped between his fingers.

"Thanks," you say with a soft smile as you look up at him, and Joel nods, eyes looking down and resting on yours for a second. You're standing almost face to face, the front of his flannel ghosting your own shirt. Then, he clears his throat, stepping backwards and away from you.

"I'll try some of that gin," he tells you, and your smile widens knowingly.

"I promise you won't go blind," you tell him with a laugh, and then you're on the move around your kitchen again, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out what looks like an old milk bottle filled with clear liquid, "Bonnie's good at it, believe it or not,"

"How do you even start brewing gin?" Joel asks as he sets the glasses down, and you chuckle slightly.

"We went on patrol once, in Grand Teton?" you explain, "She'd been making vodka by then already, but she saw a juniper bush and almost shit herself with excitement. . . it took us an hour to strip the damn thing clean of berries,"

"She a big drinker?" he asks as you unstopper the bottle, before pouring some of the stuff into both glasses, and you shake your head.

"Not more than me," you tell him, "But it keeps her busy, gives her something to do that isn't just patrol, y'know?"

Joel nods silently, before you hold the glass out to him. He takes it from you, ignoring his fingers brushing over yours and the way it makes his heart skip in his chest. You're not done with your drink, reaching into the fridge to grab another bottle, which looks like juice. It's a rich, dark pink color, and the little sticker on the side has a hastily scribbled 'Cherry' in your cursive handwriting.  

"Takes the edge off," you say with a sigh as you watch him read the label, and Joel nods, before he takes a sip of his gin.

It's quite pleasant, much smoother than the bootleg Whiskey he used to drink in the QZ, but as it travels down his gullet, it brings with it a burn Joel knows is going to make him regret drinking it, later.

"You weren't wrong," he notes, clearing his throat after having swallowed it down, "That's actually quite pleasant,"

"Right?" you ask, before you take a sip of your own drink. A sip is generous, and before Joel knows it, you've downed the entirety of your glass, frowning for a second as the liquid burns down your throat.

You can tell he wants to open his mouth and say something, but you're grateful he doesn't, instead putting his glass down with a breath and grabbing the bag of groceries.

"Sit," he instructs you, motioning towards the chair at the dining table that's in the middle of the kitchen, and you don't protest, only moving to pour yourself another drink.

It's silent for a moment as he unpacks the vegetables, but after a second, Joel speaks up as he runs the carrots under the tap.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Joel asks, "That the reason you haven't been sleeping? Nightmares?" 

Your response isn't immediate, and it's only when Joel looks back at you and sees your expression that he realizes this may be a sensitive topic. You give an uneasy smile, before shaking your head.

"Yeah," you manage to bring out, pursing your lips, "They're nothing too serious, I just wake up and then I can't sleep anymore, don't know why," 

You do know why. You know that sometimes the dreams are so intense, so scary, that you don't dare close your eyes again, at least not by yourself. Sometimes, you'd go downstairs, and crawl into bed with Bonnie. She'd been there, once, waking you from the middle of a dream while you'd been screaming the house down, and she'd not hesitated in taking you downstairs with her to sleep in her bed after you'd confessed to being scared out of your wits of being left alone.

Joel hums, nodding as he turns back towards what he'd been cooking, and you can't tell whether or not he's bought your lie.

"Ellie not home tonight then?" you ask after a second, and Joel nods, clearing his throat as chops some vegetables on one of your two cutting boards.

"She'll be home later," he informs you, "But she's out now, yeah,"

You give an agreeing hum, and for a second there's another silence that weighs heavy in the room.

"Joel," you let out, your voice a half groan, and he hums in question, peering over his shoulder, "The silence is killing me,"

Joel can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips as he goes back to dinner, shaking his head with a joking air. "Forgot you couldn't handle that,"

"I really can't," you agree, taking another sip, and Joel chuckles again. You watch the expanse of his shoulders and his back under the denim shirt as they move with his laughter, finding your fingers itching to just reach out and run your hand over the smooth lines of his muscles.

"You're in the wrong company for that then, darlin',"

The nickname jars you out of your thoughts, but it does absolutely nothing to quell the desire that had reared its head in your chest just seconds ago.

"I digress," you declare, trying to distract yourself from staring at him too much, "You're a good conversationalist when you want to be, Miller,"

"I'm so flattered you think so," Joel retorts sarcastically, and you smile into your drink, letting out something that sounds halfway between a giggle and a chuckle.

The sound bounces off the walls of the kitchen, and it makes Joel smile, aware that he's turned away from you and you can't see his reaction to your laugh.

"How was your day?" you ask after a second, your voice exaggerated.

"It was good," Joel says simply, aware that it's making you want to tear your hair out, "Fixin' the barn,"

"That was six words, Joel," you say, voice jokingly incredulous, "This is seriously like pulling teeth,"

Joel chuckles again, shrugging his shoulder, before he turns to look at you, grabbing his glass as he leans against the counter.

"Sounds like you got a decent challenge ahead of you then," he tells you, raising a teasing eyebrow as he takes a sip of his gin, corner of his mouth pulled into what can best be described as a troublemaker smile.

You love this side of Joel. Underneath all the rugged, surly exterior, he has something else to him; a witty remark, a teasing smile, a flirty comment. . .he has more depth to him than you'd ever expected at first glance, and something that spells trouble, something that drives you absolutely crazy.

"Never one to shirk from an honest challenge," you say, raising your own eyebrows, before you clear your throat.

Another silence fills the room as you look at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"Okay," you say in a breath, rolling your eyes, "I guess it's up to me. . .but you actually have to answer some of my questions, okay? You can't just give me a wall of silence," you tell Joel, and he raises a joking eyebrow.

"Wall of silence?" he asks, and you give him a look.

"You know exactly what I mean," you tell him, pressing your lips together in thought, before you give a victorious expression, ". . . in fact, every time you pass on a question you have to drink," Joel chuckles, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest, still leaning against the counter.  "I can do that," "Okay. . .what is-. . .," you trail off as your eyes sweep across the kitchen as you think of what to ask Joel, "-your favorite color?' "My favorite color?" Joel repeats, and he gives you a mocking impressed face, "Those keen conversational skills really helping you along aren't they?' "Joel," you warningly, and he sighs, arms uncrossing. "It's green," he tells you, "My favorite color is green. . .what's your favorite color?" "I'm asking the questions!" you say with a small laugh, and Joel gives you a furrowed brow, corners of his mouth pulling into a smile. "Come on, you really think I'm going to let you interrogate me without at least getting to return the favor?" he asks you, eyes boring into yours You press your lips together as you let out a joking scoff through your nose. "Fine, you can ask me questions, too–"

"And If I have to drink when I pass–" he muses, to which you roll your eyes again.

"–so will I," you assure him, before grimacing, "Though with my tolerance, I might not make it to dinner,"

Joel snorts, eyebrows raising slightly in agreement as he turns back to the counter. "You didn't answer my question,"

"My favorite color is yellow," you inform him, and you watch as the back of his head nods.

"That makes sense," you hear him say, as your fingers tap nervously on the table, thinking of what to ask.

"Dream job?" you ask, before adding, "And you can't say contractor,"

Joel is silent for a second. "Farmer,"

You don't say anything, despite your eyebrows raising in surprise, and Joel peers over his shoulder when you stay quiet.

"Favorite season?" he asks, and you smile, giving him a pained look.

"Summer," you say in a groan, and he laughs, shaking his head as he continues chopping, "Which sucks because Jackson mostly has winter,"

"The summers here can be nice," Joel notes, and you let out a breath.

"Sure," you agree, "They can be nice. . . nothing compared to the ones we used to get in Nevada, though,"

"I bet," he notes, and you let out another wistful breath.

"Do you need help?" you ask him, and he shakes his head.

"Think I can manage some dinner,"

"But it'll be faster if I help," you protest, "Come on, I can chop some vegetables, or something,"

"Alright," Joel eventually agrees, and you get to your feet, making your way over to stand next to him, before holding out your hand.

"Put me in chef," you tell him half seriously, but the corners of your mouth are pulled up into that smile.

You're standing close to him, but not so close that you're crowding him. Your smell nevertheless tickles Joel's nostrils in a pleasant way.

Joel's own mouth twitches in mild amusement as he hands you the knife, handle down, and slides the cutting board over. "You chop these, then. . . I'll get started on the onions,"

"Good thing, too," you say with a nod, before getting to work as Joel moves away from you, "Onions make me cry like a baby. . . cutting board is in the third drawer under the stove,"

Joel chuckles as he rummages around for another cutting board and a knife, grabbing an onion from the bag.

"Okay," you hum, nothing but the sound of chopping filling the kitchen, "Any hobbies?"

"I thought you were helping," Joel comments pointedly, and you snort.

"You're not getting away from me that easy," you tell him, "I can help and interrogate, at the same time,"

"That so?" Joel hums as he chops the onions, eyes moving to you for a second and meeting your gaze.

"Yes," you tell him, nodding as a mischievous smile overtakes our features, "I'm a very good multitasker. . . now. . . hobbies,"

Almost the entire bottle and an entire dinner later, you and Joel are sitting on opposite sides of the dinner table, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink. You'd just stood up to reach into the cupboard for another bottle of something to replace the almost empty one on the table, reaching up into the cupboard. The shirt you're wearing rides up as you do, and Joel finds his eyes drawn to the exposed skin of your waist.

"I got one," you declare as you pause from reaching in the cupboard "Any tattoos?"

Joel actually laughs, head tilting back for a minute before he returns with his eyebrows raised but his smile intact. "An old man like me?"

"I'm sure you were young once," you counter with a laugh, and he shakes his head with another chuckle.

"Very funny," he tells you as you pull a bottle of wine from the cupboard, "Where'd that come from?"

"Emergencies," you tell him with a cheeky smile, before pursing your lips, "Or nice dinners,"

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Joel tells you, before downing the sip of gin that was still in his glass, and you hum as you come to sit back down.

"It was," you tell him, and when Joel looks at you, you give him an expectant look, "You never answered my question,"

"I have one," Joel says with a sigh, "But I got it when I was drunk, with Tommy. . . it's a stupid one,"

You let out a laugh as you open the bottle of wine. "No way! Where is it?"

"That's two questions," Joel reminds you, and you snort sarcastically, raising a single eyebrow.

"Didn't know we were actually keeping count, Miller," you retort, and Joel just smiles as he shakes his head, before he clears his throat as he sits up a little straighter.

"It's on my thigh," he tells you eventually, and a grin spreads over your face as you shake your head, before pouring him some wine.

"Classic," you say in a laugh, "I bet it was popular,"

"It was," Joel says in a humorous tone, nodding as he watches you pour yourself a drink, "What about you?"

Your eyes look up at him as your put the bottle down, tongue kissing your teeth.

"I do," you say, deliberately not elaborating, and Joel's eyebrows raise a little.

"I shared, darlin', now it's your turn," he tells you, and you laugh a little, teeth chewing into your lip as you look away, maybe a little bashfully.

When you look back at him, you speak. "I have four,"

Joel's eyes go a little wide as he looks at you in surprise. "Four? How come I haven't noticed four tattoos?"

"It's not that many," you defend, before shrugging nonchalantly, "Besides, they're not in places I usually show a lot of people,"

"Like exclusive access?" Joel jokes, and you give a full laugh, head tipping back slightly as your shoulders shake.

"Exactly like exclusive access," you return in between laughs, and for a second, it's just the two of you, sitting in your kitchen, laughing.

It feels almost normal, like you're just two adults, having dinner; no Jackson, no cordyceps, no apocalypse.

You take another sip of wine, eye calculating as you think about your next question.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" you ask him finally, putting down your glass.  

Joel thinks about this one, leaning back in his chair, legs parting slightly in such a way that makes you fight the desire in your belly, pressing your legs together slightly as your heartbeat skips slightly. You fight an urge to blush at your own thoughts, chastising yourself for sitting here drooling over a man that's nearly twice your age.

"Yes," he says eventually, nodding, and your mouth parts slightly in disbelief, mouth curling into a teasing smile.

"You believe in love at first sight? You? Ice King Joel Miller believes in love at first sight?"

"Ice king?" Joel asks, raising an eyebrow, "You're giving me a bad rap, darlin',"

"You did that all by yourself," you note, half under your breath, taking a sip of your drink, and he frowns slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asks you, his interest peaked, and something bashful crosses your face.

"Nothing," you say in a nonchalant voice as you pour yourself more wine, the bottle already emptying way faster than you intended it to, and Joel raises an eyebrow as he sits back in his chair again. It's taking a lot of willpower for you not to stare at the way his legs spread or his arms cross, making the biceps under his t-shirt bulge.  

"I'm going to try that again," he tells you, and his voice is almost chastising as his eyes pierce yours, "And this time you aren't going to lie to me,"

"Or what?" you ask him, shaking your head with a small smirk, drinking again. You don't know why you challenge him, but you feel some enjoyment at the way Joel's eyebrows fly up his forehead in surprise and he kisses his teeth in mild annoyance as you let out a sarcastic chuckle into your glass, "You going to put me over your knee, grandpa?"

"Who says I won't?" Joel retorts swiftly, and he raises a single eyebrow as his eyes bore into yours.

It makes your heart skip, and something about his level, raspy tone sets something alight in your lower belly, which you try desperately to ignore. Joel enjoys the way your eyes flash with surprise and something he thinks he recognizes as lust, but it's gone so fast he can't say it with any certainty.

You're silent as you press your lips together, before you eventually let out a breath. "It's nothing major. . . just a bit of a reputation you have going,"

"As what?" Joel asks, frown deepening, but eyes still alight with curiosity as he scrutinizes your face.

"Emotionally unavailable, I guess?" you supply, and you try your hardest to keep your tone as neutral as possible, despite the knots of unease in your stomach.

Saying it about Joel was one thing; saying it to Joel? Awkward as fuck.    

Joel seems to think about that, staying silent as you fight an urge to wring your hands.

"Listen, it's nothing too bad," you tell him, giving him a tense smile, "I mean, it could be worse. . ."

"Worse?" Joel asks you, almost jokingly, and you grimace.

"Eugene's blacklisted for being selfish," you offer, "That's pretty bad,"

"Blacklisted?" Joel lets out in a splutter, putting down his glass with a thunk, "By who?"

You shrug. "Women talk, Joel. . . this is a small community, word gets around,"

Joel seems to consider this, before he reaches over the table and grabs the bottle from where it had been standing in front you.

"And," he says, pouring himself another glass, "Is he?"

"Is who?" you ask, frowning quizzically, and Joel looks up at you as he takes a sip front the glass.

"Eugene," he tells you patiently, eyes curious, "He really selfish?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" you ask him, before you narrow your eyes at him, "You asking me if I've slept with Eugene, Joel?"

Joel stays still for a second, shrugging. "Just wonderin' whether you have any proof to back up these claims,"

"I have plenty of proof," you retort, giving him a look, "He went on a few dates with Jeannie last year and she told me he barely even touched her when they–"

You stop yourself, clamping your mouth shut and pressing your lips together, before you shake your head. "We're getting off topic,"

"Off topic?" Joel asks humorously, "I'd say we just got on topic,"

"I'm not talking any more about this," you tell him, but the corners of your mouth pulling up into a smile betray you.  

"You can't just bring it up and leave me guessing," Joel replies, and you let out a frustrated breath, "Now I sort of want to know how selfish Eugene is,"

"Didn't have you pegged for a gossip, Miller," you tell him, raising your eyebrows, and he shrugs.  

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, darlin',"

"Hence the game we were playing,"

"Mmh," Joel hums non-commitally, "Still waiting on that answer,"  

"Listen, all I know is that when Bonnie slept with him a few months ago, he didn't reciprocate much. . . apparently it lasted all of 5 minutes and not one was spent on her,"

Joel grimaces, nodding in agreement. "That sounds pretty bad,"

"I told you," you say victoriously, and he chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

"You sound entirely too pleased about it," he comments, and you snort.

"I'm not surprised, is what I am," you inform him, taking a sip of your wine, "Eugene is. . . well, Eugene,"

"You seem pretty close," Joel notes, and you don't know if you hear something else in his voice other than curiosity. You raise a single eyebrow.

"You asking something?" you ask him. 

"I'm not asking nothin'," Joel denies, putting his hands up, and you shake your head, corners of your mouth twitching into a smile. Then, you let out a small breath.

"When I first got to Jackson, Eugene's the one that let me in. . . I was a mess. . . hypothermic, covered in blood, barely alive, and for all he knew I could've been part of some elaborate raiding scheme, or infected. He had every reason not to let me in, but he did. . . he's the reason I'm alive," you explain to Joel, before clearing your throat, "Maria was furious with him, which I guess I understand. . . she has her own people to protect. . . but he never let up. He didn't even know me, and he stood up for me when they were still considering throwing me back out,"

"I didn't know that," Joel comments, and you let out a small chuckle.

"You know the old bank building?" you ask, and he nods.

"Maria said it worked as a jail but they'd never used it,"

"Oh, they used it alright," you say with a curt smile, "They hadn't learned to train those nifty dogs yet when I got to Jackson, and I was covered in so many cuts and scrapes they couldn't figure out whether or not I'd been bitten. . . didn't matter what I said. I was in there for two whole weeks while they waited it out, and Eugene came to see me every single day. . . Tommy, too, but it took him a few days before he started showing up. . . he'd only been there a few months himself, and I guess he wasn't keen to step on anybody's toes, which I understood,"

"Jesus," Joel mutters, and you can see the flash of unease in his eyes at the thought of you locked up in one of the makeshift cells of the bank, "Not the warmest welcome,"

"I can't blame them," you remark, raising your shoulders in a half-shrug, "It's a miracle this place has survived as long as it has. . . I would also have been apprehensive,"

"But, to answer your earlier question–" you say, clearing your throat as you sit up straight.

Because we both know what you were really asking.

"–Eugene tried to kiss on me once, and I laughed at him, so safe to say we are friends," 

Joel makes another grimace, trying to hide the pleased expression on his face as best he can, but you can still see it in his eyes. "Nothing like laughter to crush a man's ego,"

"Some egos need crushing," you tell him with a single raised eyebrow, before taking a sip of your drink.

"That's true enough," he agrees, before a silence falls over the two of you. After a second, you let out a breath, looking at the pile of dishes in your sink.

"I better do those before Bonnie comes home," you tell him, getting to your feet, "She has a thing about dishes in the sink,"

Joel gives a rare, knowing smile. "I'll help ya out,"

"Thanks," you say with a small smile as you reach the sink, turning the tap on as Joel comes to stand next to you, "Grab that towel? You're on drying duty,"

"Yes, ma'am," he jokes, grabbing one of the towels hanging off the handle of the cabinet.

"Ok, your turn to ask questions, now," you inform him as you start cleaning off some of the plates, "I'm out of ideas,"

"Alright," he says with a nod, before pausing to think, "You never told me what your tattoos were,"

"Now what did we say about exclusive access?" you retort, turning your head to raise a playful eyebrow at him, and he turns to look at you, corners of his mouth twitching slightly. You're practically standing shoulder to shoulder like this, his arm and leg brushing against yours from time to time, sending shockwaves up your spine.

"You tellin' me I gotta find a way to figure it out for myself?" he asks you, and his tone is lower than it was before as he looks at you, his eyes dancing with humor in the light of the kitchen as you give an innocent shrug, sucking some air between your teeth in a teasing sound, lips pulled into an almost-smile.

"Can't just go around telling everyone, now can I? Kinda defeats the whole 'exclusive' point," you muse, and he lets out something that sounds like a chuckle as he raises his eyebrows, nodding slightly as his tongue runs alongside the inside of his cheek.

Joel is so close to you now, you can smell the gin and wine on his breath. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to, his gaze saying enough for the both of you as it briefly moves from your eyes to the other features on your face, lingering on your lips a second longer. You feel something which you think are his fingertips, ghost the side of your hand, which is resting on the edge of the sink, and you swallow as you look up at him.

"What?" you ask him, quietly, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugs slightly. 

"I didn't say anything,"

"You're looking at me," you say pointedly, and Joel's mouth curls into a gentle, but teasing smile.

"Is it illegal to look at a beautiful woman?"

You swallow, hard, your chest thumping underneath your shirt.

"Are you calling me beautiful?" you ask him, and to your surprise, he nods.

"Yes," he says simply, confidently, his breath fanning over your lips, "Is that a problem?"

You're silent for a second, eyes looking into his as he watches your reaction. "No,"

The smile on Joel's mouth widens slightly as he leans closer to you, lips getting closer to your.

"Good," he whispers, before he moves to kiss you.

Except he doesn't.

Joel doesn't kiss you because at the last minute, heart beating furiously against your ribcage, you turn your head slightly to the side. His lips barely brush over the corner of your mouth before Joel freezes, which makes you cringe.

Stupid.

Joel pulls away from you slightly to look at you, and despite the amount of drinks you've had, your heart is beating a million miles per hour as you and Joel stare at each other, embarrassment dawning in his eyes as he pulls away from you more, closing his mouth and swallowing.

It's at that exact moment that you hear the front door swing open.

"Hello? You home, hot-stuff?"

Your eyes widen slightly as Bonnie's voice travels through the house, her nickname for you making your cheeks burn. Joel fully steps away from you now, putting quite a bit of distance between the two of you as he steps away from the sink and the counter, putting the towel down on the counter.

"Joel–" you start as you move away from the counter, but Bonnie's voice interrupts whatever you were going to say.

"I was working in the fucking school all day, and then we had movie night," she continues as her voice gets closer and you try and catch Joel's eye, but he isn't looking at you, "I know everyone loves the kid, but I swear little Johnny Raster is such a little cun– Oh, hello,"

Bonnie is a tall and broad-shouldered woman, and even though she looks relatively imposing to those who don't know her, she happens to be one of the friendliest people in Jackson. That's not to say she takes shit; quite the opposite, really, she has an even lower tolerance for it than you do, and you wouldn't recommend pissing her off.  She's standing in the doorway, dark hair pulled into a ponytail behind her head, green eyes observing the scene carefully. "Didn't know we were expecting company,"

"I was just on my way out, actually," Joel says, clearing his throat as he gives a slight, curt smile, "Ellie will have gotten home by now,"

"Yeah, I thought I saw the light at your place," Bonnie tells him, and Joel nods, still not looking your way.

"Right, that's my cue, then," he says, clearing his throat again, demeanour beyond awkward, before he looks up at you very briefly, "Thanks for the drinks. . . good night,"

"Good night, Joel," you say, your voice soft, and you try to disguise the undertone of pity.

You want to explain yourself desperately, but something about the look on Joel's face makes you think that wouldn't go down very well right now, anyway.

He grunts out a 'Bye' to Bonnie as he practically flees out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the hall before you hear the distinct noise of the front door opening and closing.

"What's with him?" Bonnie asks, one eyebrow creasing down quizzically crunching her face as steps into the kitchen, "He seems even surlier than usual," 

"Don't know," you say airily, and she directs her scrutinous gaze at you as she picks up the bottle of wine, sniffing it.

"That's a pile of bullshit," she tells you disbelievingly, "What happened?"

You're silent for a minute, before letting out a sigh. "He tried to kiss me,"

"And you didn't want him to. . .?" Bonnie suggests, her tone confused as her sentence hangs in the air, before she frowns slightly, "He's hot,"

"I sort of dodged him," you tell her, grimacing.

"Ouch," Bonnie groans out, sucking some air between her teeth, "Well, that explains it,"

"Yeah," you agree, chewing on your lip, "It was really stupid,"

"I mean you're allowed to say no," Bonnie reassures you, "But did you want to say no?"

"I don't know," you tell her honestly, chewing on your lip as your stomach swirls with conflicting feelings, and she hums.

"Well, you better figure it out fast, hot-stuff," she tells you, putting the glasses in the sink, "Because if we can't call Joel when the banister in the hall acts up again, I'm going to need to learn to be a contractor real quick,"

You don't see Joel at all the next day; not in the town, not at the small market in the square you know he usually goes to on Saturday mornings. You think you spot him working on the scaffolding with the same group as yesterday, but you don't go and investigate, partly out of your own embarrassment, and partly out of respect for the fact that he's probably avoiding you for a reason.

Instead you spend the day cleaning the house, and helping Bonnie with her projects, and before you know it the sky is darkening again and you're on your way to the Tipsy Bison for your shift. You don't mind bartending, and there was no doubt you were a right sight better at it then you were at healing.

The bar is relatively empty when you arrive at 6pm, and doesn't start to fill up until around half past seven, when people typically finish up dinner and the patrons start trickling in. To make matters even more crowded, it's Saturday, and given the Tipsy Bison is the only bar in Jackson, Saturdays are usually the busiest nights of the week. Not that you weren't used to it; when you'd started a year and a half ago, Seth, who ran the place, hadn't hesitated to put you on Saturdays almost immediately, because, to quote "Who doesn't like to be served beer by a pretty girl on their night off?"

The people didn't really bother you, and to be honest, you'd gotten used to it pretty quickly, becoming a near expert in warding off any unwanted attention in a graceful way.

"Can I get a whiskey?" comes a familiar voice from behind the bar just as you're filling up a beer, and you look to meet Tommy's kind eyes, your face breaking into a smile.

"Whiskey?" you ask, frowning jokingly as you set the beer down for another patron, "That isn't your usual order,"

Tommy's eyes flash with something that looks like unease, and it takes a second for your eyes to move from Tommy over the bar, eventually falling on the one person you know likes himself a whiskey. Joel is sitting at one of the tables with the rest of the guys, observing your interaction, but when your eyes move towards him, he pretends to busy himself talking to Eugene. Your stomach sinks.

"Ah," you let out, your tone awkward as you look back at Tommy, your smile having dropped from genuine to half-disappointed as your eyes flash with something akin to sadness, "That's because it's not for you,"  

Tommy clears his throat. "Look, I told him to just–"

You raise your hand to interrupt him, giving him a small smile as you shake your head. "It's okay, Tommy. . . you don't have to explain anything to me,"

"Right," he says, clearing his throat with an awkward smile as you pour the drink.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask him pointedly, and he nods, swallowing.

"Just a beer for me, thanks,"

It takes a second for you to make the drinks, and you strike up a conversation with him as you do. "You guys finished fixing the building yet?"

"Almost," Tommy says with a nod, "Though we missed your usual coffee delivery today,"

"Sorry," you grimace slightly, eyes flicking over to Joel for a second before they fall back on Tommy, "I, uh–. . . didn't want to make anybody uncomfortable, y'know?"

You're almost positive Tommy knows what went down between you and Joel last night; either his brother told him, or he guessed it when Joel sent him over here to order him a drink, but you can see it in the way his expression morphs into one of awkward understanding.

"Well, I can't speak for everyone, but you could never make me uncomfortable, kiddo," Tommy informs you, and the smile you give him is genuine.

"I appreciate that," you tell him, laughing slightly as you put down the two drinks, "here you are,"

Tommy nods as he picks up the drinks, before he seems to hesitate.

"For what it's worth, I told him he should talk to you about it, at least,"

"Well, you can lead a horse to water. . . " you say with a tight-lipped smile, and Tommy nods with a snort.

"Too fucking right you are," he notes, which makes you chuckle.

"Have a nice night, Tommy,"

"You too, kiddo. . . anybody gives you trouble we'll be right over there,"

"Thanks," you say with a small chuckle.

The rest of the evening goes by relatively smoothly, save for a few over-zealous customers near the end of your shift that you manage to handle, but not before you notice from the corner of your eye how Joel straightens in his seat, eyes boring into the side of your face as he gages the situation.

You weren't surprised; ever since that incident with Sean Mixon a few months back, when you'd first started doing closing shifts on busy nights, Joel had stayed close by. It hadn't been anything too serious, but you'd ended up on Joel and Ellie's porch after closing time on the verge of tears to ask if he'd had any antiseptic for a grizzly looking cut on your arm. You'd gotten it after Sean had flown into a drunken rage and hurled a glass at your head when you'd asked him to leave, and one of the ricocheting shards had caught your skin. It hadn't necessarily been the worst of cuts, but you'd been pretty shaken up nevertheless, and given Bonnie had been away on a night patrol at the time, you'd ended up sleeping on their couch. 

After that, Joel had been there every time you worked a closing shift, come rain or shine, always staying all the way until the end. Even though he'd generally leave along with the last customer, you could always see Joel's living room light on and the curtains open as you walked home, sat in a chair reading or playing guitar but always keeping an eye on your porch as you got home.

This evening was no different, and it felt admittedly comforting to know Joel wasn't so angry with you he wasn't here as usual.

You'd spent the last 10 minutes doing most of your cleanup so you could corner Joel on your way out. You'd had pretty much the entire night to think and watch him, which had culminated into you talking yourself into what would probably be a relatively awkward confrontation about what had happened yesterday.

You wait and watch as Joel leaves, not looking in your direction, before you grab your coat off the chair and flick the light off, hurrying out of the door after him.

"Joel!" you call, watching as he stops in his tracks and turns back towards you, "Wait a second,"

You turn back to the door, locking it hastily, almost afraid he'll have taken off by the time you turn back, but he hasn't. He's standing still, half-facing you, hands stuffed into his jean pockets and shoulder hunched against the cold as you give him an awkward smile, jogging to catch up with him.

"Look, about earlier. . . " you start as you level with him, and Joel has to admit to himself he's surprised by the fact you get right to it. He had at least been expecting an attempt at some uneasy small talk.

"It's okay," Joel assures you quickly, hands still in his pockets, "I promise I can handle getting rejected. . . I was just a little caught off guard, yesterday, I thought–. . . well, it doesn't matter,"

"It's not that I'm not interested," you offer, almost timidly, and Joel feels a jolt in his chest at your words, despite himself, eyes moving from the ground to meet yours, "I just–. . . I want us to be on the same page,"

Joel raises his eyebrows slightly, his look urging you to continue.

You wring your hands slightly, letting out a breath that curls into the cold night air as your turns and start walking home, Joel falling into step with you. "Look, I'm not really a dater. . .um–. . . I lost someone I loved a few years ago and it was the most pain I think I've ever felt in my life,"

Joel is silent as you walk, hands in his pockets as he listens to you speak, patient, open.

He can see the grief in your eyes, but also a peace, one he'd longed to find for so many years and had only partially regained when he'd met Ellie. Sarah was a part of him he would always miss; the pain had only gotten less frequent, but it was never gone entirely, lingering within him like a smouldering flame.

"I'm just not eager to feel that again," you explain, giving him a watery smile, "So I just don't really get, er, involved. . . with, people. . . that's why I kind of dodged you, yesterday,"

Joel watches as your brow frowns slightly as you seem to cringe at your own words, taking another nervous breath as your fingers hang by your side, tapping your leg uneasily.

"At all?" Joel asks after a second, and your eyes shoot up from where they'd been on your feet to meet his.

His gaze is earnest, and you can tell he's genuinely curious, too. There's something else there, too, which you can't identify but gives you the nagging feeling you might've read Joel Miller wrong, after all.

"I mean, not at all," you bring out, frowning slightly as the corner of your mouth pull up into a slight smile, "I might be emotionally unavailable, but I'm not a nun,"

Joel lets out a small laugh, steps slowing as they come to a stop, and you look at him with a smile, stopping to face him. It's not very close to him, but Joel's steps carry him a little closer to you, closing the gap further until you're standing face to face. 

"Good to know you're still open to enjoying the finer things in life," he jokes, and now it's your turn to laugh, shaking your head as Joel watches the smile on your features.

"Yes, I am," you say with a remaining chuckle, clearing your throat slightly as you look up at him.

"So–" he speaks after a second, swallowing as his eyes draw you in, voice slightly deeper than it had been a second ago, "If I were to kiss you, say, right now–"

His gaze moves for a split second from your eyes down to your lips, "You wouldn't object?"

"Joel. . ." you say his name in half-warning, but you can already feel the pads of his finger ghosting the fabric of your coat, and you swallow, "We can't get involved. . . this can't become a mess,"

Joel hums slightly, and you feel his hand move, pressing his palm over the curve of your waist as his eyes look for yours, "Heard you the first time, darlin'. . . I can be casual. . . that's what you're saying, ain't it?"

You look up at him, into his eyes, and Joel can tell you're fighting with yourself.

You are. Parts of you are protesting that this is a slippery slope, that this is dangerous, and then the other parts of you are drawn to him; his presence, his smell, his eyes. . .god, those eyes. He has an almost irresistible look in his eyes, coupled with the beginnings of that troublemaker smile he has that's oh so rare – but oh so attractive.

It's like a moth to a flame, and when you feel Joel's hand move under the hem of your coat, thumb pressing a gentle circle on your lower waist over the fabric of your t-shirt, you can barely stop yourself from throwing yourself at him right then and there. You draw in a sharp breath, and feel the corners of your mouth pull up into a coquettish smile as you give in to him.

"Well then," you say, and your voice is almost a whisper, your breath fanning Joel's lips, "You going to kiss me then, Miller? Or are you going to wait around for the grass to grow?"

He chuckles, and it's low in his chest as you feel his hand flatten against your waist, pulling you flush against him so your lips are mere inches from his, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. "You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?"

"Trust me, it's good for other things, too," you suggest, your voice half teasing, and Joel chuckles again, his nose bumping up against yours as his eyes dive deep into yours, rich and intoxicating and darkening slightly at your words.

"Well, in that case. . . "

Joel doesn't finish he sentence before he leans in, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

It's everything you imagined kissing Joel would be like, and as your lips move, reciprocating, you feel his other hand come up, fingers ghosting the side of your neck before you feel the pads of his fingers on your jaw line. When you press further against him, his hand moves to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing the hair at the base of your skull, under your ear, pulling you closer to him as you melt against his chest.

Finally, after a second, you pull away from each other to catch your breath, but as you do, you trap Joel's bottom lip between your teeth gently, tugging on it slightly as you pull away from him. You feel his hands tighten around your waist, and it makes the corners of your mouth twitch upwards in a smirk as you open your eyes to look back him. He's looking down at you, pupils blown wide and a half-conflicted look in his eyes.

"What?" you ask him, voice almost a whisper, and he shrugs.

"I'm trying to decide if it's too crass to ask to take you home tonight," Joel says, almost carefully, and your smile grows slightly as you chuckle, before you lean in and kiss him again.

This one is longer, more inviting, and your hand moves Joel's from your waist down to the curve of your ass. Joel lets something akin to a groan against your mouth as his fingers dig into your ass, and you pull away from him with another teasing smile.

"I'd be a little disappointed if you didn't take me home, Miller," you muse, and now Joel's mouth curls into a genuine smile as you feel his hand take yours.

"What are we still standing around talking for, then, darlin'? Let's go home,"   

[sunflowersandsapphires]

All This World Could Give Me

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, possessive/slightly pervy Matt (he’s 18 y’all, cut him some slack), implied sexual activity, non-graphic descriptions of masturbation, religious conversations and catholic imagery

I’m ignoring canon a bit here and pretending Matt and Lantom were already close. Sue me.

a/n: I know it's been too long since I posted for this WIP and this is the last chapter I have finished writing so I'm posting it an hour early. But I'm going to try really hard to update this one more consistently because I know it's a fan favorite. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated! They give me fuel to write.

w/c: 3.7k (Next chapter is much longer, I promise)

Matt had known you for 11 weeks. Less than 80 days in his life and his heart had practically carved you an altar, ready to worship a new God. His devotion to you was ardent—and it terrified him. 

You deserved more than he could provide, that much was still true, but he couldn’t help the searing pain in his chest when you talked about your new boyfriend. Everett. Just mentioning his name sparked twin blooms of heat in your cheeks and waves of arousal to cloud around you. It was enough to make Matt nauseous. 

A few weeks ago, your new beau had been no more than an unknown peer to the three of you, but it had taken him all of three days to coil around you like a serpent–prying you from Matt’s undying grasp. The two of you had met at Oscar’s homecoming house party and had apparently “totally hit it off”. Two days after that, you’d excitedly reconnected at a Civil Procedure study session that he’d spearheaded with your own TA. After an hour of flirty glances and pointed compliments bouncing between the pair of you, he’d offered to take you out for a late dinner. Stupidly, Matt had assumed you’d invite him and Foggy along, like you had when your last suitor had asked you out, but you’d bid a hasty goodbye to your friends before letting Everett escort you to his favorite diner. 

In the 2 weeks since then, your friends had barely seen you. Dates with Everett had become so frequent that you’d been skipping or rescheduling your semi-weekly study sessions and miscellaneous hangouts were shorter than ever. Characteristically, Foggy had been much more understanding of the shift in your behavior. 

“Cut her some slack, Murdock. This is her first adult relationship. She’s excited!” The blond reasoned, nudging Matt’s slumped shoulder with a knowing smirk. 

“I don’t know, Fog. Something’s…off about him.” 

Snorting, Foggy rolled his eyes. “The only thing ‘off’ about it is that our little jitterbug is dating him instead of you.” His accusation was only a murmur, but the sentiment still hit Matt like a truck. 

Your involvement with someone should’ve been a blessing. An opportunity for him to get over his unrequited feelings and move on with his life without jeopardizing one of the two friendships he’d ever had. Still, he couldn’t shake the unease he felt around the guy. They’d only interacted once, when you’d introduced them during the study session, but one short conversation was all Matt’s conscience needed to condemn the man. 

Though he was well aware that you preferred to show your love through kind words and soft touches, the sound of your pulse skipping when you'd entangled your hand with Everett’s continued to haunt him. Your intentions were as sweet as ever, but he couldn’t help but worry about your counterpart. His senses were bombarded with pheromones whenever he was around you, and the majority of them were not yours. It was like the guy knew exactly how to get under Matt’s skin and had taken to coating you in his cologne before allowing you out of his sight.

If it was possible, his mind was more occupied with thoughts of you than ever. Being in the same room with you was torturous, every molecule in his body buzzing with indignation at the thought that someone else had claimed you. Every mention of your relationship had him biting his tongue until it bled. 

Amazingly, he’d been able to restrain his frustration at the beginning of your relationship, preventing himself from snapping at you. However, given that he was only human, his willpower could only withstand so much. The last straw was the fresh bruising on your neck that had appeared the morning after a “study date” with Everett. It couldn’t have taken much effort to disguise, but Matt could still feel the heat pooling in three mouth-shaped marks along your satiny skin. 

As you sat beside him at the bookstore counter, you absentmindedly ran a finger over the neckline of your shirt, your heart fluttering as a nail scraped over the highest of the imprints. If Matt hadn’t been so in tune with you and your body, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the tiny sigh that escaped your lips–but he knew you like the back of his own hand, and the sound nearly broke him. 

Noticing the way he stiffened, your brow furrowed. “You ok?” You asked kindly, shifting nearer to him. 

Normally, he savored the warmth of your proximity, but today the combination of your closeness and the metallic taste of blood emanating from your various hickeys ignited a fury within him.  

“Fine.” He muttered, turning the page of his book.

“Ok, let me rephrase. Did you want to talk about whatever is obviously bothering you?” You reached out to run a hand along his arm, wafting a cloud of spicy cologne towards him. 

Jerking away from your touch, and nearly careening out of his seat in the process, Matt shook his head. “No. I’m good, thanks.”

Your breathing stuttered, but you shook it off quickly. “Alright, let me know if you change your mind.” Matt desperately tried to ignore the twist in his gut at the hurt that flooded your tone, to no avail.

The two of you stewed in the silence, pretending to study until the bell chimed—signaling a new presence. Matt had been so tangled up in his own guilt and regret that he hadn't noticed the familiar man approaching the store. Surely, God was laughing at his misfortune about now—his bad luck had to be cosmic.

“Evs!” You squealed, rushing out from behind the counter to hug him. After exchanging a nauseatingly lengthy kiss, you wrapped an arm around his waist and gestured to the other boy, still sitting by the register. “You remember Matt, right?” 

“Uh yah. How's it goin', man?” Everett gave a rigid nod in Matt's direction, not diverting an ounce of his attention from where it rested on you. 

Plastering on his phoniest smile, Matt lifted his hand in a wave. “Not too bad. You?“

”Oh you know, same old.“ The older student brushed off Matt's polite question in favor of pulling you more tightly against him. With a giggle, you let him kiss you again, standing on your tiptoes to reach him. 

”What are you doing here?“ You chuckled, tilting your head to the side as his lips traveled over the bruises he'd left the night before. Matt's stomach rolled at the resulting haze of arousal around you.

”Came to see you. Missed you so much, baby.“ Everett murmured between pecks. 

“I missed you too. But I'm working for another two hours.” You pushed his chest, breaking the seal of his lips along your skin. 

“That's ok, I'm a very patient man.” Your paramour purred, stepping away to let you take your seat again. 

Giggling, you leaned forward on the counter. Everett, as classy as ever, didn't hide the way his eyes drifted straight to your cleavage. Didn't he know that you were more than an object for his use and pleasure?

“Want to sit with us? We're reading for Torts. I can get you a chair...“ You trailed off, craning your neck to find a spare stool for him. 

Clearing his throat, Matt stood. ”He can have mine. I forgot, I have plans tonight.“ 

You pursed your lips, studying your friend as he packed up his things. Unperturbed, Everett quickly slid in beside you. ”Thanks, bro.”

“No problem, bro.” Matt mimicked, shouldering his bag and tipping his head towards you. “See you tomorrow.”

“Um, ok. Have a good night, Matty.” You offered, relaxing slightly when he smiled back at you.

“You too, bug.” As he escaped the harrowing atmosphere, he heard Everett's seemingly innocent question.

“Bug?” The pure envy dripping from the word was enough to break Matt's face into a proud smirk. 

Seemingly unaware of the budding rivalry, you laughed. 'It's a long story.“ 

Swiping his cane along the ground forcefully, Matt gulped in the chilly autumn air in an attempt to soothe his pounding heart. The scent of your and Everett’s combined arousal lingered on his coat, in his nose, across his tongue. Every inhale fueled his rage, and he needed to let it out. 

Thankfully, there was a place that could offer him solace despite the late hour. 

Plastic tapping along asphalt, he masterfully wove through the crowds and down the streets until reaching the musty building he'd been searching for. The door was ajar, propped open with a mop bucket. Steel hinges creaked as he pried open the door, stepping around the cleaning supplies and into the familiar space. 

Taking careful steps across the damp concrete, he let his eyes fall closed as the sounds of swinging chains and the ever-present scent of sweat brought him back to his childhood. Blurry images of men with comically red gloves and worn vinyl punching bags flashed through his mind, interspersed with a fading picture of his late father. Swallowing roughly, he continued his march into the empty space, running a hand over the eroded ropes in the center of the room. 

”Sorry kid, we're closed,“ A gruff voice broke through the silence. 

Shuffling away from the boxing ring, Matt raised a hand in apology. “Sorry, uh, it's been a while since I—“

“You're Battlin' Jack's boy, ain't ya?” The older man cut him off, stepping towards Matt and giving him a once over. 

Matt's jaw trembled with emotion, but he nodded slowly. “Uh, yes sir, I am.” 

“Been a long time since I've seen ya 'round, kid. Life been good to ya?“ The janitor asked, swiping the mop head across the floor and diverting his gaze from Matt. 

”It's been alright. The gym doing ok?“ Shifting from foot to foot, Matt suddenly felt exposed. It had been foolish to assume this place would welcome him back in the middle of the night.

”Not too bad, had to cut our hours though. Ya know how it is.“ 

Matt nodded politely. ”I understand. I'm sorry to intrude,“ Grasping his cane, he started for the door but the older man stopped him.

”Wait, wait. I ain't gonna kick ya out, kid. You're practically family, come here whenever ya'd like.“ 

”Are you sure? I don't want to impose.“ 

”Course I'm sure. I've gotta head home—just lock up for me, will ya?” 

Heavy steps shuffled closer to Matt, an outstretched hand offering a worn key. Accepting the jagged brass object, a bloom of warmth filled Matt's chest. “Oh I...I mean—”

The man laughed heartily. ”It ain't gonna bite ya. Just don't leave the lights on too long and we're golden.“ 

”I'm sure that won't be a problem.“ Matt snorted.

Chuckling deeply, the other man clapped him on the shoulder. ”Fair enough. Use the key whenever you'd like, kid. Don't be a stranger.“ 

”Thank you, um...“

”Ron, Ron Clark. Nice to see ya again.“ 

”Thank you, Ron. Have a good night.“

”You too.“ Another squeeze of Matt's shoulder and the other man headed out. 

Standing still for a moment, Matt turned the key over in his palm, savoring the swell of pride and gratitude before slipping the chunk of metal into his pocket and stripping out of his coat. 

It hadn't been too long since he'd trained, but he was definitely rusty. His muscles practically shrieked beneath his skin as he ran through some exercises Stick used to drill him with, stationed at a spare punching bag. The punches he threw were wobbly and his stance was crooked, but the repetitive motion still began to drain the tension from his shoulders. 

Adjusting his position, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he fell back into a familiar rhythm. The solid weight of the sand against his knuckles chipped away at the darkness that had been swirling around him for days. Each hit was deliberate and, telling himself it was just to work on his accuracy, he started envisioning Everett's face being pummeled by his fists. Though he'd never seen it, Matt was more than happy bombarding the vague idea of your boyfriend with precise hits. 

Everett. Evs. The boy who swept you off your feet before Matt could even work up the nerve to tell you how he felt. A man who simultaneously paid Matt no mind and was far too invested in the blind man's connection to you. Were his feelings for you so obvious that your boyfriend felt the need to drive a wedge between the pair of you? 

You never seemed to mind Matt's flirting and general touchiness, though he wasn't sure if you were aware that you drew that side of him out more often than anyone else. Everett seemed to know, given the way he had so easily marked your delicate skin. 

Growling, Matt drove his hands into the swinging cylinder with more force. Was Everett the only guy allowed to hangout with you? To hug you? To rest your head against his shoulder? He could mark you up all he wanted, it wouldn't stop Matt from holding your hand or kissing your cheek or thinking about kissing every goddamn inch of you as your heart pounded. 

Anger churned in his gut at the thought of the cocky 3rd year claiming every inch of you, drawing sounds out of you that Matt could only imagine. 

His cock twitched as he fantasized. What would it be like to claim you as his, have you wrapped around him—underneath him. Would you sound like any of the other girls he'd been with? There was no doubt you'd sound sweeter. Mewling at his touches, screaming his name when he inevitably made you climax. 

Panting breathlessly as phantom cries of pleasure ricocheted off the perimeter of his skull, Matt's logic and consideration flew out the window as he ripped off his tight jeans—all thoughts centered on your gorgeous figure and how you already responded to him. 

Your past relationships had been so underwhelming that a few hickeys got you riled up? Matt could blow that out of the water. He doubted Everett was a very giving partner, he'd have to make that up to you. Would you want him to please you? To taste you? Matt was sure you tasted divine.

His back arched off of the cool concrete as he came, hand unwittingly wrapped around his cock. As his arousal faded, guilt came crashing in. He couldn't help if thoughts of you slipped in when he touched himself in the comforts of his room but coming in public at the idea of tasting you? He needed help. 

Blushing furiously, he ran to the locker rooms to clean himself up.

Shaking her head at the sound of mischievous giggling, Maggie pinched out the last of the candles and began walking toward the double doors. “You know, this is your last chance to leave the chapel before the ghosts arrive.” She spoke calmly, not turning her head toward the two boys crouched behind a pew to her left.

A small, hesitant voice piped up. ”Ghosts?“ The other boy shushed the first, resulting in a small scuffle. 

Stifling a smile, she nodded gravely, pausing by an empty pew within eyesight of the troublemakers. “That's right. Darn building is full of them. Nasty little spirits who like to haunt little boys.”

“They what!!?” One of the boys asked, horrified. 

“Yep. They like to chase them around, pull out their hair, and force them to eat vegetables.”

Shrieking, the young boys darted out from behind the bench and ran quickly out the door towards the dormitory. 

Preening at her accomplishment, she was about to lock up when a new voice startled her. 

“Still using the ghost method, huh?”

Whirling around, she brought a hand up to rest on her heart when she recognized the young man before her. Huffing out an irritated breath, she greeted him. “Matthew.”

Nervously, he returned the curt nod she gave him. “Sister.”

“It's nice to see you, though I will be the first to tell you we do not have space to board grown men.”

Chuckling, Matt adjusted his grip on his cane. “Your faith in me is endless, Sister. I still have a place to live, I just came for confession.”

Crossing her arms, Maggie raised a brow. “It's a bit late for confession, Matthew. Come back tomorrow.”

”I know it's late, I just—“

“Matthew,” Father Lantom appeared in the entrance to the chapel, expression and tone much more appreciative of Matt's presence than Maggie seemed. “It's nice to see you, son. How is it out there?”

Smiling proudly, Matt leaned into the hand Lantom placed on his shoulder. “It's wonderful, Father. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I'll come back tomorrow like Sister Maggie suggested.” The Father's grasp on his arm tightened marginally. 

”Nonsense. You are always welcome here. Did you want to sit in the Confessional, or can I offer you a cup of tea first?“ 

Jaw tightening as his ears rang with Maggie's incredulous scoff, he shook his head. “No, I shouldn't have come, I—“

“Maggie, would you mind lighting a few candles? Matthew, have a seat. I'll be back with something for you to drink. Is chamomile ok?”

Nodding apprehensively, Matt shuffled over to a bench and sat down, turning the foam handle of his cane in his palms as Lantom headed off. 

His pulse pounded in the tense silence as Maggie lit three of the lanterns closest to him. 

“I'm sorry, Sister, I wasn't thinking—” 

“You weren't. Though it seems the Father is still happy to indulge your whims, even if you aren't our responsibility any more.”

Ducking his head in embarrassment, Matt chewed the inside of his cheek, the Sister's scolding stoking his towering flames of guilt. “I can still leave.”

“I think the time for that has passed, Matthew.” Sitting at the opposite end of the pew, she sighed. “Is school everything you hoped for?”

The question was an obvious olive branch, and Matt accepted it gratefully. “It's a very different environment. Full of sin, you'd hate it.”

Maggie chuckled, weaving her fingers together and studying the boy. He looked well enough, apprehensive and ashamed, sure, but fed and rested. He'd clearly been taking decent care of himself, which is more than she could've asked for. 

Firm steps echoed in the cavernous building as Lantom returned, holding a carefully balanced tray of three ceramic cups. “Maggie, I assume you'll be joining us?” He gave her a pointed look and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“I'd love to.” She smiled, accepting one of the steaming cups. 

Matt smirked at her exaggerated apathy, accepting his own drink. “Thank you both. I'm sorry for my timing.” 

“Our doors are always open for you, Matthew. What did you feel the need to confess?”

Blushing at the reminder of his unholy actions, he sighed. “I've been...preoccupied as of late, with...impure thoughts. And I'm not quite sure how to reconcile that.” 

Listening to Maggie's heart stutter, it seemed she was equally uncomfortable with her presence in this conversation, yet she made no attempt to leave.

Father Lantom, on the other hand, nodded thoughtfully. “Sinful thoughts are different from sinful actions Matthew. Our minds cannot be controlled to the same degree.”

“I know that, it's just...” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Matt grit his teeth in frustration. “These thoughts, they're mostly about one girl. And they've become more frequent since she began dating someone else.” 

“You're close with this girl?” Lantom asked, tilting his head in brief understanding. 

Matt nodded mournfully, raking fingers through his hair. “Very. She's one of two friends I have and one of the best people I've ever known. But, lately, I can't even be in the same room as her without getting angry because...because she's not mine.” 

Maggie blew out an exasperated breath. “Women are not possessions, Matthew.” 

“I know that! I just mean,I—” Spluttering, Matt failed to find the words to justify his admission. God, he was just as bad as Everett.

“Take a breath, my child.” Father Lantom instructed. “Have you told this girl how you feel?” 

Shaking his head, eyes wide, Matt's words were more forceful than intended. “No, God no!”

“Language.” Maggie scolded. 

“Forgive me, Sister. I'm just...terrified that I'll lose her. And I feel like I can no longer control myself, which means I might lose her anyways.” Blinking rapidly to dry the tears forming in his eyes, Matt snapped his jaw shut before his emotions began to crack the steadiness of his voice. 

“Quite the predicament you've landed yourself in, poor boy.” Lantom squeezed Matt's forearm reassuringly, gazing upwards in thought. “As uncertain as it can seem, His plan for us is often for our own good, Matthew. Perhaps, your friend's involvement with another is a path for you to settle for the friendship you have, at least for the time being.”

“If that was his plan, then why does it feel like she's slipping away?” His words were quiet, dense with fear and shame. 

“Love makes people do stupid things, Matthew,” Maggie remarked. “Does she know that you think she's been distant?”

“No,” Matt admitted. 

“Tell her then, you ridiculous boy.” Maggie encouraged, voice softening as she added, “If she chooses to change her behavior, well, it's up to you how to proceed.”

Lantom nodded, “As for your own thoughts, that's a bit tricky. Speaking with her and focusing on a platonic relationship might help, it might not. Remember that God searches the heart and tests the mind, this might simply be a test of your connection to this woman or of your own patience.”

“He is definitely testing my patience.” Matt muttered, drawing laughs out of both Maggie and Lantom. “Thank you both for listening, and for your assistance. I'll get out of your hair now.” 

“It was lovely to see you, Matthew. We can discuss the outcome of your conversation the next time you attend Mass.” The pastor stood, allowing Matt to exit the pew. 

“Take care, Matthew.” Maggie lifted a hand in goodbye as the two watched the younger boy retreat.

Thank you for reading my lovelies!

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe@abbyhaslongshorts@mrs-bellingham@abucketofweird@yeonalie@jadeunstablexx@spider-murdock@0ctober-writes@danzer8705

[lunarubra]

So, here we are. This chapter is shorter than the others, but I wanted to wrap up the first part of the story in a sweet way, and this is what came out. It's pure fluff—I hope you like it! :) More will happen in the next parts, I just need to get back into writing and feel good about it. Thank you for being patient with me, and I’m sorry for the long wait. Comments make me very happy..

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: The end of the first part of the story, where they both finally found their balance.

Warning: English not my First Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 2266

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Chapter 9 - Glow of the Water

“You know, I always expect the worst from this island, but I’m glad it surprises me sometimes,” Jiyan said with a playful smile.

Cillian, who was driving, shot her a mildly offended look. They had just left Galway, where the night before he’d celebrated the 35th anniversary of the local theatre with fellow actors and screenwriters. It was also where she finally met his famous friend Enda—the one he couldn’t stop talking about.

The event had been incredible—watching all the interconnected plays was engaging, and Jiyan finally got to see Cillian perform on stage, which was one of the most special things he shared with her. Afterward, the actors gathered at a local pub for a lively, traditional Irish night. It was the most fun Jiyan had had in months, especially watching Cillian and Enda get tipsy a bit too quickly, something she found endlessly amusing. Teasing her drunk boyfriend might have bordered on cruelty, but she had enjoyed it far too much to care.

The following morning, after a couple of Bloody Marys for Cillian—and tea for Jiyan, who still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to drink tomatoes (tomatoes were for cooking or salads, not for juice)—and a hearty breakfast, they set off for the coast. Jiyan hadn’t seen much of Ireland outside Dublin, except for a visit to Cork with Cillian, but she’d never explored the western coast or the countryside, which Cillian found hard to believe. She’d been in Ireland for nearly five months, as he reminded her while planning the trip, and still hadn’t visited some of its most beautiful spots. To him, that needed immediate fixing.

“What do you mean?” Cillian asked, frowning slightly.

“Well, you have to admit, as lovely as it is, it’s always raining. And when it’s not, the sun plays hide-and-seek with the clouds. I almost cried last week when the weatherman said we were in for a ‘nice week.’ You know why? Because that ‘nice week’ meant sixteen hours of sunshine. Sixteen hours. For the whole week! That has to violate the Geneva Convention or something.”

“The ‘weatherman’?” Cillian asked, amused.

“In Italy, we’d call him uccello del malaugurio—someone who only brings bad news and somehow makes it happen.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not actually controlling the weather, love.”

“He’s bringing bad luck, I swear! I know you Irish are used to this, but I’m not. The other day, a woman probably thought I was lost. I kept weaving between buildings, crossing the street a thousand times, trying to chase the sun!”

Cillian stifled a groan, well aware of how frustrating it was to walk with her on sunny days. He almost preferred when it rained, because Jiyan would prepare like a marine about to head into battle—wrapped in two scarves, a beanie covering most of her face—and would march through the streets, efficient and fast. But on sunny days? It was like following an overexcited child with no sense of direction. She’d zigzag across the street, dodging every shadow cast by buildings, street lamps, anything that blocked the sun. She’d jaywalk without hesitation just to stay in the light, and sometimes she even abandoned the sidewalk to walk in the middle of the road. Needless to say, the neighbours had become extra watchful whenever Jiyan was out and about.

The playful banter faded naturally, giving way to the soft sound of Nina Simone’s voice, setting a relaxed, comfortable mood in the car. They were driving along a coastal road where the cliffs met the ocean, the peaceful day mirroring the calm inside. Unlike the stormy days before, the sea was serene, and the sun hung lazily on the horizon. Even with the windows closed, Jiyan could hear the distant calls of seagulls, blending perfectly with Nina Simone’s soothing voice from the speakers.

Cillian’s hand had unconsciously found its way to her leg, drawing lazy circles with his thumb, while Jiyan absentmindedly caressed his forearm. She felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, simply enjoying the scenery and the warm sunlight spilling through the window.

“So why do you say it surprises you?” he asked.

“Well, even though this isn’t exactly my kind of weather, it’s really beautiful—and I’m kind of surprised by that,” she joked, then turned toward him and took his hand. She smiled softly and paused for a moment. “Thank you for today.”

Cillian glanced at her, returning her smile as if trying to capture the moment forever—Jiyan with her wild hair escaping the messy bun, gazing out toward the ocean, her eyes reflecting the different shades of the water.

“We’re almost there,” he said, holding her hand and kissing it.

The trail seemed to fly by as they walked along the cliffs, the beauty of the landscape unlike anything Jiyan had ever experienced. She thought, if there was a place where the colour green had been invented, it had to be here.

They spent most of the hike chatting—getting into lively talks about European and American cinema and even a passionate debate over The Beatles over the Rolling Stones. But once they reached the Cliffs of Moher, the conversation faded, and Jiyan just stood there, quiet, taking in the stunning view.

She leaned back against Cillian’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hands rested on his, holding him as she soaked in the moment, lost in the scenery and the peacefulness surrounding them.

She snuggled deeper into Cillian’s embrace, letting out a contented sigh.

"I love this," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind. "It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve felt this at peace in... I can’t even remember when."

Cillian hummed in agreement, pulling her even closer. Her hair, tousled by the breeze, brushed against his chin as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other and the wild beauty surrounding them. The cliffs stretched out endlessly, meeting the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean below. The sea, dark and restless, crashed against the rocks, but the horizon was calm, the late afternoon sun casting a golden light over everything.

"I’m glad you finally got to see this," Cillian murmured, his voice low. "I’ve been wanting to bring you here since we were in Cork."

Jiyan smiled, her gaze still fixed on the ocean. "I get it now. It’s... overwhelming in the best way. It feels like time just stops here."

Cillian chuckled softly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "That’s Ireland for you. It has a way of pulling you in, even when you least expect it."

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him, her eyes warm and bright. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said, her voice softer and more intimate this time.

"Anytime," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. "It’s moments like this that make all the rain and cloudy days worth it."

They stood together in comfortable silence, both lost in the tranquillity of the moment. Finally, Jiyan broke the stillness, her tone light but playful as she glanced up at him.

“If I had told Samyah last year that I’d find peace—and a whole new life—in Ireland, she probably would’ve staged an intervention,” Jiyan chuckled.

Cillian stiffened slightly, unsure of what to say. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You’ve never really talked again about... about what happened, about her. I didn’t want to pry."

Jiyan tightened her grip on his arms around her waist, as if steadying herself. She let out a soft breath. "I never really talked about what happened—before that day when I had the panic attack. It was too painful, and I just hoped I could forget it, lock it away. There are still things that happened after, but I'm not ready to talk about them yet. I don’t even know how to explain it. Then I met you, and I thought I could move on, be happy, and leave everything in the past. But it didn’t work like that. After we got back from Cork, after your sister’s birthday, the panic attacks started again."

"You didn’t tell me..." he said softly, his concern evident.

She turned in his arms to face him. "I know. I’m sorry. I just hoped that if I ignored it long enough, it would disappear."

Cillian cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I don’t think it works that way, love."

"No, it doesn’t," she replied with a half-hearted smile, sadness lingering in her eyes. "That’s why I started seeing a therapist. And it’s helping… it’s helping a lot."

"You started therapy? When?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"Not long ago, I swear. I’m only on my third session," she said quickly. "I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to keep it to myself until I felt more comfortable. Honestly, I haven’t been the best patient... I’m not great at asking for help, and it took me a while to figure it out," she admitted. Her voice softened then, her eyes searching his. "Are you... is it okay?"

Cillian’s gaze fixed on her, and he gently placed his hands on her arms. "Am I...? Jiyan, of course. This is good. This is really good." He paused, trying to find the right words. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, but I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been dealing with everything that happened. I want to help, but sometimes... I'm really not sure how."

"Therapy is good—it’s so important," he continued, hesitating for a moment as he glanced around, almost like the scenery might give him the words he needed. "There were days when I could tell something was off. You seemed distant, and I thought giving you space was the right thing to do... that maybe you didn’t want to be pushed. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there when you needed me." he concluded lowering his gaze.

Jiyan shook her head gently, her eyes softening. "Cillian, you’ve already helped more than you know. You didn’t need to fix everything. You just had to be here, and you were. That’s all I needed."

He exhaled slowly, relieved by her words but still carrying a hint of hesitation. "I just... I hate that you went through this alone. I should’ve said something or done more."

She smiled, placing her hand over chest, just above his heart. "I’m working through a lot of things, but one thing I’m sure about... You came into my life exactly when I needed you. I wasn’t ready before, and I don’t think I would’ve let anyone in." Her voice softened as she continued, "But you made it safe for me. I know I shut down sometimes, but you’ve always been patient. You gave me space when I needed it and support when I couldn’t ask for it."

Cillian lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m glad, but... I’m here, Jiyan. It’s not just you—I’m here," he emphasised again. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

"I know," she whispered. "It’s not easy for me, but I’m learning that it’s okay to lean on people again."

They stood there for a moment, forehead to forehead, the gentle sound of the ocean filling the quiet between them. The weight of her words seemed to settle around them, but instead of feeling heavy, it brought a sense of lightness, as if a burden had finally been lifted.

Cillian stepped back slightly, gazing at the person who had entered his life like a hurricane and somehow filled every gap, every empty space inside him. He thought about all the times his friends or brother, after yet another failed relationship, had told him he’d just know when he met the right person. They said it would feel natural, intense, and effortless—he wouldn’t even have to think about it. And they were right. Before he realised it, he was completely connected to her.

“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” he murmured, feeling Jiyan stiffen slightly.

"You..." she started.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said gently. "I just... Tá mé i ngrá leat, Jiyan," he repeated, cupping her face.

“Ez jî ji te hez dikim,” she whispered back.

"What?" he asked, baffled.

"What, I know what you told me in Irish, and you don’t understand Kurdish?" she teased, a playful smile spreading across her face.

Cillian laughed softly, his expression warming. "I think you’ve got the advantage when it comes to languages, Aji."

"I love you too," she said again, this time more softly, and then kissed him slowly. She poured all her emotions into the kiss—all the love, gratitude, and vulnerability she had held inside. Cillian responded in kind, holding her even closer as the moment deepened.

When the kiss finally ended, they stayed like that, forehead to forehead, breathing heavily, as if they’d both come up for air after diving deep into something profound.

"Okay, this was amazing—I love you, and the place is beautiful," Jiyan said with a teasing tone, "but it’s freezing, way too cold for tiny Mediterranean me. Can we go back?"

Cillian laughed softly, kissing her forehead “Yeah we can go back, come on”.

As they began to walk back along the cliffs, the salty breeze tousled their hair and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the air. Jiyan leaned into Cillian’s side, feeling warmth radiate from him despite the chill of the weather. They exchanged smiles, sealing their pact in that beautiful moment, the ocean and the cliffs standing as their witnesses.

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Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter. Your feedback, in any form helps me to continue write this story; and comments makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

[yanderecrazysie]

Bad End Night (Yandere Males) PROLOGUE

Since the poll was overwhelmingly for me posting my original story here, I thought I would start now.

Summary: When your car breaks down, you find yourself staying overnight in a mysterious mansion. However, the inhabitants of the manor are clearly hiding dark secrets from you. There’s only so many ways this night can go. Can you find the happy end or are you heading for a bad end night?

This story is based on the song “Bad ∞ End ∞ Night” by Hitoshizuku-P and Yama△, while the characters are based on a cover of the song on 高生紳士 YouTube channel. You don’t have to know anything about the song to enjoy this, but I totally recommend it as a song in general.

This story will contain graphic violence, swearing, bisexual men, and your general yandere themes. If any of those is a deal breaker, please leave instead of hating.

I have finished the entire story (except for the endings) at this point in time, so no real worries about me failing to finish this.

This reader was fun to write. Also, I picked each character’s name for a reason.

Next Part: Chapter One

—----------------------------------------------------

“She’ll be arriving soon,” a handsome man with messy dark blue hair streaked with white laid on a velvet sofa, hands behind his head as he smiled lazily at his husband.

His husband, a shorter man with straight red hair, smiled back at him, “Yes, she will. We should take our places.”

“We still have some time, Shiro,” the man replied, waving his concerns away with a flick of the wrist.

The other man, Shiro, walked to the doorway and peered down the hallway where an old grandfather clock stood against the plain red wallpaper. The long hand ticked forward to mark 7:50 as he studied it, and he smiled again.

“We have six minutes,” he called back to the living room, “We should hurry now.”

“That late, huh?” His husband drawled, “I’m looking forward to seeing her. Gather the others, then.”

Shiro nodded, “I will do so. But, Oni, make sure to not be late this time.”

Oni appeared in the doorway, grinning widely, “I wouldn’t miss her for the world.”

“You said that last time, then fell asleep on the couch,” Shiro laughed.

The man ran his long fingers through his messy blue-and-white hair, “I need to freshen up. I have to look my best for her.”

“Hurry,” Shiro said sternly. He headed towards the spiral staircase and took a step up before calling, “And you look good enough now, you know.”

“Of course I do,” Oni said, flashing a cocky grin before disappearing through the doorway once more.

Rolling his eyes, Shiro traversed the spiral staircase, arriving at the second floor quickly. The wooden floor creaked under the red soles of his shoes as he walked briskly down the hallway. He stopped at the first door to the left, admiring the way the carvings of butterflies flew along the arch of the door. Gazing softly at it, he turned around and knocked on the door across from the carved one. This door was rectangular and devoid of any decorations- plain and ordinary.

It flew open almost immediately, a young man with long wild gray hair revealed through the opening. He white shirt with a black vest and pants to match. His gaze was dull, but a certain excitement gleamed in his eyes.

“Is it time to take our places, Master Shiro?” He asked, voice almost too soft to hear.

“Yes, Tsumi. Please get the dolls ready,” Shiro replied, “I will fetch my son.”

The maid, Tsumi, nodded and hurried past his employer and down the hallway. Shiro followed her, stopped at the next door, a rectangular one with a bird carving in the middle, and knocked on it. Like the maid, the owner of the room opened the door immediately. 

The boy inside had his father’s red hair and eyes, although no one would know looking at him, considering they were covered by pink dye and contact lenses. He looked disdainfully at his father, leaning against the doorway uninterestedly. 

“She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Shiro said simply.

The boy’s eyes lit up and he shoved past his father, racing down the hallway and stomping down the spiral staircase. Shiro shook his head in exasperation, muttering, “He doesn’t act 22 whenever it comes to her.”

Shiro hurried down the spiral staircase. He sighed in relief when she saw the butler was already in place, standing prim and proper in front of the door. His son rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet in the living room, hands held behind his back. 

A moment after Shiro stepped off of the bottom stair, the maid came rushing down the staircase, followed by two boys, both dressed in old fashioned black-and-white clothing. They walked stiffly to their spots in the dining room. 

“Less than one minute!” Shiro yelled. Her husband, Oni, appeared in the doorway and, smiling brightly, took his husband’s hand. They walked back up the staircase and to their bedroom.

The butler stared expectantly at the door, preparing a pleasant smile. The clock’s long hand moved to 56.

Knock knock.

[ughgoaway]

i hate matty healy- chapter 5

content warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, blowjobs, swearing, drinking, questionable decisions and probably other things I'm forgetting <3 word count - 4600-ish

a/n: hi again!! sorry this is kinda long it got away from me, if it's too long and you prefer shorter chapters pls let me know! anyway, this chapter was fun to write but rereading it I lowkey hate it but if I try to go through and edit it again I will kill someone so I'm leaving it be <3 I'm currently obsessed with matty + the red guitar and that's all my brain can think of!! thats all byeee

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Old pictures and posters cover the ceiling staring back at you. An old blur poster, next to an oasis one because you could never choose. Pictures of your sixth form prom, you arm in arm with George after you got cancelled on by your original date and he stepped up to take you. And of course, the very first poster of the 1975 to be printed. Technically it was the first poster of Drive like I do but one day Matty came over announcing they had changed the band name. Again. And crossed out drive like I do and scribbled “the 1975” over the top.

If you didn't know better you'd think that poster was the only one up there, it seemed to grow each time you stared up. Every time you lay down on your childhood bed you are met with a picture of him. The dickhead you're trying to convince yourself you really do think is a dickhead. But here you are again. At 3 am staring up at his face. The moonlight filtering through your window was highlighting the poster almost mockingly. God even the moon was working against you.

You growl in frustration and go onto your phone in an effort to distract your racing mind only to be met with another photo of Matty and the boys. Fucking Matty. It felt like he was stalking you. Which would be impressive considering you and him hadn't spoken in 2 weeks, not since that night on the tour bus.

As you expected the guys hugged and made up the next morning, consoling each other like 15-year-old girls. But the same couldn't be said for you and Matty. You hadn't spoken at the last show, in the airport or even on the plane home despite being sat together. It was a very frosty 14 hours. But if he was going to be stubborn, you would be stubborn right back. You hadn't let him win before and you certainly wouldn't now.

Only a few miles away Matty was in a very similar situation to you, staring at the ceiling willing his brain to stop swirling. As you were all on a brief break from tour Matty thought it would be best to come home to Wilmslow, just to make sure he wouldn't see you in London. Because if he did he's not sure how much longer he could keep up the stubborn act, and he was nothing if not competitive.

He really did feel bad about that night on the bus but he needed you to crack first, he couldn't lose again. Little did Matty know that you had thought the same thing, you were desperately craving the comfort home gave you and the distance from him. In trying to be apart the two of you had only pushed yourself closer.

Fresh air. That would sort you right out, normally you couldn't take a walk at 3 am but that was in London. Wilmslow was nothing like London, the most dramatic thing to happen in months is Ken and Linda's divorce so you didn't feel like you were at much risk for being brutally murdered. Unbeknownst to you, across town Matty was having the exact same thought. Well, almost the same thought, he can't say Ken or Linda crossed his mind.

Cold air filled your lungs and your mind flashed back to the night at the club. The weird eye contact, the awkward cigarette and the strange silent agreement all shot to the front of your mind. Shaking your head you try and tell yourself to just stop thinking. With no place in mind you just began moving, the thought of standing still for 5 more seconds seemed impossible to you. Before you knew it your feet were taking you in the direction of the skate park, a place you frequented a lot when you were younger.

Desperately tagging along with your older brother to start with but as you got older it was your brother and his mates, who soon became your mates. Well some of them did. The one glaring exception to that was also on his way to the very same skate park, old skateboard in hand.

Matty had slithered out of his mum's house as quietly as he could, trying not to wake her or Louis up, knowing he would never hear the end of it. Before he left he grabbed his board from the cupboard under the stairs, he briefly thanked whatever God there may be that his mum hadn't binned it on any of her cleaning rampages.

With each step you felt your mind freeing, being home always put you at peace; apart from your mum sometimes but you would never tell her that. Eventually, you see the skate park start to come into view, you'd tried to stop at the corner shop to get some alcohol before remembering that you weren't in London, and the corner shop closed about 7 hours ago.

The smell of freshly cut grass filled your senses the further into the park you went, it comforted you as you trudged your way across the large football field that separates the main park from the skatepark. After many complaints from parents about “hooligan teenagers” the skate park was moved slightly further away from the play equipment.

For a second, you could've sworn you saw a shadow on one of the ramps, but you wrote it off as an animal or something. No one else would be out at this time. You are pretty sure the whole town of Wilsmlow was asleep from 9 pm to 7 am every day. 

You reached the top of the smallest ramp and sat down swinging your legs over the ledge and for 5 whole minutes, you hadn't thought of Matty once until you heard an unmistakable voice ring out from below you. 

“You’re kidding me right now.” You froze, briefly thinking it was your imagination but nope, you looked down the ramp and met with the eyes of the very man you were desperately trying to avoid thinking about. 

You had no witty reply, no quick retort because at that moment you couldn't think of anything worse than seeing him. Especially when he looked like that. His normally perfectly manicured curls were fizzy and unkempt. He was wearing an old pair of tartan pyjama trousers, a ripped oversized harley davidson t-shirt and a fluffy cardigan that if you were to guess, was his mum's. Dark circles surrounded his eyes which looked slightly sunken, and in his left hand was the same board you coveted from all those years ago.

Maybe it wasn't the rockstar performer Matty that most people knew, but this was your favourite Matty. The Matty only a few people saw, the slight sleep-deprived domestic Matty always had a soft spot in your heart. Not that he knew that, you're not even sure you knew that until you saw him in that moment.

Silently he jumped up next to you and sat down, both of you chose to ignore the way your shoulders brushed and the way spark it created. After a few beats you got the courage to speak up, “is that the skateboard you taught me to skate on?” you asked, remembering the long few weeks of learning to skate. It was a summer of many bruised knees and drunk nights in the park; to this day it was one of your fondest memories of home.

Matty jumped slightly at your voice, not expecting you to be the first to talk, “Yeah, mum never threw it out I guess. Do you remember how shit you were?” He giggled out the last sentence, his shoulders shaking your own. You eventually started to laugh with him, if you were honest with yourself you really were shit. Ross had taken to skating so quickly you thought it would be the same for you but it wasn't.

“Yeah, I do. Remember that I was such a shit student that all the boys fobbed me off to you? They knew you wouldn't go easy on me like they did.” This caused a loud laugh to bubble out from both of you which soon turned into sleep-deprived cackling that had you holding your stomachs and gasping for breath.

Eventually, you got your breath back and lay down staring up at the sky, Matty soon followed suit and the silence resumed. But this silence was slightly more relaxed, still not pleasant but it was better. 

“Hey, you want to go back to mine? I have a bottle of wine stashed under my bed from my 19th that I'm desperate to drink right now.” Matty whispered, despite no one being around it still felt like it was right to whisper. He expected a hard and fast no from you but instead, you were quiet. A little too quiet, Matty turned his head to look at you and was shocked to find you already facing him. 

He stared into your eyes and admired the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheek. You did the same to him, loving the way the moon reflected in his deep brown irises.

Just as quietly as he asked you responded with a simple, “Yes, let's go.” Soon enough you were walking side by side down the streets of the small town you both grew up in. This time, the silence was comfortable. Unusual, but comfortable. 

The keys rattled in the door of Matty's door as he opened it, slowly he poked his head around and thankfully no one was awake. He ushered you in and you followed him slowly up his stairs, a sense of familiarity washed over you as you looked around. His house hadn't changed from when you were young. The same Beatles artwork lined the hallway and the stairs were still covered in a deep purple carpet that Denise always insisted she would replace “next year.”

Matty's room was also the same you thought as you walked in, you hadn't spent much time in here but over the years you'd picked up Ross from band practice or sat with the boys getting high. It was still very similar to your own, every surface was covered in posters. Various bands littered the walls along with posters of his favourite movies, pulp fiction and true romance took pride of place above his bed.

Of course, it was still matty so there was also a rather large “Legalise it” poster above the keyboard in the corner. His bed was decorated with black sheets covered in small white stars. The headboard had fairy lights wrapped around it, you had made fun of Matty when he first put them up but he insisted they were “fucking vibey.” And to be fair to him, when you were stoned they really were.

You sat down on the bed and Matty got on his knees to begin looking for the wine stashed under the bed. Already slightly drunk just on the presence of Matty you joked, “Now there's a sight I like, Matty Healy on his knees” An unimpressed look fell over Matty's face as you began to giggle at your own immature joke.

“Such dirty jokes darling! And in my childhood room nonetheless” Matty jokingly retorted after coming back up victoriously, a bottle of wine in hand. The springs squeaked when he sat down next to you, he unscrewed the wine and took a quick sip before handing it over to you.

The maroon liquid slid down your throat and immediately calmed your racing thoughts, you knew it couldn't work that quickly but in that moment you didn't care for logic. “As if this room hasn't seen a lot worse over the years Healy, I've heard the horror stories!” you smirked as you handed Matty back the bottle. Passing it back and forth between you, both taking short sips and enjoying the pretty cheap wine.

“Horror stories! Sweetheart I’m wounded” Matty joked holding a hand to his heart and acting as if you had stabbed him. His childlike actions solicited a small laugh out of you, soon a hush fell over you both as you looked into each other's eyes and wordlessly kept swigging the wine.

Matty's eyes flicked down to your lips so briefly that if you blinked you would've missed it. But you didn't miss it. And he didn't want you to. Your breath shifted as he started to move ever so slightly closer, as if he was testing the water.

You didn't have the patience to test the water and crashed your lips into his, pulling his face into yours. He quickly reciprocated and pulled you into his lap gripping your ass as you ground down into him, only the thin fabric of both your pyjamas kept you separated. 

You felt matty hardening beneath you and a plan formed in your head, with a smirk you broke the kiss. Matty desperately chased your lips but you pushed him away and began slithering down his body, before long you were on your knees in front of him. “You know I never did apologise for the other night” you drawled out, sliding your hand up his clothed thighs, rising up slightly on your knees.

“Oh- yeah- I meant to apologise for that-” Matty began to ramble, with the way you were looking up at him- how could he not? He was starting to stutter when you interrupted him with a hand on his chest.

“Matty im the one apologising remember? What did you say again? Oh yeah, ‘next time you come crawling back to me you'll have to beg on your knees.’ well here I am, on my knees.” You began to press small slow kisses up his neck, licking and sucking when you reached the edge of his jaw. 

Matty swiftly realised you wanted this, and you wanted him. He slipped right back into the new version of him you had begun to love. “Well baby, I did say beg and I haven't heard that yet” he tried to keep his voice steady as you hit a particularly sensitive spot behind his ear.

Sitting back on your knees slightly you make eye contact with Matty and breathe out, “Please let me suck you off Matty. Please. I promise it will make you feel so much better.” you punctuated the end of your sentence with a particularly dirty kiss that pushed Matty right to the edge. 

“Shit- yeah go ahead baby” Matty sighed out and soon enough you were making your way back down his neck and torso.

You pressed your face into the warm skin of Matty’s stomach, pushing hot kisses down his body until you reach his waistband. You let a shaky breath out as you pull down his trousers and free Matty's achingly hard cock. He let out a strained moan as he looked down at you, seeing you on your knees looking up at him with doe eyes and fluttering your eyelashes is going to be the death of him; he was sure of it. 

“I've been thinking about doing this for a long time” You muttered, letting your lips and tongue delicately brush against Matty's tip. He growled in response and griped your hair harshly, desperately trying to avoid just fucking your mouth.

“C'mon sweetheart stop teasing or I’ll- shit-” Matty's complaint was cut short by you taking him in your mouth all the way down and swallowing around him. His fingernails scratched your scalp as he grabbed and pulled your hair.

Your nose brushed the dark curly hairs and the base of his dick as you held it in your mouth, focusing on the deep buzz of desire making its way through you. Matty jerked his hips forward at the feeling causing you to gag but at that moment you didn't notice, the only thought in your head being making him feel good. Your hand press his thighs against the bed, revelling in the noises coming from Matty, each new grunt and groan fuelled your ego.

You began moving up and down on his cock, taking what you didn't have in your mouth in your hand and jerking it. Slowly you gain confidence and start moving quicker, twisting your hand at the base and going up and down his shaft. Tracing the large vein on the underside with your tongue each time you move up and down. You came fully off and began making out with his tip, giving the underside kitten licks and groaning at the taste.

The low groan that resonated out of you caused Matty to jerk forward once again, you took it as an invitation and dropped your hands from his thighs and looked up at him. You keen into his hand hoping he would understand your silent plea. Your blood-red nails trailed down Matty’s legs leaving scratches in their wake. Matty thrusts again in your throat, loving the feeling of you marking him; the pleasure mixing with the pain.

Tears are streaming out of your eyes and spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth but you couldn't care less at this moment because Matty was looking at you with such hunger it causes wetness to pool in your underwear. Looking up at him you begin to beg with your eyes, desperate to have him claim you.

Matty delicately swipes the mascara-coloured tears from your cheeks and asks the question he's been so desperate to since you dropped to your knees “You want me to fuck your mouth huh baby? fuck you up a little?” you nod as fervently as you can with his cock resting in your mouth, causing Matty to spit out a string of curses.

“Yes fuck- I always thought of doing this to you in here shit-” Matty sighs out as he begins experimentally thrusting into your throat. You were too lost in the haze to hear his comment and began to gag slightly as his cock hits the back of your throat. A low moan from you encouraged Matty to go faster and soon enough he was fucking your throat wildly, ignoring any gags from you only being spurred on by the moans leaving your filled throat. 

Each time Matty's hard cock hits the back of your throat you have to hold back a whimper. His cock fit perfectly in your mouth and you loved feeling him. Matty had received many blowjobs in his 29 years of life but he would swear on anything that it has never felt this fucking good. Each time you tightened your throat around him caused his mind to reel and made his grip on your hair even more viscous as he puppeted your head up and down his shaft.

You swallow around Matty as he stares at your mouth stretched out around his cock, marvelling at your closed eyes; you were obviously enjoying this just as much as he was.

You couldn't get enough of the feeling of his heavy dick in your mouth. You flicked your eyes open to stare at the man in front of you, taking delight in the way sweat drips from his brow as he works himself in and out of your mouth.

“Such a good girl for me yeah? Knew you'd be back on your knees just not like this fuck.” Matt's head lulled back and he closes his eyes a low groan coming from deep within his chest. “I’m gonna cum sweetheart shit- look at me yeah? Look in my eyes when I cum down your throat.” As soon as your eyes meet, Matty is cumming hot and thick down your throat.

After a few seconds Matty pulls out and tucks his dick back into his boxers, as he looks back at you he sees you swaying slightly on your knees obviously fucked out, cum dribbling out of the corners of your mouth. Matty grips your chin and pulls your face up to meet his, “open your mouth.” 

As you do he's met with a sight that made him weak, your tongue was heavy with his cum. A primal growl comes from Matty as he leans down and spits in your mouth, snapping your mouth shut with his hand on your jaw. 

“Swallow,” he demands. A squeak of shock leaves your mouth only to be followed quickly by a moan as you swallow down the mixture of cum and spit. You try to grind down on something absentmindedly, desperately trying to alleviate some of the pressure building in your stomach. 

Matty notices your feeble attempt at feeling some relief and pulls you up onto the bed, holding your neck possessively as he says, “Oh baby did you get all worked up by me fucking your mouth?” You groan and give Matty a nod, desperate for him to help with the wetness between your thighs.

“I would help darling but this was an apology remember? You needed to say sorry to me, and you have. But you won't be getting anything in return. You should be thankful I let you suck me off.” he paused briefly a filthy smirk coming across his face. “So say thank you, baby”

Your voice was raw and scratchy from Matty's rough treatment as you breathed out a meek, “Thank you Matty” he smiled appreciatively at your obedience and cruelly patted your cheek. 

“Let's go to sleep now baby, come lay down with me,” Matty said as he lay down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. You joined Matty and the two of you begin to lazily make out until the post-orgasm haze got the better of you both and you fell asleep on Matty's chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains and illuminated the small space you were asleep in, dots and streaks moved through the room as the trees swayed and allowed sunlight to peak through and dance on the ceiling. Matty stared at your sleeping figure and thought about how peaceful you looked. He's only ever seen you so at peace once in his life before, the day he finally saw your apartment for the first time.

Unlike the other guys, Matty had never been inside your apartment let alone slept over but the others were always there.As far as Matty knew your apartment could be a secret drug den but all he's ever seen is the 3-meter-squared entryway. Until the day he finally got a peek when he picked Ross up on the way to the studio.

Ross had forgotten something inside so ran to grab it and accidentally left the door open, Matty immediately stuck his head in and began looking around; he ignored the fact that he was so eager to see how you lived.

Plants were everywhere, even trailing down the walls, which was strange to him; he never thought of you as a plant person. Large colourful sofas filled the living room as well as bookcases overflowing with old novels and nicknacks. They were dark oak, Matty assumed they were another charity shop find and admired the small rose engraving that trailed up the side of them.

Framed photos of you and the boys were on almost every surface, the sight warmed his heart a small bit. Despite spending 24/7 with them you still wanted them around in some way or another. Soon enough Matty realised that quiet music was filtering through the apartment and he felt himself being drawn toward it.

He began to follow the music that he now recognised as Otis Redding’s love man record; one of his favourites. The sight he was met with made his mouth go dry. You were standing in your pyjamas, softly swaying standing at the oven cooking pancakes. A small smile graced your lips as you mouthed the words, your hair wet from a shower. Matty couldn't help but feel his heart flutter at seeing you in such a domestic setting.

The large windows that were all over your apartment left you standing in a sunbeam, if Matty didn't know better he would think it was a spotlight. The light was filtering around you perfectly, bouncing off your pink silk pyjamas.

Matty didn't like how he felt at that moment. He felt a sense of yearning. To see this again, as much as he could. To be standing with you singing Otis Redding. Obviously, he knew as soon as you saw him this illusion would be shattered, and it was, but he almost began to enjoy the discomfort of standing there, knowing it was caused by you. 

Before long you spotted him, called him a perv for staring and pushed him right back to the entryway but Matty has never forgotten how you looked that morning. How restful it all felt. It reminded him of now as he watched you breathe, your hair sprawled over his pillowcase with a small smile on your lips. God, even when asleep you were beautiful. 

Wait. No. Not beautiful, just tranquil. Silent. Before he could spiral much longer you woke up from your sleep and smiled at him, observing how the sun behind him illuminated his frazzled curls and almost looked like a halo around him.

“Hi,” you said simply, not quite awake but aware someone needed to say something otherwise you're sure you'd be sitting in silence for the next hour. “Hi,” he said back the exact same way, with an airy quality surrounding the word.

The pressure was building between the two of you to have a real conversation about this, whatever it was. Because at this point it had to be something. But you weren't ready for that conversation and neither was he, all you both wanted to do was live in this moment. With the sun heating the room you were in, the light hit all the right places around you. So you did what any sane person would do at that moment, proposition him.

“Wanna have sex?” you bluntly said, raising your eyebrows suggestively. A Cheshire cat-like smile broke out on Matty's face as he leaned in and began kissing you. This kiss began slow, his lips moved slowly and carefully over yours, he moved his hand from the bed up to your cheek and pulled you in harder.

The kiss began to heat up as you grabbed Matty's bottom lip between your lip and pulled on it. In response Matty growled and pulled away, he laid down and grabbed your hips, pulling you onto him just like last night. 

You pulled away and sat up to admire the man under you, he had taken his shirt off at some point in the night leaving his chest bare, his pale skin was stark against the black sheets. You traced each one of his tattoos with your pointer finger admiring how his muscles tensed with your featherlight touch. His lips were red and puffy from the rough kisses, his cheeks were pink and he was flushed all over, giving his whole body a small glow.

Matty whined impatiently and pulled at the hem of your shirt prompting you to take it off. You quickly followed his request and stripped off the baggy shirt revealing your bare chest, your nipples pebbled at the cold air. Matty groaned appreciatively and sat up to begin assaulting your chest with kisses and leaving small hickeys in his wake, delicately scraping his teeth against your breasts. He marvelled at the breathy moans you let out as he continued his movement.

The door of the small room creaked open but both you and Matty were too preoccupied to notice, soon a voice broke the silence.

You screamed and pulled the blanket up to cover your bare chest. All three of you stood there and stared, chests heaving in shock and eyes wide. How the hell were you going to explain this? Fuck.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

The Sunday Scaries have never been scarier (it's my last day of spring break BOO) but in light of trying to be a lil more positive, here are some fun things helping me to get through my upcoming week!!

-My husband and I started going car shopping this week for a new car for me, which I am super pumped about bc I have been driving my 2007 Toyota Camry with 200,000 miles since the beginning of college and this will be my first new car I've ever owned 🥹 (We're getting a Subaru Outback EEK)

-I got to spend lots of time writing!! (I promise chapter 20 is coming, I am currently working on it as we speak, and am finally making a lot of progress!!! I think I'm procrastinating bc after this, there's only 2/3 more chapters left, and I'm not ready to let NTL go 😭)

-I finally got my hair done for the first time since after my wedding and it was MUCH needed (it's just a lil shorter and a lil blonder but I feel so much better)

-I am getting like, dangerously close to 2k followers (WTF?!) and want to do something fun to celebrate!!!

-My birthday is this week, and there is no greater present than knowing I share a birthday with the one and only Pedro Pascal 🫡 (I swear I'm not joking, April 2nd babies rise up!!!!)

Okay, ily all more than words can say, I hope you all have a wonderful week, cute lil humans in my pocket!!!! 🥺💛🌼

My face below the cut bc I was feeling myself after my haircut 🤓

[desafinado]

♡‧₊˚ little things they do that make you smile

a source of small but certain happiness can sustain you a lifetime

°｡⋆ fluff, a bit ooc alhaitham, like one swear word, just a tiny bit suggestive?

°｡⋆ alhaitham, kaeya, kaveh, xiao x reader (wc: 626)

note: i'm trying something a bit shorter, so that i can post at least once a week!! i already have some papers due as well as an…interesting… group mate (i hate real men sigh) so there's that :’)

alhaitham ♡

leaving notes for you in the books he reads; ever since he noticed you borrowing books from his collection, he started leaving little annotations here and there. whether it be a book about the ecological history of avidya forest or the subtle art of not giving a fuck, you can bet he’s leaving a little message for you, words of encouragement (“this is where it gets interesting, i promise.”) and passive aggressive critiques on the text (“ngl, this part reads like a drunken rant”). you can imagine his face, his voice, and his gaze as you read, so it's only given that you let out the most giggly smile. he even knows when a chapter or two can be exceptionally boring for you, so he'll write a proposition on the top of the page. “hmm, why don’t you come into my room and i could read it to you instead?”

kaeya ♡

greeting you by hugging you from the back; he was never one to shy away from pda, so he never really cared about the stares he’d get from abruptly hugging you from behind. it came about when he had gone through a particularly tiring mission; he had missed you so dearly that the moment he saw you at the kitchen making some dinner, he clung onto you tightly. it took you by surprise the first few times, of course, he did when you’d least expect him, but you quickly grew to love it, getting familiar with his touch, his soft breathing tickling your neck. you’d be at the market talking to some vendors when you suddenly feel a warmth around your waist. it was definitely a welcomed warmth, and you’d often greet him back with a kiss on the forehead. fighting a smile against his warm embrace is like denying yourself entry to heaven; he’s always right there for you, and you only need to let him in.

kaveh ♡

massaging your shoulders after a long day; he’s had his fair share of stupidly stressful days, but he’d take the hit for you any day if he could. the next best thing he can offer is a massage with some sweet smelling essential oils. you don’t even need to say a thing; the moment you enter with that hunched over posture, darkened eyes, and breathless voice, he knows what must be done. you don’t want to trouble him, that’s the last thing you’d want to do, but he practically nags you until you give in; he’s a romantic, can you blame him? he’s dedicated to seeing you happy, no matter what it takes, and how right he was, because within a minute you’ll be sighing in pure bliss; he can’t help but chuckle as you surrender to his affections. nowadays, it’s almost instantaneous how you fall into his arms, trusting him with your body. 

xiao ♡

lying down next to you, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying your company. it’s rare for you to have moments like these, moments where he’s not brooding over his past sins or in pain for them; in these moments, he only cares about the both of you and the future you might have tomorrow. he’ll caress your cheek mumbling something about how he can’t believe how unreal you look or simply close his eyes and hold your hand, squeezing it gently. it’s especially endearing when he seems to fall asleep, his faint snoring is the only thing to be heard. he looks so peaceful like this, you can’t restrain the audible “aw” that comes out of your lips. after staring at his carefree state for a few more minutes, you get into your own comfortable position (usually cuddling him, burying your face into his chest) and fall asleep next to him.

requests are open!! please do not repost on other sites.

[mint-yooxgi]

{18} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 7,826

Warnings: Blood and mentions of wounds. Violence. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, I know this part is a bit shorter than all the rest, but it’s quite plot heavy in my opinion. It really sets up a lot of what is still yet to come, and essentially what the sequel will be about. I’m super excited to write everything out and tie everything together. Not to mention the repercussions of someone’s anger next chapter hehehe anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Mini Masterlist

The next ten minutes after you lose consciousness are the worst ten minutes of their entire lives.

“Yunho-“ 

“Already on it,” the taller male cuts his Captain off, gaze focussed on you body as tears line the corners of his vision. Like hell is he going to let you slip away from them now. Concentrating, Yunho holds on to your mind, cradling it gently as he tethers you to him.

San and Mingi are quick to carefully lift your body back onto the desk. Still, those goddamn arrows stick glaringly into the air, the silver gleaming almost mockingly in the light. Each male can smell your scent becoming stronger with every second that your blood continues to spill out of you.

The sound of tearing fabric finally draws Seonghwa back into reality, his tearful gaze locking onto your unconscious form being surrounded by his brothers on all sides. He takes a step forward.

Immediately, Hongjoong’s eyes are flashing, a warning snarl tugging at their leader’s lips as he glares at the eldest.

“Stand down.”

“I can help-“

“You’ve done enough.” Yeosang’s tone is harsh, the younger’s heated gaze being directed towards the eldest for only a brief moment before turning back to the task at hand.

The first arrow is removed from your back.

“Don’t-“

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong’s stern gaze locks with the eldest’s. “Now is not the time.”

“Like hell you can keep me away from her,” he snarls back, teeth bared threateningly as his emotions consume him once more. Tears fall freely down his face with each breath he takes, a wild look in his eyes.

With a flick of Hongjoong’s head, both San and Jongho part from holding onto your body to restrain Seonghwa from taking another step closer.

“Let me go,” the eldest begins thrashing in their grip as they begin to drag him down the hallway. “I need to see her. I need to help.”

“Do you think you’re going to be the first person she wants to see when she wakes up?” San hisses, quite harshly, in the eldest’s ear. “You fucked up. Big time, Hwa.”

“She could have died!” His voice nearly shakes the whole house as they reach the stairs. “She could still die!”

“You think we don’t realize that?” Jongho spits, fear reflected in his gaze as his grip tightens around the eldest. It’s certainly a task dragging him up the stairs and into his room. “You think I don’t understand the fear you felt seeing her body hunched over like that, with arrows protruding from every angle? You don’t think I felt that same terror consume me when I smelt her blood?”

The eldest goes quiet, yet he still struggles to get free. To get back to you, and help you in any and every way that he can. To beg for your forgiveness, even in your unconscious state. He needs you to know that the words he spoke were some of the worst lies of his life. Words spat harshly in anger. In fear.

“You’re not the only one affected by this, Hwa.” Jongho’s voice is low, stern as he and San practically throw the eldest inside of his room. “But you sure know how to make it worse.”

“And now we are stuck on guard duty while the love of our lives bleeds out downstairs,” San’s eyes are sharp as he glares at the eldest, his hands shaking as he plops himself down into a side chair.

Jongho crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Seonghwa sit, defeated, on the side of his own bed. The eldest rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he cradles his head in his hands, gripping onto his hair for dear life. More tears fall shamelessly down his cheeks, dripping onto the rug below.

“She’s going to hate me now, isn’t she?” His voice comes out much softer than before, reflecting how broken he feels. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

The two younger demons share a look between each other, blinking at how suddenly Seonghwa’s mood has changed. Neither are expecting the eldest’s voice to go so quiet as they watch his whole body begin to tremble, sobs wracking his entire form.

“I fucked up, and now the last memory she’s going to have is of me making her feel like she’s a burden.” His hands begin to tug at his roots, eyes squeezing shut as tears fall shamelessly from him. “I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t-” he chokes on a sob, “I can’t-“

“Seonghwa,” Jongho sighs, moving over to crouch in front of the eldest, and managing to get him to lift his head and meet the younger’s gaze. “No one understands your fear more than we do right now, but that does not excuse what you just said to her. You let your fear control your anger, and your anger control your words. You made your choice to protect her, just as we all did. She made the choice to protect a child. There was no reason to get mad at her for that. We all know that given the situation, if you were in the right state of mind, you would have done the exact same thing.”

“The child wasn’t even a target until she moved to protect him.” He voices, weakly.

“You think I don’t realize that?” Jongho’s eyes narrow slightly. “She had her reasons. You know as well as I do how certain instincts take over in life or death situations. You don’t think, you just move.”

Which is exactly what happened when they saw that very first arrow pierce your shoulder. All logic flew out of the window. All that was left was the urge to protect you, and destroy all those that opposed you. No one hurts you and gets away with it. No one.

“I failed her,” Seonghwa’s voice is but a whisper as more tears fall.

"If that’s what you truly think than you’re dumber than I thought,” Jongho sighs once more, standing back to his feet as he takes a seat beside San, whom they can tell is listening intently to everything that’s going on downstairs as he sits with his eyes closed, back pin straight and grip deadly on the arms of the chair.

“None of us want to lose her,” San blinks, focussing his gaze back in on the male on the bed in front of him. “Sure, it’s fucking shitty what happened, but you’re not going to change it now. We have bigger shit to deal with than whining about who’s fault it is, or ‘what if’s.” 

“How can I not blame myself?” Seonghwa stands, his eyes flashing as that familiar fury lights behind his orbs. “I swore I would never let anything hurt her, and now she’s bleeding out because of my mistake!”

In an instant, Jongho has shoved Seonghwa back down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He holds the eldest down by his shoulder, his fingers digging harshly into the eldest’s skin.

“You’re not the only one that feels this way, Seonghwa,” Jongho’s voice is cold as he purposely stares straight ahead, refusing to look down at his brother for the time being. “We all let her down. If she hadn’t of caught that first arrow-“

“She what?” Instantly, San is on his feet, his heart pounding as a newfound terror rushes through his veins.

“The first arrow was aimed right at her head,” Seonghwa breathes, eyes staring at his hands as his whole body goes still. “One moment she was gazing out into the forest, as if something caught her eye.” His own squeeze shut in realization. “The next she was holding an arrow pointed directly at her forehead.”

San inhales sharply. “She noticed before any of you.”

“Not even Wyno was the wiser,” Jongho exhales, sitting beside Seonghwa on the bed.

“How many-“ San swallows. “How many times was she actually hit?”

The two on the bed lift their gazes to meet San’s, nothing but pure terror shining in their eyes.

“Five,” Jongho breathes, swallowing the dryness in his own throat. “After she caught the first arrow, she immediately got hit in the left shoulder.”

“Pulled it out instantly, though.” Seonghwa recounts, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was furious.”

“Furious?” San’s brow furrows, recalling the way blood stained the front of your shirt as well. “At you?”

“No, I don’t think it was directed at us,” Jongho says, standing back to his feet. “I think it was at whoever shot at her.”

Before any of them can say much more, Hongjoong’s voice is echoing through their heads.

She’s stabilizing. The tremendous sense of relief that floods the room is visible in the way all of their shoulders relax, chests deflating as they release a breath of air. She’ll be okay.

Where are you now? San asks, already back onto his feet for the moment.

They’re all in her room. Mingi replies. Yeosang and Yunho are washing the blood from her as we speak. Wooyoung and I are making her another tonic for when she wakes up.

If it weren’t for that little bit of Yunho’s blood already in her system, things would have been much worse. Wooyoung comments, and all of them stiffen the slightest bit.

Did you feed her your own blood, then? Jongho voices the question on all of their minds as both he and Seonghwa stand from the bed.

It was a little more complicated than that. Wooyoung sighs.

Complicated how? San quirks a brow.

Instantly, the three of them are teleporting themselves to your room to see Hongjoong sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Hands which are still covered in blood. Your blood.

Slowly, they watch their leader lift his head. 

Hongjoong’s piercing gaze is immediately on Seonghwa, eyes narrowing at the eldest. “Have you managed to calm down?”

A curt nod is all he receives in response before his gaze is shifting to the other two beside the eldest.

“He’s got a lot to make up for once she wakes up,” San shoots a pointed look at the male beside him, who sends a sharp look back.

“Just let me see her,” Seonghwa turns his gaze back to the man on the couch, sad eyes pleading. “I need to know she’s okay.”

Either Yeosang has impeccable timing, or he’s doing it just to personally torture the eldest, but as soon as the words leave Seonghwa’s lips, the door to your bathroom is opening. Yeosang steps out, immediately followed by Yunho, who is carrying you gently in his arms. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on your stomach as your chest rises with even breaths.

“She’s still unconscious,” Jongho blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“She probably won’t wake up for a while,” Yunho replies, stepping towards your bed where Yeosang has already pulled back the covers. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Carefully, and with the gentlest of ease, Yunho settles you beneath your covers. He angles you so that you’re laying on your stomach, pillow tucked securely beneath your head and arms so as not to aggravate the muscles in your back. They may have been able to heal you, but that doesn’t mean the area won’t still be tender for a little while longer.

It was all for naught, though, for in the next second, Yeosang is laying on the bed with you, pulling you into his arms as he curls you into his chest. His one hand gently strokes along your spine, holding onto you tightly, as if you may slip away at any given moment.

“Did you at least gut the bastard that fired those arrows?” His gaze is sharp as he turns to look at both Seonghwa and Jongho.

“We left none alive,” Seonghwa replies, matter of factly.

“So, you managed to kill the man with the red bow, then?” Yunho turns to them before sitting on the edge of your bed, hand reaching out to rest on your lower leg, just to be able to feel your warmth and know you’re still alive. That you’re safe, and what his brothers and he did worked.

“There was no hunter who carried a red bow that I saw,” Jongho’s brow furrows.

“How many ambushed you?” Hongjoong’s brow furrows, intertwining his fingers together in front of himself.

“Twenty.” Wooyoung answers for them as he enters the room with Mingi in tow. “Yet none of them used those silver arrows.”

Walking over to your bedside table, he places a glass of red liquid onto it.

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong shifts his gaze to Wooyoung who’s own eyes are locked onto your sleeping figure.

“Positive,” Jongho nods, brow furrowing.

“Then, he got away,” Yunho frowns.

“How would you know about the man with the red bow?” Seonghwa’s eyes narrow at the younger male.

“I took the liberty of searching her memories once she stabilized,” Yunho meets the eldest’s gaze with a firm one of his own. “First of all, it was a cloaking spell that covered their approach. One that fooled even the likes of you. If she hadn’t bothered looking past Wyno when she did, and taken note of the stillness of the woods, I-“ his voice catches. “We’re lucky she caught the first one.”

Yeosang visibly stiffens in his spot, along with both Hongjoong and Mingi.

“How many arrows were shot at her?” Yeosang’s voice is low, his fingers pressing a little firmer into your skin.

“Six.” Wooyoung replies, noticing how you seem to stretch in your sleep, your one arm draping over Yeosang’s waist and falling directly into his line of sight. Immediately, he’s on his knees, reaching out and grasping your hand in his, holding onto you for dear life. “Five met their marks.”

“Do we at least know who did this?” San spares a look around the room.

“It’s like we said,” Jongho breathes. “Miyeon’s got allies.”

“Wyno was in the midst of telling us how Miyeon prepositioned her with an alliance, along with a man with silver arrows and a red bow,” Seonghwa moves to sit in one of the side chairs, running his hands through his hair. “Apparently, Miyeon has an army now.”

“Well, we think it belongs to that man,” Wooyoung adds. “No one in their right mind would follow Miyeon on her own.”

“Wyno also mentioned that this man and her seemed to be bonded somehow,” Jongho goes on to say. “She said he seemed devoted to her.”

“And the alliance?” Hongjoong quirks a brow.

“Is null,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Believe me, we got that lecture from Wyno already.”

“Good,” Hongjoong nods. “I didn’t believe Wyno would accept something so rash.”

“Yeah, and apparently Miyeon didn’t appreciate her answer,” Wooyoung sighs.

“Perhaps you all were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Yunho comments, brow furrowed.

“Which raises a whole bunch of other questions, then, too,” San leans against the one pillar in your room.

Briefly, Jongho explains how the rest of the conversation with Wyno went, informing the others about the potential threats to come.

“This man,” Yeosang frowns, lips tugging downwards, “you said Wyno described him as having a scar over his left eye?”

“Yes,” Jongho nods once in confirmation.

Yeosang’s lips purse, brow furrowing even further as his arms tighten subconsciously around your figure.

“Do you know him?” San asks, pushing himself off of the pillar in the process.

Yeosang nods. “His name is Dimitri. He’s one of the most powerful warlocks of the realm. I-“ he lets out a sigh, “I trained him briefly with the bow, and I taught him how to make arrows. I just never thought he’d do something like this.” Then, more to himself, “I thought the style of arrow was familiar.”

“Wait, that Dimitri?” Mingi’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “I thought he was dead.”

“I thought he settled down with his wife, and two kids,” Yunho blinks, lifting his hand only briefly as you shift slightly before settling it back onto your leg.

“Whatever the case, I’m sure Miyeon has something to do with it,” San spits, anger pulling at his features.

“If the army Miyeon is boasting to have is his, we might be in for a little more trouble than we’re anticipating.” Jongho sighs. “Not to mention the remains of that scattered uprising we have to deal with tonight.”

A sharp inhale is heard throughout the room.

“I’m not going-”

“Like hell you aren’t,” San rounds on the eldest, their gazes locking as both males narrow their eyes at each other.

“I’ve already decided that both Yeosang and Wooyoung will be staying back to watch over her,” Hongjoong shoots them both a sharp look. “The rest of us will have to deal with the council as quickly as possible. You said Wyno wanted us to bring this up to them, anyways. You need to be there to explain what happened.”

“But Jongho-“

“That’s an order,” Hongjoong’s voice is firm as he cuts the eldest off. “I’ve already granted you leniency by allowing you to stay this long in her presence. Don’t push your luck, Hwa.”

“You can’t keep me away from her.” The eldest’s eyes narrow as he watches his captain stand from his spot. “You can’t push me away.”

“No,” Hongjoong meets his gaze, and the fury Seonghwa sees shining behind his eyes has him blinking in shock. “You did that yourself.”

“You think I don’t realize that?” Seonghwa retorts, his own anger bubbling beneath the surface of his skin for the nth time that day.

“I don’t know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong turns fully to face him. “Do you?”

“You got mad at her for protecting a child, Hwa,” Mingi spares a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. “Then, you went and said that.”

“Did you actually not care if that child died?” Wooyoung, who had been resting his chin on the edge of your bed as he sat on the ground, turns his attention to the eldest.

“Of course I cared,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing at that question having to even be posed. “I simply cared more about her in the moment.”

“You have some serious explaining to do when she wakes up,” Yeosang states, quite pointedly. “If she’ll even want to see you.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitches.

“Did any of you know?” San’s voice comes out slightly smaller than they expect.

“About her sister?” Yunho meets the younger male’s gaze. “No. I didn’t.”

Each male shakes their head.

“None of us did,” Hongjoong sighs, running a bloody hand through his hair. “Though, that’s only half of it. Isn’t it?”

At this, they all turn to look at Seonghwa, who visibly shrinks beneath their gaze.

“You don’t need to lecture him,” Jongho shoots a pointed look around the room. “I already did. He already feels bad enough about it.”

“As he fucking should,” Wooyoung spits, nothing but venom lacing his voice. “I was there, too, Hwa. We all felt that panic seize us; that terror taking hold and flooding our veins. It’s not a fucking excuse for making her feel worthless.”

“You don’t think I’ve regretted those words most of all as soon as they left my lips?” Seonghwa rounds on him, eyes shining as tears of frustration line his vision. “I swore I would never hurt her, yet that’s what I seem to be constantly doing.”

“If all you’re going to do is argue over her unconscious form, then leave,” Yeosang snaps, voice low and tone harsh. “She doesn’t need this right now.”

“I get it,” Seonghwa laughs once, dryly, his lips twitching as a single tear blazes a new trail down his cheek. “It’s what you’ve all been thinking since we got back, anyways. She doesn’t need me.”

In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa has disappeared from your room, leaving the others standing there in shock. However, before any of them can go after him, Hongjoong raising a hand in the air stops them.

“Leave him be,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “Let him cool off first. He needs to sort out his own head. You all know as well as I do that he says things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset.” Hongjoong turns his head towards your sleeping figure, another small rush of relief flooding his veins as he sees the steady rise and fall of your chest against Yeosang’s. “Case in point.”

A few nods is all he receives in confirmation.

Letting out a long exhale through his nose, Yunho reluctantly removes his hand from your leg. Standing to his feet, he cracks his neck. “We should probably get ready for tonight, anyways.”

“Exactly,” Hongjoong nods once. “We need to take care of our own before worrying about anything else.”

Without another word, the five of them leave your room. Not without shooting some longing glances your way first, of course.

Lingering at the door, Hongjoong shoots once final look in your direction.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung smiles at him faintly. “We’ll take care of her.”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Yeosang adds, locking eyes briefly with the elder male who nods once before softly closing the door to your room.

Only, the door doesn’t stay closed for long, for in the next second, a loud mewl is heard from outside, promptly followed by the door opening just a crack. A tiny, black blur darts in, immediately jumping onto the bed and crawling up alongside your body until he reaches your head, sniffing at your newly healed shoulder lightly.

Another mewl escapes him, Kuroo’s wide, golden eyes turning to look at each male with nothing but concern shining within.

“She’ll be okay,” Yeosang chuckles, reaching over and petting Kuroo’s head lightly. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Why don’t you stay,” Wooyoung grins at the cat who already is curling up against your back, purring lightly. “I’m sure she’ll love knowing you’re protecting her while she sleeps.”

Another mewl is heard, more pointed than the last which has both males chuckling once more. 

Soft smiles tug at their features, though, there’s a hint of sorrow to each of them, as they continue watching over your sleeping form for the time being. Both vow to never let anything like this happen to you again. They never want to see you in such a state if they can help it. 

Wooyoung can still feel the way his hands shook as he figured out just what type of poison coated those arrows. A simple mixture which only affects humans. It’s one of the reasons why your hands burnt when you touched the metal. 

He will never forget having to pour his own blood into your open wounds in order for the antidote to take effect. You were unconscious, and it would have taken to long to feed it to you normally. Thank fuck Mingi was there to get the mixture flowing through your veins, while making sure your heart was still pumping.

Still, you’ll need to drink the tonic as soon as you wake up to make sure there’s no lingering effects from the poison. Also, to make sure you’re properly healed. They all did their best, but you’ll still be a bit stiff. Your body isn’t used to such changes, or magic yet. The shock alone of having been impaled by five arrows within the span of ten minutes would have been enough to kill anybody.

Maybe you’re just lucky.

Wooyoung’s hand tightens around you own, resting his head against his one arm.

No. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. Yes, it’s damn lucky that you survived, but Wooyoung knows you’re strong. Yunho’s blood running through your system be damned. You fought to survive today, and you won.

Besides, they wouldn’t have let you die. Not in a million years, least of all now. Not like this.

At least once Yeosang figured out the type of arrows that were used, he was able to remove them quickly. He will never forget the way your whole body spasmed as he removed the final two. They were the worst ones, embedded deeply within your back and causing you to bleed out almost uncontrollably. They’re seriously lucky you didn’t pass out from blood loss sooner.

At least you’re okay now, and they have an idea of who they’re dealing with. Miyeon and her little ‘army’ won’t get away with this so easily. After all, if you hurt one of them, you hurt all of them. No one touches you and gets away with it. Absolutely no one.

Hours pass like this, with the two of them watching over you as you sleep. Wooyoung opts to move to the other side of the bed, propping himself up with his one arm as Kuroo continues to rest against your back, curled in around Wooyoung’s stomach. His hand rests on the small of your back, thumb gently rubbing circles there as Yeosang continues to hold you in his arms. 

Neither male says anything, yet they do not need to. The silence is a bit tense with worry, but with each breath you take, the rise and fall of your chest eases that lingering tension. They both know that it’s only a matter of time before you wake up. They’ve done all that they can for now. All that’s left to do is continue watching over your sleeping figure.

If only it weren’t so hard waiting this time around.

Before they left for the evening, each of their brothers popped their heads in one last time to check up on you. Even Seonghwa lingered for as long as he could in hopes he might catch a glimpse of consciousness returning to your form, so that he could immediately apologize, and beg for your forgiveness.

At least the eldest has seemed to have cooled down, finally.

Only, the longer he lingered with you not so much as shifting, he felt his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Letting out a sigh, Seonghwa reluctantly pulled himself away, meeting the others swiftly in the foyer.

“Ready to go?” Yunho sighs, straightening out his jacket stiffly.

“No,” San grumbles, voice rough as his arms cross in front of his chest. “Are any of us?”

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back here and watch over her,” Hongjoong reminds them all. “She’s safe with Yeosang and Wooyoung all the same.”

“We know,” Mingi replies. “It’s just hard leaving her knowing what’s happened today.”

“I know it is,” Hongjoong exhales a long breath through his nose. “Let’s just hurry up, and be done with this.”

Immediately, all six of them are transporting themselves to their throne room. They each take a few minutes to compose themselves before they begin this council. The last thing they want is to fuck something up now, or be ambushed again.

With their guards up, and senses on high alert, the six Kings enter the grand hall.

Seonghwa remains unusually silent, face stoic as he gets lost inside his own head. There’s too many thoughts flitting through his mind right now to focus on one single thing. All he does know, is that he wants to get back to you, and make things right as soon as he possibly can.

The first ten minutes of the council is a blur. Jax goes over some basic things with all of them that they couldn’t really care less about. Until finally, the five rebels that were caught are brought in front of them, four cursing and thrashing all the while.

Each King takes his time to observe the three males, and two females forced to their knees in front of them. Hatred shines in each of their pure black eyes, snarls on their lips as they spit harsh words towards their supposed leaders. That is, until Yunho silences them once and for all.

There is nothing quite like the look of fear that takes over a demon’s face when they realize they’re finally powerless within their own minds.

A twisted smile pulls at Hongjoong’s features as he slowly steps forward, a hush settling over the gathered council.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” his eyes flash, stalking down the line of the five captives and exerting complete dominance over the entire room. All are silent, waiting for their King to speak once more. “What cause did you think you had to oppose us?”

Hongjoong stops in front of the male furthest to the right, staring down his nose at him. Normally, the scrutinizing gaze is enough to send any demon trembling in their spot, but apparently not this demon.

“Go to hell,” he spits on the floor at Hongjoong’s feet, snarl of disgust tugging at his lips.

Hongjoong’s brows raise, clearly amused by this male’s audacity.

In the blink of an eye, the man’s entire throat is torn out, blood dripping from Hongjoong’s hands as his claws retract. His eyes close as he shakes his head, tutting all the while as the male chokes on his own blood. A moment later, he goes limp, his blood soaking into the floor of the grand hall.

Stepping in front of the next demon, one of the females who visibly cannot keep herself from shaking in fear now, Hongjoong’s eyes flash open.

Immediately, she freezes, transfixed by his piercing gaze.

“I am not in the mood tonight to play games,” his tone is firm, commanding. “Do not test my already thin patience.”

A brief pause, as the female demon takes a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“We were promised a new world,” she begins.

“Shut your fucking mouth, woman!” The second male beside her hisses.

A resounding crack echoes throughout the hall as Jongho snaps the male’s neck without a second thought. Allowing the now limp body to fall to the ground, the youngest sends the woman a polite smile to continue, though she’s not at all reassured.

“Who promised you a new world?” Hongjoong’s voice manages to draw her attention back onto him for the time being.

“Our leader, and his Queen.” She replies, noticing how the six of them all tense at her words. “He said she’s the one true heir to the proper throne.”

“Which throne, prey tell, would that be?” Mingi quirks a brow, a fire lighting behind his eyes as he stares down at this woman.

“One that doesn’t allow whores to rule freely over us,” the second woman spits, ignorant to the way all of the King’s eyes flash as they turn to glare at her. “One that doesn’t submit to dirt.”

A sickening crunch is heard as San tears her heart from her chest, dropping the organ unceremoniously back down to the floor in the next second. A look of disgust rests on his features as he flicks his hand, blood splattering in droplets across the remaining two demon’s faces.

“And just who is this leader of yours?” Hongjoong inquires, noting how the woman’s trembling gaze is back on his in an instant.

“I don’t-“ her whole body shakes as he leans in, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t have time for lies,” Hongjoong hisses, grabbing her harshly by her hair and tilting her head back as his eyes flash. “I need a name.”

“Don’t tell him,” the final man hisses, and despite being forced onto his knees, he rests quite proudly in his spot, head held high. “He’ll just kill you anyways. It’s what happens when you fall in love with a worthless human.”

All of their eyes flash at this, but it’s the eldest who reacts the quickest.

A dull thunk is heard as the man’s head hits the floor, torn clean from his shoulders. A fury ignites behind Seonghwa’s eyes as he scans the crowd of the council, practically daring anyone else to say something negative about you just so he can relieve some more of his anger.

The entire room goes silent.

Hongjoong leans in once more to the final woman left kneeling before him, tears trailing down her cheeks as her whole body continues to tremble.

“I just need a name,” he coos, crouching in front of her and tilting his head almost innocently. “A single name, and all of this will be over.”

Her eyes briefly dart around the room, looking from one King to the next, and finding no sympathy in any of their eyes. She swallows thickly.

“Malik.”

Silent whispers begin to echo throughout the room from the attending council, a few letting out startled gasps. The shunned general’s name is known far and wide throughout the realm. A name which hasn’t been heard in years, ever since his banishment.

“Silence!” Hongjoong’s voice booms, and immediately, the room goes still. Turning back to the woman, a maniacal smile stretches across his features. “And what of his supposed Queen?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head vigorously. At least, as much as she can with her hair still in his grip.

Hongjoong tilts his head threateningly, eyes wide and wild. “Don’t test me.”

“I don’t know, I swear!” She sobs. “We never met her in person, Malik only talked about her in passing, saying her identity was best kept hidden until the time is right.”

Hongjoong hums, “I see.”

The woman lets out a small breath in relief, her shoulders relaxing the slightest bit as she believes she is safe for now. She’s answered all of his questions, so they should be letting her go any second.

“We appreciate the information,” Hongjoong grins unnervingly.

In the blink of an eye, the woman collapses to the ground, body still as she lays dead upon the floor.

Letting out a long sigh, Hongjoong stands back to his full height. Briefly, he allows his piercing gaze to scan over the room, noticing how both Mina and Otis stand off to the side, the daughter half hidden behind the father. His eyes narrow.

“Are you aware of what your other daughter has been up to recently?” His tone is firm as he begins his interrogation of Otis in front of the entire council.

“No, Your Majesty,” Otis is quick to shake his head. “I haven’t had contact with her since the last meeting.”

Hongjoong’s brow quirks. “Is that so?”

“Please, whatever she has done,” he immediately drops to the floor in a formal bow, pressing his forehead to the ground beneath their feet, “accept my deepest and humblest apologies.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, now,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing as he watches Otis lift his head.

“We all have bigger issues to deal with,” Hongjoong’s voice echoes around the room, drawing every head to him as he paces just in front of the crowd with his hands crossed behind his back. “Miyeon, it seems, has gone forth and promoted a new era amongst us, proclaiming herself the ‘One True Queen’ for this rebel cause.”

“You lie!” Otis gasps, sitting back onto his heals as he observes his Kings with wide eyes.

“You dare accuse us of trickery?” San straightens, shadows being cast over the room as his figure seemingly grows to tower over all those gathered before him.

“No,” Otis is quick to shake his head, shrinking back beneath the scrutinizing gazes of his Kings. “Never, My King.”

“Then, keep your mouth shut.” San’s eyes flash, and immediately Otis goes silent.

“As I was saying,” Hongjoong clears his throat, drawing the room’s full attention back onto himself once more. “Miyeon has aligned herself with the rebel cause, but that’s not all. She has also made it her sole mission to seek alliances with our neighbouring realms in hopes of destroying us.”

“But why?” Mina steps forward, a look of pain shining in her eyes. “Why would she do that?”

“Please, Mina,” Jongho raises a hand to signify her to ‘stand down’. “Let us finish.”

“My apologies, Your Majesties,” she bows her head, taking a step back.

“You were all here last council when she made a scene,” Mingi’s eyes are sharp as he scans the crowd, locking in on Miyeon’s own clan in the next second. “You saw her vain desires first hand.”

“Miyeon has deluded herself into thinking she owns the throne, and she will stop at nothing to claim it.” Hongjoong continues. “Already, she has made an alliance with Dimitri, The High Warlock. One of the most powerful to have lived in centuries.” 

A collective gasp travels through the room, more hushed murmurs following.

“Not only that, but she has already propositioned Wyno, The Alpha of the Dragons, to join her cause.” Hongjoong’s steps are slow as he stalks along the edge of the crowd. “She did not take too kindly to Wyno’s rejection, and subsequently attacked the nest in retribution earlier today. That is where your two remaining Kings are right now. Both Wooyoung and Yeosang are dealing with the repercussions as we speak. We are lucky the ambush did not turn one of our own against us.”

“Already, Miyeon boasts of an army she has to destroy our realm in order to create this ‘New World’ of hers,” Yunho goes on to say, his voice commanding and firm. “We surmise it belongs to Dimitri, comprised of his own following of sorcerers and hunters alike, as well as anyone else she can ensnare in her little mind games.”

“We must resolve this quickly, lest we all want a war on our hands,” San speaks once more, gaze narrowed as he scrutinizes the crowd. “Prepare yourselves for the worst, and report any and all sightings of Miyeon, Malik, and Dimitri to us. Immediately.”

“Spread the word, far and wide,” Seonghwa voices, gaze dark and brooding. “A storm is coming, and Your Rulers are prepared for the worst.” His eyes flash. “We will not break easily.”

A moment of silence settles over the entire room as they let the information sink in. That is, until Hongjoong’s sharp gaze is piercing through the crowd once more.

“Someone clean this mess up,” he spits, eyes flashing. “Until then, dismissed.”

None of them wait a moment longer to hear another word from the council, teleporting back to their home in an instant. The front foyer greets them, as empty as it was when they left.

“Were you able to search their minds?” Hongjoong turns towards Yunho, noticing how the other four do the same almost immediately.

“I searched them thoroughly, but it seems as if they knew about as much as that one girl did,” Yunho responds with a sigh. “At least we know she was telling the truth.”

“Years without hearing so much as a peep from that traitor, and this is how Malik decides to return?” San huffs, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we always knew he was one for grand displays of power,” Mingi exhales a long breath through his nose. “We didn’t appoint him our general for nothing. He was- is strong.”

“Of course Miyeon would align herself with the man who committed treason,” Jongho scoffs, shaking his head. “At least they have something in common.”

“Perhaps that’s how she won him over.” Yunho suggests. “It wouldn’t take much to convince him of violence. Especially against us.”

“How long has it been, anyways?” Seonghwa frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“At least twenty years,” Jongho breathes out.

“Let’s just hope, once word spreads, we can find them all quickly and dispose of them without a hassle,” Hongjoong sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The last thing we need is for a repeat of today to happen any time soon.”

“Agreed.” The other five all reply at once.

“We should inform Yeosang and Wooyoung of what occurred at the council,” Jongho adds, receiving a curt nod from their captain.

Turning towards your side of the house, all six men begin to slowly make their way to your room. Hongjoong leads the pack, followed closely by San and Yunho. Jongho and Mingi are not far behind, leaving the eldest to take up the rear, much to his discontent. If he had it his way, he would have transported straight to your room the second he got back.

“Do you think she’s woken up yet?” Mingi does his best not to sound too hopeful, but he cannot hide the small gleam in his eyes.

“We’ll see,” Yunho replies, somewhat gruffly. As much as he wants to hope you’ll be awake when they open your door, he know you probably won’t be. You’ve suffered too much damage today, and lost a lot of blood. Besides, it’s far too quiet in the house for you to be awake.

A soft knock is all the two males receive before your door is opening slowly to reveal their brother’s all standing in the doorway.

Hongjoong cannot help it, a small laugh escapes him at the position he finds you in. Kuroo rests like a loaf of bread on your back, while you seem to have trapped one of both Wooyoung’s and Yeosang’s arms beneath your body as you lay on your stomach.

Slowly, the six men file into the room, Kuroo observing them carefully.

“Comfortable?” Yunho chuckles, a small grin pulling at his lips.

“I haven’t been able to feel my arm for the past hour and a half,” Yeosang deadpans, blinking once.

“Oh, like you’re complaining about it,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes playfully. “You practically swooned when she pulled your arm into her grip.”

“Say’s the one who turned as red as a tomato when it happened,” Yeosang counters, shooting his brother a sharp glare.

“I never said I didn’t,” Wooyoung defends himself, voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “I am more than content to lay here with her like this.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Yeosang quirks a brow, feeling you shift slightly in your sleep.

Wooyoung cannot keep the smug grin off of his face as you tighten your grip subconsciously around his one arm. He chuckles, sticking out his tongue mockingly at Yeosang who seems to now be wearing a slight pout on his lips. Looks like you loosened your grip on his own arm when you tightened it on Wooyoung’s.

“I take it she hasn’t regained consciousness yet, then?” Hongjoong moves to sit at the end of the bed, placing a hand gently over the back of your calf covered by your blankets. The warmth he can feel radiating from your body comforts him, even if only slightly.

“Not long enough to hold a conversation, if you can call it consciousness at all.” Wooyoung replies. “We’ve managed to feed her some of the tonic, but nothing more.”

Sure enough, when they look at the glass on your bedside table, it appears to now be two-thirds full.

“I don’t think she’ll even remember drinking it,” Yeosang sighs, reaching over to brush his free hand lightly over your head and noticing Kuroo turning his head to watch his every move. “Let alone waking up for thirty seconds. Her eyes didn’t even open once.”

As soon as Kuroo deems Yeosang’s movements not a threat to you, he’s turning his head back to the six males all converged around the end of your bed. He starts purring lightly at feeling Yeosang scratch over his back, eyes falling shut as he continues to rest on your back, offering you comfort in his own way.

A nod in understanding is all Yeosang receives from his captain.

“How did the council go?” Wooyoung asks, eyes scanning over each of his brother’s intently.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Seonghwa sighs, eyes never having left your form since entering the room. 

So badly does he want to pull you into his own arms, whispering his deepest and sincerest apologies into your ears. To assure you that he’ll always protect you, and that he’ll always be here for you. That you are not a burden, and you never were, nor will you ever be. Only, he cannot. Every time he tries to take a step closer, Yeosang narrows his eyes at him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that both Jongho and San step slightly in front of him as if to block his path.

To say the eldest is frustrated for the moment would be an understatement.

In no time at all, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Jongho have informed both Yeosang and Wooyoung about the events of the council and what they have learned. At the way they see Yeosang’s eyes close, their brother heaving a great breath, they can just tell he’s tense.

“Damn Miyeon,” Yeosang spits. “Should have fucking killed her when we had the chance.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one feeling that same sentiment,” San flexes his one hand, knuckles cracking as he does so. He can still feel the dried blood caking his nails from when he tore out that woman’s heart earlier that evening.

“I’m surprised Malik is back,” Wooyoung voices. “I would have thought we would have had to deal with him sooner.”

“Still, him popping up now of all times isn’t good,” Mingi states, sharing a look with the younger male.

“How long do you think Miyeon’s been planing this?” Jongho’s brow furrows.

“Probably much longer than any of us would care to admit,” Yunho sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The fact that she’s managed to ensnare two deadly men into helping her, and who knows how many others, is not a comforting thought.”

“You’re telling me,” Hongjoong shakes his head, attempting to wrap his head around the situation. “Either way, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s all just get some rest, and regroup tomorrow.”

“But-“

“Tomorrow.” Hongjoong is quick to cut the eldest’s protests off, Seonghwa’s gaze finally breaking from your form to look at his captain.

“Come on, let’s let her rest,” Jongho begins to usher the eldest out of your room, along with San who attempts to linger behind everyone else in hopes he’ll be asked to trade places with one of his brothers on your bed. “We’re no use to her all high-strung and tense.”

Making it to the door, Hongjoong is quick to turn to the two males still laying on your bed with you. “If anything happens-“

“You’ll be the first to know,” Yeosang nods, assuring his brother with a small smile.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung grins. “She’s in good hands.”

“I know.” Hongjoong smiles softly, gaze flitting over the scene before him one last time. She always will be.

Content hums of agreement echo in all of their throats as their captain’s words resound through their minds for the evening.

With one final look your way, Hongjoong closes the door.