#man ​i need friends who like to stay in

[apatheticsunday]

Manifest Destiny

AKA "Danny knows about Bruce Wayne's little adoption habit, so he actively fights back by making digs at the older man's age. He doesn't realize he essentially adopted himself by calling Bruce 'grandpa'!" prompt idea!!

Okay, so 19-year-old Jazz moves to Gotham because Arkham has an psychiatrist internship that guarantees a job after graduation from Gotham-U. She takes a 12-13 year old Danny with because the "ghost attacks" (i.e., her parents are getting very obsessed with dissecting Phantom and it's genuinely worrying) are getting worse. Now Danny's in Gotham Prep... along with Damian Wayne.

They do not get along.

Damian stabs Danny with a pencil, Danny bites Damian so hard that he needs stitches, and the detentions only increase their bloodthirst because, "He started it!!" It comes to a head when Damian shoves Danny down the stairs (he wasn't really meaning to, he just pushed too hard), and Danny goes down hard. As in not-getting-back-up kind of hard. And Damian realizes he just killed a civilian. He's running through contingency plans, trying to figure out whether he can hide the body or if he should confess to Father, when the Fenton boy's broken neck... becomes un-broken?? And he sits up??

So, 13-year-old Damian makes a logical decision. Daniel Fenton is clearly his Arch Nemesis. He's undeniably a meta (perhaps with super-healing abilities?) so he can withstand Damian's too-enthusiastic violence. And Danny's like, this fucker just killed me. I'm going to beat his ass. Except Damian has a really high pain tolerance and is literally the heir to the League of Assassins. Long story short, Damian and Danny have "play dates" where they spend the entire time trying to kill/beat each other up. Jazz is just happy that Danny seems to have made a friend.

Bruce, on the other hand, takes one look at a scrawny, black-haired, blue-eyed kid who clearly has some childhood trauma, and mentally becomes Bat Dad. He tried to approach the subject once. Bruce carefully, tentatively asked, "Do you have a place to stay, son? We have plenty of rooms." To which Danny replied, "I'm not your son, I have a dad!! Why don't you go sit down before you break a hip, grandpa!!" (Tim choked on his tea, Damian nearly climbed across the table to strangle Danny, and Dick - who doesn't even live at the manor, he was just dropping off a case from Bludhaven PD - laughed so hard he cried.)

Except... Danny keeps coming over to the Wayne Manor (since Damian refuses to 'spar' at Jazz's one bedroom apartment, as it lacks a personal gymnasium). And Bruce is still kind, no matter how many times Danny makes fun of him for wearing bifocals or turtlenecks, or when he just straight up calls Bruce an old man. Plus, Damian's kind of mellowed out, too. He's teaching Danny actual sparring techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and explains different types of weapons/how to use them. Alfred brings the boys snacks. Occasionally Dick and Jason will visit for dinner, ruffling the boy's hair and joking about something or another. He's even introduced to Steph, Cass, and Barbara.

It dawns on Danny one evening, when Alfred is readying the car to take him back to his and Jazz's apartment. Bruce is scraping leftovers into a plastic container for Jazz to re-heat when he gets home and Danny's debating quietly with Damian about whether octopi are smarter than Superman. (Damian says yes, octopi are definitely smarter; he's seen Superman mutter to himself "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when trying to unscrew a water bottle cap.)

Then Bruce is handing Danny the leftovers, and Danny distractedly gives Bruce a side-hug, saying, "Thanks, grandpa."

Totally unironically. Danny's internal monologue is just what the fuck did I just say as Bruce slips him a $20 ("For a treat on the way home.") and escorts him to the front door. He thinks about it as Alfred drives him home. Thinks about it when he and Jazz curl up to watch a movie that night. Danny belatedly realizes that he's been unintentionally thinking of Bruce "Serial Adopter" Wayne as his grandfather??? For months now?? How could this happen??

Back at the Wayne Manor, Bruce is still in the kitchen, listening to Damian continue to debate Superman's intelligence while Tim scrolls on his work tablet. He'll probably take the kids, including the newest edition to the family, to the zoo this weekend.

[itendtothinkalot]

how to not fall in love

summary: you’ve been in love with heeseung for as long as you can remember, but to him, you’ve always just been the best friend—reliable, familiar, safe. so when you hear him say he doesn’t see you that way, you decide it’s time to stop. stop caring, stop hoping. but ignoring someone you’ve loved for years is harder than it sounds… especially when he starts acting like he doesn’t want you to stop.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers

characters: best friend!heeseungx f!reader

words: 7.6k

warnings: none i think!

a/n: and here is my first enha fic!!!! <3<3 and yes heeseung is my bias

You don’t even remember when it started.

Maybe it was the first time Heeseung flashed you that ridiculously charming smile on your very first day of kindergarten—doe eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a shy little wave like he was offering you his entire heart with just a look.

Or maybe it was that time in middle school when he forgot there was a major history exam and you stayed up until 2 a.m. making color-coded flashcards for him, highlighters smudged on your fingers and worry tugging at your chest. He showed up the next morning at your door, hair a mess, holding a bag of greasy Chinese takeout and two cans of your favorite peach soda.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he said, in that effortless, playful way of his, ruffling your hair like you were some helpful little puppy.

You laughed, but your heart did a triple somersault.

Love. He said it like it was casual.

Not knowing it felt like a confession to you.

Truth is, it only got worse from there.

Your unrequited love? It grew legs and started running wild.

You became that friend. The one in the front row of every basketball game, waving a glittery sign that said "LEE HEESEUNG" like your life depended on it. The one who always brought him coffee after his late-night study sessions, who memorized the snacks he liked at the convenience store, who texted him good luck before every presentation even though he always forgot yours.

And Heeseung would flash that same boyish grin—the one that made your knees a little weak—and casually sling an arm around your shoulders.

“Man, I don’t know who I am without you,” he’d say, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And you? You’d fall just a little harder.

Just a little. But it added up.

You didn’t mean for it to. You tried to keep your heart in check. But all those little things—the inside jokes, the shoulder bumps in the hallway, the way he said your name—slowly stitched themselves into something deeper. Something messier. Something real.

Heeseung never treated you like you were just anyone. That was the cruel part.

Like that time you got lost at one of his away games. You’d shown up early, too excited, only to realize you had no idea where to go. The school was huge, the gym impossible to find, and every hallway looked the same.

And then—there he was.

Heeseung, panting, scanning the sea of people until his eyes landed on you.

“There you are,” he breathed out, like he hadn’t just run halfway across campus. His brows furrowed like he was worried, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pulling you through the crowd like you were something precious he needed to protect. He didn’t let go—not even when the noise got louder or people jostled you. Somewhere along the way, he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it himself.

He only let go once you were seated, right in the front row.

“There,” he said, still a little breathless. “Gotcha here safe and sound.”

Then he jogged off, leaving your heart pounding, your bag heavy in your lap, and a quiet kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

You found out later that he’d skipped the team’s pre-game drills just to look for you. As team captain, he was supposed to be rallying the others—but instead, he was making sure you weren’t lost.

Coach made him run three extra laps.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, guilt curling in your stomach.

Heeseung just laughed, brushing his damp hair back and flashing you that familiar grin. “It’s okay. I kinda liked looking for you.”

Moments like that—where he made you feel like the center of the universe—those were the hardest.

Because deep down, you always knew he didn’t see you the way you saw him.

The final straw came a few weeks later.

You’d been waiting by the bleachers again, holding his jacket like you always did, when you overheard Jake teasing him.

“She’s here again. You two are practically glued together. You sure you’re not… boinking?”

Heeseung laughed. “Boinking?”

Your heart fluttered. Just a little.

Then he said it. With zero hesitation.

“She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.”

Friend.

The word echoed in your head like a slap.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

The next morning, you opened your journal, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in bold, all-caps letters:

HOW TO NOT FALL IN LOVE (feat. Lee Heeseung)

Goal: Stop giving a damn about Lee Heeseung. Duration: One month.

And for the first time in forever, you meant it.

Really, really meant it.

—

The next day at school, you walked through the gates with an air of fake confidence and a heart wrapped in duct tape. This was it. Day one. 

No more overshooting your texts to Heeseung. No more waiting by the court with his water bottle. No more volunteering to help him with homework he didn’t even remember to start. He was perfectly capable of surviving without you.

Probably.

But the moment you saw him in the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, your heart betrayed you.

Your hand lifted in an automatic wave before you even realized what you were doing. And—ugh—was that a smile forming?

You gasped like you'd caught yourself mid-crime and yanked your hand back down with enough force to nearly dislocate your shoulder. You spun around so fast your bag almost knocked over a freshman. You tried to act cool, casually pretending the ground was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen.

Behind you, Heeseung paused, confused. He blinked. Tilted his head. Squinted at your retreating back like he was trying to solve a very strange math equation.

But then he shrugged it off. Probably nothing.

Probably.

Too bad he didn’t know this was just the beginning of the end.

—-

“This little tough girl act,” Sunghoon said with a smirk, reaching into your popcorn bucket like he had every right. “How long do you think it’s going to last?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling the bucket closer. “Keep your hands out of my popcorn, you menace.”

Out on the court, Heeseung was practicing, all focused determination and smooth movements. You were trying—not entirely successfully—not to watch him. You’d even worn sunglasses. Indoors. As if they could protect your heart.

“Come on,” Sunghoon drawled. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see you freeze up this morning when he smiled at you like a puppy with a college degree.”

You exhaled sharply. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Right. And I’m the Prime Minister of Canada.”

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned back against the bleachers. “I’m serious this time. One month. No more hopeless pining. No more letting him carry my bag like we’re a couple. No more doodling ‘Mr. and Mrs. Heeseung’ in the margins of my notebooks.”

“You still do that?”

“I–No.”

Sunghoon laughed under his breath.

You risked a glance at the court.

Mistake.

Heeseung dribbled the ball between his legs and sank a perfect shot, his lips tugging into that maddeningly confident smile, turning to you..

And, shamefully, you made a noise. A small, undignified sound that gave you away entirely.

Sunghoon gave you a long, knowing look. “You’re doomed.”

“I am not doomed,” you said, clutching your popcorn like a shield. “I’m just... recalibrating. This is emotional detox.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re detoxing the way someone digs a chocolate wrapper out of the trash.”

You groaned. “Why are you even here?”

“Free snacks. And the immense satisfaction of watching you pretend you’ve moved on.”

You stuffed a handful of popcorn in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. Because, regrettably, he wasn’t wrong.

And worse? You missed Heeseung. More than you cared to admit. Everything reminded you of him. A bouncing basketball. A laugh down the hallway. A lamppost that was, in your defense, approximately his height and general vibe.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

—

Heeseung was starting to notice.

At first, it was little things. You stopped walking with him after class. You sat further away during lunch. You didn’t show up at practice with your usual energy, pretending to be absorbed in something else when he looked your way. It was subtle but to him, it felt like someone had lowered the volume on his favorite song.

He found himself scanning the bleachers more than usual, eyes flicking toward the spots where you usually sat, only to find them empty or occupied by someone else. You were still around, just... not with him.

Jake noticed first.

“You good?” he asked during water break, glancing at Heeseung who was frowning at his phone.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, not looking up. “I just... I don’t know. Have you talked to her lately?”

Jake raised a brow. “She was literally just at lunch.”

“She barely said a word to me.”

Jake took a long sip from his bottle. “Maybe she’s busy.”

Heeseung nodded, but it didn’t feel like busy. It felt like... distant. Like you were pulling away, and he didn’t know why.

He scrolled back through your messages. There weren’t any unread ones. Just a few recent texts from him that you’d responded to with short answers. No smiley faces. No exclamation marks. Just plain, flat replies.

And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He was used to your messages being filled with too many emojis, random inside jokes, and links to memes you knew he’d find stupid but would laugh at anyway. You hadn’t even sent him your usual “good luck” before the last game.

Heeseung didn’t say anything out loud, but he could feel it—a little ache forming. Like something was shifting. Like something he’d taken for granted was slipping away.

And he didn’t know how to ask you why.

—

You were power-walking down the hallway like a woman on a mission—head high, steps brisk, thoughts screaming something along the lines of Do not look back. Do not turn around. You are ice. You are steel. You are—

“Hey!”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Heeseung.

You turned around slowly—casually, you hoped—and gave him what you prayed was a totally normal smile. Not awkward. Not panicked. Not like your internal monologue was screaming.

“Oh! Hi,” you said, like your voice hadn’t just jumped an octave.

He jogged the last few steps to reach you, a little out of breath, but still managing that soft, easy smile of his. “Didn’t see you after practice this week.”

“Oh,” you said quickly. “Yeah, I’ve just been… around. Super busy.”

“Busy?” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “With?”

You blinked. “Uh, Yearbook Committee.”

His brows knit together. “I didn’t know you were in the Yearbook Committee.”

“I’m… new,” you added, voice trailing off as your brain gave up on its own excuse.

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he was trying to make sense of it all.

Then he smiled again—gentle, like always. “Well, I was just wondering if you were free to—”

“Oh no, sorry!” you cut in, way too fast. “I have to go walk Sunghoon.”

He blinked. “Walk... Sunghoon? The third year student from Algebra?”

“Yes,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “He’s full of energy. If I don’t walk him, he gets cranky. Like a puppy.”

He stared at you, clearly confused. His lips parted like he wanted to ask another question, but instead, he just... laughed. Not a mocking laugh—more like he didn’t quite know what else to do with this absurd turn of conversation.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“Yup! Later!” you squeaked, turning around so fast you nearly dropped your bag.

You could feel his gaze on you as you walked away—light, warm, lingering. Like he was trying to figure you out.

And you? You were trying not to look back. Trying not to feel how much you missed being around him. How much you wanted to stay.

Because the truth was: you missed him. You missed you with him.

But you’d started something. And for now, you had to stick to it.

Even if it sucked.

—

Heeseung swore something was off.

You weren’t gone, exactly. You still passed him in the hallways. Still laughed a little too loudly with Sunghoon and Jay at lunch. Still wore that bright-colored scarf he once said made you look like a strawberry popsicle.

But you weren’t with him.

Not the way you used to be.

He sat on the edge of the court after practice, towel around his neck, eyes scanning the bleachers again. He hated how natural the motion had become. How instinctive it was to search for you—even when he knew you wouldn’t be there.

Jake flopped down beside him, cracking open a sports drink. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered.

“You don’t sound like it.”

Heeseung shrugged, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Have you noticed... she’s been different?”

Jake raised a brow. “You mean how she’s not orbiting you like a lovesick planet anymore?”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jake took a slow sip of his drink. “Isn’t it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

Because maybe it was what he meant.

Maybe he had gotten used to you being everywhere. At his games. At his side. Texting him about nothing and everything. Laughing at his dumb jokes. Holding out his bag like it belonged more to you than to him.

And now? Now the silence felt sharp. Uncomfortable.

He scrolled through his messages again. No new ones from you. The last conversation ended with your half-hearted “haha yeah” two days ago.

You didn’t even send him a good luck text before his test today. You always sent him one. Usually something stupid like “Don’t choke! But if you do, make it dramatic so you can retake it with pity points.” It used to make him laugh. It used to calm him down.

Today, he hadn’t laughed before the test.

And he hadn’t done all that well, either.

He sighed, tipping his head back against the wall of the gym.

He didn’t know what had changed. But something had.

And he was starting to think he really didn’t like it.

—

Heeseung wasn’t looking for you.

He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent was not looking for you.

He just happened to glance over at the courtyard. That’s all.

And okay, maybe his eyes landed on you instantly—like a magnet snapping into place. You were standing with Sunghoon and Jay, your laugh bright and easy, head tipped back like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

And then Sunghoon did it.

He leaned in and ruffled your hair.

Casual. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t understand it at first. Not really. He just kept staring, a weird sort of tightness building in his chest, like something was pressing down on him. And then—just to make it worse—Sunghoon said something that made you laugh again. You reached out and lightly shoved his shoulder, still smiling, completely unaware of the storm brewing across the courtyard.

Jake noticed immediately.

“You’re staring again,” he said, biting into an apple with all the serenity of someone enjoying the drama but pretending not to.

“I’m not,” Heeseung muttered.

“Your eyes haven’t left her for five minutes.”

“I’m just… wondering what they’re talking about.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You mean, what she and Sunghoon are talking about?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Jake smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re just planning their wedding. Probably picking out the cake flavor right now.”

“Shut up.”

Jake laughed. “So this is jealousy, huh?”

“It’s not jealousy.”

“Oh yeah, no, of course not. You're just glaring at Sunghoon like you’re mentally photoshopping him out of existence for completely unrelated reasons.”

Heeseung turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

It wasn’t like he had a claim on you. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. Laugh at anyone’s jokes. Let anyone ruffle your hair.

So why did it feel like something in him was unraveling?

—

Heeseung wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but he knew something felt... off.

You were still around—at lunch, in the halls, in some of your shared classes—but somehow, you were always just out of reach. If he turned one way, you turned the other. If he called your name, someone else answered for you. It was subtle. Strategic.

And frustrating.

Now, walking alone down the hallway, books tucked under one arm, the other gripping his backpack strap, he found his thoughts drifting back to you. Again.

Jake wasn’t there to tease him for it today, off doing who-knows-what, so for once it was just Heeseung and the quiet, creeping ache of your absence.

And then he saw you.

You were halfway down the corridor, walking like you had somewhere to be, light on your feet as always. Maybe it was the way you moved like you had a secret no one else knew or maybe it was just that he hadn’t really seen you in days. Not properly. Not up close.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, catching you gently by the wrist.

“Hey,” he said, smiling before he realized it.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Huh?”

“It’s been a while since I walked you home,” Heeseung said, tilting his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Want to go together?”

You froze. Your mind scrambled for an excuse—any excuse.

But he was already one step ahead of you.

“You don’t have Debate. Or Yearbook Committee,” he added knowingly. “And I don’t have practice today.”

You exhaled sharply. Damn him for remembering your fake clubs.

“…Sure,” you murmured, defeated.

He smiled again and reached for your backpack, tugging the straps gently off your shoulders so he could carry it for you—like he always did. Like nothing had changed.

The two of you fell into step, walking side by side. Your arms brushed once. Then again. Each time, a jolt of electricity shot up your spine.

“So,” he said after a pause, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “did you get an A?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The math test,” he clarified. “You were stressing about it for, like, a week. Mr. Kim probably handed it back by now. I’m assuming my smart girl did well?”

Your lips parted slightly.

He remembered?

A slow smile tugged at your lips. “First in class,” you announced proudly. “Take that, Jake Sim.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Good. Someone’s got to put him in his place.”

Then, without warning, he reached over and ruffled your hair. “Proud of you.”

Your heart launched itself into your throat.

His fingers lingered a moment too long, just enough to make you dizzy before pulling away like nothing had happened. Like your world hadn’t just turned upside down.

Typical Heeseung.

You were just trying not to propose.

At the crosswalk, as the light turned red, he reached out again—this time gently guiding you by the elbow, pulling you closer to him.

“There was a bike coming,” he said, eyes on the road ahead.

You squinted. The bike was a speck in the distance. Miles away.

But his hand stayed there.

Just resting.

Light. Thoughtless. Careful.

You swallowed hard.

If he was going to keep doing things like this, you needed revenge. You needed balance. You needed him to second-guess everything the way you did.

So you stopped walking and tugged his arm slightly.

Heeseung turned, confused. “What’s wr—”

And then you stepped in.

Too close.

Your fingers reached up, brushing against the base of his neck as you adjusted the collar of his uniform. It was crooked—only slightly—but you took your time, smoothing the fabric with slow, deliberate movements.

Your knuckles grazed his skin.

He inhaled sharply.

His shoulders stiffened.

And suddenly, the effortlessly charming Lee Heeseung looked completely out of his depth. Like you were the one throwing him off balance now.

His gaze dropped—eyes flicking from your face, to your lips, then quickly back up again.

Heeseung swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

You finished adjusting his collar and smiled up at him—soft, proud, just a little smug.

“There,” you murmured, patting it into place. “All fixed.”

He blinked.

Swallowed.

“…Thanks,” he managed, voice lower than usual, a little hoarse.

And then because apparently his brain had melted, he turned on his heel and walked ahead a little too quickly.

“Slow down!” you called after him with a grin. “Not all of us have basketball player legs, you know.”

He didn’t answer, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

—

The walk home with Heeseung did something to you.

Something bad.

You missed him more than you thought you would. Not in a soft, quiet way—but in a way that gnawed at your chest like a small, aggressive squirrel.

Everything reminded you of him. A fork. A book you’d never read. Even Jay’s left toe (don’t ask, you didn’t know why either). You couldn’t stop thinking about him—his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited, the little way he tilted his head when he was listening.

You were, quite frankly, losing it.

Your Lee Heeseung withdrawals were at an all-time high.

Every time you saw him across the room or heard someone say his name, your heart did a thing and your brain spiraled like a bad romcom montage. You were whiny. Pathetically so.

Jay, ever the long-suffering saint, was reaching his limit.

You clung to his jacket sleeve dramatically, voice pitched high with despair. “I can’t do this, Jay. I miss him so much. Why is this so hard?”

Jay gave you a deadpan look that could only be described as emotionally done. With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he turned and made a beeline toward the shop’s earplug section.

“If you don’t just tell him how you feel,” he muttered, “I’m going to lose my entire mind.”

You chased after him, still attached to his sleeve like a ghost with commitment issues. “But I can’t! He doesn’t even like me like that!”

Jay stopped in front of the shelf, scanning the rows of earplugs like he was shopping for peace. “What if he does, huh?” he shot back, a little too fast. “This whole walk home story you just told me—it doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You froze. The words you’d overheard days ago came rushing back: She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.

The echo of it still stung.

You let go of Jay’s sleeve and crossed your arms, suddenly quiet. “I heard him, Jay,” you said softly. “He told Jake I was just a friend.”

Jay looked at you. Really looked at you.

And then he grinned.

“Are you laughing at me right now?” You smacked his arm, thoroughly offended.

“It’s just—” he choked back a laugh. “I could’ve sworn that guy was practically drooling over you.”

You scowled. “Well, clearly you’re wrong.”

Jay shook his head, dramatically dropping a pair of foam earplugs into the basket. “Okay, look. So what if he said that? Guys say dumb things all the time. Heeseung’s probably still catching up to his own feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re not the type to wait around forever. If you like him, say something. Stop pretending you don’t care.”

You groaned. “Fine, fine! I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for three years,” Jay replied, clearly unimpressed.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “You don’t get a say.”

“Oh, but I do.” He popped the earplugs into his ears with a triumphant smirk.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered.

Jay tilted his head dramatically. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you over the peace I bought for $2.99.”

—

That night, Heeseung lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all of life’s biggest questions.

Unfortunately, it did not.

He shifted. Then again. Then once more for dramatic effect. The blanket felt too warm. The pillow was suddenly too flat. Everything was wrong.

But mostly? It was the thoughts. You.

The walk home played on a loop in his mind, like a scene from a movie he couldn’t turn off. He could still feel how close you’d stood to him, the way your arm brushed his, how your fingers had grazed his neck when you fixed his collar. The soft sound of your laughter still echoed in his ears. It was... cute.

Too cute.

Heeseung sighed and rolled onto his side, shoving his face into the pillow.

You had always been his best friend. His safe person. You were fun and loud and comfortably chaotic. You made everything feel easy. But lately, being around you hadn’t felt easy—it felt... intense. 

And ever since Jake had made that dumb “are you dating” comment, the idea had rooted itself in his brain like a stubborn weed. He tried to shake it, but it kept growing. Fast.

He used to think about you in a simple way—someone he could count on. Someone who’d be there with snacks and jokes and glittery signs with his name. But now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny flecks of color in your eyes. Or how your laugh made his chest feel tight. Or how you’d smiled up at him after fixing his collar like you had no idea he was short-circuiting.

He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach.

This was bad. He was in trouble.

—-

Across town, in a room filled with fluffy pillows and heartbreak, you were also wide awake.

Staring at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then your blanket. Then the ceiling again.

You sighed and ran your fingers over the threads of your comforter like they held answers the universe refused to give.

Everything reminded you of Heeseung. Your school notes. Your chipped nail polish. The way your lamp was slightly tilted—he was the one who’d knocked it over during your last movie night.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Was this what pining felt like? Not just the longing or the ache—but the sheer, annoying presence of him in everything? Your brain had become a highlight reel of his smiles, his voice, his laugh. It was embarrassing.

Still… there was a part of you that wondered.

Maybe he felt it too.

You weren’t imagining it, right? The way he looked at you lately—like he was really seeing you. The way his fingers had lingered on your arm a little longer than necessary. The way he had remembered your test, remembered your nerves, and had been genuinely proud of you.

Your heart did a stupid, hopeful little flutter.

But the thought of confessing? Saying it out loud?

You rolled onto your side and buried your face in a pillow.

What if it changed everything? What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he looked at you like you were ridiculous—or worse, like you were just some girl with a dumb, one-sided crush?

Still.

What if he did feel something?

You both lay in your beds that night, across the city, wrapped in your own blankets and your own thoughts—completely unaware that the other was doing the exact same thing.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about him.

—

“Hey, look who it is!” Jake nudged Heeseung with his elbow, already grinning like a devil who’d spotted drama on the horizon.

You looked up, eyes widening as you spotted the two of them heading toward you. There was no time to escape. No possible exits. Just Heeseung, Jake, and a hallway suddenly way too small.

You and Heeseung locked eyes.

And just like that, the walk home replayed itself in your head. The brush of his hand against yours. The weight of your bag over his shoulder. The way he’d looked at you when you smiled at him. You swallowed.

“Uh… hey,” you said, lifting a small, awkward wave. Your voice came out two pitches too high, like someone had sat on the remote.

“Hey,” Heeseung replied, mirroring your stiffness with a half-hearted wave of his own. He was smiling, kind of, but it was tight—uncertain. His heart was pounding. His brain? Completely blank.

Jake, of course, was having the time of his life. “Wow,” he said cheerfully. “This is fun.”

“I—I have to go to the restroom!” you blurted, pointing wildly in the wrong direction before fleeing like a sitcom character mid-episode.

Heeseung stood there, watching you disappear around the corner, every nerve in his body buzzing. His legs felt like jelly. His chest? Tense. His thoughts? Loud.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, he collapsed dramatically onto the floor like a man defeated.

“I think…” he muttered into the floor, “I might have feelings for her.”

Jake, already sprawled on the coach’s beanbag, didn’t even flinch. He was too busy chewing on a piece of licorice to care.

“Oh, welcome to the club,” he said, voice muffled. “I’ve been a member since the year you told her she looked pretty in green face paint during our third-grade Wicked play.”

Heeseung didn’t react. He just stood up and started pacing—back and forth, back and forth—like his thoughts might rearrange themselves if he walked hard enough.

“I—no, I really like her, Jake.”

Jake raised a hand lazily, like a talk show host mid-monologue. “Please. Continue. This is riveting.”

“I just... I don’t get it. I didn’t realize it before, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about her. Everything reminds me of her. Like, she fixed my collar yesterday and I think I blacked out for a second.”

Jake popped another licorice into his mouth. “Gross. Cute. But gross.”

“I feel like,” Heeseung continued, running a hand through his hair, “when she’s around, everything just makes sense. And when she’s not? It’s like something’s missing. It’s stupid.”

“Cringe,” Jake said dramatically, slumping deeper into the beanbag. “Do all crushes feel this emotionally inconvenient? If so, I want out.”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “Are you ever helpful?”

“Emotionally? No,” Jake said with a straight face. “But I do hand out brutal honesty like candy.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bench next to him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell her and she— I don’t know—ghosts me?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve been losing your mind for days because she didn’t bring you water after practice. You have hands. Hydrate yourself.”

Heeseung let out a pained noise and buried his face in his hands.

“Just tell her,” Jake said with a shrug. “Worst case, she doesn’t feel the same. But I’m 99.7% sure she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung muttered into his palms. “And what if I look like an idiot?”

Jake leaned back, tossed a licorice stick in the air, and caught it with practiced ease. “Buddy, you already look like an idiot. Might as well make it romantic.”

Heeseung lifted his head just enough to glare at him.

Jake grinned. “Start simple. Tell her she’s cute. That’s it. It works. Trust me.”

Heeseung blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘you’re cute’?”

Jake nodded. “You’d be shocked how well that lands when you mean it.”

Heeseung stared at him, unconvinced. “You’ve said that to how many people?”

Jake smirked. “Doesn’t matter. It’s worked every time. I am very charming.”

Heeseung groaned again. “I’m not you, Jake.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I know. Which is why this is a 50-50 shot for you. But hey—if you don’t end up with her, can I ask her out?”

Heeseung shot him a death glare.

“Just kidding,” Jake said quickly. Then he paused. “Mostly.”

—-

It all started during lunch.

Jake leaned across the table, eyes gleaming with evil genius energy. “Operation ‘Make Them Walk Home Together So They Finally Kiss or at Least Make Prolonged Eye Contact Without Panic’ is officially in motion.”

Jay blinked. “That's… a terrible name.”

Sunghoon took a bite of his sandwich. “I kinda love it.”

Jake waved a hand. “Name pending. Point is—we trap them. She thinks she’s walking with you two. He thinks he’s walking with me. And then? We disappear. Vanish. Leave them alone. Together. With no backup.”

Jay tilted his head. “And what? Hope the romantic tension forces a confession?”

Jake smirked. “Exactly.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “This feels like emotional entrapment.”

“It is. And it’s working,” Jake said proudly. “Heeseung’s got it so bad he thought she had a thing for you.”

Sunghoon choked. “Me?”

Jay snorted into his drink. “You do ruffle her hair a lot.”

“Because she’s cute! Like a little puppy!” Sunghoon exclaimed, scandalized.

Jake shrugged. “Well, he’s spiraling. Yesterday he saw you hand her a pen and he went silent for ten whole seconds.”

Sunghoon blinked. “That’s... tragic.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, visibly entertained. “I’m in. For the record, not because I care, but her whining is starting to affect my appetite.”

“Same,” said Sunghoon. “We were on FaceTime for 2 hours and most of it was about Heeseung. I fell asleep after 10 minutes.”

Jake clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Gentlemen, you know your roles. Subtle distraction, coordinated exit, zero guilt.”

Jay raised a brow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’ve earned it,” Jake said, already standing. “He stole my last banana milk. This is revenge and service to the nation.”

—-

“Crap,” he muttered. “I forgot my earbuds in the music room.”

Jay snapped his fingers. “Oh shoot. Me too. I left my jacket in the library.”

You raised a brow. “You two always forget things at the same time.”

They both grinned. Suspiciously.

“It’s twin telepathy,” Jay said, winking.

“You’re not twins,” you deadpanned.

“We are in spirit,” Sunghoon added, already stepping backward toward the school building.

Before you could protest, they were both jogging away, waving casually.

“We’ll catch up!” Jay called over his shoulder.

“We swear!” Sunghoon added.

You stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. “...Okay?”

Then you turned around.

And there he was.

Heeseung.

Standing a few feet away, also holding his bag, looking around like he had just been ditched by someone.

Your eyes met.

Both of you froze.

Heeseung blinked. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

“I... thought he was with you?”

He furrowed his brows. “He texted me like five minutes ago saying we’d walk home together.”

You glanced down at your phone, where a suspiciously vague message from Sunghoon read: “Don’t wait for us. You got this.”

Your stomach dropped.

You looked back up at Heeseung. His phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked at you with slowly widening eyes.

Jake’s message: “Have fun ;)”

There was a beat of silence.

You both stood there.

Just you.

And Heeseung.

And an entire empty sidewalk.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck. “So... I guess we’re walking together.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess we are.”

Silence.

Then, at the exact same time:

“You don’t have to if—” “We can walk separately if—”

You both stopped.

Then laughed.

And for a moment, just a moment, the awkwardness melted. Heeseung smiled—not his usual big grin, but something softer. Warmer. Like he wasn’t so mad about being ditched.

“Let’s just walk,” he said. “Might as well.”

And even though your heart was pounding and you were still very much aware that your so-called friends had just shoved you into a live wire of unresolved tension...

You nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

So you walked.

Side by side.

You weren’t sure how Jay and Sunghoon managed to get you walking next to Heeseung but you were sure it had something to do with Heeseung’s ratty friend Jake.

Heeseung shuffled beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to ignore the weird tension in the air. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. It was funny how just a few days ago, this silence would’ve been comfortable—soft, even. But now it felt a little too loud. A little too full.

Suddenly, Heeseung’s foot caught on a small rock, and before he could stop it, he stumbled forward, arms flailing like one of those inflatable tube men outside a car dealership.

“Hee!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-panicked.

Heeseung straightened up, cheeks flushed, but laughing anyway. “Oh, so now you’re laughing at my near-death experience?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—are you okay?” you teased, though you made no effort to hide your giggles.

“Yeah,” he nodded, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Just bruised my pride, that’s all. I think the rock has a vendetta.”

The laughter between you settled, but the tension lingered like steam on a bathroom mirror. You shifted on your feet, exhaling softly. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I’ve just been… going through some stuff.”

Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What kind of stuff?”

You shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he nudged your shoulder gently. “You used to tell me everything. Even the time you cried because your goldfish ignored you for two days.”

“Nugget was emotionally manipulative,” you mumbled.

Heeseung grinned. “Still, I miss that. Not Nugget—just... when you talked to me.”

Your cheeks burned. You ducked your head. “It’s just... a little personal.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes playfully. “Like, family personal? Friends personal? Or…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to drop a bombshell. “Boy problems?”

You cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “I guess… the last one?”

He went still beside you.

“Oh…” he said, and his voice had that very specific tone guys get when they’re trying to sound neutral but are actually spiraling.

“So you’re going out with someone?”

“What?! No!” You waved your hands frantically. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” he stopped in his tracks, grabbing both your hands in his and squeezing them dramatically. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know. Think of my well-being.”

You sighed, glancing away. “Fine. It’s just… I think I like someone, and I’m not sure how to tell him.”

Heeseung swore he felt his soul leave his body. You liked someone? Was it… Was it that no-good, pretty-boy Park Sunghoon? Heeseung should’ve stuck with ballet when he was five. Or maybe joined drama. Something, anything, to compete.

“Is it Sunghoon?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You blinked at him, then let out a laugh that was way too loud for the empty sidewalk. “Ew?! No!”

He looked utterly baffled. “What? You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, and he’s always ruffling your hair and whatever.”

“He’s just a friend, Hee,” you said gently. But when your eyes dropped to the pavement, something about it made his stomach twist.

A silence settled between you before Heeseung cleared his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Well… you should just tell him.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, should I?”

He nodded, trying to keep his tone even. “Yeah. You’re... pretty. Funny. Smart. If he doesn’t like you back, then he’s probably an idiot. Or stupid. Or a fool.” He paused. “Or all three. Simultaneously.”

You snorted. “Funny you’d say that.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You waved it off. “What about you? What would you do if you liked someone?”

Heeseung hummed, pretending to think. “I’d probably always wanna hang out with them. Walk them home.”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Have them at all my basketball games. Cheering me on.”

“Right, you wouldn’t want your girlfriend missing those,” you mused.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And it’d totally suck if she stopped showing up to practice too. Especially when the whole team’s used to seeing her in the bleachers... eating snacks loudly.”

“I see how that would suck,” you said, biting your lip to hide a grin.

“I’d also wanna protect her. From oncoming bikes. Sudden rainstorms. Teachers who give pop quizzes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Protect her from quizzes? What is this, magical girlfriend armor?”

Heeseung smirked. “Exactly. I’d be her human shield.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was thudding in your chest.

“And in case she’s, I don’t know... absolute trash at directions?” he continued. “I’d wait for her. Walk her home. Walk her wherever she wanted to go. Be her personal GPS. And not even charge her.”

You muttered, “Wow. What a bargain.”

“I’d also probably carry her bag,” he added, like it was a casual afterthought—as if he wasn’t literally carrying yours right now.

You puffed your cheeks, trying to play it cool. “Okay, let’s move on to the next topic.”

“I kinda like this topic, though.”

“We get it. You’ll treat her like a princess,” you mumbled.

Heeseung laughed. “How are you not getting it?”

“Getting what?”

“Alright, fine. Let’s make it easier.” He took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers. “Who has never missed a single one of my basketball games?”

You squinted. “Uh... Jake?”

He facepalmed. “Someone not on the team.”

“Me?” you blinked. “I don’t under—”

“Who has no sense of direction?”

“Me?”

“And who always helps that person find their way?”

“You?”

He gave you a flat look. “So... do you catch my drift?”

You stared at him blankly. “No?”

He groaned. “Okay. Last question. Whose bag am I carrying right now?”

“…Mine?”

He smiled at you, exasperated and fond. “Exactly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to make a dramatic exit.

So, hesitantly, you whispered, “What are you saying?”

Heeseung let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, like it physically hurt him to keep it in a second longer, he blurted, “For god’s sake, I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

“I. Love. You,” he repeated, staring at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

Heeseung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh? That’s it? After all that?!”

“I—I mean—” You sputtered, brain rebooting. “I didn’t think—”

“God, you’re so dense,” he muttered, but the way he said it was so soft it made your knees weak.

You swallowed. “Say it again.”

He paused, then leaned in slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.”

You grinned, cheeks on fire. “Good. Because the guy I like is you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Your jaw dropped. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, but I kinda figured when you started scowling after the third time I described how I’d treat my ‘potential girlfriend.’”

You let out a groan, covering your face. “Ugh.”

He laughed, slinging an arm over your shoulders like he’d been waiting years to do that. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

“You can’t blame me for overthinking when you—YOU!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You told Jake I was just a friend!”

Heeseung froze, eyes wide. “You heard that?!”

You nodded—hard. “Word for word. ‘She’s cute, a great friend, but I don’t see her that way.’ Ring any bells?”

He winced like he’d just been personally attacked by a ghost of his own idiocy. “Okay, wow. That sounded so much worse than I meant—”

“You think?” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the person you’ve liked for years say something like that? To be standing there, holding your dumb varsity jacket like some lovesick intern, while you laugh at the idea of liking me?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“You don’t get to say you love me now and expect it to just erase that.”

His face dropped. For a moment, he looked completely lost for words—completely unlike the smug, charming boy who used to ruffle your hair and make your heart do gymnastics.

“I know,” he said finally, voice soft. “I know I messed that up. I thought... if I said it out loud, it’d make it less real. That if I kept calling you my best friend, I wouldn’t have to deal with how badly I wanted more.”

You blinked, arms slowly falling to your sides.

“I didn’t get it until you weren’t there,” he continued, gaze fixed on yours. “Until I looked for you everywhere and hated that you weren’t looking for me back. That you weren’t smiling at me like you used to. That you started smiling at Sunghoon instead—who, by the way, I totally thought you had a crush on, which sent me into a minor emotional spiral.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “You spiral?”

“I laid on the locker room floor for twenty-five minutes while Jake threw licorice at my face.”

That image alone almost broke your resolve.

Almost.

“I need you to know,” Heeseung said, his voice gentler now, “I was scared. But that doesn’t make it fair to you. And I don’t expect you to forget it overnight. But I meant what I said. I love you. Stupidly. Probably too much. And I’ll wait for you to believe that.”

You stared at him. And he stared back—like he didn’t mind if you took a second or an hour or a whole year to respond. As long as you were looking at him again.

Your heart beat so loud, you were almost sure he could hear it.

You swallowed. “Dropping the L-word before our first date is kinda crazy.”

Heeseung gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry. I should’ve started with ‘like.’”

You looked down at the ground, then back up at him.

And smiled—softly, finally. “No. I like crazy.”

[shaiyasstuff]

how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child | sylus

synopsis : You were just a quiet, book-loving college student trying to survive academia and avoid emotional damage—until Sylus crashed into your life like a hot, smug hurricane who never left. For two years, he flirted, slept on your couch, fended off frat boys, and called you “wifey,” while you convinced yourself it was all meaningless chaos. But after one drunken kiss, a fake date, and the shocking revelation that he remembers everything and actually meant it, you’re forced to confront the ridiculous truth: Sylus isn’t just hot and dumb—he’s hot, dumb, and hopelessly in love with you. And unfortunately? You might feel the same.

content : fluff, college!au, sylus being drunk(not really), crackhead energy writing, comedy

writer’s note : i had too much fun writing this, and i mean TOO much

It was a Saturday night—which, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.

A peaceful, introvert’s haven.

Your roommate had long since abandoned you for brighter, sweatier pastures, hollering, “I’m gonna get laid tonight!” as she tottered out in an outfit that could’ve doubled as a napkin.

You’d only offered her a solemn nod and returned to your paperback and playlist, cocooned in your sofa bed like a content little hermit.

Nothing could disturb your peace.

Until something did.

A knock.

You blinked at the door. Once. Twice. Frowned. Who knocks past 10 p.m.? Who dares?

Your mind immediately went to one person—your best friend, Sylus. The same Sylus who had texted earlier, bragging about some frat party he was going to “grace with his presence.” You had rolled your eyes then.

You were rolling them again now.

Still, you peeled yourself from the embrace of your blankets with a martyred sigh.

“Coming,” you muttered like a wronged Victorian heroine.

And there he was.

Sylus, leaning on your doorframe like a drunken Greek tragedy. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you in the face like an offended slap.

“W-Wha—Sy??” you gasped, arms flailing as you caught his teetering form.

He slumped against you dramatically, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like “Need… y-you,” into the crook of your neck.

Your entire spine straightened. Goosebumps. Betrayal.

“Again?” you asked, somehow dragging his dead weight into your dorm like a disgruntled EMT.

You dumped him onto the sofa, where he sprawled like a starfish in distress.

“How much did you drink?” you asked, already grabbing your emergency water bottle—standard best-friend-care protocol. You tilted it to his lips.

He tried to drink it sideways.

You sighed, loud and long. “Of course you’re useless.”

His eyes fluttered open just a crack as he sipped at the water, managing to prop himself up with one wobbly arm like he was posing for a very tragic Renaissance painting.

“You’re so… nice,” he slurred, dragging the word out with an attempt at a smirk that looked more like a sleepy grimace.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Save the drunk flirting for someone who didn’t just haul your dead weight off the hallway floor.”

This wasn’t your first Sylus Situation.

Probably wouldn’t be your last.

You and Sylus had met on the very first day of college. You’d been an eager, introverted bookworm just trying to get to your dorm before anyone could talk to you.

And then—bam—Sylus. Tall, cocky, and very lost, standing in the middle of the corridor looking as confused as a cat in a swimming pool.

He’d stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, “I need help finding the toilet.”

A moment you would never forget, nor forgive.

You had rolled your eyes back then too—but still showed him the way, mostly because he had somehow clamped onto you like a gym-sculpted koala.

To this day, you had no idea why someone at age eighteen had the physique of a Marvel extra, but you had learned not to ask too many questions when it came to Sylus.

Especially when he was drunk and whispering compliments like you were the second coming of hydration.

Now, two years in, you and Sylus were pretty much inseparable.

Not exactly by your choice, of course. He had basically crammed himself into your life like a determined cat forcing its way into a box half its size—and then refused to leave.

Ever.

But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didn’t really complain. Much.

In his own chaotic way, Sylus had proven… useful.

He was your self-appointed human shield against overly confident frat boys who thought “You read? That’s hot” was a seductive line.

More than once, he’d slung an arm around you and declared, “She’s taken. By academia. Leave her alone.”

You, in turn, had helped him survive the academic hellscape that was calculus. Which mostly meant sitting beside him during study sessions and watching him squint at formulas like they were written in ancient Sumerian.

At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.

You took the tacos and still made him do it.

It was an odd, messy sort of friendship. One built on sarcastic banter, mutual blackmail, and late-night ramen runs.

And maybe—just maybe—a little too much unspoken something lingering in the quiet spaces in between.

Like right now, for example.

He blinked blearily at you from your sofa, shirt slightly rumpled, hair a tousled mess, water bottle still clutched like a lifeline.

“You know,” he mumbled, “you’d make a great wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Drink your water before I drown you in it.”

He grabs the bottle and downs it in one dramatic go, like he was auditioning for a Gatorade commercial.

Then he thrusts it back at you with all the triumph of someone who just solved world hunger.

“There. I finished it,” he announces, his arm swaying a little as he wobbles in place, clearly very proud of his accomplishment.

You roll your eyes but take the bottle anyway, muttering something under your breath about man-children and alcohol tolerance.

You place it on the table and then, with the kind of exasperated sigh that only comes from long-term best friend duty, plop yourself down next to him on the sofa.

He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You don’t move.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s drunkenly ended up in your space.

Sylus had a talent for turning up half-conscious on your couch like some sort of overgrown housecat that went out, got into a fight, and came back demanding affection and snacks.

Still, as he leaned a bit closer, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne beneath the layers of beer and poor decisions.

That same one he always wore—the one you refused to admit you liked.

He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. “You’re warm,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Like… those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.”

You blinked. “Thank you, I think?”

He gave a lazy grin, eyes barely open. “Anytime, wifey.”

You smacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

“OW.”

You had to admit—though only internally, and only under very specific, delusional circumstances—you might have feelings for the guy.

Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Absolutely not. You’d rather eat a raw onion whole.

Besides, you and Sylus were practically heaven and earth. He walked through campus like he owned the place, girls tripping over their own feet just to bat their lashes at him. Your dorm mate had been one of them, once.

Keyword, once.

That ended the moment she got bold and tried to drape herself all over him like a weighted blanket in heat.

Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.

She hit the floor with a squeak and a very visible bruise forming on her hip.

You’d been mortified.

While Sylus looked mildly annoyed, you were busy apologizing profusely, scrambling to help her up while simultaneously smacking him on the arm.

“What is wrong with you?” you’d hissed.

“She was being gross,” he’d replied simply, like that was an acceptable answer. “And touching me.”

“She’s a human being, not a leech!”

“A touchy leech,” he muttered, unfazed.

That was the thing with Sylus.

He never asked to be popular. Girls just looked at him like he was the answer to all their bad decisions.

But you? You were the one dragging him by the ear out of messes he caused. The one making excuses.

The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz “was an act of violence.”

You were the constant.

And somehow, in a very twisted way, you were okay with that. Even if your feelings stayed buried beneath layers of sarcasm and very loud sighs.

Especially now, when he was leaning half-asleep on your shoulder, muttering something about you smelling like books and cinnamon and safety.

And damn it, you liked that too much.

Your expression softened despite yourself when you heard the soft, steady rhythm of Sylus snoring.

He had slumped a little more against your shoulder, completely out cold now, mouth slightly parted in the most annoyingly adorable way.

With a small sigh, you leaned forward, grabbing the throw blanket from the armrest and carefully draping it over both your laps. He didn’t stir.

Just exhaled, warm and slow against your collarbone.

You reached for your book again, flipping back to the page you had abandoned during The Great Drunken Entry of Sylus.

And then, as if summoned by the universe purely to torment you, your Spotify decided to betray you.

Under the Influence by Chris Brown began to play.

Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

“Oh, no,” you whispered like you were in a horror movie and the killer had just creaked open the door.

Because you remembered the last time this song had come on while Sylus was drunk—less drunk than tonight, unfortunately.

That time, he had turned to you, eyes low and voice deep, and said with a completely straight face, “This song represents the things I want to do to you.”

You had choked on your drink. He had passed out shortly after.

You had spent three business days trying to pretend it never happened.

And yet, for some completely inexplicable reason, you never removed the song from your playlist.

Why?

That was a question for your therapist.

You shot a nervous glance at Sylus’s sleeping form. He twitched a little, mumbling something unintelligible.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered under your breath. “Don’t you dare wake up.”

He let out a soft sigh.

You stared at your phone, debating if skipping the song would be too loud and risk waking him.

You decided to risk it.

Your finger hovered—then paused.

Because deep down, despite your better judgment, part of you wanted to hear what he might say if he woke up again.

And that was the real betrayal.

You scrambled through your playlist like a woman on a mission, muttering curses at your past self while frantically searching for something—anything—less incriminating than Chris Brown.

Eventually, you landed on something soft and unassuming, a gentle acoustic ballad that sounded like it belonged in a rainy café montage.

Peace.

At last.

You settled back in, the weight of Sylus still warm beside you, blanket tucked around your legs, your book finally resting in your hands again.

You exhaled slowly.

And then, without warning, the air was violently knocked out of your lungs.

“Wha—!”

One second you were comfortably seated.

The next, Sylus had flipped you flat on your back, your book flying out of your hands with a soft thud.

A startled yelp escaped your throat, legs tangled in the blanket, brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that you had just been ambushed.

He hovered over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes half-lidded but open—definitely awake now. Great.

“Sylus!” you hissed, face heating. “What the hell?!”

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he hadn’t fully emerged from dreamland yet. “You moved.”

“I was reading.”

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering across your face with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Then he mumbled, almost like a confession, “Thought you left.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I—Sylus, I live here.” You tried to squirm, but he just shifted closer, lowering himself so his forehead bumped gently against yours.

“You smell like lavender,” he whispered.

You were going to die. Right here. Of cardiac arrest and secondhand embarrassment.

“And books,” he added softly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You smell like home.”

Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or pull him closer.

You did neither.

Because the worst part?

You liked hearing that more than you should’ve.

“Why are you… so cute?” he slurs, eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath warm against your lips.

You barely had time to process the question—if it was a question—before he leaned in and slammed his lips against yours with all the grace and coordination of someone who definitely shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery.

Your brain short-circuited.

Yep. He’s super drunk tonight.

It wasn’t even a kiss, really.

More like a very committed face-plant. His lips mashed clumsily against yours, all instinct and zero finesse, like his drunk brain had gone, “Target acquired—initiate smooch protocol.”

You froze. Arms still mid-air. Eyes wide. Mind absolutely screaming.

It lasted all of two seconds before he let out a satisfied little hum and promptly collapsed against you like a human pancake, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if the kiss had been a casual prelude to nap time.

“…Seriously?” you croaked.

No response. Just light snoring and a very warm, very solid Sylus draped across your body.

You stared at the ceiling.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

You were definitely not blushing.

Not still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Not wondering why the hell your heart was racing like you’d just run a marathon.

Nope.

Totally. Fine.

—•

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds, warm and accusing. You blinked groggily, only to realize that your limbs were pinned.

Sylus was still slumped against your body, face buried in your shoulder, arm thrown around your waist like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues.

He was out, dead to the world, breathing softly like last night hadn’t been a whole fever dream.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, very carefully—like you were defusing a bomb—you began to wiggle out from under him.

One leg. Then the other.

You held your breath as you slipped free, standing over him like some war-weary survivor of battle. He didn’t stir.

Honestly, you were impressed. You could have probably vacuumed the room and he’d still be there, drooling peacefully.

You didn’t have time to process it. Class was calling.

And you had never gotten ready so fast.

By the time you made it to your seat, slightly out of breath and still pulling your hoodie over your head, your mind was already spiraling.

The lecture blurred into a series of droning syllables you couldn’t quite absorb.

Because God, you hoped he didn’t remember.

If he did—if he looked at you with that signature smirk and said anything about last night—your soul might physically evacuate your body.

You kept your head down, notebook open but blank, your pen frozen mid-air.

And still, your thoughts wandered.

Back to the feel of his lips on yours—sloppy, warm, unexpected.

Back to the sound of his voice, low and slurred, calling you cute like it was a sin he couldn’t forgive.

Back to the way your heart had reacted like it was hearing something it had been waiting for.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and before you could stop yourself, you caught it gently between them. Just to see if you could remember.

And—damn it—you could.

Which was exactly the problem.

Class ended faster than you realized.

One moment you were lost in a daze of accidental kisses and existential dread, the next, students were filing out around you and your professor was reminding everyone about next week’s quiz that you absolutely did not hear.

You packed your stuff in record time and bolted, telling yourself you’d walk it off. Or compartmentalize. Or, ideally, both.

It was a crisp morning, birds chirping, sun shining, world spinning just fine without dragging your dignity behind it. You were just starting to calm down, your feet falling into a steady rhythm along the pavement, when—

An arm slung over your shoulder.

You stiffened like someone had just hit your internal panic button.

“Thanks for not waking me,” came a familiar, smug voice from your right, laced with far too much amusement for someone who had been drooling on your hoodie six hours ago.

You turned your head slowly—like in a horror film—and there he was.

Sylus.

Disheveled but well-rested. Hair tousled. Hoodie slightly crooked on his frame.

Looking every bit like someone who had zero regrets and somehow still got eight hours of sleep.

And worse?

He was smirking.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then you exhaled, long and slow, a rush of relief loosening your spine. “So… you don’t remember anything?” you asked as casually as you could.

His smirk deepened. “Nope.”

You nodded, clutching your bag a little tighter. “Good. Great. Fantastic.”

He glanced sideways at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You look tense,” he said, as if you weren’t actively reliving one of the most unhinged nights of your life.

You kept your face blank. “Do I?”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in slightly. “We didn’t do anything weird, did we?”

Your soul briefly tried to exit your body.

You cleared your throat, gaze fixed straight ahead. “Define weird.”

Sylus chuckled, his grip around your shoulders tightening playfully. “Knew I could count on you to protect my innocence.”

You resisted the urge to shove him into a bush.

Because he didn’t remember.

And maybe that was for the best.

Right?

—•

Later that afternoon, Sylus had peeled himself away from your side with his usual casual flair, stretching like a cat and shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“Got a date,” he’d called, walking backward with that insufferable grin. “Don’t miss me too much!”

You managed a forced smile, waving him off like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Because the moment he turned the corner, a sharp, unwelcome pang bloomed in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly.

Just… something heavy. Something tight.

Something you couldn’t name without digging into places you weren’t quite ready to go.

You sighed, long and low, and forced your feet toward your next class, pretending that maybe you’d feel better if you just kept moving.

Spoiler, you didn’t.

Classes passed in a blur, lectures droning like white noise in the background.

You tried to focus, really, but your mind kept drifting—back to last night, back to his weight against you, his breath on your neck, the taste of his lips.

Back to the way he didn’t remember.

And now here he was, out on a date, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d left you in.

You returned to your dorm that night with your brain fried and your heart somewhere under your shoe.

You flopped onto your bed face-first, ready to disappear into the mattress forever, when your phone buzzed.

Sy: getting drunk again tonight lol

You groaned, dragging your pillow over your head like it could block out both the light and your bad decisions. You tossed your phone aside with more force than necessary.

“He better not come here again tonight,” you muttered to yourself.

But even as you said it… a tiny, traitorous part of you kind of hoped he would.

And that was the worst part.

Of course he did.

Because why wouldn’t he?

You stared at the door for a solid five seconds after the knock. It was almost comedic at this point.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and Sylus was its favorite punchline.

You dragged yourself up, already exhausted before you even turned the knob.

And there he was.

Leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t been out on a date just hours ago, like he hadn’t already hijacked your emotional equilibrium last night.

The now-familiar scent hit you immediately—his signature cologne, warm and clean, now drowned under the unmistakable sting of alcohol.

Not subtle this time.

He smelled like he’d gone swimming in a cocktail shaker.

He grinned at you, lazy and lopsided. “Hey, wifey.”

You stared at him. Blinked once.

Then sighed. “I literally said, ‘He better not come here again tonight.’”

He tilted his head. “But I always come here.”

You resisted the urge to bang your head against the doorframe. “You have a room. A perfectly good room.”

“But yours has you in it,” he said, like it was the most logical argument in the world.

And just like that, your heart did the thing again—the flutter, the ache, the full-body sigh of someone dangerously close to caring too much.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him stumble in and flop onto the sofa with all the grace of a drunk swan.

He missed the armrest entirely and groaned into your throw pillow.

You closed the door.

“Don’t throw up on anything,” you warned.

“Never,” came his muffled reply. “I have standards.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do.”

As you fetched the water bottle—again, you glanced over at him. Hair a mess, face flushed, shoes still on.

And yet, somehow, despite it all—despite the alcohol and the chaos and the absolutely maddening way he lived inside your head—he still looked like home.

And that was the problem.

You sighed—again—and knelt beside the sofa, already in caretaker mode. It was routine now. Predictable. You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with one hand and gently lifted it to his lips, not even bothering to ask this time.

But tonight was different.

Because he didn’t drink.

He didn’t even move.

He just stared at you.

Silent. Still.

Your brows furrowed as you held the bottle there, confused. “Sylus,” you said softly, nudging the rim against his bottom lip.

Still nothing.

You looked up, properly meeting his gaze—and froze.

He wasn’t out of it this time. His eyes, though glassy, were clear. Awake. Watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your hand slowly lowered the bottle.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes never leaving yours. “You were biting your lip in class today.”

You blinked. “Wha—how do you even—?”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he murmured, almost like an apology.

Your heart dropped.

He remembered.

He remembered.

The kiss. The things he said. The way he collapsed on you like you were something he could fall into without consequence.

He remembered everything.

Your voice caught in your throat. You straightened up a little, putting distance between you. “You said you didn’t remember.”

He smiled faintly. “I lied.”

And just like that, the air shifted—heavy, warm, dangerous. The room felt smaller. Your heart louder.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t.

You just stared back, bottle still in your hand, feeling everything you’d tried to bury clawing its way to the surface.

He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair as if he could shake off the tension clinging to the air between you.

You watched him closely, bottle still in your hand, heartbeat pounding like a warning.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you—and said quietly, “I didn’t go on a date.”

Your brows lifted.

“I didn’t even drink tonight.”

That made you pause.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. And?

Your expression said it all. So?

He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced like he needed something to hold onto.

His frown deepened, not from annoyance but from something far more raw.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, voice softer now—less teasing, more real.

You blinked.

No smirk. No sarcasm.

Just Sylus, stripped of his usual bravado, staring at you like he didn’t know what else to say—like the weight of what he felt had finally grown too heavy to carry without showing it.

And suddenly, everything felt louder.

The silence. The breath you didn’t take. The confession waiting just on the other side of his words.

Because maybe… you did get it.

You just weren’t sure you were ready to.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration like he couldn’t believe he was having to spell it out.

“Come here,” he muttered under his breath—low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

But before you could even react, his hands were on either side of your face, warm and certain, pulling you toward him.

And then—he kissed you.

Not like last night.

Not messy or sudden or slurred with alcohol and adrenaline.

This kiss was different.

It was gentle. Intentional. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the courage to say out loud.

Like he wanted you to feel it—feel him.

There was no rush. No stumble. Just soft, quiet honesty.

Your hands, unsure at first, slowly rose to grip the front of his shirt. His thumb brushed along your cheek, steadying you, grounding you.

And for a moment, the noise in your head stopped.

No questions. No what-ifs. Just the feeling of him—real, solid, and heartbreakingly tender.

When he finally pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead rested lightly against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness between you.

“I remember everything,” he whispered.

“And I meant all of it.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

The words settled between you like something fragile and warm, and terrifyingly real.

You barely had time to absorb them before he sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated.

“For someone who’s considered a nerd,” he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek again, “you’re so stupid.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a look—the one that always came right before he said something that would both annoy and fluster you to death.

“You seriously didn’t notice? Two years of me practically living in your room, fending off every guy who looked at you twice, ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on your shoulder, telling you a Chris Brown song described what I wanted to do to you—”

“I thought you were drunk!” you hissed, flushing.

“I was,” he admitted, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I was lying.”

You stared at him, heart a riot in your chest.

He leaned in again, voice softer now.

“I liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, ‘Well. That’s it. Guess I’m not letting her go now.’”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “That was… the first day of college.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, nose brushing yours. “And you’re just now catching up?”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

He laughed under his breath, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You were still staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the moment like your brain had blue-screened.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You had so many things to say, but your thoughts were tripping over each other in the hallway of your mind, arms full of emotional baggage.

He just chuckled.

Low. Warm. Smug.

That infuriating smirk curved at the corner of his lips again, the one that always spelled trouble and somehow still made your heart flutter.

“You really are slow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll just have to make it clearer.”

And before you could process that ominous statement—

He kissed you again.

But this time, it wasn’t sweet or tentative.

This kiss was deeper. Hotter.

Full of all the pent-up feelings he clearly hadn’t been hiding as well as you thought.

He pressed you back into the sofa, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other slid around your waist like he already knew he belonged there.

You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, body reacting faster than your brain could.

And he groaned—low in his throat, like just the sound of you was enough to unravel him.

He pulled back only a breath’s distance, lips barely brushing yours, voice rough. “Still think I’m joking?”

You couldn’t think at all.

And maybe, for once, that was okay.

You didn’t answer him.

You couldn’t.

Because the second your breath hitched, the second your lips parted like you might say something—he kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was consuming.

All heat and hunger and tension finally unraveling between two people who had been orbiting each other for far too long.

Sylus pressed you further into the cushions, his body aligned with yours like he belonged there. Like this had always been inevitable.

His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver, while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency—soft and then firm, teasing then demanding.

Your hands were in his hair before you even realized, pulling him closer, needing more. He groaned into the kiss, low and strained, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with restraint. “Always walking around in those stupid sweaters, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You whimpered as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made your back arch slightly into him. His name slipped out of you before you could stop it—breathy, half-plea, half-warning.

He stilled for half a second, like he needed to hear it again.

“Sylus,” you whispered, and just like that, the last thread of control snapped.

His hands were under your sweater now, fingers splayed across your waist, not rushing—just feeling. Like he wanted to memorize you. Commit every inch of you to memory.

You gasped when his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper. As if he were trying to tell you something he didn’t quite know how to say.

And in between every kiss, every breath, every graze of skin, you heard it loud and clear.

I want you.

I’ve always wanted you.

Only you.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your hands were still fisted in his shirt, your bodies still pressed close, but you needed a second—needed to breathe. Because what the hell just happened?

“Holy shit,” you whispered, voice raw and dazed.

Sylus stilled, eyes searching yours, flushed and breathless. “Too much?”

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. “No. I just…”

Your brows furrowed, a stunned laugh escaping you.

“I’ve been walking around thinking you didn’t feel the same for two years?” you said, incredulous, voice cracking on the last word.

Sylus blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“You hid it ridiculously well!”

“I practically moved into your dorm.”

“You ate my snacks and called me wifey. That’s not a confession, that’s just being annoying.”

He laughed, the sound husky and breathless. “I flirted with you constantly.”

“I thought that was just your default setting! You flirt with the barista.”

“I don’t press her against the sofa and kiss her like I’m about to lose my mind,” he muttered, his voice low, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Only you.”

Your heart clenched, hard.

The air between you shifted again, softer now—less fire, more gravity.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t want to know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I thought… if I hoped too much, I’d ruin it.”

His fingers curled gently around the side of your neck, grounding you. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

“I’ve been yours,” he said quietly, “since the first day you showed me where the toilet was.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—and kissed him again.

This time, you didn’t stop.

You kissed him like you were catching up on everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment since that first awkward hallway encounter.

There were no more games. No more pretending. Just whispered names and stolen breath, soft laughs between kisses, and the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

By the time you fell asleep tangled in each other on the sofa—his hand on your waist, your head tucked under his chin—it was quiet.

Not the lonely kind.

The peaceful kind.

The kind that only comes when you’ve stopped running from something… and finally let yourself fall.

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[pearlessance]

Beneath the Armor —part one

summary: Joel Miller has been the center of all the gossip in the trailer park since he tragically lost his daughter. He's short-tempered and mean as hell, his hostility no doubt spurred on by that beer he always has in hand. But when you need a ride to work and he's your last resort, you come to find he's much more than what meets the eye.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI (not in this part but in part two!), ANGST with a happy ending, grief, mention of child loss, daddy issues, age difference, slow burn, attempted seduction, use of alcohol, and references to alcohol abuse, brat taming, eventual smut

wc: 6.9k

note: this entire concept is owed to my bff joelmillersgirlfriend over on AO3! we've cowritten this together (to the shock of no one, i'm pretty sure i need her to write at this point), and if you haven't gone over there to read her stuff by now then you're missing out!! part two coming soon <3 let us know what you think!

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Talking to Joel Miller was like pulling teeth with a rusty old plier, one by one, nerve by nerve. He used his silence, his pity like a suit of armor. Meant to protect him, but still wrapped around a man who was too scared to confront his fears. To learn his own forgiveness. 

You had vaguely known him since you were a senior in high school and had seen him and his little girl move into the trailer across from yours. You were sitting on the front porch, occasionally sipping from the iced lemonade in your hand. Summer had come in hot, and the beaming sun was relentless during the first humid weeks of July. 

Joel and Sarah had been the talk of the neighborhood — the dad and the little girl with an oxygen tank. You heard the rumors from some of your friends in the trailer park - that Joel couldn’t afford to keep up with her medical bills, so he had to sell his house and abandon the business he had built up with his bare hands. 

Still, she was a fighter until her last breath. Joel, however, died the day Sarah did. She had only lived for eleven months after moving into the park. What was once a motivated little family fighting hard against the disease soon became a single man inside of an empty shell. 

His warm smiles that he would give to neighbors who brought Sarah over toys and “get well soon!” cards soon turned into nothingness — a dark, empty expression. Joel stopped going out as much, replacing soccer balls and dirty sneakers with whiskey and cigarettes. He no longer stood out on his porch, playing guitar and smiling at you once he met your eyes from your own porch. 

Kathy, who lived directly next to you, begged her husband, Parker, to call the cops for a wellness check for Joel. On the first anniversary of her death, he didn’t leave the house for a week. 

“Mind your own business. God only knows how he’s havin’ to cope; seeing cops knocking on his front door in the middle of the night won’t help nothing.”

You had to admit you were more than a little relieved when you saw him finally emerge, tired-looking with heavy eyes. He got in his car and left before coming back thirty minutes later, a new case of beer in tow.

You spent too much time observing him, ensuring he was alright, even if he didn’t know that. With no dad that you could remember and a mother who remarried some douchebag and skipped town after you were old enough to live on your own, all you had was time. After senior graduation, your friends in the park found a way to escape to college, but you were stuck and unable to escape, just like Joel. 

While your friends went to get a degree, you found a job at a bar up the road. It was grimy and far beyond your dream, but you earned good tips. With responsibilities that caused you to stay and a deep fear of failure, you could not leave the town you’d grown up in. 

Out of desperation, you’d leaped and applied to some college several towns away. It was a spur-of-the-moment impulse, an unrealistic kind of thing. It’s not like you’d be able to afford it anyway. 

So it was a cycle: wake up, work, sleep, and do it all over again. You understood how Joel must feel, trapped in a never-ending pattern, reliving memories that couldn’t ever really go away — not entirely.

And of course, you understood what it was like being handed the short end of the stick. You both wound up in the same place, after all. 

Which was what led you to walk towards Joel’s trailer one evening. Your shift at work was about to start, but your car wouldn’t crank. You'd tried going to Kathy’s house first, but nobody answered. You couldn’t lose your job, already having too many tardies because of your piece of shit car.

The soles of your shoes crunched against the leaves on Joel’s front porch step, your eyes moving to look at him sitting in a plastic lawn chair. His hair was getting long, hanging over his eyes wildly. 

Joel bristled when he noticed you standing on his front porch step, a cigarette hanging between his lips. You’d never been this close to him. It was much easier to see how handsome he was up close: thick hair, a graying beard. Simply too easy on the eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes slipping away from your face and down to your outfit. You always dressed up for work, knowing it’d get you extra tips. Maybe you went a little overboard with the fishnets and the amount of cleavage you were showing, but it always paid off in the end.

His hips shift in his seat, waiting for you to answer his question. 

You cleared your throat, standing up straight to make yourself feel more significant compared to the giant man. “I’m sorry to bother you. My car won’t start, and I’m gonna be late for work.”

Joel glared up at you. “So?”

Taken aback by his hostility, you paused, hesitating. You knew that he was a sad man, but nobody had told you that he was an asshole.

“So… I was hoping you could give me a ride. I could pay you for the gas and-“

Joel stood up in the middle of you talking, the wood creaking under his boots as he walked to the front door and into the house. You faltered, standing stupidly on this rude man’s front porch step.

With a huff, you spun around, leaving the porch. “Fuckin’ asshole,” you muttered under your breath, suddenly jumping at the sound of the screen door slamming shut behind you. Joel had returned, this time with keys in his hand and a brown t-shirt pulled over his white wife's beater. 

“Say somethin’?” Joel asked, walking ahead but narrowing his eyes directly at your face. 

“Nope,” you quickly chirped, rushing to catch up with him. “I thought you’d left me standing outside.”

“‘Bout did,” Joel grumbled under his breath, unlocking the truck door before climbing in. It was your turn to narrow your eyes at Joel, rolling them at the asshole. Even though he was an unexpected dickhead, you had to admit that you enjoyed the way his arms flexed as he pulled himself into his truck.

The drive to the bar was filled with mostly silence, except for the hum of some Radiohead album playing on the radio. Joel had the truck windows rolled down, the wind whipping the loose strands of your hair around your face. 

You tried to subtly glance over at him, watching the same cigarette from earlier placed between his plush lips. Without thinking, you reached over, plucking the cigarette away from his mouth. 

His dark eyes snapped at you in disbelief as he watched you inhale his cigarette, the residue from your lipstick staining the filter. You weren’t sure why you needed to catch Joel’s attention, but you were sure it somehow related to how he was ignoring you. It made you crave his attention. Fucking daddy issues. 

“Now you owe me gas money and a pack of Marlboro’s,” Joel said, reaching over to swipe the cigarette out of your mouth. He eyed the lipstick stain, sighing in annoyance before deciding the nicotine was worth it. 

Your blood warmed at the thought that Joel’s lips touched where yours had just been, indirectly tasting your mouth. His eyes flickered over to you, watching him, a low frown on his face. 

“What’s a girl like you workin’ at Dazzlers anyways?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his remark. “I’m a bartender, not a lap dancer,” you said, prompting Joel to give you an eye roll in return.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, almost so quietly that you didn’t notice, but you did. You understood that he had been through a lot, but Christ, there was no need to take it out on you. You swallowed your pride, knowing he was your last resort to not being fired.

Despite the weird tension and the silence, you found yourself drawn to Joel’s brooding energy, glancing at him occasionally through the darkness. 

Apparently, he was more observant than you thought.

“Need somethin’?” he questioned, not even glancing in your direction. Maybe it had to do with dad spidey senses or something, but being caught had made your blood warm in your veins.

You shook your head, unable to bite your tongue. 

“Nobody told me that you were such a dickhead.”

To your surprise, Joel didn’t even falter, with almost no response to your jab at his aggressive demeanor. 

“Yeah, well, watchin’ your daughter deteriorate right in front of you can change a man,” he replied bluntly, taking a long drag of his cigarette without even looking away from the road. 

It made you instantly feel bad, regretting your words no matter how much truth they held. 

“That’s not what I meant-“ you tried to explain, but Joel waved his hand, dismissing your excuse. His large palm made a rush of air past your face, your eyes blinking at him in response.

“Just leave it,” Joel grumbled, so you obeyed. It wasn’t for long before you arrived at your job, your eyes watching the bright neon lights flashing through the parking lot. You rifled through your purse, attempting to retrieve a couple of bills, but Joel’s palm wrapping around your own stopped you.

Bright-eyed, you looked up to meet his gaze, his usual timid expression replaced with one of determination. 

“You don’t gotta pay me.”

Strong words coming from someone who was just belittling you for owing him money for gas and cigarettes.

“I don’t wanna owe you anything. Just let me give you a couple of dollars and we’ll call it even,” you said, attempting to rifle back through your bag, but being stopped by his massive palm once again.

“Who’s gonna bring you back home tonight?” Joel questioned, his concern genuinely surprising you. Before you shrugged, you allowed your defenses to fall, mostly due to your shock.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.”

Joel shook his head, rolling his eyes at your half-assed answer. “What time does your shift end?”

You paused, pulling your purse to your chest before glancing at the front of the building. Did you really want Joel to pick you up? Was sitting through another weirdly comforting yet intense ride worth it?

When you looked back at Joel, he didn’t seem willing to take no for an answer; his eyebrows were drawn into an almost scowl-like expression. Sighing with exasperation, you finally spoke. 

“We close at midnight.”

He nodded in response, breaking his intense eye contact with you before opting out to seemingly judge the building itself. It was a rough place, with neon lights flashing and motorcycles lined up at the entrance. It certainly looked more intimidating than it actually was. 

You were surprised when Joel decided to bite his tongue, not slipping out with some smart allelic response about the place. Instead, he hummed, a quick and easy response to your answer.  

“I’ll see you then,” he replied, but something about his words made your chest burn, like it was almost a promise that he’d be there to look out for you. To protect you. 

He did wind up picking you up that night and numerous nights after you explained to him that your alternator had given out and your car would be in the shop for a couple of days. He never argued or took your gas money despite the way he grumbled under his breath when you knocked at his front door at quarter past three. 

It was almost routine to have Joel take you to and from work, and when your car was back in operation, you nearly didn’t want to tell him. Though your time together hadn’t really given you a glimpse into the man Joel truly was since he hardly spoke, it allowed him to get to know you.

You’d rambled on about your absent father, how your mom had abandoned you once she realized you could support yourself. Never did he judge or belittle you. He’d always listen and make sure you were heard. 

Despite that, he never answered your questions when you’d pried at him. Asking him about family? No go. The business he’d given up? Of course not. 

Anything about Sarah?

The first and only time you had fished for information about her, you thought he was going to toss you out of his car. His eyes narrowed and fists clenched the steering wheel, an audible growl of anger leaving his throat.

“You ever say her name again, and you can walk to work, understand?” 

You hadn’t seen much of his anger explode like that before, except during the unexpected arrival of his brother, Tommy. It was on the evening that you finally got your car back, and as you mustered the courage to walk over to Joel’s trailer to let him know that he didn’t have to take you back and forth, you noticed something. In front of his crumbling front deck was a dark pick-up truck, one that didn’t belong in a place like this. It was sparkling new, clearly waxed, with big, gleaming rims.

Before you even had the chance to think much about it, you heard a shout inside Joel’s trailer, a booming voice that almost made you scurry back to your own home.

“I already told you, Tommy! I’m not doin’ it!” Footsteps tracked through the house, heavy boots against weak plywood practically shaking the trailer. You could see shapes pass by the front window, suggesting that both Joel and his seemingly unwanted guest were about to come outside.

Now you were actually scurrying across his lawn, attempting to retreat back from Joel’s yard before you were spotted, but the front door opened too quickly. Thankfully, the heated conversation between him and who you assumed to be Tommy precluded their heated gazes from meeting yours. 

Without wanting to assume who Tommy was, he certainly looked like he was related to Joel - their intense glares were almost identical. The height, the face-shapes, all of it. Even Tommy’s deep drawl matched as he bellowed in return. 

“I don’t understand why you gotta be so goddamn stubborn. Here I am, drivin’ halfway across the county just to see you, to give you an opportunity to get out of this shithole, but instead, you’re chosin’ to live in a shell and letting yourself wind up just like-”

Joel’s frame towered over Tommy’s despite the considerable height that Tommy had himself. Something dark was brewing beneath Joel’s features, clearly quite close to boiling over. Even though you knew you were watching an intense, private moment, you had never seen this kind of emotion from Joel before. You were almost bewitched, unmoving, questioning if you should intervene to stop a potential fight from breaking out.

Tommy’s nostrils were flared, his chest pressed against Joel’s, while Joel’s fists were clenched into a tight ball, threatening to strike like a snake. 

“I told you last time. Bring her up again, and you won’t have a mouth left to speak from.”

Tommy scoffed. “She was just as much mine as she was yours, Joel. Just because you ran away when things got hard and buried yourself deeper and deeper into a hole doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.” He began to stomp off of the front porch, making his way to the truck that was parked in the driveway. 

“But that’s fine! This will be the last damn time I come over thinkin’ that maybe you’re ready to change. Go ahead and delete my number from your phone.”

Both you and Joel, as well as a couple of other neighbors who had decided to leave their houses to view the commotion, watched Tommy’s truck tires screech against the pavement. His departure was bitter and final, an angry bite to the way he spit those words.

You can’t imagine being on the receiving end of them, and when you turned your head to glance at Joel, you found his eyes boring into you. His shoulders are pulled tight, and his jaw is set, and he said nothing as he stepped back into his trailer and slammed the door hard behind him. 

Perfect timing, you thought to yourself. There’s never been a better day for your car to have been up and running again. You didn’t waste time lingering in his yard.

But before you can feel the pavement of the narrow street beneath your sneakers, his disgruntled voice cut through the air. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

You turned to face him, unsure of yourself. Joel’s an asshole, you know that much, but you didn’t think you’ve ever seen him this worked up and angry. “Uhm…about that. I was just coming to tell you that I don’t need a ride today-”

Joel scoffed and shook his head, keys jingling in his hand “Get in the damn truck,” he said, venom on his tongue. And you know he’s not mad at you, but your stomach turned at his fury anyway. “Gonna be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Tomorrow, you decide. You’ll tell him about your car tomorrow. But for now, you do as he said. While he stuck the key in the ignition and turned the engine over, you climbed into the passenger seat, which still smelled faintly of your perfume from the night before.

He pulled onto the road and started the familiar route to the bar, his movements rehearsed and, by now, muscle memory. You sat in silence as he steered with one hand and pulled a cigarette from the center console with the other. He lit it, inhaled the nicotine deep into his lungs, and let out a heavy sigh.

You wondered if you should say something. A million questions are pressed against the back of your teeth. But now isn’t the best time to poke and prod for a glimpse into the man he is outside of what you’ve seen with your own two eyes. So you decided to say something else instead, something that might grant him a little relief. “My car is fixed. That’s what I was trying to tell you. So, tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about giving me rides anymore.”

He glanced at you briefly and then shook his head. “No.”

The word is so simple and definitive in his mouth that it caught you off guard. So much so that you found yourself fighting amusement. “What do you mean no?”

“Just what I said, damn it. You hard of hearing all of a sudden?”

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hadn’t wanted to press his buttons. Truly. But what right does he have to spew insults as if you were the one screaming at him on his front porch? Your tone was condescending as you said, “Come on. Try it with me; congrats! I’m sooo happy things are finally going your way! I’m glad I could be of help! No problem at all-!”

“Cut that shit out.”

“Me? You first.”

His jaw feathered as he clenched his teeth. He ashed his cigarette out of the open window and then sighed again, calmer this time. “Alright. I’m…”

“Sorry?”

His throat bobbed as if he tried to get the word out but it didn’t quite make it to his tongue. Instead, he just said, “Yeah.”

This time, you’re the one sighing. “It’s okay.”

Another few seconds of silence passed between you, but they were not as uncomfortable as they’d been when you’d first gotten into the truck. Less tension, less anger. And then he said, “Don’t want you drivin’ anywhere in that thing in the middle of the night.”

Your heart pinched in your chest at the words. They’re said with a certain sort of irritation, but yet they’re still so… protective. It’s not something you’ve ever had before, but in the last few days he’s given you a taste and it isn’t until now that you realized you’d developed a craving for it. “Why not?”

“Ain’t safe. Could break down again any second. Leave you stranded at midnight in the middle of nowhere. God knows the kinda people you’re servin’ at that place, would consider themselves lucky to find ya on the side of the road.” He shook his head as if to clear the image from his mind. “I’ll just keep takin’ ya.”

Even though you fought the warmth that crawled up your cheeks, you know he could tell his words did something to you. Joel’s attention left the road for only long enough to steal a fleeting glance at your face, and when he turned back to the task at hand he snorted incredulously. 

But it’s the first time that anyone has ever considered your safety and altered their routine to make it a priority. It makes you feel special and warm and…wanted. And you know it’s likely your daddy issues blurring the lines once again, but you just can’t help yourself or the way your mind jumped to conclusions. “Is that your way of saying you care about me?”

He pressed his fingertips into his temple to massage away a headache. “Stop that.”

You didn’t listen. Of course, you don’t. You leaned in closer, hands on the empty leather seat between you. “Aww… who would've thought Joel Miller would secretly be a softie?” You’d never been so close to him before, so close that you could see the brown-colored freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose.

You swallowed down your sudden nerves due to the close proximity, enjoying the way Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I said cut it out. Sit back down the right way ‘fore I get a ticket.”

It was impossible to follow his orders now, not after seeing how easy it was to rile him up.

Moving even closer, your lips a breath's distance away from Joel’s neck, you whispered, “I think you like the attention.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” he huffed back, but his voice lacked the bite he intended, much softer than the way he was yelling at Tommy earlier. His gaze flicked over to you, watching with an intense curiosity, but only momentarily. 

“I won’t tell you again,” Joel commanded, brushing you back to your seat with a gentle shove of his elbow.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” you questioned, although you were sitting back in your seat like he asked you to. “Punish me? Spank me?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, I oughta. Maybe it’d finally teach you some manners,” Joel glanced over to catch your eye. “Anyone ever told you that you got a real weird sense of humor?”

Shrugging, you couldn’t help the slide smirk that spread across your face. “Blame it on my daddy issues.”

Joel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief, a red flush rising from the top of his collarbones and up his neck.

“Lord help me,” he whispered under his breath. 

You granted him a bit of grace, ending your teasing and opting to enjoy the sound of music playing on the radio for the rest of the ride. It was always peaceful riding with Joel, the heat of the summer breeze warming your face. 

From the heady smell of Joel’s Marlboros to the shrill voice of The Smashing Pumpkins playing over the speakers; the comfort of the situation always made you want to break down Joel’s walls. You wanted to see what he was like when he was entirely vulnerable, what he looked like when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have the opportunity to remember all his worries.

From that moment, you decided that you would get Joel to open up one way or another.

Your heart dropped a little when he pulled into the bar's parking lot, his tires crunching against the loose gravel. Joel’s long fingers were swift, reaching to the radio to turn down the music. 

Things felt weird, that same intensity from the moment you’d gotten into the car returning. It felt like he wanted to say something, his mouth twitching before his lips were pressed into a straight line.

“I wasn’t joking, y’know,” you said, hoping to break the awkward silence of saying goodbye. 

Joel didn’t say anything, the curious raise of his eyebrow speaking for him. 

“About wanting you to spank me,” you snipped back, hopping out of his truck right after you admitted it to him. You could see what appeared to be a stifled smile forming on his lips as he shook his head. It made you feel good that you were able to distract him from reality for even a couple of minutes. God knew he needed it.

“See you at midnight. Stay out of trouble,” he called back from his truck, waiting to leave until he watched you safely enter the building.

He was on your brain your entire shift, which wasn’t unusual. What was different now was the pieces of information you’d found out, ranging from his argument with Tommy and his little resistance to your flirting.

So, of course, curiosity killed the cat. On your break you found yourself googling a string of searches; Joel Miller, Tommy, Joel and Tommy, until eventually you landed on an old company website.

Miller Bros Construction Company.

It was outdated, with inquiries and testimonials from years ago, but it did answer a couple of your questions. After clicking on the “about us” tab, you saw a photo of a much younger, happier-looking Joel. 

His arm was thrown around Tommy’s shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face. If you didn’t know every inch of Joel’s face, you would’ve considered that it wasn’t actually him. He looked so… happy. It broke your heart to know that he had become half of the man he used to be.

‘Brothers Joel and Tommy Miller have been serving the greater population of Austin, TX for several years,’ the tab read, confirming your suspicions that they were related. You glanced at Tommy, happily smiling next to Joel, directly contradicting what you’d seen earlier.

The inquiry tab at the bottom was broken, redirecting to a no longer active form.

Christ. His daughter's death had indeed ruined him. It had sucked all of the happiness out of Joel, leaving him angry and alone. He pushed everything good and decent away.

You spent the rest of your break lurking, sifting through Tommy’s Facebook page, seeing his now solely owned business booming. He had a pretty fiancé, and things honestly looked good for him. You noticed that Joel was nowhere on his page, but you would occasionally see photos of Tommy and Sarah beaming together before she’d gotten sick.

The guilt of it all had eaten at you, so severely that you decided to buy a burger plate before the kitchen closed for the night. Joel had gone out of his way to take care of you, to take you back and forth from work, even though he grumbled about it. He deserved to feel taken care of in return.

Plus, you were almost certain that his diet mainly consisted of cigarettes and alcohol. How he still looked so goddamn good was a question you’d never have answered.  

When you left work, it was like clockwork; Joel’s truck sat outside the building, waiting for you.

The sun was long gone by now, so it was difficult to see Joel sitting in the driver's seat. You’d hoped that he had cooled off from earlier, especially now that you know more about the context of the argument. 

You plopped into the passenger seat, greeting Joel only by placing the plate of food on the center console.

“What’s this?” Joel questioned, no hello or how was your shift? Typical Joel Miller.

“What’s it look like? I got you dinner.”

He rolled his eyes, pointing a finger at the clock display. “It’s midnight.”

“And…?” He raised his brows and you clicked your tongue in response. “When was the last time you had a meal that wasn’t made in a microwave?”

Joel fixed you with a stare, and something lingered in his eyes that you couldn’t quite make out. It’s as if he’s trying to decide whether to yell at you or simply say thank you. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” he stated, but there was no malice in it. 

“I know. I wanted to.” You shrugged casually because it was truly nothing to you. But apparently, Joel didn’t see it that way.

The truck sat idle in the parking lot. He said nothing for several seconds, which felt far too long. It was dark—the only illumination provided was the distant street lamps outside, but you swore you could see the corners of his mouth turn up. Not quite a smile, but something. And it made you feel so victorious that you thought about mentioning it, about making some snide remark, but know better by now. 

Instead, you teased him. “At this rate, I might as well pack a bag and stay the night here.”

Joel scoffed but turned the key in the ignition anyway. “You got a mouth on you, girl. That’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t sent me away yet. So there must be something you like about it, right?”

He doesn’t agree but he doesn’t deny it, either. Still, sarcasm dripped off his tongue as he said, “Somethin’ like that.”

When he turned the radio up, a rock ballad played and put you at ease. You start to realize that these quiet moments with him are the lightest part of your days. Nothing to think about but the way the cool wind hit your face and the sound of his soft humming from behind the wheel. It’s simple and good and you feel safe.

When he pulled into the trailer park a short while later, you almost hated to see it end. For a split second, you debated inviting him over in an attempt to extend your time together. But you knew that after the day he’s had, he probably didn’t want the company. So instead, you gathered your things and hopped out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hang on a sec.”

You paused with your hand on the passenger door. “Yeah?”

Joel hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was, “Uh..” His eyes darted everywhere but yours. The dashboard, the steering wheel, his hands - everywhere but you.

He’s nervous, you realized. Uneasy. You tried to comfort him. “What is it?”

“I, uh…I was just wonderin’ if, I don’t know. You wanna… split it with me?” He pointed to the takeout container. “Or you could have a drink, or…do you drink?”

Your heart was doing somersaults behind your sternum. A girlish giggle left you despite your attempts to hide your excitement. Through a face-splitting grin, you asked, “Like a date?”

“Christ,” he sneered. “You know what? I take it back. Never-”

“I’m kidding!” Your laughter filled the cab of the truck. “I’m just kidding, Joel, I swear. Of course, I’ll come in for a drink.”

He looked hesitant, and at first, you thought it was because of how you’d been pulling his leg all night. By the time you had made it inside of his trailer, you realized that he was probably a little nervous on account of the mess in his living room.

Empty bud light bottles covered the surface of the side table next to his couch. An ashtray haphazardly placed on the kitchen counter was long overdue to be emptied, ash and half-smoked cigarettes threatening to spill over. Next to it were a couple of prescription bottles, the print too small for you to make out what they were supposed to be treating.

No matter how you felt about the place, you understood how difficult it all must’ve been for Joel. It wasn’t dirty or anything, just unkempt, a man overwhelmed by grief too distracted to focus on cleaning.

“It’s not much to see, but feel free to make yourself at home,” Joel said, slipping past you at the front door to place the bag of food down on the kitchen counter. You watched him momentarily, taking in the normalcy of his routine.

His movements to wash his hands before eating, the clatter of plates being pulled out of the dishwasher. Watching him in his element relaxed you. You tried to envision what it was like in the home when Sarah was still alive, filling the space with her innocent laughter. 

“I won’t bite,” Joel spoke, pulling you out of your own head. Your gaze refocused, a quiet sense of fulfillment washing over you as you watched him for a fleeting second. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you chirped back, toeing out of your work shoes and heading over to his leather couch. A knitted blanket thrown across the leather prevented the back of your legs from pressing against the cold material, and you were grateful. 

“Do you get pleasure outta givin’ me a hard time or something?” Joel asked, plopping next to you. He slid a plate over to your side of the coffee table, pulling the table forward slightly so you’d be able to reach it easier. He placed two beers on the table, too, and cracked the seal of yours. It’s such a small but gentlemanly thing to do, and you try not to think too hard about how it makes your heart swell.  

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until he unwrapped the bag and split the food between the two of you, your stomach growling in response. 

“I just like seeing you squirm,” you joked, noticing how Joel shook his head and snorted under his breath. Both of you ate together, quietly but comfortably. 

You were sure that Joel spent most of his nights like this, in his living room with the TV flashing light across the walls of the house. It made you feel good that you were there to change his routine so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

The longer that time passed and the less food on your plate created an odd sense of pressure, that you were running out of time to pull something new out of Joel. Being in his home was an accomplishment on its own, but you still had a challenge with yourself to learn even more.

“Do you wanna, uh,” you began to speak, picking at one of your fries to fill the awkward space, “y’know… talk about earlier?”

“Nope,” he replied without hesitation, which you probably should’ve expected. Your pout was uncontrollable, discouraged by his instant lack of vulnerability. But you weren’t going to force him to talk, because he’d for sure shut down. 

“Not to be cheesy or anything, but you’re pretty decent to be around, once you stopped being an asshole all the time,” you said, finishing the final bite of your fry. “If you ever need to talk about shit, I’m probably the best option you got here. Kathy tells everyone’s business, so.”

Joel actually chuckled at that, a deep, rumbling sound that made your gut twist. “I didn’t plan on talkin’ to anybody about anything, much less Kathy. But thanks.”

You nodded, a pang of disappointment flickering through your abdomen.

That night, you thanked him for the company and he promised to meet you in the afternoon right on time. The same routine you’ve had all week. 

You and Joel get good at routines. Because the next night when you brought him dinner again, he didn’t even ask if you’d like to eat with him. He just said, “Picked up some sodas earlier. Figured you might want that instead of beer.”

And just like that, it became a nightly thing. The cooks at the bar don’t even ask what you want any more, they simply have the food finished by the time you’re ready to meet Joel in the parking lot. You had even occasionally fallen asleep in his living room, the comforting sound of the TV humming and Joel’s even breathing lulling you to sleep.

He always made sure to throw a blanket over you and quietly slip into his room, never waking you or forcing you to leave. It was an unspoken rule.

So, due to your growing interest in Joel and alleviating some of his stress, you decided to take a leap. One morning you’d woken up on Joel’s couch after falling asleep there the night before. Joel wasn’t home, which wasn’t unusual since he sometimes picked up odd jobs at the mechanic's shop in town to pay the bills. 

It was the perfect opportunity to clean his house. You weren’t sure how he was going to feel about it, but you were only going to take out the trash and leave everything else as it was. You didn’t need him hollering at you for moving his shit around.

You had a good four hours to just clean out the place, and Jesus, you needed it. It appeared that he didn’t have any other cleaning products besides bleach and dish soap, which you couldn’t really use to get some old stains out of the carpet. It had taken you an hour of rifling through your own stuff to get the correct products and supplies to make a dent. 

By the time you finished a couple hours later, you had three trash bags full of random newspapers, beer cans, and whatever other miscellaneous stuff you were sure Joel wouldn’t be upset to part with. Surprisingly, you hadn’t seen anything belonging to Sarah, no pictures hanging on the wall, no toys, nothing that indicated that anyone besides Joel had lived there.

That was until you’d decided to step into the room towards the back of the trailer. Joel’s bedroom was hardly used, his bed made and room clean, indicating that he probably spent most of his nights on the couch, so you didn’t bother cleaning that space. You were, however, curious about the spare room.

As soon as you’d opened it, you knew why you couldn’t find anything of Sarah’s. It was like a museum, a room stuck in time. Light pink paint covered the wall, the late afternoon sun streaming in colorful rays through the sheer purple curtains. The bed was made, without a wrinkle in sight, with a little teddy bear tucked in, as if it was keeping the bed warm for Sarah’s return.

You stepped in a little, taking in the small details; the photos of Joel and Sarah hugging on the wall, a little caboodle makeup box, and nail polishes lined up against the dresser. What truly broke your heart was the oxygen tank that was placed next to her bed, still attached to the mask. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” spoke a voice from behind you, almost causing your body to jump out of its skin. You whipped around to see an absolutely fuming Joel watching you with narrowed eyes. You stammered, quickly trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I was cleaning and I thought, I mean I was thinking that-“

Joel quickly approached you, his face only a mere breath away from yours. You were too anxious to even notice the closeness because you knew he was beyond pissed. You don’t think he was even this mad when he was fighting with Tommy.

“I don’t know why you think that you’re entitled to comin’ into my life, touchin’ my shit, steppin’ foot into this room, but guess what? You’re not.” He spat, stepping even closer to you. You felt tiny, like a bug ready to be squashed by a foot. 

“You don’t mean shit to me. Just because your life is fucked up doesn’t mean I need you to try to come into mine and save me. I don’t wanna be saved. Now get the hell outta my house,” he spoke, his voice unwavering and scarily calm. It took every ounce of strength inside of you not to cry, not to shout, because you knew he didn’t mean it. You had crossed his invisible line, despite not doing it intentionally.

But you weren’t strong enough to control your emotions, and eventually, the pressure of Joel’s angry words left your eyes watering. Though your jaw was clenched and your face wasn’t giving much away, Joel easily saw past the facade and noticed the tears welling up in your eyes.

And he scoffed. A quick laugh, right in your face, at seeing your tears. 

“Christ, you gonna cry now? Upset that you don’t got no daddy here to comfort you, gotta take out all your trauma on me? Fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Your tears turned from hurt, into angry, hot streams rolling down your face.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

You could feel your blood pumping in your head, so angry that you could break something. He was lucky that you made your way straight out of his house instead of grabbing all of the trash bags and pouring them right back onto the floor. 

You knew that he was self-destructing, that he was pushing you away because you were too good for him, but it didn’t make his words hurt any less. He wasn’t wrong. You did take interest in him because he was broken, similar to yourself. Despite that, it didn’t hurt any less.

As painful as it was to believe, you began to wonder if he had fooled you.

Maybe all that remained of Joel Miller was the worst part of him.

[ryker-writes]

Hello 👋 Ryker!

Can you write more headcanon of Dating Idia and Malleus (Poly relationship) maybe how each of the family or friends react to their relationship.

Of course! It makes me very happy that people liked the poly headcanons so much and want to see more! And I’m happy to deliver!

Request rules and masterlist

First part

More general thoughts:

Idia and Malleus are quite the pair to be dating

Once the students around the school are able to confirm it’s true that you are, in fact, dating both of them, news spreads quickly

Malleus doesn’t care so much about the news, why shouldn’t people know you’re together?

Idia however, is very overwhelmed by it all

Regardless of how long you’ve been dating, he still sometimes has these moments of thinking “How did I get here? Did I upgrade my charisma stats without knowing? Was it the charisma stat that made them fall, or was it a different stat?”

And as someone who prefers to stay in the background and avoid the public eye, the fact that everyone at school knows you’re dating him and Malleus causes a lot of panic

We’re talking like barely leave his room even just into Ignihyde kinda panic

It takes a while for him to calm down, and he gets spooked when people bring it up thinking they’re comparing him to Malleus

He might subtly be inviting you to his room more often because he needs the support without saying he needs he support

Speaking of support, let’s talk about how they want support/show support

Now these two are more reserved people, and tend to keep a lot of their thoughts inside and tend to stray away from large crowds. That being said, they simply enjoy your presence being in the same area as them, double the effect if both you and the other are there

Malleus enjoys having you and Idia there, and Idia enjoys having you and Malleus there (regardless of how out of place Malleus looks in his room)

Idia prefers doing his own thing while you guys do your own thing in the same area, while Malleus prefers doing activities together

But oh boy, these two feel most supported if you listen to them

I hope you’re a good listener, because wow these two can go on for hours if you let them

Idia and Malleus both love when people they care about get interested in the things they love, and get even more excited when they ask questions

They aren’t too physically affectionate people though

Idia gets nervous and panics at small unexpected touches, and Malleus keeps touches light and respectful

Most of the times it’s hand holding, a hand on your lower back as you walk, and maybe a hug if they’re feeling it

They coordinate surprisingly well when it comes to special events like your birthday, holidays, or school festivals

Instead of spending time one on one with them, they both are there for you during events

Idia likes it because people tend to steer clear of Malleus and there's guards keeping things out of his way, so Idia doesn't have to worry as much about dealing with people (the only unfortunate part is dealing with Sebek)

You basically get the royal treatment just by being with them, and that's the way they believe it's supposed to be

They are very mindful of each other during these events too. Malleus is careful about going into largely populated areas, and Idia tries to make sure Malleus is included in activities (in Idia's awkward way)

The dynamic being in a relationship with both of them works pretty well!

And then there's the friends/family

Lilia:

Lilia is actually very happy about this

Briar Valley culture is a bit...reserved and old fashioned, but Lilia is a man who's open to seeing and experiencing new things, so he's happy to see Malleus is too!

Having one partner is great, but two? He's very happy for Malleus

He does worry about how things will work out in the future with Malleus being royalty and having two partners, but that's an issue for later

He's pretty happy it's you and Idia of all people too!

Lilia loves video games, so he helps Malleus learn about them so he can communicate and bond better with Idia, and he's happy because then Malleus can play with him too

He feels like a proud dad watching Malleus with you and Idia

Silver:

Silver hasn't interacted with Idia much, so he can't speak on Idia's character, but he knows you! And he thinks you're good for Malleus, so he has no objections

As long as Malleus is happy, he really doesn't mind however Malleus chooses to have a relationship

He's pretty accepting of almost anything, so he doesn't even question the three of you dating or anything

He does try to get to know Idia more because of this though! Since Silver is the most calm among Malleus' guards, it actually goes pretty well and him and Idia communicate well

Sebek:

What do you expect, really? Of course Sebek is freaking out

His Liege has TWO partners?! What?!

Don't get him wrong, he has nothing against people having multiple partners, to each their own

But this is Malleus! The future ruler of Briar Valley! Sebek is going crazy that Malleus even has one partner and is of course judging them heavily to see if they're good enough for Malleus, but now there's two to judge!

Yeah, Idia avoids Sebek as much as possible

Sebek really doesn't want to question Malleus and his decisions, but he doesn't see the appeal of Idia

Malleus is quick to shut down Sebek's judgement and criticisms once he's aware of them, and Sebek will feel terrible

Ortho:

He's ecstatic!

Ortho has been trying for so long to get Idia out more and among more people, and you and Malleus help him a lot with that and he can tell you both make Idia really happy!

He's very proud of Idia and has no issues with you or Malleus

Sometimes he worries about Idia comparing himself to Malleus, but he's seen you and Malleus reassure him before, and how deeply the two of you care for Idia

Ortho feels like he doesn't have to worry as much about Idia since he has the two of you with him

He knows in his heart that the three of you will last a very long time

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Rosemary (e.w): Part One

"𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬."

content / warnings: jackson ellie / fem newcomer reader, loser! ellie, the majority of tlou has not happened (joel and jesse are still alive), mentions of joel (will be in part 2), mentions of cat, jesse and dina are romantically involved, near-death situations (patrol gone wrong), mild violence, slight angst with comfort, lots of swearing, eventual smut (in part 2).

word count: 4.4k

link to part two ( status: unfinished)

Description: Newcomers come and go through Jackson, and Ellie doesn’t pay any of them much thought. However, she catches a glimpse of you. You’re the exact opposite of her, soft and sweet like cotton candy (if that were a thing in Jackson). Now she feels 14 all over again, palms clammy and freckled face hot when you’re around. When you’re not, she buries her face into her pillow and hopelessly pines. Jesse and Dina just won’t let her fumble, though.

Ellie locks the stable door behind her, the creaking of the hinges accompanying her huff. As usual, Ellie is quite sweaty and admittedly cranky after a patrol that lasted longer than it should’ve.

She and Jesse spent hours clearing out a portion of the town North of Jackson, only to find the ammunition cabinets empty and the pantries bare. To come back almost empty-handed leaves Ellie in a particularly sour mood, and now she is in no state to deal with another social interaction for the day. No offense to her best friend Jesse, but he can be annoyingly talkative on the longest days. 

“Hey, have you heard about the new group who just arrived?” Jesse’s voice snaps Ellie out of her own thoughts, and she shrugs. She walks alongside Jesse back to the weaponry to store their pistols. 

“Yeah. What about them?” Ellie has never understood why everyone makes a big fuss out of new arrivals. Jackson gets plenty of travelers. Besides, folks stay and folks go. She won’t be surprised if the entire group is headed South by tomorrow morning.

Jackson isn’t for everyone. It’s mainly for the type of people Ellie is–fine with the harsher, okay with hours of stressful patrols, and usually content to kick infected ass. Also secluded, far from larger settlements that remind her too much of a QZ. 

“There’s a girl. Maria is sayin’ she’s around our age, too.” Jesse informs her.

Ellie snorts at that, shaking her head. “So?” She opens the door to the weaponry, unloading her pistol and storing the gun on the wall alongside his. 

Jesse gives her a ‘what do you mean, so?’ look, and almost laughs at her attitude. He knows that she is more reserved when it comes to new people. Really, people in general. For the longest time, the circle was Jesse, Dina, and Ellie. Like a holy trinity that Cat occasionally popped into before departing when she and Ellie broke up. Ellie has never needed more social interaction than her friends, Joel and Tommy, and maybe a girlfriend. The only problem is that she has the social skills of an incel when it comes to women, save for the fact that most incels were taken out on breakout day. 

“We had new people just last month. What’s so special about these?” 

Jesse rolls his eyes as they walk out of the weaponry, holding the door open for Ellie despite her bitterness. “I was just informing you, jeez. What’s with the pissy mood?”

Ellie sighs, pausing outside of the building. “My bad. Just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and patrol didn’t help.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Were you up on that PlayStation you’ve got in your mancave?”

“For the last time, it’s not a man cave,” she speaks with light disapproval in her tone.

Jesse laughs at his friend’s attitude, enjoying teasing her. “Right. Well, you go home and get some damn rest. I’m tired of dealing with your cranky ass on patrol.” He pats her shoulder, giving her a small wave before walking towards his house.

Ellie sighs and mumbles a “whatever” before turning in the other direction and heading for the small garage she has behind Joel’s house, looking forward to sleeping until she is forced to get up in the morning. 

-

Patrol is early, earlier than usual. Luckily, Ellie got plenty of sleep the night before. In her straight jeans and (against Dina’s advice to not risk hypothermia) canvas sneakers, everything is ready, and she feels lighter this morning. Not in a particularly grumpy mood, she walks down the streets to find Jesse. She is a tad bit confused–usually, Jesse is knocking at her door on patrol mornings. She grumbles under her breath at the thought that he is probably at the Tipsy Bison on some cheesy breakfast date with Dina. As much as she loves the two, she hates third-wheeling. Things are already awkward as it is. 

Ellie gets stuck in her mind as always, until a particular view cuts the thought train. There you are, in a pen filled with baby sheep, giggling and petting behind their ears. It’s an overwhelmingly sweet sight, something Ellie would usually find herself thinking of with disgust. Too sweet, like a tooth-rotting confection. But that’s not the case here, no. 

Ellie has seen plenty of pretty girls in Jackson. What is it that makes her hands clammy, and causes her face to redden in pure embarrassment? Her cheeks are so hot you could fry eggs on them. She’s embarrassed to be herself next to a pretty girl. You’re sweet and soft, and you remind her of peaches or a fluffy cake. But really, the thing that truly gets her isn’t the sheep or the way you smile at them in a way that makes even Ellie feel safe around you. It’s that outfit. 

Something she would find in a damn magazine for girls. Ellie would find herself thinking that wearing cute, feminine outfits is just dumb. In this world, where anything can happen, why wouldn’t you go for the practical? Why lace yourself up with soft frills and pink hues? You can’t run in a skirt. But looking at you, how the fabric seems to be made for you, she finds herself wondering how soft it is (and how soft to the touch you are). 

You’re the type of girl Ellie could see herself writing shitty journal entries about, your initial next to hers. You’re the type of girl she imagined tasting when she practices kissing her hand. You’re everything she needs in a daydream she could never confess to anyone else.

And then, the moment is over just before she could introduce herself to you. 

“Earth to Ellie? Whatcha staring at?” Jesse asks from behind her, causing Ellie to quickly turn around. 

“Nothing. Let’s just go.” Ellie’s voice doesn’t hide her defensiveness, and Jesse notices your figure a little bit away. He has a knowing smirk on his face, and Ellie groans. “C’mon, I’m not-”

“Didn’t say anything,” he points out with a surrender. 

The patrol goes normally. Kill infected, raid for supplies, endure Jesse’s dirty jokes. The only difference is, Ellie feels the need to ask about you on the way home.

Mounted on horses, Ellie decides to speak up. “Hey..do you know anything about that new girl?” 

Jesse shrugs casually. “She’s good friends with Dina already.” Ellie nods. Dina is the most social out of the trio, so it makes sense. 

“Is she nice?” Ellie asks, taking a small glance at Jesse. 

“Why? Interested in her or something?” Jesse replies, slightly smiling. It’s clear that he enjoys the fact that he knows how to get to her. 

Of course, she scoffs, raising her defenses. “No! Why do you think that?”

He laughs, eyes roving over her face. “Well, your cheeks are red. That’s the first sign. Secondly, you keep interrogating me over this chick.” 

Ellie sighs and looks down at Shimmer’s mane, trying to focus on something other than Jesse’s stupid face so that she can admit it. “Yeah, maybe I think she’s pretty cute. But she’s probably straight, so it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles quietly. 

“You’re such a pessimist, Ellie. You don’t know what she is.” He reminds Ellie, tone laced with tough love. 

“Yeah, well, how am I supposed to?” She asks though she doesn’t expect an actual answer. 

Jesse almost laughs at that. “By asking her?”

“What?! I can’t just ask if she likes girls! What if she gets offended?” 

“Dude, chill. I mean, just talk to her. Don’t you have a gaydar or somethin’?” He quips, making her crinkle her nose in protest.

“Yeah, right. All gays can just sense each other.” Ellie says with a half-hearted glare.

Jesse sighs. “Look, why don’t you just ask her to that summer festival thing? You know, the one with the dance?”

Her eyes widen at that. “A dance? That sounds like a nightmare.” 

“You are a lost cause,” he says as he rolls his eyes. 

It was around 7 p.m. when Ellie and Jesse made it to the gates. Ellie sighs outside of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Do I have to come in with you?” Ellie asks while already knowing the answer. 

“Yes! I need one of those cheesesteaks for dinner, and you could use some grub other than whatever is in that pathetic fridge of yours.” Jesse says, giving Ellie a smirk that suddenly sends her stomach feeling uneasy. He knows something she doesn’t. The only other time Ellie was given that look was the day before Jesse put a corn snake in her garage house as a “prank” for her 17th birthday. Still, Jesse is right. All she has in that mini fridge of hers are leftovers and a pack of instant rice. Her stomach growls in contrast to her protests.

“Ladies first,” Jesse teases, holding the door open for her.

Ellie sighs, feeling a bit cranky as usual at the end of the patrol, but walks into the building. She finds herself immediately freezing at the sight of you there beside Dina, laughing at an inside joke and munching on cheese fries. 

“Oh my god, fuck me.” Ellie curses under her breath. She can already feel the heat rising to her cheeks, pink mixing within the freckled surface. She just hopes that you won’t notice. 

“Don’t be a wimp, go say hi.” Jesse orders lightly behind Ellie, pointing to the area where you’re seated. Ellie swallows, and her boots feel almost like bricks on her feet. Jesse rolls his eyes, practically dragging her over to Dina and you. 

You seem to look up from your meal, eyes scanning over her. She feels like she is being evaluated. God, you must be thinking about how awkward she looks. She can feel her hands get all sweaty like they did when she first laid eyes on you, and her hands shake. She tugs her jacket sleeves down and nearly expects the worst. 

“Hi!” You smile, and you tell Ellie your name. All of the anxiety bubbles into a mix of dread and something giddy. Dread, because she can’t function properly around the one girl who makes her nervous as fuck. Giddiness, because you’re so sweet and lovely and pretty and kissable-

“Hi.” She manages to croak out, struggling to make eye contact. Fuck, how do I look at her? Do I focus on one of her eyes or can I blink and look away? I could wink. Oh, hell no. Don’t do that, Ellie. Instead tries to force an extremely nervous smile onto her face. “Name’s Ellie.”

“I know.” You simply say, still smiling slightly before stabbing a couple of fries with a plastic fork. There is some awkward silence before Dina fucks up Ellie’s momentum with the most nerve-wracking conversion starter. 

“Ellie here has a tattoo.” She brags to you, gesturing to Ellie’s arm. Your eyes light up, and you turn towards her. 

“Really?! I’ve always wanted one, but my parents would kill me.” You say excitedly. “Can I see?” 

Ellie quickly nods, a little flustered with the attention thrown onto her. She shimmies her jacket off, leaving her in a pale blue sweater. Pulling the sleeve up to her elbow, she shows you the moth and fern inked into her skin. You scooch to the edge of the booth, closer to her, and she swears she can smell your perfume. Something sweet like vanilla, perhaps? It just reminds her of cake and whipped frosting. Her mind is suddenly less focused on your eyes roving over her arm, and more on wondering how you taste. She realizes how shitty that is and quickly tries to back out of her thoughts, but she looks down to find you looking up at her expectantly. 

“Ellie here zones out 24/7, don’t mind her,” Jesse informs you, trying to push the sudden agenda he and Dina have going on. Ellie is practically burning right now. The air in the room feels limited, and the clashing of dishes in the background that she suddenly can’t seem to tune out isn’t helping. Ellie suddenly clears her throat, pulling away and putting her jacket back on. 

“Woah, where are you going?” Dina asks, not paying attention to the obvious nerves emitting from her friend. 

“Gonna go home and take a shower,” is all Ellie can find herself saying before making a beeline for the door. 

The air is humid, but it isn’t much different from what Ellie felt inside. Ellie sighs, leaning against the wall. She really fucked tonight up. You were so sweet and inviting, and all she could do was tremble like a leaf and say a few boring words. Not only that, but you probably think that she is rude now, just walking out right after meeting you. She just hopes your feelings aren’t hurt in any way. 

-

The universe officially hates Ellie Williams. 

There, in bold letters, are the patrol assignments for the week. The paper is pinned to the corkboard outside of the town hall. This morning, with you? Ellie can’t tell if she wants to cry or laugh. Either way, she is dreading today. 

“Hey, partner!” You greet her, clearly in a cheerful mood. She wants to kiss the corner of your lips on both sides just to feel your smile against her lips, but she is way too much of a pussy for that. Plus, you could be straight. You’re probably straight. 

Ellie has to process how fast you found her, but when she wraps her head around it and finally can think of a coherent thought, it’s a confused one. 

“Uh, hey..aren’t you new here?” She asks, scratching the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah. Tommy said you would be helping me out with our patrol today?” You told her, watching Ellie’s face grow from confused to almost panicked. “I can find a new partner if you don’t-”

“No!” She basically shouts at you, visibly cringing when people nearby stop to look at her. “I just mean, it’s fine. I just haven’t trained anyone in a long time.” 

“Right. Well, we better head out then, huh? I was warned that the trail Maria gave us is one of the longer ones.” You say, looking at Ellie for a response. 

Ellie doesn’t know what it is about you, but you make a conversation feel like a trip down to the first ring of hell. Even thinking that may be rude, and she curses her thoughts, but you’re pretty and kind. Ellie is a sweaty, awkward loser. She knows it must probably be hell for you to have to talk to her, too. 

She swallows, nodding. “West trails go on for a while, but it’s fine. We’ll make it back to Jackson before night.” 

You smile and nod in response, seemingly unbothered by her odd behavior as you follow her to the stables. 

One thing about horse riding is that it is one of the most calming activities Ellie has available for her. Even when Jesse or Dina yaps her ears off, she finds peace on the back of a horse. After a long, stressful patrol, Ellie can always have a bit of respite with Shimmer. A girl with plenty of nerves can surely calm herself with the feel of coarse hair, accompanied by a comforting neigh. However, on this particular patrol, nothing about the horse ride along the Western trails is peaceful, or even tolerable. 

Your soft chest is pressed up against her back. Even through the thickness of her hoodie, she can feel your rapid heartbeat. Her mind wanders–not to filth, but pure curiosity for you. If she were to confess, you’d surely find her obsession with you to be weird and possibly creepy. She just can’t help but wonder what makes your heart race so fast, though.

Are you not used to riding horses? It could be possible that in past experiences, you just had to walk from place to place. That doesn’t make sense, though. You have a family, don’t you? Your parents came with you, and there is no way you all just walked from the middle of nowhere to Jackson with just–

Ellie’s internal rambling ceases when she feels your arms, currently wrapped around her waist, squeeze her. Suddenly is she so conscious of the fact that your palm must be able to feel her stomach expand and falter with each breath she takes? That means you know how uneven her breathing is. You probably don’t ramble in your head about Ellie’s stupid lungs, though. 

“Sorry. I’m just trying not to fall off of this huge thing.” You say, and Ellie can hear the hint of fear in your voice. It makes her heart jump, and a strange feeling of protectiveness enters her system. She stops herself from showing it though, not wanting to scare you away from her.

“This huge thing?” She questions, never hearing that term used for a horse before. 

“Yeah, yeah!” You laugh softly, the sound music to her ears. “I just have an irrational fear of falling off of horses, okay?”

“Fair. I’m just, uh.” Ellie trails off, trying to find her train of thought as it keeps slipping through her grasp. “I’m used to horses, bein’ here in Jackson for a while.” 

Your hands are warm, resting against her stomach. She can feel the heat through the fabric of her shirt. 

Through the nerves bubbling up in her stomach like the usual acid, she finds the courage to take one hand off of Shimmer’s reins. It finds your hand, giving you a comforting squeeze. She is half-expecting you to be uncomfortable with her action, but to her surprise, you let out a soft sigh. 

Like music to her ears. 

-

Ellie is still tying Shimmer up as you scope out the area. Her hands are sweaty from the contact with yours, and her heart is beating through her chest so fast it almost hurts. 

The sudden croak stops her in her tracks, her head turning towards you. You’re stepping back and nearly tripping over yourself to scramble away from a clicker, the gross-looking creature emerging from a hole in the fence you were just studying. 

“Shit!” Ellie grits through her teeth, her feet carrying her fast. 

Ellie has always been on a sort of adrenaline through every patrol she goes on. She has good instincts. She works well under pressure. For some, thinking so impulsively can be fatal. For Ellie, it’s just natural–how she was raised. 

Ellie fights for reasons other than survival, however. Her own life isn’t always plugged into the equation along with the actions she takes. However, her mind flashes with a thought: what if I died right now? Would she be able to defend herself?

And suddenly, her life means everything. The fight becomes more intense. 

Her hand harshly grips the creature’s jaw, tilting it upward to plunge her switchblade into its throat. It lets out a blood-curdling yell and falters. She lets its body drop and rushes toward you without another thought to the corpse a few feet away. 

You’re on the ground, tears brimming your sweet eyes. The adrenaline rush still courses through her body as her eyes scan your body for any sign of a bite. 

Not again, please. Not after what happened. 

A relieved gasp leaves her when she realizes you’re safe. She looks over your face, and her chest aches when she sees the fear in your eyes. 

“You’re okay. It’s all okay, it’s dead.” 

You only nod in response, not trusting your voice at the moment. Ellie doesn’t mind. She crouches in front of you, fingers stroking through your hair, coaxing you to calm down. The only sounds left in the area are your quiet sniffles and the wind blowing through the trees behind you. 

During the ride back to Jackson, you clutch onto Ellie just as tightly as the first time. 

-

The summer festival. The small group that plans social events in Jackson hosts one every year in July. Ellie has always preferred winter when she could layer up her body and subtly admire Wyoming mountain ranges on lookouts. Summer is hot and filled with mosquitos, but Dina and Jesse love the summer festival, so Ellie goes every year. 

The summer festival always left Ellie overwhelmed. She gets sweaty in her flannel, couples love to swap spit in the lines for face paint, and little kids get especially loud after sugary treats. The worst part? They include a dance along with it. The majority of Jackson dancing with each other accompanied by hot weather is as much of a nightmare as it seems. It isn’t Ellie’s ideal Friday night, especially when she could be at home strumming her guitar, or even just asleep. 

“She’s going to the festival with us, by the way.” Jesse grins, leaning against Ellie’s front door. 

“Oh, great,” Ellie says, a failed attempt at sarcasm. In all actuality, her pulse races when she pictures dancing with you.

Jesse laughs. “Dude, don’t act like you haven’t been daydreaming about her every day since that patrol.” 

“Sure.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m in love with her or anything. I just think she’s cute.” Even admitting that causes embarrassment to plague her cheeks, however.

“That is exactly how it starts, smart one.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ellie asks, voice thick with exasperation. 

“It starts with a ‘oh, she’s just cute.’ And then before you know it, you’ll be wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters with her every year, just like me and Dina.” Jesse says.

“Oh, for god’s sake. I’m not whipped like you are. I just think she’s pretty, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her.” She explains. 

“And she wouldn’t mind getting to know you, either.” 

“Oh my god, will you stop talking in riddles for five minutes?” Ellie groans, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Can’t you just..say what you mean?”

“I mean that she’s been gushing about you ever since you saved her. Something about a patrol and you comforting her. She has this crush on you, it’s adorable.” Jesse tells her, a grin on his face. 

Ellie’s heart skips a beat. So you like her, too?

“Like I said before, you gotta ask her to be your plus one,” Jesse suggests. 

The thought of spending her night with you instead of being the festival’s wallflower seems appealing. Even more appealing than just staying in like a recluse. Still, her nerves nag at her. 

“Are you sure I should? Isn’t she already going with us?” Ellie asks with uncertainty in her tone. 

“Yeah, but you want to make it clear you at least want something to do with her, right? If you don’t talk to her, she’ll think it’s just a friendly thing.” 

“True,” Ellie mumbles. 

“So do it. Go talk to her.” Jesse urges. 

“Jeez, okay. I don’t have to right away.” 

-

Joel has always conveyed the importance of gift-giving. He is a man who isn’t the best with his words. He bottles it up so easily and explodes just the same. Ellie has the same habit, so she uses that advice–gift-giving. 

Joel himself has given plenty of gifts and services. He’d gifted Ellie with her first guitar. He made sure she didn’t go without a nice meal when she holed herself up in her room after her and Cat’s breakup. That voice is simply lodged in her head after the amount of times she has had to hear him say it. 

“How are you doin’, kiddo?” 

Gifts come in all shapes and sizes. Some gifts are the ones you think thoroughly about before you offer them. Some are unintentionally impactful, the type you keep with you for years after, even if the person who gave it to you doesn’t realize what it means to you. 

Ellie likes to think gifts can be physical, too. You can give a kiss or a hug, and that proves the notion that certain gifts are special to certain people. You’d want to be given a kiss from someone you romantically love. 

Ellie thought it over before knocking on your door. She heard things about what people had given their love interests before the apocalypse. As Joel said, bouquets and candy were cheesy but it worked. Ellie doesn’t have a local grocery store, however, unless you count the one with its workers being infected and its interior neglected, surrounded by overgrowth. 

Ellie isn’t much of a baker, either. Her garage home’s oven is sparsely used, her microwave in favor; the previous night, her oven was used. Three times, actually. Two times resulted in charred, burnt remains of what was supposed to be a cake. The third time, Ellie put her dignity aside and went to Joel for help, and she reluctantly let him in on her intentions. 

So here she is, in her red flannel that doesn’t have any holes in it and a pair of boot-cut jeans, painfully styled with crusty Converse. She knocks at your door, a container with a vanilla cake in the other. 

Ellie’s eyes fill with hearts when your head peeks out. You open the door wider when you recognize her face, and your eyes naturally trail down to the item in her hands. 

Ellie clears her throat. “Uh, brought you something.” 

And of course, you’re already smiling ear to ear. “Yeah? What’d you bring me?” 

Something as sweet as you. That is what Ellie thinks, but instead, she gives the blunt, not unkind answer. “Cake.” 

Ellie holds out the container for you, and you accept it without hesitance. For just a split second, she feels the warmth of your fingertips as they brush against her rough, calloused ones. And then for another second, she lets herself dwell on her deepest thoughts–she wishes she could intertwine her fingers with yours and know what it’s like to be loved by the sun herself. 

“Also–” Ellie scratches her lip, trying not to sputter out her thoughts. “Since Dina and Jesse are going to be all over each other at the festival, I was thinking we could hang out. If you don’t mind.”

You beam as brightly as the sun. “Yeah! And thanks for the cake, Els.” 

Els. That name has her face hot and her hands clammy. She just stares at you for a moment, giving a nod and as polite a goodbye as she can manage before she heads back to her garage house to think of the fact that you just called her the cutest thing you could possibly call her. 

Els it is, then. Els is taking you to the summer festival tomorrow. 

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[zaynessbeloved]

Gravity instincts

Synopsis: You’ve been pining for Colonel Caleb in silence, hiding your feelings behind friendship and stolen glances—until one lonely day in his apartment breaks your restraint. Drowning in the scent of his shirt and the ache of unspoken desire, you give in to your need.

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, power dynamics dominance & submission (consensual), rough sex, praise & degradation mix, possessive/obsessive behavior, use of evol, mild voyeurism (security camera), slight dubcon vibe (due to voyeurism + power dynamic—but ultimately consensual)

Pairings: Caleb x reader

Word count: 5.9k

The stars never felt farther away than when he was near. 

You’ve known him for years now—through turbulence and silence, distance and closeness. Caleb, with his unwavering sense of duty, with that sharp gaze that sees through everything except your heart. A colonel in the Space Fleet, a man responsible for keeping the galaxy stitched together—and yet, it’s the quiet moments between missions that unravel you.

You weren’t supposed to fall for him. Not like this. Not while standing at his side as a technician, tucked into the same command deck where he commands the stars with a single gesture. Not while sharing routine maintenance reports, debriefing sessions, and the occasional cup of coffee in the silence of the observation deck. 

You were supposed to admire him. Respect him. Follow orders. 

But then he started looking at you like that. Or maybe he always did, and you were just too afraid to believe it.

His Evol never quite stayed confined to his command. It lingered. Pulled. Tangled itself into the fabric of every moment you shared. It wasn’t the kind of pull you could measure in units or explain with science. It was slower, softer, the kind of pull that didn’t slam you into orbit—but whispered, stay.

And so you did. Through every mission, every battle, every long night where he returned bruised and exhausted, and still managed to smirk at you like you were the first calm thing he'd seen in weeks.

But lately, it’s become unbearable. Because no matter how long you stand by his side, you’re always a half-step away. Close enough to feel the warmth of his presence—never close enough to fall into it.

So you do something reckless. Not battlefield reckless. Not strategy-breaking reckless. Something softer. Petty. Aching.

You steal one of his shirts.

Not because you expect him not to notice. Not because you think it will change anything. But because you’re tired of pretending you don’t want more. And it’s the only way you know how to say I miss you, without breaking apart completely. 

His place is quiet—sterile, in the way all military housing is—but he’s lived in this one long enough for traces of him to linger. The coffee mug he always forgets to rinse. The flight jacket half-slouched over the back of his chair. His scent, clinging stubbornly to the air. Warm. Subtle. Like cedarwood and ozone. 

You’ve stayed here before—dozens of times, even. Sometimes after late-night shifts. Sometimes after a mission when neither of you had the energy to be alone. And sometimes just because it was easier to fall asleep on his couch with the hum of the city cars in the background than face the silence of your own quarters.

You were just friends, after all. Friends who trusted each other more than anyone else. Friends who had learned the hard way that war doesn’t leave much room for hearts to speak freely.

But today is your day off. And he’s not here.

He left in a rush that morning—called back to command before he even finished his coffee. A small part of you had hoped he’d stay. A bigger part was grateful he didn’t. Because it’s only in his absence that you allow yourself to feel the weight of what you’ve been burying.

The ache. The exhaustion. The constant pretending.

You drift toward his room like you’ve done a hundred times before, intending only to grab your datapad, maybe take a nap in the bed he always insists you use when he’s gone. But your fingers pause on the edge of the closet. Hesitate. Then move with a kind of guilty hunger.

You find it folded neatly on the second shelf. A dark, well-worn shirt with his name tag still faintly stitched at the collar. The one he always wears after missions, sleeves rolled up, collar loose. You swear it holds more of him than anything else in this entire apartment.

You press it to your face. 

And that’s when everything unravels. 

His scent is still there—faint but potent, like static in the air before a storm. It slides down your spine like a whisper. Not just the memory of him, but the ache of being near him and never touching. Of hearing your name in his voice but never on his lips the way you want it.

Your body reacts before your mind can stop it. And you let it. 

Because you’re tired. Because you’ve spent too many nights curled on this bed pretending you don’t dream of what it would feel like if he touched you the way you crave. Because you’ve stayed silent while watching him flirt with danger, disappear into missions, return with bruises and blood and never once say I missed you too—but look at you like he did.

So you pull the shirt over your head, drowning in it. It smells like him. Feels like him. The fabric slips past your skin like a memory you’re not supposed to hold onto.

You lie down on his bed, the sheets still creased from where he slept. Your hands start to move.

And this time, you don’t stop them.

You imagine him. Not like he is at work—stoic, powerful, untouchable. But how he is when the world softens. When he forgets to wear the weight of his rank. When he smirks at you across the kitchen counter, teasing you for stealing the last pastry. When his voice drops in the quiet, calling your name like it means something more.

Your fingers tremble. Not from lust. From longing.

This isn’t about pleasure. It’s about the ache. The impossible closeness. The need to feel his warmth when you know you’ll never have it for real. 

His shirt swallows you whole. Soft, worn cotton clings loosely to your frame, the scent of him draped over you like heat—masculine, magnetic, undeniably Caleb. It’s too big, the hem brushing your thighs, the sleeves falling over your hands. But it makes you feel closer to him. Almost like he’s here.

You settle back against his sheets, your knees curling slightly as you sink into the place he’s slept in so many times—where you’ve laid before, pretending you weren’t listening for his heartbeat in the quiet.

But today, there’s no pretending.

Your hand slips between your legs, tentative at first. Not from shame—but from how raw the ache is. It’s been building for months. Years, if you’re being honest. And it’s not just about wanting him—it’s the way he makes you want. The way he looks at you with that unreadable expression, all heat and gravity and something else that never quite reaches his lips.

You close your eyes and let yourself feel.

You imagine him like you’ve never allowed yourself to before.

His voice in your ear, low and rough, calling you a good girl in that quiet drawl he uses when the world slows down. The weight of his body pressing you down into the mattress, his fingers trailing up your thighs, firm and warm and sure. 

Your breath hitches. Your touch grows bolder. 

You imagine his mouth. The way he’d kiss you—slow and possessive, like he’s waited just as long. His teeth grazing your bottom lip, his hand wrapped around your wrist, pinning you down as he whispers, Is this what you wanted, baby? Wearing my shirt like that? Touching yourself in my bed?

You gasp, the heat building fast and dangerous, everything tightening under your skin. You can’t stop the soft moan that escapes your lips—his name, broken and breathless.

And you don’t know that he hears it. 

Because a few levels below, the man himself has just returned from command.  

Still in uniform, boots heavy against the steel floors, he exhales as the apartment door hisses open. He wasn’t expecting to be home this early—but the comms were quiet, and for once, there were no emergencies.

He reaches for the wrist panel by the entrance—his home security linked to the system, just in case something went wrong when he’s off-planet.

He doesn’t expect to see you.

On his bed. In his shirt. Hand between your thighs. Eyes closed. Lips parted. Whispering his name.

Everything stops. For a moment, he forgets to breathe. The screen blinks quietly, casting a pale glow against his expression. Blank. Tense. A beat of silence. Then another. He turns off the feed.

And he walks. Slowly. Quietly. Up the stairs toward the woman in his bed.

You don’t hear the door slide open. Don’t hear the soft press of boots against polished flooring. Don’t feel the shift in the air when he steps inside.

You’re too far gone.

Fingers buried between your thighs, breath catching on every gasp, every slow, deliberate drag that makes your muscles tighten and your stomach flutter. The shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—is hitched up around your hips, the fabric clinging to your skin with heat. It smells like him. Still warm with traces of cedar, ozone, and something darker. Something intoxicating.

Your other hand fists the sheets beneath you—his sheets—already damp with sweat and shame and longing.

You don’t even try to stop the sound that leaves your mouth. His name, breathless and wrecked. A whimper. A plea. You don’t know which.

You imagine him here. Not as the Colonel the world salutes, but the man who stands too close when he talks to you, who looks at you like he’s memorizing your every breath. The man who touches your lower back when you’re both pretending it means nothing. The man who haunts you.

You picture his hands instead of your own—larger, calloused, precise. You’ve seen what those hands can do to a battlefield. You wonder what they’d do to you, if he let go of all that control.

“Is this what you do when I’m not home?” The voice hits you like a thunderclap.

Deep. Low. Unmistakable. 

You freeze. Your heart stutters violently, blood roaring in your ears. 

He’s standing there. Just inside the bedroom, half-shadowed by the low lights. Still in uniform, the dark jacket unbuttoned just enough to show the black undershirt clinging to his chest. His eyes—stormy, narrowed, dark—lock onto you like he’s seeing everything.

And he is.

You’re sprawled on his bed, legs parted, breathing hard. Wearing nothing but his shirt and your guilt. Caught in the middle of a fantasy you didn’t know was real.

You try to speak. To explain. To move. But you can’t.

Not with the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the sin he’s been trying not to commit for years.

His jaw flexes. His fists are clenched at his sides. And still—he doesn’t move.

“I’ve imagined you like this,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “On my bed. In my shirt. Moaning my name.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs clench.

“I’ve stopped myself,” he continues, stepping forward once—slow, measured, dangerous. “Every day. Every night. From touching you. From ruining you the way I’ve craved.”

Another step.

“But you come into my home,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, darker, “put yourself in my clothes, on my bed, and touch yourself like you belong to me.” 

You swallow hard. You’re trembling now, heart hammering in your chest. Not from fear. From something far, far worse.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he says. 

His voice isn’t angry. It’s reverent. Like you’ve become something holy in his eyes—something he’s worshipped from a distance too long.

And now? Now he’s done watching from afar.

“I—” you choke on the word, scrambling for air, for thoughts, for something to say that doesn’t sound like begging. “Caleb, I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to—”

You sit up fast, heart in your throat, his shirt falling lower on your thighs like it’s trying to hide you. Your hand trembles as you press it to your chest, like maybe you can force your heartbeat to slow, like maybe this moment will shatter if you just say the right thing.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, still breathless, cheeks blazing hot. “I didn’t mean for you to see. I thought you were still at work, I just— I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry—” 

Your voice falters, unraveling with every shaky breath. You can’t meet his eyes. Not when your skin is still flushed, your thighs still slick, your body still thrumming with the desperate need that had built and built—only to snap to attention the second he spoke. 

And god, you’re still wet. Still aching. Still ruined with the taste of him on your tongue, even if you’ve never really had him.

But the silence that follows your apology?

That’s what truly wrecks you.

Because Caleb doesn’t speak. Not right away. He just stares. Head tilted slightly, breathing slow, but his jaw clenched like he’s at war with himself.

And then—he laughs. A low, humorless sound that slides down your spine like ice.

“You’re sorry,” he repeats, as if the words are foreign. Bitter. “You think this is something you need to apologize for?”

Your gaze snaps up.

His eyes are darker now. Not with anger—but possession. Obsession. That hunger he always buried beneath rank and reason has cracked wide open, no longer hidden behind a smirk or a casual joke.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he says, voice low, gravelled. “You think I haven’t thought about this? Dreamed about it? You think I haven’t watched you sleep in that bed and imagined pulling that pretty little body apart with my hands?” 

Your breath hitches—sharp and sharp again. 

“You think I haven’t fought every fucking instinct in me to keep my hands to myself when you look at me like that? When you say my name in that soft little voice like you don’t know what it does to me?”

Your knees press together, a soft gasp caught in your throat.

“I’ve kept this part of me from you,” he says, stepping closer, one slow step after another. “The part that wants to keep you in my bed. In my clothes. Under my command.”

Your thighs tremble. Your fingers tighten in the sheets. You're still wet, still burning, and his words only make it worse.

“I’m not a good man, princess,” he breathes. “But I’ve tried to be. For you. I’ve tried to give you space. Time. Patience.” 

His gaze drops to your bare thighs, the curve of them just beneath the hem of his shirt. You see his jaw clench again—so hard it looks like it hurts.

“And now you apologize to me,” he growls, a hand running through his hair, like he’s barely holding himself back. “While sitting on my bed, in my shirt, with that sweet cunt still dripping from your own fingers like you were made for me—” 

“Caleb,” you breathe—half protest, half plea. 

But it’s already too late.

His control is crumbling. And all you’ve done… is invite the part of him he’s kept buried for too long to the surface.

His eyes drag over you slowly—ruthlessly—like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. His uniform fits him like a second skin, dark and crisp and spotless except for the slight looseness at the collar where he always tugs it when he’s tired. The high-ranking insignia gleams on his shoulder, a cold contrast to the heat in his eyes.

You’ve never wanted to be touched so badly in your life.

But he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

He just watches. Listens to every shaky breath you take, to the soft rustle of sheets as you shift, thighs pressing together in a hopeless attempt to ease the throb between your legs. The ache that he caused. That only he can fix now.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he says, voice like gravel and thunder. “Not so loud without my name on your lips now, are you?” 

You flinch. Not from fear—but from the way his words twist inside you.

He knows. God, he knows everything now.

“You wanted this,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Don’t lie. You thought about me. You were thinking about me inside you while wearing my shirt, weren’t you?” 

You try to look away. 

“Eyes on me,” he commands softly. “Or are you too ashamed to admit the truth?”

Your breath catches. Your heart is going too fast, the room spinning in the haze of your own arousal. Your panties are soaked, clinging to you, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“You were fucking yourself in my bed,” he continues, inching closer, voice low and deliberate. “Wearing my clothes. Saying my name. I want to hear you say it, princess.”

You shake your head, unable to breathe through the thick heat suffocating your chest.

He leans in just a little—just enough.

“Say it,” he breathes, tone tightening like a vice. “Say you wanted me.”

Your fingers twist in the sheets, your thighs shaking from the pressure, from the denial. Every nerve in your body screams for him. For contact. For relief. But you know he won’t give it—not until you admit it. Not until you surrender.

“Caleb…” you whisper, voice trembling, “please…”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His eyes are sharp. Unforgiving. Hungry. 

“You’re going to look me in the eye,” he says, slowly unfastening the top button of his uniform jacket, the movement agonizingly controlled. “And you’re going to tell me that you wanted me. That you came into my bed, in my fucking shirt, because you were too wet and desperate to keep pretending you didn’t think about me when you touched yourself.” 

You’re panting now, knees drawn up, body flushed and aching. 

And he knows. He can see how wrecked you already are. How you’re squirming, clenching around nothing, leaking through your underwear just from the sound of his voice. From the image of him, powerful and poised, standing over you like you belong to him.

You can’t take it anymore.

“I wanted you,” you gasp, the words ripped from you like confession. “I wanted you, Caleb—I couldn’t stop thinking about you—I always think about you—”

He exhales through his nose, jaw tight, like he’s been waiting an eternity to hear that.

“I need you,” you whisper, broken now. “Please.”

And finally—finally—his restraint snaps. 

Your confession hangs in the air like a live wire—raw, exposed, and trembling.  It’s the truth. And now that you’ve said it, you can’t take it back.

But Caleb… he’s far from satisfied.

Not yet.

The shift is subtle at first—a quiet hum beneath your skin, like pressure in the air right before a storm breaks. You don’t notice it immediately, not until your body sinks ever so slightly into the mattress. Like the bed has grown heavier. Denser. 

Like something is pulling you down. 

Your breath stutters.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tone low and lethal as he drags his jacket off slowly, revealing the sleek black shirt beneath. “But not good enough.”

You stare at him, heart slamming against your ribs, limbs heavy and hot with tension.

“Caleb…” you whisper.

He lifts one hand, fingers loose, and you feel it—a subtle flex of pressure in the air around you. Your wrists press gently into the sheets without being held. Your back arches slightly without your control. It’s not overwhelming, not enough to scare you. But it’s enough to make you feel it. Him.

“You think you get to say it once and have me come running?” he asks, circling the edge of the bed like a predator. “After all this time, after all the nights you’ve laid here and pretended you didn’t want me?”

The gravity pulses again—soft, deliberate, like an invisible hand stroking over your body. Your thighs twitch. Your breath shudders.

“I want to hear you beg,” he says. 

You’re already half-gone—mind fogged with heat, hips subtly rolling as you try to relieve the aching throb between your legs. The pressure of his Evol presses down again, just enough to keep you still. Just enough to make you feel helpless.

“Say it again,” he commands, his voice now just inches from your ear, low and dark. “And mean it this time.”

You bite your lip, breath catching. “Please, Caleb—”

“No.” The word cracks like a whip. “Not like that. You want me? You tell me exactly what you want. Use that pretty mouth. Or you’ll stay like this—needy and untouched.”

His words punch through you, hot and sharp. 

You writhe beneath the weight of him—not his hands, not his body… but his power. The controlled pressure of his Evol makes your body tremble with frustration. You can’t move the way you want to. You can’t even touch yourself now.

“I want—” you gasp, voice thin and desperate. “I want your hands on me— I want you to touch me—please, I can’t— I need you— Caleb, please, I need you so bad it hurts—”

He lets out a breath—low and hungry—and suddenly the pressure vanishes.

Like a switch flipped.

And you gasp, your body free again, breath flooding your lungs.

“You should’ve said that sooner,” he growls, already crawling over the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Now lie back, princess.”

His hands finally land on you—hot, real, and no longer restrained. One hand grips your thigh, spreading you open, while the other pulls the shirt higher up your body.

“You wanted this?” he murmurs against your neck, mouth trailing fire over your skin. “You’re going to take it now.” 

And this time? You will.

His hands are on you—finally on you—and everything else disappears.

He spreads you open like he owns you, like he’s done it a thousand times in his mind, each movement exact, hungry, controlled. The heat of his palms burns against your thighs as he kneels between them, dragging the fabric of his shirt higher, higher—until it’s bunched at your waist and your soaked panties are the only thing between you and his mouth. 

And god, the look on his face—like he could devour you whole. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice molten as his fingers trace the wet outline of your underwear. “So fucking wet. Is this all for me, princess?”

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your body twitching beneath the ghost of his touch.

He exhales sharply through his nose, jaw tight, like he’s the one about to lose control.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he growls, pulling the fabric aside to reveal the slick mess underneath. “I’ve thought about your cunt wrapped around my fingers more times than I can count—and now you’re laid out for me, dripping, desperate…”

He sinks two fingers into you with a sudden, slick thrust.

You cry out, back arching, stars bursting behind your eyelids. The stretch, the pressure—him—it’s too much and not enough at once. He groans softly under his breath, eyes fixed on where he’s inside you. “Fuck, you feel even better than I imagined.”

And still, he doesn’t speed up.

He moves slowly, deliberately, fucking you open with long, measured strokes. Watching your every reaction. Your every gasp. His Evol hums in the air again—subtle but present—pulling your hips closer, making it impossible to escape the rhythm of his hand.

“You wanted to be ruined, didn’t you?” he murmurs. “Wanted to come in here, put on my shirt, and make yourself fall apart thinking about my cock.”

Your moan is all the answer he needs. He curls his fingers inside you, finding that spot that makes your legs shake, and presses hard.

You shatter.

Your voice breaks around his name, your body convulsing under his touch as your climax rips through you like lightning—violent, needy, raw. And still, he doesn’t stop. His fingers keep moving, coaxing every last tremble from your body, watching you fall apart like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, leaning over you now, his chest brushing your thighs, his breath hot against your neck. “You’re perfect. Mine.”

You grab for him, desperate for something to anchor you, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head—not with force, but with gravity. You gasp, trembling under the weight of his Evol. Your body is still twitching, hypersensitive and spent—and yet, you’ve never felt more alive.

He leans in, his forehead brushing yours, and for a moment you see it—the crack in his armor. The soft part of him that’s completely ruined by you.

“I tried to be good,” he breathes, voice rough now, thick with emotion. “I tried to keep my hands off you. Tried to pretend I didn’t want to bury myself inside you every time you smiled at me.”

You blink up at him, dazed and dizzy and so, so full of him. 

“But I’m not pretending anymore.”

He lets go of your wrists. Grabs your thighs. And pushes them open wider. 

“You’re mine now,” he says. “And I’m not letting you go.” 

Your chest is still heaving when he moves back over you, his body heavy with restrained power, his gaze locked on yours with a feral kind of focus. His fingers are slick with you, his touch still lingering between your legs like a ghost—hot, consuming, impossible to forget.

You can’t stop trembling. And then you whisper, voice raw and wrecked. “Don’t stop.”

Caleb stills. Just for a breath. And then he smiles. Not soft. Not sweet.

Dark.

His fingers trail along your inner thigh again, lazy now, like he’s memorizing the shape of your need. “Oh, princess…” His voice drops into a low rasp, dragging through you like velvet. “You’re not done. Not even close.”

He kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, and higher—until you’re squirming again, body hypersensitive but already greedy for more.

You reach for him, still shaking. “I want you. Please, Caleb…”

His hands grip your hips hard, pinning you back into the mattress.

“You want me?” he murmurs, leaning in close, breath hot against your ear. “You want me like this? When I’m in control? When I’m fucking obsessed with the way you fall apart for me?”

You gasp. You shouldn’t love how it sounds—but god, you do. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Yes… I want all of you.”

His hand slides slowly back down between your legs, two fingers teasing your folds again, gentle but commanding. “I bet you thought about it,” he growls, mouth at your jaw now, nipping at your skin. “Didn’t you?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “What…?”

“Me.” His other hand grabs your chin and turns your face to his. His gaze is molten. “At work. In my uniform. All cold and composed and untouchable while you sat there pretending you weren’t soaking wet under your station console.”

You let out a soft, broken whimper.

“You did think about it,” he says, satisfaction curling in his voice like smoke. “You thought about my hands on you while I barked orders. Thought about crawling under my desk, didn’t you? Obeying every word I said like a good little soldier.” 

Your breath stutters, your hips lifting into his hand again. His fingers slide against your entrance, teasing—never giving. You’re already soaking again, so needy you could cry.

“Say it,” he whispers against your throat. “Tell me what you thought about.” 

“I—” You swallow, body twitching under the weight of his words, of the ghost of his Evol still lingering around your limbs. “I watched you and I… I imagined you taking me in your office. Still in uniform. Rough. Like you couldn’t wait.”

He groans, low, like it’s been ripped from his chest.

“You like me rough, baby?” he breathes, voice no longer in control. “You like me when I’m like this?” 

You nod, desperate. “Yes—yes, Caleb—please—”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs your thighs, pulls you down the bed in one swift motion. His mouth crashes into yours—hungry, claiming, filthy—devouring every sound you make. He presses the head of his cock to your entrance, thick and hot and bare, dragging it slowly through your slick folds.

And then he pauses.

“You want this?” he asks, voice hoarse. “You want me to ruin you for anyone else?”

You’re breathless. Frantic. “Yes. Caleb, please—fuck me—”

He pushes in. One slow, devastating inch at a time, watching your face the entire time as your lips fall open, your back arches, and you shatter again without even meaning to.

He sinks into you slowly—so slowly it feels like your body might split apart just from the stretch. From the size of him, the weight of him, from the unbearable pleasure of finally, finally being filled by the man you’ve wanted for so long.

Your lips fall open in a silent gasp, your head pressing back into the pillow as your back arches off the bed.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, low and wrecked, forehead pressed to yours as he bottoms out. “You feel… god, you feel like heaven.” 

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried inside you to the hilt, holding himself still like he's barely hanging on.

And you realize—he’s shaking. Not from effort. From restraint.

You feel it in the way his fingers grip your hips just a little too tight. The way his jaw flexes. The way he moans—low and broken—when your walls clench around him, already begging for more.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough and shaking. “So fucking long… Thought about it every night, thought about you on your knees, on my desk, under me in this bed—” 

He starts to move. 

Slow, deep thrusts that make your breath catch, that force little gasps from your mouth with each one. The sound of your bodies, of wet, slick need meeting brutal control, fills the room with something filthy and reverent all at once.

You cry out, nails clawing at his shoulders, but he doesn’t stop—won’t stop—just keeps driving into you with long, consuming strokes that reach the deepest parts of you. That stretch you in ways you’ve only ever dreamed about.

“You’re mine,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “Mine. Say it.”

“I’m—fuck—yours, Caleb, I’m yours, please—”

He grunts, snapping his hips harder, faster now, burying his face in your neck like he needs to breathe you in to survive.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he whispers, voice almost gentle now, contrasting the way he’s pounding into you. “So fucking tight—so goddamn perfect—come on, give it to me.”

His hand slides down between you, fingers finding your clit with the same precision he uses on the battlefield. And it’s too much—the stretch, the pressure, the way he’s whispering your name like a prayer torn from his chest.

You come undone.

Your body clamps around him, shaking, spasming, screaming his name as the orgasm rips through you like a flood. You see stars—real ones, behind your eyes—white-hot and endless, your entire world collapsing inward.

He follows with a guttural groan, hips jerking erratically as he thrusts deep, grinding into you, spilling himself inside with a rough curse and your name broken on his lips. 

He collapses onto you, his weight grounding you, both of you drenched in sweat, breath ragged and uneven. His hand finds yours, fingers twining together like it’s the only way he can anchor himself. 

He doesn’t speak right away.

He just holds you. Inside you. Around you. Against you.

Then— “I’m never letting you go,” he says softly, fiercely, his lips against your cheek. “You’re mine now. In every way that matters.” 

And you believe him.

Because even in the silence that follows, you can still feel his gravity pulling you in.

Your body’s still trembling beneath him, boneless and soaked in sweat, skin flushed and glowing with the aftershock of your climax. Caleb’s still inside you, softening slowly, his weight pressing you into the mattress like an anchor—his breath ragged, his hand stroking lazily up and down your thigh like he can’t believe you’re real.

He lifts his head slightly, his lips brushing your temple.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gravelled and wrecked. “Didn’t hurt you?”

You nod, dazed, still high on the intensity of it all. “No. I’m okay.”

He smiles—just barely. A small, almost reverent thing. He leans down to kiss your shoulder, slow and lingering. And for a moment, you can feel it—the part of him that loves you in silence. That worships you even when he won’t say it out loud.

But then you shift beneath him. You roll onto your stomach. Slowly. Deliberately. And you look back at him over your shoulder, your eyes half-lidded, voice soft—but sharp.

“I’m not done.”

Caleb stills. His hand on your thigh freezes.

You reach back, tug his wrist just enough to make your point. “I don’t want soft.”

His breath catches. You arch your hips slightly, offering him the view—the slick, swollen heat of you still pulsing with need. His shirt is still bunched at your waist. Your skin’s glowing. Your mouth is parted. And you’re inviting him.

“Be rougher,” you whisper. “Please.”

His pupils blow wide.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, kneeling behind you now, his cock already twitching back to life as he takes you in from behind. “You think I haven’t imagined this? You think I didn’t dream about what I’d do to you if I ever let myself go?”

You glance over your shoulder again, smirking. “Then show me.”

That’s all it takes.

In a blink, his hands are back on you—gripping, claiming. He spreads your thighs roughly, one hand pressing into the small of your back to arch you deeper while the other wraps tight around the base of your neck.

“Mine,” he growls.

And he pushes in again.

Hard.

You gasp—loud and helpless—as he fills you again in one sharp, punishing thrust. The stretch, the angle, the force—everything is overwhelming. Perfect. You cry out into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

No gentleness. No hesitation. Just skin against skin. His hips slamming into yours. His hand wrapped tight around your neck—not choking, just holding. Dominating. Keeping you right where he wants you.

“You wanted this?” he pants behind you, every word punched between thrusts. “This is what you think about? Me taking you like this—owning you?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—Caleb—”

Your voice cuts off into a cry as his grip tightens slightly on your throat, just enough to make your vision blur, to make your body burn brighter with pleasure.

“Say it again,” he demands, his other hand sliding up your spine, holding you in place. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from how good it feels. “I’m yours, I’m yours, please—”

His thrusts get faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room, mingling with your cries and his groans and the slick, desperate rhythm of your bodies colliding.

You’re so close again. So unbelievably close.

“Come for me again,” he growls, voice wrecked, as he pounds into you from behind. “Let me feel you—fucking take it, baby—”

And you do.

You break apart under him again, harder this time—louder. A scream torn from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you like a supernova. Your body convulses, squeezes him so tight that he curses and thrusts once, twice more before spilling into you with a roar, his hips slamming against your ass as he empties himself inside you.

He collapses over your back, chest heaving, arms shaking, holding himself up just enough not to crush you.

He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes. Against your skin. Inside you. Around you.

Then— “I think I’ve completely lost my mind over you,” he mutters.

And the way he says it—quiet, hoarse, honest—undoes you more than anything else.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

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taglist: @syluslittlecrows

[cheralith]

feat. karasu tabito (with otoya eita) || wc: 758 contains: gn!reader, no pronouns used, alcohol consumption, cheating mention, angst a/n: ok last blurb of the day then i gotta lock in for my exam tmrw

karasu frowns at your stupidly wide smile.

"yer drunk."

"so i am!"

abruptly, you stand up. you let out a laugh as your feet toddle from side to side, a sense of balance clearly non-existent. the smell of booze is evident from your clothes when karasu helps you to your feet from the bench you sent your location from. how much liquor you had consumed for tonight, he didn't know. and maybe he doesn't want to.

"'m sorry i called you so unexpectedly..." you murmur as karasu takes off his jacket and rests it on your shoulders, a chill from the night passing through. "you were just the closest person nearby that i could trust..."

karasu's breath hitches at the word. trust. something he thought you and him had extinguished a long time ago, when you, a dear long-term friend of his, broke up with his best friend. he remembers how heartbroken you looked not at otoya, but at him for choosing to stay with the man that cheated on you. for excusing his behavior.

something about bro-code and whatnot. or whatever men in their early twenties talked about that upkept a friendship.

"the designated driver—" you hiccup, body jerking. "—drank too much. a-and all the cab fares are too damn high. and i don't th-think it's wise for me to try and walk home like this..."

"smart move," karasu mutters. a sense of sensibility in a state where you should've lacked some—something that he can admire.

karasu loses some words that he's always wanted to say to you, not sure if this is the right moment to do so, so a silence keeps you and him apart emotionally, only the dissonant shuffle of your feet with his echoing.

"... i saw him tonight," you murmur suddenly.

he glances at you and notices that your head is down. the solemn smile on your lips tell him all that he needs to know.

"he was flirting with a girl, per usual," you warbly laugh, "but... for some reason i couldn't help but think of you when i saw otoya..."

he stops walking. you do too. his chest feels heavy, feels tight. an overdue apology lingering on his chest.

you hum, "it's been, what... five years? since he and i broke up?"

karasu nods, always keeping some sort of close eye on you even after graduating college. you gave him that shred of mercy at least, letting him still follow your socials and even your phone number—even though he hadn't texted a word in it in years until now (though, he'd often find himself rummaging through five-year-old texts that were misted with friendship and a dash of one-sided pining).

he didn't know if it was relief or dread that filled him when he saw your name pop up in his phone.

y/n : hi. hope ur doing well y/n: im drunk hahahhe y/n : do u still live near the bar y/n : if u do can u pick me up from here plz andty [ y/n sent their location ] y/n : plz.. its rly dark out :((

he didn't know how fast he got up out of bed, put on his coat, and ran towards your little blue dot on his phone. how he hated each second that ticked, a second closer that something might get to you faster than he could. how much his heart bloomed with the suppressed ache he had been hiding for years when he saw you for the first time slumped over a bench.

"i think so, yeah," karasu sighs.

you smile blankly and then fall into silence, letting karasu drag you by your feet again.

"you know," you pick up again, "every time i look back at that night, i always feel like i'm getting shot or something."

karasu chest hurts again. he thins his lips, silent, not knowing if he has a say in this. he remembers it too vividly—a drunk otoya with hickeys and lipstick marks on his neck, smelling like an unknown cheap perfume. a tear-stricken you as you yelled at him, then turning to karasu and asking him to choose between the two of you. who he was going to stay loyal to.

with him ultimately choosing the person that would end up in bed with his then-girlfriend at the time not even a year later.

suddenly, you stop walking. karasu does too.

a smile falls to the ground suddenly, along with some tears. "'specially hurts a lot because i lost the person i think i really loved that night."

you turn to karasu suddenly, a sadness swimming deep in your eyes.

"and it wasn't otoya."

[silverbrain]

Diary

Summary- Caleb finds MC’s diary and reads it. Angst ensues.

Words- 8k

Caleb has made it a habit to frequent your apartment in Linkon. Since you’d taken care of him when he was sick, something had changed for him, back at Skyhaven. The city seemed less empty, less cold and on the days that it did, he could simply disappear into his phone and call his favorite person.

He still struggled to let you see his vulnerable side, he knows it’s a problem, but he doesn’t let it hinder him from trying to pry his way back into your life. He couldn’t however, get rid of his habit of showing up unannounced, a small part of him still scared that if he called ahead, you’d try to avoid him.

This often caused him to have to stay at your place while the association sent you on your way, your daily grind not stopping because your childhood best friend had returned.

Today was one such day, and Caleb was simply relaxing on the sofa, after having set a delicious apple pie in the oven. His phone rings. His eyes light up seeing your name. “Hey, it’s my favorite pipsqueak!”

“You call other people pipsqueak?”, you narrow your eyes.

“Of course not. You’re the only-“

“Anyways. Caleb, you’re at my place, right?”, you ask hurriedly.

“Yeah…?”, he replies, instantly setting his feet on the floor sensing your tone. “Why?”

“Could you do me a favor and check my desk to see if Jenna’s birthday card is there?”

Caleb relaxes his shoulders that had tensed up involuntarily. “Sure thing, hold on”

He pads his way to your room, making his way to the desk. It’s relatively neat, save the piles of files in a corner and the haphazard stationery. “Uh…”

“Are you at my desk?”

“Yeah”

“Okay. Is it there? It’s in a dark blue gift bag?”

“Uh... I don’t see it”, Caleb replies, balancing the phone between his right shoulder and ear as he gingerly shuffles the files around. He opens a drawer, only to find it filled with some odds and ends, and tries his luck with the other. This one is more organized, filled mostly with thick books of a shade of dark purple. He quickly checks between them. “Okay, hold on”

Nestled between two books is the bag and Caleb pulls it out quickly. “I think I see it. Dark blue bag with two cards inside”

“Yup! Thank goodness!”, you sigh happily. “Could you please give it to Xavier? He’s coming over to get it?”

“I can just drop it off if you need me to pipsq-“, he says, but you interrupt him.

“No, no, I’d feel bad making you bear the Linkon traffic. Besides, Xavier needs to be at the association anyways so…”

Caleb hums quietly. “Sure, if you say so. Will you be late?”

“No… at least I don’t think so…Jenna’s going on vacation for her birthday, so we’re just doing a small office party today”

Caleb nods. “So…this Xavier…”

“Yeah, he should be there any minute, he lives upstairs”

“Oh”.

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t like it at all.

He dawdles awkwardly while he waits for this Xavier. Xavier turns out to be…rather surprising. Dressed in an outfit similar to your own, he’s talking on his phone as he offers a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Xavier…” Caleb doesn’t let him continue, shoving the bag in his direction. Xavier happily takes it and turns, replying with a small ‘yes, I got it’. It only fuels the irritation brewing at Caleb’s fingertips. He was on a call with you.

After trying to will away the annoyance in his chest at the sight of the confident blue-eyed man, Caleb returns to the desk, shuffling the things back to where they were. A bunch of polaroids drop to the ground from one of the books, which he picks up instead.

He doesn’t recognize anybody in the photo besides you, but he assumes the one you’re making a finger heart with is Tara, your best friend. Two other women huddle close behind, and then there’s the three men. Xavier, a black-haired man with glasses who didn’t look happy to be there, and a smart looking man with a not-so subtle hand on the long-haired woman’s waist. His eyes linger on your smile, the way you look so happy and content and he can’t deny the pang he feels in his chest. She has friends.

She has people she loves. And who love her.

He looks at the photo for a bit, before it began to hurt too much, and then he turns it over in his hand. Company Dinner 02/02/2048. Deciding it was enough snooping, he tries to find where it had fallen out of, before he sees two other photos lodged between two different pages. He carefully turns the pages. There’s one of her with a purple haired guy, with a painting the size of a wall behind them.

His hand is on her waist, his brain registers ruefully.

Rafayel’s exhibition 01/03/2048.

Huh.

He places both the photos back inside, before turning to the last one. A silver haired man sits with a crow on his finger, smiling at the camera like the very act of taking a photo was his prime source of amusement. Caleb feels his blood boil a little. He imagines her taking it, smiling, and this man’s ruby red eyes watching her. Sylus 12/12/2048

Making a mental note to find out who this Sylus guy was, he slams the book shut.

He can hear his breathing.

That’s never a good sign. He’s about to pack them away when his fingers open up one of the purple books and skims over the first line, written in a loose mixture of cursive and print.

Dear Diary,

Life is complex, but it is during times like these that I…

He slams the book shut, his heartbeat in his ears. This…is your diary. Your most personal thoughts. Written down on paper, within reach, right there, at his fingertips. And there’s not one book. There’s multiple. This wasn’t a one-time thing. It was a habit.

He stays there for a few seconds, his fingers frozen, his thoughts a mess, but then he slowly piles the books back into the drawer. Except the one he’s holding. He checks the last page. It’s filled. He sits down slowly on the chair facing your desk.

He shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t.

But then again, he shouldn’t have drugged you either. He knows it’s a bad idea. Back then, he had the excuse of needing to protect you. There was no excuse for this. There was no excuse for him to read your personal diary. And yet, he found his gaze transfixed and his hands turning over the pages of your diary.

Dear Diary,

Life is complex, but it is during times like these that I turn to home. I don’t really get how and when does one’s ‘home’ change from the place you grew up in to something else. I’ve been away since college and yet when I go back home, it feels like I’ve hit the reset button. I love it there.

I’m seeing Caleb today, after quite some time. He has not been home since forever, and grandma keeps pestering me to tell him to visit, as if he’s going to listen to me, of all people! Caleb just marches to the beat of his own drum. Still, I miss him. I’m soo excitedd.

I’m not going to carry this diary there, it’s too much work trying to hide it, so adios!

Caleb can’t stop himself from reading further. He remembers that day clearly.

Dear Diary,

I’m back!! The trip home was great. I saw Caleb after ages. He looked happy. Can’t believe he’s a pilot now. In fact, I can’t believe the three of us really did become what we always wanted to- Zayne became a doctor, Caleb became a pilot and I became a hunter. Imagine we had switched roles? Imagine Zayne as a hunter and me chiding him for injuring himself, that’s funny. Or imagine Caleb as a doctor. He wouldn’t last a minute when he sees those pools of blood. Or maybe he would. I don’t know. He’d make a good hunter too, he was always fighting the bullies in school.

Grandma looked okay, but I wish she would stop growing older. Every time I see her, I can’t help but worry. The doctor has increased her medication too.

I felt my system reset, like I said it would. Every time I go back, I feel like I’m okay. Otherwise, it’s so easy to feel like a mess, like I’m not doing enough, and like I should be doing so much more, things like that.

However, I’ve decided to go to the arcade at least once a week. When I saw Caleb’s airplane models, I decided I should spend some time doing things I like- like collecting plushies. I don’t have the energy to pick up a new hobby right now, but I can at least start a little collection.

Caleb smiles. He looks over at the neatly lines plushies on the wall mounted shelf. You sure kept up the promise. He carries the book over to the couch.

Only a little more.

Dear Diary,

I met Zayne today, for my yearly medical checkup. He lectured me about sleeping and eating and getting injured less and other things that I zoned out about. He worries too much about everything. If I worried this much about each Wanderer I had to fight, I’d have grey hair before 25.

Speaking of grey hair, Nina from weapons found a grey hair yesterday, so she’s worried. She bleaches her hair a lot, so maybe it’s because of that. Wait let me look that up.

Okay, so apparently constantly bleaching your roots can do that to your hair. Maybe I should text her that. I had hotpot for dinner today, it was great. I do eat outside a lot, but I simply don’t know what to cook, that’s the reason why.

Caleb remembers the pie in the oven, just in time. He takes his time in the kitchen, unable to keep the little smile off his face. She’s so cute, he can’t help but think, but it’s combined with a sinking feeling. There’s so much that she thinks about. So much that I don’t know.

Caleb spends the next hour reading through. He promises himself he wouldn’t pry too deep. He'd stop if things got too personal, but the line between the two of you had always been blurry. Where did he end and you begin? What secret was too dark that you'd hide it from him? He didn't know, he couldn't tell.

He slipped the book into his backpack for later.

You return sometime later, and Caleb is more than happy to welcome you and your stories from work. He feels happy, and so much lighter than he has since so many days.

"And then...Tara nearly fell into her arms!"

Caleb laughs heartily, but his mind lingers longer on your smiley eyes than the story you tell.

x

Skyhaven is bright, but it is also too clean, too clinical. Too empty, Caleb thinks. His breaks are punctuated with questions of when he’s getting to see you again, finger loitering over the video call button. Should he call? Would that be too much? You always did like your space.

Caleb had stuffed the book in his backpack and it now lay under his mattress-a little night reading before he went to bed. Initially, he hadn’t been able to keep the jealous feelings from coiling painfully in his stomach when you wrote about the other men you knew, but eventually he found himself feeling pretty neutral about them. You seemed…dare he say happy? His heart drops a little at the thought again, but it was true. You were allowed to be happy without him.

He deserved that.

Besides, he couldn’t keep them away from you when they claimed to be ‘friends’, so he continues, trying to see what you were like when he didn’t have his eyes on you.

Dear Diary,

Today, Rafayel slipped on a paintbrush and admitted himself to the hospital. I really don’t understand how he’s so clumsy. He also had the audacity to lie to me!! First, he pretended not to recognise me as revenge, because I didn’t visit him as soon as he texted. And then, he said he fell while trying to save a child!! He’s ridiculous!!

Caleb chuckles. This Rafayel guy was funny at least.

Then, he proceeded to tell me some stories and wanted to run away from the hospital but Zayne would actually kill me if he found out I helped a patient elope, so I refused. Zayne has been superr busy too.

He could see you in his mind’s eye, arguing with this Rafayel guy. He rolls over in bed, clutching the precious diary closer.

I was hoping to have lunch with him today but he didn’t even have time for that. I really don’t get how he survives the day on cafeteria sandwiches. Especially those particular hospital cafeteria sandwiches. The mayo is so watery, it once ran down my lip as if I’d bit into a strawberry. Zayne has good taste in restaurants, plus he’s a good cook. That’s surprising, but I guess it’s not that hard to follow instructions off a video. I don’t understand how Xavier managed to burn tea today, AGAIN. It's like my life is a sitcom! He called me, all panicked, at 7:25, when I had an alarm for 7:30, and I had to go and help him. How is he so capable as a hunter but so terrible at cooking? Does it do it for fun? I don’t think he does? He looks too pitiful when he does, like he really would like to get it right but simply can’t. Also called Caleb today but the reception was ass, so we spoke for only like 10 minutes.

Caleb’s heart thumps at the mention of his name. He remembers that call. He had tried to use the fleet’s Wifi, but nothing had been working. Regret seeps into his bones slowly. It seems like the only emotion he feels these days. A sudden ringing of his phone startles him out of his reminiscing.

He looks over at his phone on the bedside table.

Call from Darling Pipsqueak. He quickly picks up.

“Hey, pipsqueak!”, he greets.

“Hi! Are you free?”

“For you, yes”, he replies, his lips curling into a smile at the sound of your voice.

You don’t notice. Caleb is good at pretending.

“I have to tell you what happened today”, you sound particularly happy, and he closes the book to face the screen.

He stops for a second and decides to take it in.

All of it.

He’s here, and you’re calling him to tell him about your colleague who tripped over the sidewalk and you’re laughing, and you’re not looking at him with doubt, or fear, or confusion because you’re laughing.

Regret.

Regret can wait for when his heart isn’t thumping at the way you’re smiling at him.

X

Dear Diary,

I was talking to Tara about Mark. After she insisted on making me download an app which made matches based on ‘personality and Evol’, I swiped a few men left and right before I met him. He was nice at first, even though he seemed a bit nervous. He was chatty and funny and like generally, there was nothing wrong with him but…wait I’ll elaborate in a minute. Me and Tara were at Café Serena, trying the new sfogliatellas with matcha and she was taking these Pinterest date pics. She was way too excited for me and Mark. Things have been going well, but I don’t feel as excited about it as she wants me to be.

It just feels like pretence. There’s nothing technically wrong with him. He’s smart, and flirty and he appreciates me and makes me feel seen, but I feel like I’m playing a role on a stage instead of ‘being me’, you know? I imagined calling him my boyfriend and sitting with him in that same café and I just simply didn’t care. I didn’t hate it, but I couldn’t care less. How do people fall in love with strangers? How do people fall in love at all?

He hadn’t known about this. You hadn’t told him.

Caleb closes the book and stuffs it under his mattress. He needs to sleep. He needs to run. He needs to do something to chase away the feeling that’s creeping below his skin at the mention of this Mark. In fact, he needs to sleep right now if he wishes to catch at least four hours. His job as a Colonel was still an integral part of his every day, even though his mind wandered to Linkon City every ten minutes.

He tosses and turns in his bed, unable to sleep. Finally, he pulls it out again and huffs. Sleep be damned, he has to find out how it ended with Mark. 

The next entry is dated fifteen days later.

Dear Diary,

Me and Mark ‘broke up’.

See, technically, he knew that. You were single now, weren’t you? But Caleb can’t deny the rush of satisfaction that floods his veins as he reads the words on the page.

I simply don’t care. I don’t know if it’s callous of me. Mark looked confused for a moment, but then he looked disappointed. ‘You’re really emotionally unavailable’ he said and I am SO ANGRY. WHAT DOES HE MEAN! I’m plenty emotional. I just didn’t feel the spark with him. At this point I’m fed up of all this dating business.

I don’t know why I feel upset when I broke up with him. I don’t know, I’m going to sleep. I need to wash my hair first. I’m fucking annoyed at everything!

Caleb intended to feel a sense of relief, but he just felt annoyed. You shouldn’t have to feel like something was wrong with you because of some guy.

The next day, Caleb wishes he had makeup to hide the dark circles under his eyes. He had stayed up all night, reading further, wanting to leave on a good note. The next few entries had just been short tired updates, or gossip from your hunter friends, or irritated outbursts about Mark, which had only fuelled the already present disdain he felt for this man.

His eyes were burning.

He runs his finger over the plush material of the book, which he had carried to his office, and now sat locked away in a drawer by his left. h

X

That night, he’s settled into bed. Little does he know that he’s only got a few pages before that day. That day when everything changed for him, but everything ended for you.

Dear Diary,

Grandma’s gone. Caleb’s gone too.

His hands shake a little as he sees the dried drops that had stained the ink of your pen into little purple pools. Tears.

Oh.

Oh, he had…he wouldn’t say forgotten, but he had locked it away. He had imagined you happy. Now he’s faced with the consequences of his actions in the truest form, the proof of how he’d hurt you.

That same day, I had lunch with them. Caleb cooked for us too. He looked different I don’t know why, and we fought about something dumb- about how I don’t rely on him or something. He entered the house and it just exploded. I don’t remember much, no matter how hard I try. I was just there and then I wasn’t. I woke up in the hospital. Zayne understands my need to keep busy. It is the only way I can do anything. If I sit down, I will never stand up. If I sleep, it feels like I will never wake up. Some days I wish it, actually.

I refuse to believe it was an accident. Zayne said the professor who worked with grandma about something related to Protocore syndrome might have had something to do with the explosion. I have to find out. I will find out what happened there, because there’s no way that was just an accident. We’re going to Mt. Eternal next week.

So, you had always suspected. A part of his mind marvels at how you always knew, but he can’t focus on it when he turns the pages to see so much, so many words written in the days that followed.

A brief moment has him wondering if he should stop, if this was the line he couldn’t, shouldn’t cross. Not for you, for him.

He didn’t know if he was ready to see exactly how he’d caused that much hurt.

He falls asleep clutching the book to his chest like a lifeline.

X

The next diary entry is dated a month later.

Dear Diary,

Zayne visited me today, which was strange since he works 25/7. At first, I was suspicious of him, but he said he was just there ‘to hang out’. We cooked dinner together, although he did most of the work, and then we had dinner. He was really chatty today. We spoke about many things. He even made me an ice duck- just because I said his expertise only extended to ice seals. It was fun.

Caleb sighs. Zayne. His mind conjured up an image of the man, albeit much younger. Time hadn’t erased much of your image from his head, but it had been years since he had met the man. He remembers a boy, a quiet, shy boy, but the same nonetheless. A boy who would always make sure you were okay. He’s apparently that same boy. Would Caleb ever meet him again?

He can’t help but stare at the book for a moment, his fingers twitching to reach over and dial your number, hear your voice. He nearly jumps when his phone does ring, and he reaches out excitedly only to see it’s from Gideon.

“I hope you still live at Capella Towers because…I’m right here”

Gideon had shown up to his place to ‘catch up’. Caleb shouldn’t have been surprised. The night ended with him drinking way more than necessary and the next day he would have barely considered himself awake till he was already sitting at his desk at the Fleet. The day went quickly for him, which was a good thing. You also replied to his post on Moments, and he had to bite back a smile in the corridor. It wouldn’t do his reputation any well to smile in the Fleet’s corridors.

It's not before he’s back in bed that he realizes something his off. His hand involuntarily moves to the slot between his mattress and bedframe, feeling around for the book that has become habit to him, only to find nothing but the cold metal. He immediately sits up, body bolting up straight as a rod before he lifts the corner of the mattress straight off.

It’s empty.

The book is gone.

Panic sets in, driving any rational thoughts away. He drops to his knees, feeling around once more as if his metal fingers had simply missed the first two times.

There was no way he lost the book.

Caleb stands, rapidly crossing the room to grab the small bag he carries to work. Nothing but his ID and water bottle sits there.

Besides, why would it be in his bag?

Could Gideon have found it? No way.

Caleb stands, sweat beginning to form at his hairline.

Gideon wouldn’t do such a thing, would he? He’s probably tease Caleb about it first. That would only leave the office-

Caleb moves fast. He’s in his car before the minute is up, not bothering to change out of his cotton pants and loose T shirt. He’s about to break every signal if it comes to it, and he clutches the wheel like his fingers would leave prints. He’s striding to the main gate in no time, scanning his ID and ignoring the guard at the entrance before marching to his desk. He takes a deep breath.

Caleb tears open the drawers. Papers fly.

He sees it.

The little book. Caleb clutches it in his hand. He flips through the pages, just in case.

Just in case. His heart is still thumping dully when he reaches home.

X

Dear Diary,

A few days ago, Rafayel was pestering me about not visiting him so I did. That was the first bad idea. I had already had a bad day, thinking about everything, and I was hoping talking to him would sort some things out but it didn’t help. Instead, he began talking about Lemuria and a few other things and I was trying to be sympathetic but after a point, I found myself just simply nodding. I couldn’t help him. I knew it was a wound for him that still hurt, but I couldn’t help him, and he knew it! I tried to keep track of the conversation but I zoned out for a long moment, I think.

I had my laptop with me and I still had work to upload. I just continued working. Rafayel kept talking, and even though I appreciated the company, it was just a lot. The scraggly handwritten reports written by Nero, which I could barely read, the swish of the waves outside the window, the buffering internet, Rafayel’s voice, it was just irritating me…I was also nauseous since I hadn’t eaten, I think.

 I ended up throwing the files across his studio. The effect was terrible. Papers flew everywhere, and I wanted to rip them to shreds. I also think I shocked Rafayel.

Rafayel gave me a hug then. ��I don’t know what came over me- why I was so angry. It just felt like I was useless as a friend to Rafayel, to grandma, to Caleb, to Linkon as a hunter. I just felt generally useless. I was too useless to deserve even his friendship.

All I wanted to do was go home and lie down and sleep and not think about how my life was falling apart every single day, and he was trying to play therapist.  It just suddenly got on my nerves. I kind of rejected his hug but he refused to let go and I started crying.

I was a mess, crying and almost thrashing, but he didn’t let me go. I haven’t seen him since. I still feel embarrassed about seeing him again, but he acted normal the next day, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and meet him today. I think I cried for a while before I fell asleep.

I really hope he doesn’t bring it up. I don’t have any answers for him. I can’t even cancel. He’ll know if I’m avoiding him.

He’s too perceptive sometimes.

Caleb takes a shuddering breath.  

He’s sitting on his bed, his fingers involuntarily tracing the letters on the page when he hears his shrill doorbell ring.

Who…? Certainly, nobody from work would dare to show up to his house. Besides, not a lot of others knew where he lived. Which left… Caleb crossed the hall, bare feet on the cold floor, as he opened the door only to feel his heart kick up to see you, standing at his doorstep.

“Caleb!”, you cheer excitedly, opening your arms up for a hug.

“Pip…squeak?”, his arms curl around your shoulders, but his voice betrays the questions in his mind. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t come to see you?”, you ask, cheerfully, as he drags you in to shut the door.

“You…came from Linkon…to see me?” Caleb can’t believe it. Sure, he had done the same thing a few weeks ago, but to think you’d do that for him…

“Yeah! I have tomorrow off, so as soon as I got off work, I booked an evening ticket and here I am”, you explain simply, as if it were that easy. Caleb notices the little backpack you’re carrying, and his heart thumps in his chest.

You really came to Skyhaven for him. To spend one day, your day off, with him.

“Well then, welcome”, he says quickly. He’s good at pretending, after all. His smile is back on his face, even though his heart is doing a funny combination in his chest.

Over dinner he watches you eat, his heart squeezing painfully at the thought of a day when you couldn’t, because of him. When you take a shower, he hides the diary quickly, wondering how he had forgotten it on his bed, but that was what you did to him.

Left him off guard, off kilter.

“Do you have face moisturizer Caleb?”, your voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Yeah”, he hands it over, unable to keep his eyes from trailing over you as you rub the lotion into your neck.

His body moves involuntarily as he pats your hair against the towel. The gentle scent of his shampoo on you hits his nose, and he has to keep something at bay, to tamper down what suddenly threatens to flow over. “What are you…?”

“Drying your hair, obviously”, he replies. His voice sounds rough. He clears his throat.

His mind wanders when he’s finally lying down. You’d spent hours talking, playing Kitty Cards, before your eyes had started to droop. “Time for bed, sleepyhead”, he had said squishing your cheeks, before setting up the guest bedroom.

He turns over once. Sleep evades him. He walks to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. He stares at the night sky. He debates with himself. He shouldn’t, really. Besides, you’d be asleep. His feet still carry him to the edge of the bed you’re lying in, before he places a hand on your head, gentle, light.

You don’t move. You hope your measured breaths speak for you. He waits. Watches as the quiet moonlights kisses your skin. He turns away. You reach out to grab his hand before you remember sleeping people don’t do that. “Can’t sleep?”, you ask. Caleb shakes his head.

“Lie here with me?”

Who is he to deny you that? Who is Caleb to deny you anything, really.

So, he does. He lies down, keeping his distance, trying to ignore how every minute seems to add to the water threatening to spill over like an overfilled dam straining at the seams.

But you shuffle and press yourself closer to him and he lets himself a little reprieve to preserve his sanity as he reaches an arm out to encircle your waist. Your hand on his nearly makes his heart still.

X

Dear Diary,

Nobody makes me madder than Sylus. Every word he speaks is smug. Every deal he proposes is suspicious. The other week I had to attend a dinner because of this businessman I met and he seemed suitable enough to go with, so I asked him. He was every bit smug the entire evening. “Am I too much sweetie?” “Am I stealing the spotlight darling?” His ten-thousand-dollar laugh doesn’t help either. By the time it was time to go home, I was done. The dress I had ended up picking wasn’t great either. It was beautiful, but it made my skin itch.

I was going to head home but Sylus insisted I ‘owed him’ and drove us to the Onichynus base instead. It’s a long story. He wanted my input for a heist that involved stealing a code from a businessman. Usually, Sylus uses power, not stealth, but he needed to stay hidden, hence my help.

I didn’t have an answer. Every option I ran through in my head felt like it put him in too much danger. It had to be him too. He had to go there himself. It wouldn’t do if he sent any of his men. I don’t think I can trust my decisions with matters of stealth like that. I used to, some time ago, when I was a fresh hunter. One’s trust in oneself is an important part in stealth operations. But recently, I find myself questioning everything.

If I had kept talking to Caleb that day, maybe he wouldn’t have entered the house at all. Maybe he wouldn’t have died. Maybe if I hadn’t left the house at all, it wouldn’t been me too. I wouldn’t mind it honestly. I can’t help but run the possibilities of how things could’ve gone differently over and over again. It’s endless.

I didn’t have an answer for Sylus. “Trust yourself”, he told me. I don’t.

Eventually he stared at me for long and then gave up. Thankfully, I didn’t cry like a baby this time. I would’ve avoided him for a month out of embarrassment if I did, actually. But he didn’t seem to notice. He just insisted the N109 streets were too dangerous to drive home and I should stay at his place for the night, so I did. I was too tired to argue. We even had hot chocolate.

Caleb holds the page between his fingers. Surely, Sylus noticed. He feels his anger dissipate a little, an aching pain filling the gap instead. He had been there for you. When Caleb hadn’t been. Not beside you, when you needed him.

He swallows once.

Caleb turns the remaining pages absently, his heart thumping in his ears. His mind goes back to the man’s red eyes, his smile when you had been behind the camera.

He realizes he didn’t even have the right to be angry.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair.

X

Running is Caleb’s way of starting the day.

When his body wakes up before his mind. Truth is, his mind hadn’t felt very awake even when the sun is at its peak in the sky. He had done his best to keep it going. His routine. His carefully balanced system of pretense and silence. Silence in which he would either think of you, or call you, or sit. When he sat, he felt guilty.

So, he didn’t. He filled the time with more missions. More fleet mergers. More people pissed off. He could deal with enemies, enemies weren’t new.

He couldn’t deal with silence.

He couldn’t deal with you.

Because slowly your words had darkened the image he saw in his head. The cheerful one; you with the same fight and enthusiasm as when you were little. Every time he saw your face on a call, his brain moved a little slower, taking another path of worry, even when you were right there, in front of him. His mind kept wanting to inspect closer for any cracks, wanting to ask if you were okay, because now he knew that if you weren’t, you wouldn’t go to him.

You’d go to Rafayel, or Sylus, or Zayne or Xavier. Certainly better options than him.

It was destroying him more than he knew.

The running wasn’t working.

X

Dear Diary,

I didn’t go to work today. Even after a day off, I felt terrible. I woke up in the morning and nearly cried at the thought of having to get up. it’s like falling down on ice. Once you fall, you want to keep sitting there because you won’t fall further. I slept till 2pm and then I only woke up to drink water before I slept for another four hours. I woke up after the sun set. Xavier texted me asking if I was okay, but that was at 11am and I was just too embarrassed to text him back by the time I saw his text, so I just ignored it. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he knocked on my bedroom door some time later. I was just in bed, scrolling on some random videos and he had just let himself in.

I hated him seeing me like this. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth or taken a shower. My hair was a mess. The worst part is, he asked me if I was sick and I couldn’t even make up a lie quick enough. I was just having an off day, I told him. Kind of like when he sleeps for 28 hours at a stretch.

He had brought over takeout, and out of embarrassment I brushed my teeth and washed my face as he set it up. Xavier pretended not to notice but I’m sure he thinks I’m coming down with something. I shouldn’t have given him my apartment passkey. Now I can’t even bedrot in peace.  

He told me about this new book he’s reading and I said I’d read it soon, but to be honest idk when I will. I don’t have the patience to read a book these days.

The next entry has a time skip of three months.

Dear Diary,

I think the thing that hurts the most is feeling like we have time. We always had time. And then we didn't. I wonder what he’d do if it had been me.

I never got to tell him I love him.

I will always regret that.

The diary ends abruptly after that. Caleb turns the pages in a panic before he sees a few more words after a few blank pages.

Dear Caleb,

In therapy, they talk about a 'normal grief reaction' but I don't understand what makes it normal. My best friend is gone. The one I love is gone. He didn't know I loved him.

I don't understand how they don't see that.

I saw a boy flying a paper plane today and for a second, I thought, we should do that when I see you. Before I remembered.

I hate to think that it was such an ordinary day. A quiet day which will forever divide my life into a before and after. Into a with and a without. I hate that nothing stopped, everything went on as usual. There just was and then there wasn’t.

I hate that I have to remember and talk about you instead of talking to you. In the middle of all the chaos, with Tara and Simone and Andrew, every time I eat apple pie, every time I see an airplane fly, I think of you.

I still send messages to your number, and I still confess to the sky.

I'm hoping the airplanes will carry my wishes to you, and my thoughts and ideas, unlike those traitorous shooting stars we saw once. Because they didn’t keep my wish.

Yours,

Y/N

X

It is a quiet sunny day when the birds chirp like they did all those years ago, when Caleb slips the notebook back into the dark brown drawer where he had found it, two months ago.

X

He disappears into the Deepspace Tunnel. Work was a mask, it was a shield, it was a cover for so many things that he didn’t know where to put down and how to hold. Maybe, he should never have picked up that book. Because the last time he had spent at your place, he had found a ball in his throat every few minutes to the point where you had noticed.

He should probably do something. Say something. He doesn’t know where to start.

He can’t help but check his phone as soon as he’s landed, though. Texts flood his phone.

MC: Wow, you left again!! Without telling me!

MC: Caleb when I catch you, Caleb!

MC: text me when back

He laughs.

Caleb: guess who's back. Just landed ttyl

He barely makes it to his office before his phone is ringing. Video call. He picks it up, because there is no world in which he wouldn’t.

“HOW DARE YOU!!”

Oh no. “I told you I was going to go back to Skyhaven?”

“Yeah, I assumed for some daily job things?? You didn’t say you were going into the tunnel!”

“Well, plans changed a bit pipsqueak”

Pipsqueak simply shook her head disappointedly before she got closer to the camera. “What’s that on your face? Are you hurt?”

Caleb winces. Of course she would notice. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch”. It had been a rough tumble the ship had taken that had rammed his face into the controls, but it had been healing. He was almost hoping she wouldn’t see.

“Well, does the brilliant hunter have some time for me?”, he quickly moves the conversation forward.

You roll your eyes. “When are you getting here?”

“If I take a taxi in an hour, it should be six hours”

“Now?? Didn’t you just land?”

“Yup”, he grins, “See you soon”

Rain envelopes the long road to Linkon. He’s missed the last train, he knew he would. Caleb sleeps fitfully, his eyes occasionally opening to trail the drops of water racing down the glass windows. He arrives at night.

You welcome him joyfully, but don’t miss the dark circles that somehow seem to have got deeper. He hardly eats before he’s out like a light on the couch.

Outside, thunder rumbles.

You leave him a cute little note before going to work the next day.

‘Rest. If you cook anything, I’ll kill u♡’

At work, you rush through the paperwork like being chased by wild dogs, and you rip Xavier away from his desk to go fight that Wanderer, before clocking out.

The rain doesn’t let up. You do a quick grocery run before heading back home, hoping Caleb has taken your advice. You find him on your bed, arm over his head, headphones in. You check to see if he has a fever. Caleb jerks awake at that, startling you in turn. “H-Hey”

“Pipsqueak!”

“You weren’t sleeping?”

Caleb scratches his neck, “I’m…not sure. I think I was? Especially since you threatened me so nicely”, he adds, smiling mischievously.

“You needed the rest. You looked like shit yesterday”

He puts an offended hand on his chest. “Wow, so subtle”

You laugh before you sit down on the bed beside him. “Let’s eat dinner and then watch a movie?”

You do the cooking this time, Caleb helps. He narrates stories from here and there as he does it. You sneak peeks of him from years ago, but you don’t say it. He steals ingredients to be annoying on purpose. “I’m just trying to be your sous chef, pipsqueak. Isn’t this what you always do?”. You laugh. He stares.

He looks away, because if he doesn’t, he feels like his chest is caving in.

Before long, you’re both settled in comfortably for a movie.

It turns out to be a complex thriller with a group of friends escaping death and betraying each other to survive. The real jumpscare happens when the lights go out with a loud flash. You and Caleb stare at each other. “Did it just…?”

A flash of lightning hits threateningly. “Yup, I think so”, you confirm checking your phone. “There’s a rain warning”

“Damn”

Caleb lies back against the headboard, stretching his legs.

You two sit in the dark, the occasional lightning flashing across your face before it dawns on him that you don’t flinch anymore. He sits up straighter.

“What?”

“You’re not scared?”

A small laugh escapes you. “I’m not ten anymore”

Something hurts. He thinks it’s his heart. No, you’re not.

You realize the words stung. Because you move closer to him, resting against his side. His arms wrap around your waist.

He wasn’t there to see it happen. When you stopped being a kid. When you stopped needing him.

My best friend is gone.

He shouldn’t, but he thinks you’re gone too, in a way. You’re a different person now. While he’s the same. Stuck, waiting, only somehow, worse. But he was destined to love every version of you. That was who he was. Caleb, in love with her.

The one I love is gone.

Caleb thinks of the things he’s seen you love. A little plant you grew for a school project. A puppy you fed every day. Ice candies in summer. He remembers how you cried when the plant began to wilt, and how you aggressively nursed it back to health. He thinks of your love-struck happy smile when your fingers brushed the puppy’s brown soft fur. He sees the gentle way you handled the things you loved in his mind’s eye. Not like they were fragile, but precious. He tries to think of being among those things. He doesn’t see it. Can’t picture it. There’s no way he could be loved by you. There’s no way he could forgive himself, either.

He didn’t know I loved him.

His hands wrap around your waist, tighter. Please, he prays. Please understand how I feel. Because I know I don’t deserve to. And I still do.

He knows it hadn’t been easy. But seeing, knowing, had changed the way he felt the guilt. And right now, it was curling around his heart making every beat feel like it was a mistake. He blinks his eyes, trying to well away the tears he feels rising.

I still send messages to your number.

He can’t keep them in. His vision swims as a thin layer of water pools at the bottom of his eyeball, threatening to spill.

"I'm sorry…”, he whispers, because he is. He’s never been sorrier.

This is pathetic.

He’s pathetic.  

You turn to face him.

“I'm so sorry...for everything.”

Your eyes widen in question. What was happening?

“Caleb, what’s wrong?” The Caleb from your childhood didn’t cry. Neither did the one who came back. Caleb just didn’t cry. At all.

"For going away...for coming back...for putting you through so much… for still wanting…”

Your hands cup his sharp jaw as his words ramble out of him in bursts, your concern growing exponentially. “Caleb…you’re not making much sense”

A singular tear runs down the inner corner of his eye, past his nose and down to his lips.

“I’m sorry…”, he whispers again, his breath stuttering as he inhales, trying to calm himself, but only making it worse. The tears flood his eyes now, as he cries. You swipe your fingers delicately on his face and shush him. “It’s okay”, you whisper quietly, unsure of what’s happening.

But he’s crying, and your heart is breaking because he’s crying. Caleb doesn’t cry. Something must be seriously wrong for him to be crying. You hug him to your chest and his hands wrap around your waist, as he sobs.

You sit like that for a while, patting his back while the raindrops hit your window outside.

“I know I hurt you…when I died… and I’m so sorry”, he manages. His voice cracks a little.

Understanding dawns on you.

“You’re back now. And…” ‘We should forget it’, didn’t seem appropriate. “we’re going to be okay”, you assure him.

“I read your diary”

What? You freeze, and you feel he does too. You let go of him, but he only holds on tighter, burying his face deeper, avoiding eye contact. “What? When? Caleb what”

“The day I was looking for that birthday card…I just came across it and I…”, he shakes. "I feel...I felt so far away...like no matter what I did, I couldn't ever be the Caleb that you needed. I needed to know you...”

Your heart softens, despite his actions. You should be angry. You should be furious.

And yet the anger doesn’t seem to come.

“Caleb…you know me, I’m”. I’m yours, your mind offered, but you couldn’t say that. He doesn’t wait for your response.

“It’s okay if you hate me, you deserve to, I’m…” Disgusting. He had seen the look in your eyes, once, back in Skyhaven when he had you on house arrest, even if you hadn’t said the words.

“I'm sorry that I still…"

What...?

“I still...want...I think of you..."

He takes a deep breath.

"I want...", he whispers.

Thoughts rush through your head at his words. You push him out of the embrace to look at his eyes. 

“I want you to know that…”, he begins. His voice is quiet, "You don't have to confess to the sky anymore."

Time seems to stop as you take his words in.

So, he knows.

He knows.

The one I love knows, that I love him.

You lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss. He knows, he knows, he knows. Caleb lets out a quiet noise of surprise before fresh tears flood his eyes and his arms tighten back around your waist. He kisses you, tenderly, gently, like he wants to, like he needs to, worship.

You taste the salt on his lips and lick it off. “Don’t cry”, you say, even if you feel the tears running down your face too.

“I love you”, he whispers when you’re both panting for breath, wet faces resting against each other’s, refusing to let go. “I love you. I’m sorry I…”

“I love you, Caleb.” And then, “You’re here. I’m here, you’re okay”

Caleb shudders against your skin before he gasps in air as if he had been held underwater. Maybe he had been, in a way. He had been running, drowning, hiding.

“We’re okay”, you whispered again, even if your breath stuttered too.

Your hands grasp at his neck, pressing him closer, needing to tell, needing to show. His hand trails lower before it fits below your thigh, perfectly.

A second later, you’re in his lap. Closer. You needed to be closer to him.

You show him how you love him. You make sure he knows. The dam bursts. Caleb doesn’t hold back. He lets the emotions flow.

There had been a before. And it had been complicated. Twisted. Held back. Repressed.

But when dawn arrives, you’re sure this is the after that you’re going to bask in for the rest of your life.

gimme all your thoughts and comments

[fancyfeathers]

Burn It All Down

(Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice)

Based on Yandere!Justice League with their darling!children AU

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Six, Slow Motion -> Next Chapter

This chapter is told from the perspective of Barry Allen's Daughter!Reader

Each chapter will be the perspective of the reader but as the different children since when I originally had this concept they were all darling/reader characters.

“Hey is Songbird alright? She’s been down since I got here this morning.” You asked your friend, the son of Wonder Woman, as you put the last of your crew’s bags into the car you bought, well rather you traded for. “I know she was sad we had to sell her motorcycle for the car, but was she that attached to it?”

“No… it’s not that.” He sighed, reaching up to close the trunk door. You say him glance back to the oldest vigilante out of you all, Songbird, who was locking the front door of the safe house while chatting with Supergirl who was standing next to her. “Last night we got a visit from a man, Songbird called him one of the most dangerous men in the world, his name is Ra’s Al Ghul. He said something… something that set her off.”

“Has she said anything besides that?”

“Nope, well not to me anyway, she stayed in Supergirl’s room last night and even before you got here this morning, they had been inseparable.” He sighed, digging up the car keys from his pocket. “Must be a girl thing-”

“Weren’t you raised by a bunch of women?”

“Yes, but they did not exactly keep many secrets from me, well besides a few- but that’s beside the point.” He shook his head, walking over to the driver’s seat of the car and Songbird and Supergirl walked over to the car, well hovered over to the car in the case of Supergirl. “So what were you up to over the last few days?”

“I just stopped by Central City to say goodbye to some old friends.” You answered him as you walked over to the back door of the car, behind the driver’s seat. “Some friends from school, I was the manager for the track and field team since you know I couldn’t compete and since I graduated early I left them all earlier than I would like and-”

“Did anyone see you, besides your friends?”

“Um… I don’t think anyone did.” She sighed as she stepped into the car, sitting in the seat behind you. “Besides, I ran past my old place, they were celebrating Jay’s and Joan’s wedding anniversary, their seventieth I think and there was some new kid there… I just… I don’t miss home but still.”

“New kid?”

“I just saw him run inside, some other speedster.” You sighed, leaning against the window of the car door as it closed after you. “I just… my dad never let me do anything as a kid, even after my speed came in.”

“He also kidnapped your mom too, if that helps.”

“That’s the exact opposite of helping, she was a travel nurse before she met my father...” You sighed, glancing out the other window as Supergirl and Songbird walked up to the other side of the car. “God, you all are so slow.”

“Says the girl who can go five hundred miles per hour.”

“Touche.”

You walked along the empty beach with Supergirl, the two of you needed to catch some air while Huntian and Songbird were sparring, and since you could run at hundreds of miles per hour and the girl beside you was a half-Kryptonian with little control over her abilities, so it hardly seemed fair for the two of you to participate. It was a clear night out and the moon shone off the ocean waters in ways that made it look like it was covered with diamonds.

“So Miss Supergirl, do you have any siblings?” You asked her as you kicked the sand with your barefoot, you both had taken off your shoes, and each of you carried your shoes in your hands, hanging off your fingers. 

“No, but my mom is pregnant right now, I think they’re going to be twins…”

“Ya I’m an only child too, but my mom was also having pregnancy symptoms.” You chuckled at your words, patting Supergirl on the shoulder and not her back because she was levitating again and you managed to push her back onto the sand, even if it was night, you still could not risk someone seeing her floating a foot off the ground. “Seems like both of our parents have baby fever.”

“Seems like it-” Supergirl paused for a moment, her face turning into an expression of heavy discomfort as if her ears were ringing. You watch as her expression turns into an expression of pure pain, her hands coming up to cover her ears as she falls to her knees, gritting her teeth.

“W-what’s wrong?!” You called out, kneeling beside her, your hand still resting on her shoulder.

“H-hear… e-everthing…”

“God, that’s right, Kryptonians have super hearing… um…” You glanced around, there were plenty of tourist shops, lining the road by the beach, you were sure one of them had noise-canceling headphones, just a quick run in and out. “Be back in a flash.” 

It was all slow to you as you ran to the nearest store, slamming a twenty down on the counter, grabbing a set of headphones off the shelf, and running out the door, back to where Supergirl was lying in pain on the ground. Still, something was wrong, you saw something that you believed triggered something that caused your friend pain. Someone who can break the sound barrier like you can, that other speedster you saw in your brief visit to Central City, your hometown. He was in that same red and white suit with those one-piece goggles and his noticeable red hair that reminded you of your cousin Wally West, well he was almost your cousin, but that is beside the point. He was looking curiously around at your friend and then you saw his eyes light up when he saw you, everything else around you still in slow motion around you two. “Whoa! You're not as tall as I’d expect you to be! You’re taller in the future!”

“I-in the future? W-wait kid, who are you?” You grabbed him by the shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“Bart Allen, your future nephew!”

“Nephew?! I-I am… I don’t have any siblings, let alone-”

“Grandma- um… your mom is pregnant right now, twins.” He spoke so casually to you, which made you feel even more uncomfortable. You pushed past him, walking over to where it looked like Supergirl was frozen in time, you ripped the box open, took the headphones out, and placed the headphones over her ears. “Auntie? Are you alright? You look upset.”

“Ya, I am just a bit upset right now.” You glared at him, your eyes narrowing at him and forcing yourself to take deep breaths in and out to calm yourself down. “Look kid, I’m not your aunt and I can’t go back to Central City if that’s what this is about-”

“Actually it’s not, I actually got on put on this super cool team with Nightwing, and Superboy, and- I probably shouldn’t have said that.” Your eyes went wide at his words, you heard hushed murmurs from Wally and your father about some sort of team when Wally was over but they always got quiet when you walked into the room like they did not want you to know something. It already upset you that your dad let Wally become the Kid Flash and then Wally just gave it up when he knew all you wanted to do with your power was to help people, but your dad never would have let you because it is too dangerous. “But then I saw you and I just had to meet you! You’re my auntie!”

“No, I am not…” You sucked in a deep breath, glaring down at the kid. “Just go, run along, because right now I am really not in the mood to deal with something like this and I’m sure this team you speak of needs you.”

“But, I’ve always-” “Just go!” You yelled at him, and you saw the pain in his eyes when you did, looking like a kicked puppy as you picked up your friend, draping her arm over your shoulder, bracing her body against your own. “You’re better not knowing me.”

You sat in your room in the next safe house you all were staying in, staring at a spot on the wall and not breaking your eyes from it. You had so many thoughts going through your mind, not being able to process half of them. Supergirl was with Songbird, learning how to manage her newfound powers so she could hear without all the pain in the world coming with it. Then that kid acted like he knew everything about you, he did have the same powers as you and the same last name, but being from the future actually sounded insane. 

“Hey.” You jumped when you heard a familiar voice from your bedroom door, your friend, the son of Wonder Woman. He held a large tupperware dish in his hands, probably leftovers from dinner, which you missed. “I made taco casserole, one for you and one for the rest of us.”

“Thanks… but I’m really not that hungry right now.”

“With your metabolism, I doubt that.” He walked over and sat down on your bed next to you, sliding the plastic container onto your lap with a fork already lying on the plastic lid. “Eat and then we will talk about what is bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“You are a horrible liar.”

“I… I just met someone today.” You popped open the lid of the tupperware container and stabbed the fork down into the casserole that your friend made for you before shoving a forkful into your mouth. 

“Met someone?”

“You know that speedster I mentioned seeing back in Central City-”

“You didn’t…”

“He approached me! He said something about a team on a mission here-”

“A team with who?”

“He said like um… Nightwing and Superboy? But then he stopped himself and-” You cut yourself off as you watched your friend stand up and sprint out of the room, something you said clearly was wrong. You set the tupperware dish down and ran after your friend, sprinting down the hallway after him. “Hey! What’s going on- mph!”

You felt a hand clasp onto your mouth and pull you into a closet, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the face of Songbird pulling you close and keeping you quiet, her face looked stern and she held a finger to her lips, a silent message to tell you to be quiet. She was dressed in her pajamas, she probably was just getting ready for bed. You stepped deeper into the closet as to get out of her way, but ran into something, or rather someone else, someone who was invisible.

“Shh, it’s me.” You heard the voice of your friend, the son of Wonder Woman, he was invisible and in the closet with you. That was something he could do now. So now you three were stuck in the closet, listening for whatever Songbird dragged you in here for.

“Are you sure this is where the tracker led?” 

“I’m positive.”

“Did the Justice League seriously assign us to child herding?”

“They are our age first of all and we are trying to find them because they have potentially dangerous powers and could potentially be used against the Justice League as leverage.”

“Isn’t one of them your little sister, Nightwing? And doesn’t she not have any powers?”

“That’s beside the point- and your niece… your sister… whatever, Superman’s daughter is also here.”

You watched as Songbird took out her phone while listening to the intruders speak, her nimble fingers pulling up the messaging app and typing in something to one of her contacts, probably one of her many nameless friends who would hopefully come to your rescue. Knowing Songbird, she had a plan to get you all out of this-

You felt sick to your stomach as a realization came upon you…

Supergirl was still out there.

“I’m home, baby.” Your mother was sitting on the couch as your father literally sped to your mother’s side just from the front door. He pressed a kiss to her cheek before sitting down beside her on the couch, pulling her onto his lap so he could rest his chin on her shoulder and put his hands on her lower tummy. “Long day at work today.”

“At which job?” Your mother asked, leaning against his chest and closing her eyes. She has been married to your father for several years now, just a few months longer than you have been alive. 

“Both.” He chuckled, his hands beginning to creep up her shirt, his warm hands resting on her bare stomach, a baby bump not even showing yet. “Was a murder scene in an uptown hotel, was literally there all morning, and then there was an emergency meeting called by Green Arrow, that’s why I’m home so late.”

“What was the meeting for?” Your mother asked and she heard her husband groan and felt the vibrations against her neck. “Barry?”

“It was nothing.”

“Barry?” Your mother grabbed his hands, pulling them off her stomach and turning to look him in the eye, glaring down at him. “What was the meeting about?”

“Don’t worry about it-”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen, if you do not tell me then I swear to god I am going to burn that red dress you like on me.”

“The one I got you for our anniversary… you wouldn’t.”

“I would, don’t test me.”

“Fine… It was about our daughter, well not just our daughter.” Your mother watched him bite the inside of his cheek, thinking about how he would explain this to your mother without her getting more upset at him than she already was. “Over the last few years there have been threats the Justice Leauge has been dealing with that could threaten the safety of our loved one, that is why I was hesitant to allow her to go to college early, I thought something was going to happen to her and I was thinking about pulling her out, I just didn’t expect for her to…”

“Runaway?”

“Ya…” she heard her husband sigh, pulling her tighter against him. “She was such a good kid when she was little, I didn’t expect anything like this from her… none of us did…”

“What do you mean by that?”

“A lot of other children of the League have gone… missing.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She sighed and reached up and rubbed her temples before a yawn escaped her lips. “Independence needs to be learned, no matter who their parents are.”

“Yes, but their parents are some of the most well-known heroes on the globe, they aren’t like other kids.” He shook his head, shaking away those negative thoughts away before nuzzling his cheek against his wife’s cheek and pressing a kiss on the skin beside her eye. “Don’t worry about it, stress isn’t good for the babies.”

“I think my daughter who is afraid of her own father is my main concern.”

“The League is having someone already handling it as we speak, it’ll be fine.”Your mother could only lean back, staring at the ceiling as she stared up at the ceiling. “How about I make you pancakes in the morning before I go to work, the ones with strawberries and chocolate chips, does that sound good baby?”

“...That sounds fine.”

[ultravioletqueen]

I want to share this idea that came to me while listening to Epic the Musical while thinking about Twisted Wonderland!

Imagine certain twisted wonderland characters with a male reader as Telemachus of Ithaca.

Telemachus!reader is cheerful, brave, kind, and temperamental, with a thirst for adventure and a great love for his family. He comes from the island of Ithaca and is heir to the throne of the kingdom of the same name.

I imagine Telemachus!reader is more likely to end up at Royal Sword Academy than Night Raven College for obvious reasons, but I imagine he could still interact with some of the characters for political reasons in other kingdoms.

Imagine Telemachus!reader being Leona's friend thanks to family connections! Leona being the black cat while Telemachus!reader being a freaking golden retriever.

Leona and reader probably knew each other from a very young age through business dealings with the Ithaca royal family in Sunset Savanah and vice versa, remaining friends from childhood through adulthood.

Telemachus!reader wants to push Leona to give his all because "if he doesn't graduate, how can he expect to be able to help him with his kingdom when he needs it!?" And while Leona normally doesn't take him seriously, he also cares about Telemachus!reader and his mother. He's seen how suitors are with the maids and with Telemachus!reader. He won't admit it, but he would turn the suitors into sand if they dared to touch a hair on his friend (and future husband, but he doesn't know that) and his mother (aka the woman who gave him more maternal affection than his own mother growing up).

Their favorite activity to do together is probably fighting each other using spears/swords or their bare hands. Leona has been defeated more times than he'd like to admit, and Telemachus!reader enjoyed every second of it.

GOD, IMAGINE LEONA WHEN SHE FINDS OUT ABOUT THE MASSACRE OF THE SUITERS. The guy swore he was going to get gray hair when he received the news that the Prince of Ithaca, along with his father (the king who disappeared 20 years ago), murdered the 108 suitors after discovering them plotting the death of the royal family.

Leona goes FULL SPEED AHEAD to check if Telemachus!reader is okay, and he is! But he also reeks of blood, and the castle is painted red with the blood of the suitors. he probably kicked the corpse of some suitor he didn't like (I mean, everyone), and he congratulated Telemachus!reader for finally getting rid of the pests infesting the palace of Ithaca.

Obviously, due to the massacre and the PASSIONATE reunion between the king and queen of Ithaca, Telemachus!reader can't sleep in the palace for a few days, so he stays with Leona for a while, causing everyone in Savanaclaw to question Leona's heterosexuality when they see how close he is to the young prince of Ithaca (spoiler:his heterosexuality never existed; lions often show homosexuality). But he doesn't care and doesn't let anyone mess with Telemachus!reader the whole time he stays in Savanaclaw.

If we're already at the stage where they're a couple, I'd say they're very balanced. Leona wants Telemachus!reader to be more assertive and unafraid of seeking out the adventures he craves. he's even willing to accompany him if he goes somewhere particularly dangerous (he complains all the time but never leaves his man alone).

Telemachus!reader, as I said before, wants to help Leona give his all, whether at school or in matters related to Sunset Savannah, because he believes in him and knows he can do more. he's like his personal cheerleader with a phenomenal singing voice.

SPEAKING OF SINGING, Telemachus!reader has a beautiful voice! He probably only sings for his parents and his lover, so Leona is one lucky bastard who gets to enjoy this angel's voice whenever she wants.

Leona has a complicated relationship with Argos, honestly. On one hand, he doesn't like the fact that he's monopolizing his boyfriend's attention by simply existing around him, but he also understands that the dog always came before him.

Over time, he learns to love the old boney guy (that's what he calls him) when he sees his unwavering loyalty. He's also a great naptime companion, so the dog is fine with him.

BONUS: Telemachus!reader's father wasn't very convinced of the relationship between these two because he thought that Leona was only in a relationship with his son to be able to be on the throne (since Leona is not the heir it makes sense that he wants to seek to be king in another monarchy) and tried to give him the shovel talk, but after a sincere talk with Telemachus!reader's mother he was able to see that although Leona is a complicated person with complicated feelings, he genuinely loves his son and would continue to love him if he weren't the heir to the throne of Ithaca, let's say that this was enough to calm Telemachus!reader's father and access his hand in marriage in the future.

Kalim is another interesting case! Since he's practically a second Epic Telemachus, these two are cut from the same cloth. 😅

Kalim loves Telemachus!reader's company and is always welcome to his parties in Scarabia when he feels things are getting too difficult at the Ithaca palace. This only motivates Kalim to throw a BIGGER party to cheer his friend up!

Despite being cheerful, Kalim is NOT ignorant. He knows that Telemachus!reader and his mother are in potential danger at the palace because of the impatient and dangerous suitors. He still remembers when he met Telemachus!reader on a diplomatic mission to Sage Island, and he was covered in bruises because one of the suitors had started a fight by insulting the Queen of Ithaca.

Kalim knows that he can't do much more than be a shoulder to cry on for Telemachus!reader and a confidant but that doesn't mean that he doesn't try to help the royal family in other ways, such as sending "requests" to the queen of Ithaca to make a new rug for Scarabia's bedroom and thus delay the selection of suitors or calling Telemachus!reader at least once a month to come to one of his parties so that he can relax for a while.

AY MAMITA KALIM ALMOST LOSES HIS MIND WHEN JAMIL BROUGHT HIM THE NEWS OF THE ITHACA MASSACRE

Kalim was worried sick for his friend's (and crush's) safety, but he made a surprised Pikachu face when he found out that Telemachus!reader had helped in the massacre and that his father (the king they thought was dead) had returned home and gotten rid of those pigs after hearing them plan to murder the prince and force his way into the queen. It took the poor guy a few minutes to process so much information at once.

It would be very difficult for Kalim to get through the castle, not only because of the lairs but also because the whole place is full of corpses, and he doesn't want to bother the cleaners by making more of a mess than there already is (he probably throws up several times on the way to Telemachus! Reader's room). But when he arrives and sees that his friend is okay, he cries with relief that he actually participated in the massacre and wasn't a victim of it.

Kalim obviously lets Telemachus! Reader stay in Scarabia while they clean the palace (and while his parents are reunited) and throws a big party for him. Even Jamil is happy for Telemachus! Reader to have his father back and that the suitors will never bother him again.

When they become a couple, they both want to seek adventures (much to Jamil's and the Queen of Ithaca's stress), but they both also recognize that they don't yet have the experience or maturity necessary for it, so they agree to wait a few years to be able to travel and seek adventures, while they enjoy their youth.

Kalim wants to hear all the stories Telemachus!Reader knows about his family! From his father's deeds to all the challenges his mother was able to overcome using her wits, these stories make Kalim deeply respect Telemachus!Reader's parents, and he constantly seeks their approval (he doesn't know he already has it).

BOTH BEING MUSICAL PARTNERS, OH MY GOD

Kalim wants to show off his boyfriend's voice at his parties! But he obviously understands if it's something he only does with him and his family. In fact, it makes him feel even happier and luckier since he's part of the select group of people who have heard Telemachus!Reader sing, in addition to sharing other activities like playing instruments or dancing.

Kalim LOVES Argos, whenever he visits the Ithaca family apart from bringing gifts for Telemachus!reader and his mother he also brings gifts for Ithaca's best guardian! toys, dog beds and food of the best quality for the veteran canine, even with all his enthusiasm Kalim always tries to be gentle with him knowing that he is an old and fragile dog but that does not take away the fun of playing with him until both get tired.

BONUS: Kalim has taken Telemachus! reader for a ride on the magic carpet several times, they have explored Sage Island and Ithaca Island at least a dozen times but it never gets boring since they both always have something new to see or a new detail to find, in fact it was on one of these dates that Telemachus! reader sang for Kalim for the first time and he got so excited that they almost crashed into one of the palace walls by not paying attention to the road, it is his favorite anecdote😅

MALLEUS, oh Malleus, is a GREAT GAME for this little prince.

Their dynamic is basically the dragon falling in love with the knight/prince. Malleus becomes a lost puppy when he's with the young prince, and he's always more than happy to have the fairy dragon's company.

I imagine Malleus initially had no interest in Ithaca Island. The only reason he might want to go would be because he respected the queen and wanted to offer an alliance with Ithaca (his grandmother couldn't go and sent him instead) and Briar Valley. However, he didn't expect to meet the cheerful crown prince, who wasn't afraid to face more than 100 suitors to protect his mother's honor. That's what hooked him on the prince in the first place.

But what made Malleus truly fall in love with the young prince was his noble and heroic heart, he was not an arrogant or disrespectful prince as Malleus expected, this sealed the deal for him sincerely.

Their friendship is hilarious, with Telemachus!reader being someone impulsive and jumping straight into confrontation, and Malleus being his intimidating shadow in front of the suitors. As long as Malleus is with him, no one will hurt him, and he's both grateful and a little disappointed that he had to resort to another prince to be respected among the suitors.

Telemachus!reader tries to convince his mother that Malleus isn't as bad as he seems, but it's confirmed only by seeing their interactions. How the Ithacan prince has the Draconia wrapped around his finger and that he keeps playing with a pet Tamagotchi was more than plausible proof that this guy didn't have a bad bone in his body.

Speaking of pets, I feel like Malleus would like to play with Argos, he tries to be gentle with the dog knowing that he is old but he really enjoys it when the dog greets him with such joy when he sees him.

MALLEUS GOES INTO BERSERK MODE WHEN HE LEARNS OF THE ITHACA MASSACRE. It doesn't matter if he teleports or if someone has to carry him, but his priority is to get to Telemachus!reader NOW.

After all the commotion, Malleus is extremely relieved to see his friend completely unharmed, even if he is covered in blood. He tries not to ask too many questions about the massacre other than what happened to start it. When Telemachus!reader explains that he helped his father kill them all, he is quite surprised, but he can easily understand it when he hears the suitors' intentions (which were honestly always very obvious). He may offer his help to get rid of the bodies, but Telemachus!reader states that offering a place to stay for a few days until everything calms down is enough.

Malleus is more than happy to have his prince in diasomnia. He's also happy to see that he gets along well with Lilia (who already senses there's something going on between them), Silver, and Sebek, although part of him already expected it, seeing that Telemachus!reader really wants to make friends and that his aura generally attracts people.

Their relationship as a couple is super sweet and tender. Ironically, Telemachus!reader is the one who takes the lead in the relationship, but Malleus is the one who keeps his boyfriend from getting into trouble because of his temper issues. It's like watching a Doberman keep an eye on a Chihuahua.

Obviously, Malleus trusts his boyfriend's abilities and even blushes when Telemachus!reader is the one protecting him instead of the other way around (especially after chapter 7). He reminds him that this beautiful prince will always protect him too, and makes him feel so, SO loved.

Malleus is more than willing to accompany Telemachus!reader on adventures. Now that he doesn't have so much pressure from being king, he can enjoy his youth more and would be super happy at the idea of ​​going on adventures with his boyfriend (and later future fiancé/husband).

BONUS:Malleus would be willing to ask Telemachus!reader's parents for their blessing to ask for her hand in marriage. Even if he has to face some challenge, he is willing to fight for her love. Although, to his surprise, both of his boyfriend's parents approve and are more than willing to unite both kingdoms to see their son happy. It was a very emotional day for Malleus and Telemachus!reader.

(Español)

¡Quiero compartir esta idea que se me ocurrió escuchando epic the musical mientras pensaba en twisted wonderland!

Imaginen a los personajes de twisted wonderland con un lector masculino como telemaco de ithaca

Telemaco!lector es alegre, valiente, amable y temperamental, con mucha sed de aventura y un gran amor a su familia, proviene de la isla de Ithaca y es heredero al trono del reino con el mismo nombre.

La verdad me imagino que Telemaco!lector tiene más probabilidades de quedar en Royal Sword Academy que en Night Raven College por obvias razones, pero me imagino que todavía podría interactuar con algunos de los personajes por razones políticas de otros reinos.

Imaginen a Telemaco!lector siendo amigo de Leona gracias a las conexiones entre familias! Leona siendo el gato negro mientras que Telemaco!lector siendo un maldito golden retriever.

Probablemente Leona y lector se conozcan desde muy jóvenes por negocios de la familia real de Ithaca en Sunset Savanah y viceversa, siendo amigos desde que son niños pequeños hasta su adultez.

Telemaco!lector quiere impulsar a Leona a dar todo de sí porque "si no se llega a graduar como espera poder ayudarlo con su reino cuando lo necesite!?", y si bien normalmente Leona no se lo toma en serio el también se preocupa por Telemaco!lector y la madre de este, el ha visto como son los pretendientes con las criadas y con Telemaco!lector, no lo admite pero el convertiría a los pretendientes en arena si es que se atreven a tocarle un pelo a su amigo(y futuro esposo pero eso no lo sabe) y a su madre(aka la mujer que le dio más afecto materno que su propia madre mientras crecia).

Su actividad favorita para hacer juntos Probablemente sea pelear entre sí usando lanzas/espadas o sus propias manos, Leona ha sido derrotado más veces de las que le gustaría admitir y Telemaco!lector gozo cada segundo de eso.

DIOS IMAGINEN A LEONA CUANDO SE ENTERE DE LA MASACRE DE LOS PRETENDIENTES, el tipo juraba que le iban a salir canas cuando recibió la noticia de que el príncipe de Ithaca junto a su padre(el rey desaparecido hace 20 años) asesinaron a los 108 pretendientes al descubrirlos planeando la muerte de la familia real.

Leona va A TODA VELOCIDAD a verificar si Telemachus!reader esta bien, ¡y lo está! Pero también apesta a sangre y el castillo está pintado de rojo con la sangre de los pretendientes, probablemente pateo el cadaver de algún pretendiente que le caía mal(osea todos) y felicito a Telemachus!reader por finalmente deshacerse de las plagas que infestaban el palacio de Ithaca.

Obviamente debido la masacre y el APASIONADO reencuentro entre el rey y la reina de ithaca Telemaco!lector no puede dormir en el palacio por unos días así que se queda con Leona un tiempo, haciendo que todos en savanaclaw cuestionen la heterosexualidad de Leona al ver lo cercano que es con el joven principe de Ithaca(spoiler:nunca hubo heterosexualidad, literalmente los leones llegan a ser homosexuales) pero a el no le importa y no deja que nadie se meta con Telemaco!lector el tiempo que se queda en savanaclaw.

Leona tiene una relación complicada con Argos sinceramente, por un lado no le gusta que acapare la atención de su novio simplemente existiendo cerca suyo pero también entiende que el perro siempre estuvo antes que el.

con el tiempoque aprende a querer al viejo huesudo(así es como lo llama) al ver su lealtad inquebrantable, aparte de que es un gran compañero para siestas así que si el perro está bien para el.

Si ya vamos a la etapa en la que son pareja diría que son muy balanceados, Leona quiere que Telemaco!lector sea más asertivo y que no tenga miedo de ir a buscar las aventuras que tanto quiere, incluso esta dispuesto a acompañarlo si va a algún lugar especialmente peligroso(se queja todo el rato pero no deja a su hombre solo en ningún momento).

Telemachus!reader como dije antes quiere ayudad a Leona a dar todo de sí mismo ya sea en la escuela o en asuntos de Sunset Savannah, ya que cree en el y sabe que puede dar más de sí mismo, es como su porrista personal con una voz de canto fenomenal.

HABLANDO DE CANTAR, ¡Telemaco!lector tiene una voz bellísima! Probablemente solo canta para sus padres y su amante así que Leona es un bastardo suertudo que puede disfrutar de la voz de este ángel cuando quiera.

BONUS:el padre de Telemaco!lector no estuvo muy convencido de la relación entre estos dos porque pensaba que Leona solo estaba en una relación con su hijo para poder estar al trono(al Leona no ser el heredero tiene sentido que quiera buscar ser rey en otra monarquía) y trató de darle la charla de la pala, pero después de una sincera charla con la madre de Telemaco!lector pudo ver que si bien Leona es una persona complicada con sentimientos complicados el genuinamente ama a su hijo y lo seguiria amando si no fuera el heredero al trono de Ithaca, digamos que esto fue suficiente para calmar al padre de Telemaco!lector y acceder a su mano en matrimonio en el futuro.

¡Kalim es otro caso interesante! Ya que es prácticamente un segundo telemaco de epic, estos dos salieron del mismo molde😅

Kalim adora la compañía de Telemaco!lector y siempre es bienvenido a sus fiestas en scarabia cuando siente que las cosas son demasiado difíciles en el palacio de Ithaca, ¡eso solo motiva a Kalim a hacer una fiesta MAS GRANDE para animar a su amigo!

Pese a ser alegre Kalim NO es ignorante, sabe que Telemaco!lector y su madre corren potencial peligro en el palacio por culpa de los pretendientes impacientes y peligrosos, todavía recuerda cuando se encontró a Telemaco!lector en una misión diplomatica en sage island y este estaba cubierto de moretones por culpa de uno de los pretendientes que había iniciado una pelea al insultar a la reina de Ithaca.

Kalim sabe que no puede hacer mucho más que ser un hombro para llorar para Telemaco!lector y un confidente pero eso no significa que no intente ayudar a la familia real de otras formas, como enviarle "pedidos" a la reina de Ithaca para hacerle una nueva alfombra para el dormitorio de scarabia y así se retrasa más la selección de pretendientes o llamar aunque sea una vez al mes a Telemaco!lector para que vaya a alguna fiesta suya para que se pueda relajar un rato.

AY MAMITA KALIM CASI PIERDE LA CABEZA CUANDO JAMIL LE DA LAS NOTICIAS DE LA MASACRE DE ITHACA

Kalim estaba preocupado hasta la medula por la seguridad de su amigo(y crush) pero puso cara de pikachu sorprendido cuando se entero que Telemaco!lector había ayudado en la masacre y que su padre(el rey que creían Muerto) había vuelto a casa y se deshizo de esos cerdos al oírlos planear asesinar al príncipe y forzar a la reina, el pobre necesito unos minutos para procesar tanta información de golpe😅

Le sería muy difícil a Kalim pasar por el castillo no solo por los guaridas sino también porque todo el lugar está repleto de cadaveres y no quiere molestar mas a los de limpieza haciendomas desastre del que ya hay(probablemente vomita varias veces en el camino hacia el cuarto de telemaco!lector), pero cuando llega y ve que su amigo está bien llora de alivio de que en realidad si haya participado en la masacre y no haya sido víctima de esta.

Kalim obviamente deja que Telemaco!lector se quede en scarabia en lo que limpian el palacio(y en lo que sus padres se reencuentran) y hace una gran fiesta por el, incluso Jamil esta feliz por Telemaco!lector al tener a su padre de vuelta y que los pretendientes no le volverán a molestar nunca más.

Cuando ya son pareja ambos quieren buscar aventuras(para el estrés de Jamil y la reina de ithaca) pero ambos también reconocen que todavía no tienen la experiencia o la madurez necesaria para ello, por lo que quedan en que esperaran unos años para poder viajar y buscar aventuras, mientras tanto ellos disfrutan de su juventud.

¡Kalim quiere escuchar todas las historias que lector sabe de su familia! Desde las hazañas de su padre hasta todos los desafíos que su madre pudo superar usando su ingenio, estas historias hacen que Kalim respete muchísimo a los padres de lector y busca su aprobación constantemente(el no sabe que ya la tiene).

AMBOS SIENDO COMPAÑEROS MUSICALES DIOS MIOOOO

¡Kalim quiere presumir la voz de su novio en sus fiestas! Pero obviamente entiende si es algo que solo hace con el y su familia, de hecho hace que se sienta aún más feliz y afortunado ya que es parte del selecto grupo de gente que ha oído a reader cantar, aparte de que comparten otras actividades como tocar instrumentos o bailar.

Kalim ADORA a Argos, siempre que visita a la familia de ithaca aparte de traer regalos para Telemaco!lector y su madre ¡también trae regalos para el mejor guardián de Ithaca! juguetes, camas para perro y comida de la mejor calidad para el canino veterano, aun con todo su entusiasmo Kalim siempre trata de ser gentil con el sabiendo que es un perro viejo y frágil pero eso no quita la diversión de jugar con el hasta que ambos se cansen.

BONUS:Kalim ha llevado a Telemaco!lector a pasear en la alfombra mágica varias veces, han explorado sage island y la isla de ithaca aunque sea una docena de veces pero nunca se vuelve aburrido ya que ambos siempre tienen algo nuevo que ver o un nuevo detalle que encontrar, de hecho fue en una de estas citas en la que Telemaco!lector canto para Kalim por primera vez y este se puso tan emocionado que casi chocan con una de las murallas del palacio al no prestar atención al camino, es su anécdota favorita😅

MALLEUS,oh malleus es un PARTIDAZO para este princeso.

Su dinámica es básicamente el dragón que se enamora del caballero/príncipe, Malleus se vuelve un cachorro perdido cuando esa con el joven príncipe y este siempre esta más que feliz de tener la compañía del hada dragón.

Me imagino que en un inicio Malleus no tenía interés en la isla de Ithaca, la única razón por la que podría querer ir seria porque el respetaba a la reina y querría ofrecer una alianza con ithaca(su abuela no podía ir y lo envío en su lugar) con briar valley, sin embargo no esperaba conocer al risueño príncipe heredero que no tenía miedo de enfrentarse a más de 100 pretendientes con tal de proteger el honor de su madre, eso fue lo que lo engancho con el príncipe en primer lugar.

Pero lo que hizo que Malleus realmente quedara prendado del joven príncipe fue su corazón noble y heroico, no era un príncipe arrogante o irrespetuoso como malleus esperaba, esto cerró el trato para el sinceramente.

Su amistad es divertidisima, siendo Telemaco!lector alguien impulsivo que salta directo a la confrontación y Malleus siendo su sombra intimidante ante los pretendientes, siempre y cuando malleus este con el nadie le hará daño y esta entre agradecido y un poco decepcionado de que haya tenido que recurrir a otro príncipe para ser respetado entre los pretendientes😅

Lector trata de convencer a su madre de que Malleus no es tan malo como parece, pero se confirma solo al ver sus interacciones y como el príncipe ithacano tiene al Draconia envuelto alrededor de su dedo y que este sigue jugando con un tamagochi como mascota fue prueba más que plausible que este tipo no tenía ni un hueso malo en su cuerpo.

Hablando de mascotas, siento que malleus le gustaría jugar con Argos, trata de ser delicado con el perro sabiendo que esta anciano pero realmente disfruta cuando el perro lo recibe con tanta alegría cuando lo ve.

MALLEUS SE PONE MODO BERSERK CUANDO SE ENTERA DE LA MASACRE DE ITHACA no importa si se teletransporta o si alguien lo tiene que llevar pero su prioridad es llegar a Telemaco!lector AHORA.

Después de toda la conmocion Malleus esta sumamente aliviado de ver a su amigo totalmente ileso aún si está manchado de sangre, trata de no hacer muchas preguntas respecto a la matanza aparte de que fue lo que ocurrió para que empezará, y cuando Telemaco!lector le explica que ayudo a su padre a matarlos a todos quedo bastante sorprendido pero fácilmente pudo entenderlo al oír las intenciones de los pretendientes(que sinceramente siempre fueron muy obvias) y puede que ofrezca su ayuda para deshacerse de los cuerpos pero Telemaco!lector afirmó que con ofrecer un lugar donde pasar unos días hasta que todo se calme es suficiente.

Malleus esta más que feliz de tener a su príncipe en diasomnia, también se alegra al ver que este se lleva bien con Lilia(que ya siente que hay algo entre los dos), Silver y Sebek, aunque parte de el ya se lo esperaba al ver que Telemaco!lector realmente quiere hacer amigos y que su aura en general atrae a las personas.

Su relación como pareja es super dulce y tierna, irónicamente es Telemaco!lector quien lleva la delantera en la relación pero Malleus es quien evita que su novio se meta en problemas por sus problemas con su temperamento, es como ver un doberman vigilando a un chihuahua😂

Obviamente malleus confía en las habilidades de su novio y hasta se sonroja cuando lector es quien lo protege en vez de ser al revés(especialmente después del capítulo 7), le recuerda que este hermoso príncipe siempre lo protegerá también y lo hace sentir tan, TAN amado😭

Malleus esta más que dispuesto a acompañar a Telemaco!lector a aventuras, ahora que no tiene tanta presión con ser rey el puede disfrutar más su juventud y estaria super feliz ante la idea de ir de aventuras con su novio(y más tarde futuro prometido/esposo).

BONUS:

Malleus estaría dispuesto a pedirle su bendición a los padres de lector para pedir su mano en matrimonio, incluso si tiene que hacer algún reto esta dispuesto a pelear por su amor, aunque para su sorpresa ambos padres de su novio lo aprueban y están más que dispuestos a unir ambos reinos con tal de ver a su hijo feliz, fue un día muy emotivo para malleus y lector.

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Caleb gives you a warning, and you don't listen.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Wanderers, Violence, Angst, k!dnapping, bl0od

Chapter 18: Danger

You…you let go. You let go of his hand like water through your fingers not worth holding anymore. If Zayne wasn’t so awestruck by the walking dead before him, he’d be staring at his palm, wondering if there was something there that had pushed you away. 

Xavier shoulders forward, and the movement out of the corner of his eyes prompts Zayne to action. He catches Xavier with a palm flat on his chest, halting the blond’s furious approach. There was fire burning in those blue eyes— low and hot like a dying star. 

You’d slipped out of Zayne’s fingers, and he’d just…let you go. It’d been muscle memory. Some long dormant part of himself that had acquiesced your presence to that of Caleb. 

Caleb. The walking epitome of a leech. Clingy and petulant and always cheating at chess– using his Evol to slide pieces across the board. Zayne would never forget him, just as you would never forget him, but the sentiment burning inside Zayne’s chest was a far cry from yours. 

You were crying. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and dampening Caleb’s shirt, your delicate hands locked onto him so tightly that your knuckles were pale. A churning of grief and utter elation that led you to such overcoming emotion that there was little else you could do but hold on and cry.

Losing to Caleb. Zayne had felt it before. Whether in chess, or in your attention. He’d lost. He’d lost again. 

Caleb didn’t even glance their direction, like the four gentlemen standing stiffly like knocked arrows were simply parts of the scenery. Only Zayne understood the significance of what this reunion meant to you, and so he kept his arm out to halt them.

“H-how?” Your broken voice whispered, reaching up to gingerly hold the sides of Caleb’s face in your decadent palms, “How are you— How are you here ?”

Caleb’s smile is delicate, as thin as a butterfly's wing, as he stares at you with that all-encompassing pinpoint focus, “It’s— oh, it's a long story. And I don’t have long. I just needed— I had to see you, pipsqueak. You’re in danger. So much— so much danger.”

His words are discordant, breathed through chapped lips. Zayne is given the distinct feeling that Caleb wasn’t thinking straight; a man with too many pieces on the board that he's lost track of them. 

You’re grabbing at him, “Come back with me. Come home. If you’re in trouble, I can help you.”

Caleb presses his forehead to yours and inhales like it’s the first breath of fresh air he’s had in weeks, “I can’t stay. Just— throw away your phone. Don’t leave the house, for anything . If you listen to anything I’ve ever told you then please, please listen to this. I’ll contact you when it’s safe, ok?”

Caleb begins to pull away, and a wounded noise leaves your lips, “No! No, Caleb please. Just come with me. I-I can keep us both safe! Please!”

Zayne steps forward, and by the grace of the divine, he’s not followed. Sylus has Xavier and Rafayel by the back of their shirts. Xavier’s light blade is in his hand, a loose grip but no less threatening. Rafayel isn’t pushing to approach, but better to keep him tethered regardless. 

Zayne presses a hand to your back, and you flinch. You whirl to look at him, the tears in your eyes a collection of crimes against him. Zayne’s chest twists painfully, and he only hopes to anchor you.

“Caleb.” Zayne says evenly, unsure of what to say to this man risen from the dead. The puzzle pieces aren’t fitting together, and the doctor can’t help but feel a touch of malice for his once-friend. It was not very long ago that he held you, comforting you through the grief of losing the man who stands unharmed before you. 

“Zayne.” Caleb replies, just as tightly. His violet eye glances to the point of contact between you and the doctor, and Zayne sees that look again. That look he would get, even as children, when someone was holding something that was Caleb’s. 

“Tell him, Zayne!” You cry, one hand gripping onto Caleb’s arm, and the other onto Zayne’s, “Tell him to come with us!”

Zayne’s jaw clenches. The waters here are too muddy, and you’re asking him to jump in. Caleb’s reappearance opens up a can of worms that the rest had thought discarded beneath the heap. Lost in a junkyard somewhere. And it reeks of rot and sickness.

“Keep an eye on her.” Caleb says as he takes a step back, and it takes more than a little effort to detach your hand from him. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Zayne can only nod, as if he would do anything that puts you in harm's way. For all of Caleb’s faults, that was something Zayne could trust— his complete devotion to you. 

“No!” You screech and try to push away from Zayne, “No, Caleb! Please ! Please don’t leave again! I don’t understand!”

Your breathing is fast and labored, and at this rate you’ll make yourself pass out. 

“I’ll be back, pipsqueak. I promise.” Caleb swears as he turns on his heel, “I just had to warn you. Don’t trust anything. Don’t trust anyone. Just…stay safe. Until I can come back for you.”

Your answer is a series of declining sobs, and Caleb picks up his pace into a hastened walk. He picks up his hood to cover his head, and he walks out of the park and away.

“We can catch up to him,” You say breathlessly. You pull at Zayne’s firm hand across your waist, “Let go, Zayne. I have to go after him.”

“No,” Zayne replies softly, like speaking to a frightened animal, “We need to go home. My love, stop, stop. Breathe, love. Breathe.”

At first, your attention is too torn. He can see your mind spiraling into adapting to this new truth. This adjustment to your world that exists with Caleb alive. You struggle to obey his tender command, but slowly, slowly, you calm down.

“Caleb is alive.” You breathe, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it.

Zayne nods anyway, “It seems he is. He brought you here to warn you. You’re in more danger than we must have realized.”

“Why?” You whisper, looking wide-eyed up at Zayne for answers he doesn’t have. “What did I do?”

“We should head back.” Zayne says, feeling increasingly inefficient. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You hold onto Zayne like a lifeline. Like a buoy in a storm, and you’re one harsh gust from being lost at sea. Oddly, the others don’t intrude. They follow you out of the park and back to the car.

The ride home is silent. Tense . Sylus taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, and Rafayel can’t seem to stop fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You want to offer something– anything– to them. To ease the anxiety they’re so clearly trying to hide. 

But where do you even start? You’ve barely gotten your own mind around it, let alone organized enough to explain. 

Caleb. Caleb is alive. You have to keep stating it plainly in your mind. Repeat the mantra and remember the feeling of him solid and alive beneath your fingers. Your mind is too frazzled and it keeps trying to convince you it was all a dream. Another hopeful conjuration of seeing him again. Even for just a moment. 

Only a moment isn’t enough. It would never be enough, and your hands are trembling as you realize you have no idea how to find him again. How to see him again.

Danger. You’re in danger. The sensation wasn’t foreign. You’d always been in danger in one form or another. Your own heart. Wanderers. Criminals. Ever. 

It had to be Ever. There wasn’t any other option that you could think of. The only thing big enough and scary enough that could make Caleb’s death look like an accident, but why kill him anyway? Why kill Gran?

Your head is aching, and your chest feels tight. There’s a stone in your stomach. Your skin is gooseflesh and sensitive. Torn in too many directions like a hide stretched out to be tanned and turned into leather. 

Was Caleb the stalker? Clearly he was able to communicate with you through your phone so…he bugged your phone? How long ago? Had it always been there? Through college and through the Hunter academy had…had Caleb been keeping an eye on you that whole time? 

The questions are still spiraling like the whipping winds of a hurricane then the car stops, and you don’t even notice. You’re so stuck in your own head that you don’t notice when everything around you goes dark as you descend into the garage, or when the car parks, or when Rafayel and Xavier exit on either side of you. You only notice when Xavier reaches for you, gently coaxing you out of the vehicle with a steady hand. 

You come back to yourself just in time to enter the living room, and Sylus is practically pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, “I’ll send you the surveillance footage from Mephisto. I want everything you can find on him. Everything. Name is Caleb. Yeah….yeah same last name. Send everything you find. And call Richards, have him get the safehouses gamma and epsilon ready should we need them.”

Rafayel comes over to place a steadying hand, like he needs to make sure you won’t blow away. “You hungry? Let me make you something.”

You shake your head and find Zayne, shedding his jacket near the entrance.

Xavier rubs your back and brings you over to the couch, letting you sit first before he sits next to you. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk yet,” He coos too gently, “You’re safe here. It’s alright.”

You stand sharply, with your hands raised. Every touch is suddenly harshly overstimulating. You need a minute. You need so many minutes to process what’s happened today. You need a computer and a gun, and likely someone to talk you down from being utterly stupid. 

“I need–!” You snap, and step away when Xavier reaches back out to you, “I need Zayne. Zayne can we just…can we talk?”

Zayne looks a little like a deer in headlights, and the eyes of the other men in the room fall on him. He clears his throat and nods, “Of course, but maybe we should explain to the others? This has been…It’s quite confusing.”

“ Confusing ?” You scoff and grip at your hair, “This is insane! I can’t even— and then he just leaves!! This is more than just confusing: it's–” You clap your hands together, “I’ll be in my room. Please , Zayne.”

You escape to your bedroom, and leave a vacuum in the space you left. 

Zayne sighs heavily, and wipes a hand across his face. 

“So, care to share with the class?” Rafayel muses mirthlessly, a now useless sandwich on a plate. He flicks a little piece of parsley he’d put on top as garnish in frustration.

“It’s Caleb .” Zayne says like it’s the answer. He crosses his arms and sighs again, “He died, or at least everyone thought he’d died. They grew up together. Practically raised together. It’s…It’s a lot to process. Him being back.”

“That hardly explains the stalking.” Sylus’ voice is brutal, “The cloak and dagger can be fun, believe me I enjoy it well enough. But explain to me why this man thought it acceptable to lure her to her apartment, incite a chase that led to her injury? The phone, the storage unit, the shadowing. Explain it to me, Zayne.”

“I’d like to know as well,” Rafayel adds, gliding into the living room like a shark cutting through water. His shoulders are firm and he glowers at Zayne with sweltering fire that rivals his Evol. “I’d like to know why he showed up just to make our girl upset, and then skips away? Unscathed?”

Xavier’s on his feet, “She’s mentioned him before. She values him. Highly . If he’s behind the stalking, I’m sure there's a good reason.”

“Of all of us I would’ve thought you’d have the biggest issue with this!” Rafayel snaps, “Did you see the way he held her? That’s not brotherly love, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I don’t have any more answers than you do,” Zayne murmurs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Caleb has always been protective of her. If he says she’s in danger, then it’s best to believe him. I’m going to go up with her, help her…sort things out for herself.”

“Why you though?” Xavier asks, a little harshly. 

“Because I knew him.” Zayne offers, “I knew him when we were children. The three of us were friends.”

“Ugh, again with this.” Rafayel groans, throwing his hands in the air, “If you remind me of your childhood bond again I’m gonna commit arson.”

Zayne rubs at his wrists– his evol reacting to the rise in his emotional state, but he pushes it down. He can’t handle an outburst right now. You need him. He gives them one last apologetic look before retreating to your room. 

The three that remain are silent for a moment, until Rafayel breaks the silence. “Did you recognize him?”

The meaning of such an inquiry is not lost on the others. The previous god of the tides is not asking whether they’ve seen Caleb before in this life, but in the last. The air around them buzzes with the potential energy of violence– seductive with malcontent and heavy with uncertainty. 

“No,” Xavier responds sternly, “He seemed familiar though. It’s not Astra or any of his agents that I know of.”

“Astra was not our only foe,” Sylus hums, his arms crossed tightly, “There were others. Or he could be new. An anomaly only present in this timeline.”

“Are we willing to bet on that?” Rafayel is pacing now, “If he is somehow attached to our other life, if he had something to do with–”

“It’s unlikely.” Xavier tries to reason, “The story doesn’t match.”

“ The story.” Rafayel hisses through sharp teeth. He’s teetering on the edge of madness right now. The house he’d built here with stone and mortar suddenly feels like a house of cards, tumbling down around him. The sight of you running from them has left him feeling vacuous. Terrified . “We don’t know what was written! And we’ll never know! This is– We should kill him. Take him out here and now. She thought he was dead before, we’ll just make it true.”

Sylus exhales through his nose and grabs Rafayel’s shoulder, gripping the tendons that are straining near his neck and squeezing, “Take a breath. She’s not going anywhere. Nothing has happened yet.”

“It only took two days for it all to come crumbling!” Rafayel barks out, shrugging Sylus’ hold off of him and leveling him with a vicious blue-tinged glare. “Two days for everything to unravel. We have to be smarter this time. We need to prepare.”

Xavier clicks his tongue, and rests his hands on his hips, “Prepare for what? For war ? We’re not sure what this man’s motives are. Zayne assures us he seeks her protection, and we should believe him. There’s another enemy at work here. We need to focus on that.”

“Unfortunately, dearest Caleb did not grant us any clues as to who is after our kitten.” Sylus pulls out his phone again, connecting to Mephisto and going through the surveillance footage again, “If push comes to shove, we take her to a safe house.”

You and Zayne sit on your bed, knees touching. You're holding onto his hands, and his thumbs draw circles over your knuckles. Anger is the poor man’s replacement for sorrow, filling up all those nooks and crannies that feel so horribly empty. Rage is easy to feel, but all you feel is lost. 

“I can’t believe he’s alive.” You whisper for the umpteenth time. “Did you…did you know?”

Zayne leans forward, shaking his head, “Of course not. I would not have kept that from you.”

You take in a shaky breath, “He seemed scared. I think…I think he’s trying to keep me safe, like when we were kids. But why– why won’t he let me help him?”

Zayne makes a thoughtful noise and shrugs slightly, “He’s always been…focused, when it comes to you. Perhaps there is more going on than we can see. He’s intelligent– at least he was. He must have taken great risk to meet.”

You wipe away a tear before it can fall, “What if he gets hurt? What if he dies? For real this time?”

“We won’t sit idly by.” Zayne assures, squeezing your hands. “If someone is after you, we’ll keep you safe. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about me!” You shout, pushing his hands away from you. “I’m a Hunter. I’m strong, I’m trained. I can protect myself ,and I won’t let you or Caleb or anyone else put yourselves in harm’s way because of me!”

Zayne’s expression falls and guilt immediately bites at you, digging into your raw flesh and grinding. 

“Sorry…” You whisper, “I’m just confused.”

Zayne reaches back out. Slowly, tenderly taking your hands into his own, “What do you need?”

Your eyes narrow, “What?”

“What do you need?” He asks again, “Do you need to fight? To cry? Do you need to go out hunting for Caleb? Tell me what it is that you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

The momentary anger dissolves, and you deflate like a untied balloon, the hot air of misplaced ire escaping through the holes in your chest. “I…I don’t know. I just…I want Caleb back. I want things to be normal. I just…I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Zayne reaches out to brush some hair away from your face, “Then we’ll see to it that no one does. No one goes looking for trouble. No one goes anywhere alone. We’ll have Sylus use every tool in his arsenal to find Caleb, and we’ll bring him here.”

“Really?” You whisper, sounding pathetically infantile. 

Zayne nods. “If that’s what you need. It’s done.”

You spend the rest of that afternoon in your room with Zayne. You discuss the possibilities of Ever or some other criminal organization being after you. Concluding after only a little debate that it must be Ever. No one else has the power and reach to pose such a threat. Enough control over other organizations to make an explosion look happenstance, or certificates of death be forged. 

Therein lies the problem. Ever isn’t a person. It’s not a man you can place a bullet between his eyes and be done with it. A multi headed hydra embedded in the fabric of other organizations to cover itself– the snake in the garden. Wait no. Even a snake has a place in the garden, in the cycle of death and rebirth. Ever is an invasive fungus. The parasitic spore that clings to other plants and leeches from them. 

When you’re gathered your senses enough that you’re not actively spiraling, you take Zayne’s hand and go back downstairs. The three other men having waited less than paitently and are in various states of tension. 

Sylus is still working with Mephisto, scanning through street cams and outdoor security footage. The faster-than-light facial recognition software blinking across each and every pedestrian with flashing neon squares. Mephisto squawks when he sees you. 

Rafayel is pacing. The blade in his hand flickering with the edges of flames as he twirls in his fingers. An elegant dance of sharp steel trimmed with the spars of his Evol. 

Xavier is…asleep. Head reclining back on the couch, but his lightblade sits at his side, hand loosely cupped around the handle. 

Yikes, you think. They really do look like they’re ready for battle, and you’re not even sure if they’re wrong to do so. 

“I’m sorry.” You say firstly, drawing all eyes to you. You let go of Zayne’s hand, wanting to face all four of them. “I didn’t expect it to be Caleb.”

“Who is Caleb?” Rafayel asks with his arms crossed, blade tucked against his side. “You didn’t bother to explain that to us at all.”

Xavier’s up and standing like he hadn’t been quietly snoring less than ten seconds ago, “Let her speak.”

“No, Rafayel’s right. I should have explained…” You’re not sure what to do with your hands right now, and so you pick at your nails. It feels like you’re being put on trial, and you now have to answer for your crimes of omission. 

“A little over a year ago, I was visiting my Gran. She raised me, and Caleb.” You explain, looking down at the floor because meeting their eyes might very well break you. You’re not sure which is worse– the worry, the pity, or the anger. “There was an explosion. Gran died. Caleb…died. I didn’t– I didn’t really cope well with it, and it led me to be suspended from the Hunters. I got kicked out of my apartment and then I came here.

“When we went to that park, I was expecting some crime syndicate I’ve run into in the past. Or one of Ever’s goons, but  it was Caleb. I don’t know how he’s alive, or why he’s being so secretive. All I know is that he told me to be careful, and that means something big is happening.”

“Does Caleb have connections that might help him?” Xavier asks methodically, “Groups he could turn to for aid?”

“He was a pilot. He had friends, but as far as I know…ahg! I don’t know! As far as I knew Caleb was a fighter pilot for the Deepspace Aviation Administration! He wasn’t tangled all up in this! He was— I don’t know how he–”

Your choke on your words, and when Zayne’s tries to enter back into your sphere you step away. “I have to help him. I need you to let me help him. Help me…help him. If he’s in danger because of me, I’ll never– I have to know what’s going on. I can’t just sit idly by.”

Sylus’ rubine eyes look to Zayne and then they fall on you, “I have every camera in the city scanning for his face. We’ll find him.”

“We can inform Captain Jenna of the circumstances.” Xavier adds on, letting his Lightblade shimmer out of existence, “That you’re in danger and need time to investigate. Perhaps she may be able to help as well.”

Rafayel scoffs, “I’d just like to add that I’m not a fan of this whole thing. This…cold war between us and this unknow foe. We need to know what we’re dealing with first. Are you certain this Caleb isn’t working for them?”

Your face scrunches, “I trust Caleb entirely. He’d never betray me.”

“You say that…” Rafayel sighs, unconvinced but the tension in his body eases slightly. “If you say so, cutie. We’ll see how it goes.”

You’re given the impression that Rafayel is just appeasing you. Humoring you and your long kindled affection for the boy you were raised with. You don’t blame him for being frustrated and you make a point to say, “If you don’t want to get involved, I understand. This could get messy.”

Rafayel chuckles and raises his chin, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, princess. Else I might be disappointed.”

Informing Captain Jenna is an endeavor in discomfort you’d like not to repeat. She’s incredulous, and then worried. She insists on a larger response than just letting you and Xavier handle it, but you’re able to talk her down. 

Sylus’ sleeping schedule shifts a little. You see him more in the house, and half of your kitchen counter is covered in laptops and screens. A little perch for Mephisto nearby where he sits the majority of the day, cable plugged into him underneath cobalt feathers. 

You destroy your old phone, just as instructed. You stomp on it until it's nothing but little pieces of glass and silicon, and then Sylus lets you use a blowtorch to turn it into a puddle of nothing. Rafayel, humorously, attaches a magnet to the back of it when it cools, and places it on the fridge.

You learn everything you can about Ever. On the outside they’re just a biotechnology company. Branching out into aerospace, Evol research, and trade. They have an optimistic mission statement on their website with happy stock photos of people in white coats. 

But even before the explosion, you’d known they were shady. Their work with the radio-frequency chips that attract wanderers was enough to make you blacklist them in your head. Not to mention the mere sound of their name put you on edge. 

Two weeks pass with nothing. Nothing but dead ends and partial matches on facial recognition. Ever is silent, not a peep besides their usual announcements of quarterly reports for shareholders and the occasional pandering social media post reporting to the masses of their good works. 

You had hoped, in true villain fashion, that they’d release some big announcement for some new technology. Some radar dish that actually controls minds, or medicine that actually makes people docile. Some classic act of villainy that you could bring to Jenna and start a proper investigation. 

But no. You’ve got your anecdotal evidence of stalking– which very well might just be Caleb. And some bugs in your apartment– which also might be stalking. Beyond Caleb’s warnings there’s nothing to show for this. No reason to believe that anything is amiss.

And that makes it all the more terrifying. 

You and Xavier take minimal patrols. The mid-morning shifts are quiet and easy. Enough to keep you active in the Hunter’s association, but not too much that you’re being sent here and there and everywhere for missions. Can’t be too far from home– just in case. Suddenly stopping Hunter work would arouse suspicion from your pursuers– is what you argue, and you can’t let them know you’re onto them

You always liked the city center. The Linkon City council had commissioned a fountain a few years ago and it was designed to catch the beaming rays of the morning sun that cascaded in between the tall buildings of the city. The glassy centerpiece scattered rainbows across the stone square. The stalls of food, flowers, and souvenirs alight with the colors of spring and adorned with the divine light of refracted rays. 

Which made it suck even worse to see it destroyed. 

A Wanderer– manifesting through a fissure of devastating energy directing through the delicate glass of the fountain. Sundering its foundation and spraying water high into the air. The blasphemous creature crawled its way into the world violently, its roar shattering windows and the weight of its body fracturing the stone beneath it. A wyrmlord, fierce and devastating– a creature that looks more mythical than celestial. 

Xavier is just as surprised as you are. There hasn’t been a Wanderer this deep in the city in decades, and so it can’t be assumed to be a coincidence until proven so. 

You fight alongside Xavier like synchronized dancers. There’s no time to discuss strategy. Only send a desperate call for backup and try to preserve the lives of the many, many bystanders who scurry like mice away from the beast. 

Of course the massive monstrosity isn’t alone. It tore open a hole in the fabric of reality so big that six more smaller Wanderers followed after it. The stench of Deepspace permeating over what had been soft flowers and the scent of street food. 

“ Ahh!” You hear a high pitch scream and see a mother and child crouched beneath an overturned souvenir stand. The woman has her body covering the small child, trembling with terror and determination. 

Xavier sees it just as you do, and a shared look between you has you running over to them. You fire a barrage of bullets at the knave that approaches them, breaking its concentration and then ending its false life with a final blow to its chest. The knave dissolves into shimmery cosmic energy while you crouch down to the overturned stand and lift it as best as you can.

“Go!” You shout insistently, no time for compassion or gentleness, “Run now!”

The woman is weeping as she sweeps her child up into her arms and sprints away. A look of relief breaking across her face, and it’s more than enough thanks that you need. 

You let the stand fall and it crumbles into nothing. Turning back towards the wyrmlord you see Xavier has it facing him on the other side of the square, and you’re able to spy his dirtied head of starry blond hair before the tale of the wyrm sweeps across you. 

Its massive tail boulders into your chest, lifting you off your feet as it lunges at Xavier. You’re thrown across the square, and the sensation of flying is momentary before you slam into something hard. 

That surface beneath you shatters. The sound of breaking glass a deafening blow in your ears. Thrown through the window of a flower shop you roll onto a bed of shards and tiny pebbles of glass and stop with a thud as you hit the counter. 

The smell of flowers is strong, and it's the only thing you can perceive for a moment. Eyes clenched tightly and your body screaming in pain, you lie for a moment in utter shock. 

When the stupefaction of being thrown like a ragdoll subsides, you take in an experimental breath. It hurts, but only because you’re bruised. No broken rib this time. No punctured lung. You’d remember that sensation forever, you’re sure. 

Lifting up onto your hands, the glass beneath cuts into the exposed skin of your fingers and digs into the harsh material of your gloves. 

A groan leaves your lips, and it's drowned out by the sound of the Wanderer’s roar. Lifting your head, part of your vision is red, and with a touch to your face you realize it’s blood. A small piece of glass embedded in your forehead dripping down into your eye. 

You wipe it away and force yourself to your feet. You don’t have time to be hurt. Xavier needs you. You’re a hunter, and there are still people at risk. Taking a step, your boot crunches on the mixture of glass and stems. 

Another crunch behind you has you turn, but it’s too late. 

What a good plan, you think as you struggle against hands grabbing you. A cord pulled around your neck and hauled you backwards. You stumble over your own feet as another pair of hands grab your legs and pick you up. And another stuffs a foul tasting cloth into your mouth, widening your jaw to it’s limits to muffle your scream. Three guys. Just enough to catch you when you weren’t aware. 

It’s a good plan. You think again, as you're tied with self-adjusting restraints and dragged roughly behind the counter of the flower shop. Eyes covered, arms and legs bound. They waited for Xavier to be preoccupied with a threat he couldn’t ignore. It was likely that summoned the wanderer in the first place. 

Smart, whoever planned it. But these guys are dumb. Goons and lemmings only here to enact orders from someone else. They have their directive and they follow it. 

Efficient, you think as you're hauled out the back of the flower shop and into the alley behind it. You’d laugh if you could around the gag. Laugh at the utter absurdity of it. You’d expected to be nabbed in your sleep. Dragged out of bed like a damsel in a movie. 

You crash against the metal floor of what you can only assume is a van, and you think– wow, at least this part is cliche. Something must have broken in your brain because this time you are laughing, and you hear the utter disgust from one of the men that grabbed you. 

“Quiet!” He barks, and a boot kicks you in the back. Bad dog. He may as well have said. 

“Where’s the spray?” Another one asks. The voices aren’t familiar, and you can hear them being muffled behind masks, so even if you did get a look at them you wouldn’t see their faces. 

Dammit. Hopefully Mephisto is nearby. He usually is. These guys are screwed. So screwed. 

A cold, minty-smelling spray is doused across your face, and in one surprise inhaled– you’re out. 

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[mugloversonly]

What's in a Designation?

For @stmarchmm Day 3: Love confession Day 19: heats/ruts (I now I wrote for this day twice...shh) day 26: late in life rating: M summary: 10 years ago, Steve never presented and was assumed a beta. Now, he’s 25 and something weird is going on with him. AO3

Steve Harrington was a beta; which was perfectly acceptable. He didn’t mind being a beta, he didn’t have to struggle with a mating cycle; nor was he pressured to act a certain way due to his designation. There were things he wished he could do, like scent his pack; or mate his omega.

But, Eddie often reassured him that he didn’t mind that Steve was a beta. He wasn’t a huge fan of alphas, he thought they were all annoying knotheads. He much preferred betas or omegas.

He and Eddie have been together for the past five years, since the week they killed Vecna, and they’ve been married for one. When they decided on the plan, he couldn’t let his omega charge into battle without letting the man know he wanted to court him once the dust settled.

Eddie’s injuries were severe, but the pack was there through it all. Eddie was never alone and with the Byers’ moving back to Hawkins, the pack was bigger than ever. They all scented each other pretty regularly, and that reassured Steve that Eddie’s biological need for alpha scents wasn’t going unsatisfied; even if it was platonic. Steve loved their pack and he didn’t mind when others cuddled up with his husband.

But something has been going on with Steve lately. He’s become possessive of the omega to the point where he scents him constantly; not that Eddie minded. If that was the worst of it, Steve doesn’t think he’d notice; but he glared at anyone who seemed like a minor threat to Eddie. He snapped at Robin the other day because the alpha stood too close to his omega in his kitchen, he bared his teeth at Nancy, another omega! All the girl had done was shove Eddie playfully, but Steve’s mind took that as a threat.

Today was the worst of all though. The party was over at their new apartment, having a movie night, even the pups. Everyone was in the living room, getting comfortable; everyone except Steve. He was burning up, he sat in a t-shirt and shorts but it felt like he was in a heavy winter coat; his skin felt tight and itchy. He tried to push through it as best he could, doing some deep breathing or something. But as Eddie sat next to him, and tucked himself under his arm, Steve caught a whiff of a scent on his omega. A deep sound he’s never made before boiled up his chest as he nosed at Eddie’s neck.

“Um, Steve?” Eddie asked cautiously and he attempted to pull away. Steve tightened his grip and made that sound again. “Why are you growling at me?” Eddie whispered. That was the sound he kept making, a growl.

“Alpha on you.” He said. As he nosed up to Eddie’s hair, he realized it was Jonathon. All his logical thought flew out the window. The alpha that stole his last omega from him was trying to move on his territory again. Well Steve wouldn’t let it happen this time.

He pulled away from Eddie, leapt to his feet, and strode over to where Jonathon was sitting. He stared down Jonathon, his teeth bared. His canines extended in an unfamiliar way and they dug into his bottom lip until he dropped his mouth open a little more. Saliva dripped down his fangs as he glared at the alpha.

“Stay away, from my omega.” He snarled. Jonathon stood, his spine straight as he held his ground.

“He’s my friend, asshole.” Jonathon said as he stepped closer, his nostrils flared in challenge. “I scent him all the time.” That seemed to set Steve off and he roughly pushed the alpha. Jonathon stumbled but stayed up right, stepping forward to press his chest against Steve’s aggressively.

“Guys calm down.” Robin said but it was no use, the two men were practically spitting on each other.

“Everyone out, I’ll take you home.” Nancy said. But as far as Steve could tell, no one moved.

“Now!” Robin shouted, using her alpha voice to command everyone in the room into submission. The room emptied until only Jonathon and Steve remained.

“I’m not leaving.” Eddie said defiantly. How the omega was able resist an alpha’s command, Steve didn’t know, but he didn’t really care. His omega wasn’t in danger as long as he was in the room.

“Leave my omega alone.” Steve said again. Jonathon glared dangerously and the room was filled with the burnt scent of angry alpha. Their foreheads were touching, eye contact making everything so much worse. But neither would break; that would mean submitting.

“I’m not after your omega. But if I was, you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop me.” Jonathon taunted. Steve pulled back his fist and was ready to let it fly when Eddie shoved himself in between the two posturing men; his back to the alpha, and his gaze locked fully on his beta.

“Steve, stop.” Eddie said firmly. Steve’s slowly lowered his fist; while he was pissed at the other man, he’d never hurt his omega. “Jonathon go take a walk.” Eddie demanded. With the way Jonathon reacted, it wouldn’t surprise Steve if omegas could be taught to command, or maybe it was his own biological instinct stopping him from hurting an omega.

Jonathon backed out of the room slowly, his eyes never leaving the beta until he was out of sight. Only then did Steve take a deep breath and retract his fangs. He moved to take the omega into his arms but Eddie pulled away swiftly.

“What was that, Steve?” He asked angrily; his arms crossed over his chest. Shamed filled him as he took in his angry mate; he fucked up but he wasn’t sure how yet.

“Alpha wants you.” Steve exclaimed. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“His name is Jonathon. And he couldn’t take me from you if he tried. I don’t want him, I want you.” Eddie sighed and took another step back. “Or, I thought I did. But now you’re acting like jerk! You glare at everyone, tried to bite Robin, flashed your teeth at Nancy, and now this!” He threw his hands up.

“Protecting you!” Steve insisted imploringly, he stepped closer to the man.

“From what, our pack?” Eddie shook his head. “God you’re acting like a feral Alpha! You need get it together, because I can’t be around you if you’re going to be an annoying jackass all the time!” Eddie snagged his jacket off the hook and stormed out of the apartment. “I’m going to Wayne’s. Call me when you figure out what your deal is.”

Steve sat heavily on the couch, a whine slipped out. He wanted to wallow, but the scent of the threatening alpha was still in the room so he rushed to the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. He took a quick and cold shower, which helped him feel better, then he slipped into their nest. It smelled like home and pack and mate...but he could still smell the threat. He tore through the nest until he found the offending garment. Stomping to the kitchen, he threw the shirt into trash, satisfied that he removed enough trace of that other alpha. Wait...other alpha...feral alpha. What? Steve’s mind cleared suddenly. Steve wasn’t an alpha; he was a beta. He’s been a beta since he didn’t present when he was 15. He ran to the phone and dialed Robin, the only alpha he trusted.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice soothed him immediately.

“Hey, quick question.” Steve said immediately.

“Shoot.”

“Is it normal to be all aggressive and possessive about someone when leading up to a presentation rut?” Steve asked. Robin hummed.

“Well, I didn’t really know anyone so that wasn’t true for me. But my parents were dating before my mom presented let me ask her.” Robin put the phone down. It was silent for a few minutes before she was back. “Okay my mom said a month or so before her presentation rut, she was really angry at anyone who came near my dad. He’d presented as an omega like a week before that and she got really territorial and mean to anyone around her. Once she presented, she was able to control the inner alpha but when it was developing it was a little out of control.”

“Huh, I guess that’s a theory.” Steve said. Robin huffed.

“Does this have to do with the crap you pulled today?” Robin asked. Steve assessed his body. With everything he knew about ruts that’s likely what he was going through. And an alpha he considered a threat being in his den...the dots were connecting.

“I think I’m an alpha in rut.” Steve whispered in shock. Robin gasped.

“It’s rare but it can happen this late.” She offered.

“Ten years late?!” Steve exclaimed. “What am I gonna do?”

“First, talk to Eddie.” Robin reminded him. Shit. He looked at the clock, Eddie’s been gone for about an hour so even if he went the long way he should be at Wayne’s by now.

“Right, thanks Robin!” He hung up and immediately dialed the trailer.

“Munson residence, Wayne speaking.” Wayne’s rich timber appeared.

“Hey Wayne, it’s Steve. Is Eddie there?” Steve asked even as he heard Eddie ranting angrily in the background.

“Yeah hang on.” Wayne turned away from the phone but didn’t have to raise his voice in the small trailer. “Phone, Eds.” The phone exchanged hands and Eddie spoke.

“This better be my husband calling to apologize.” He said snappily. Steve smiled, he loved his husband so much.

“Yeah, it’s me. I think I figured it out.” Steve took a deep breath. He knew there was a chance this went poorly. “I think I’m going into a presentation rut.” There was silence on the other end. “Eddie?”

“Sorry! I’m here, sorry. That’s definitely something.” He said.

“I called Robin and she said her mom acted like I did when she was presenting.” Steve quickly filled Eddie in on the conversation with Robin.

“So, you think all that crap and the aggression with Jonathon was just your inner alpha trying to establish itself?” Eddie asked.

“Basically, yeah.” Steve agreed.

“So, should I stay the night at Wayne’s or do you want me to come home and help you through it?” Eddie asked.

Steve thought about it carefully. On the one hand, having Eddie here meant he would be able to knot an omega for the first time, which...not bad. It also meant he could keep Eddie safe. But on the other hand, he’d heard about alphas going feral and attacking anyone during their first rut or claiming an unmarked omega. That and the bigger issue...Eddie didn’t like alphas. They should talk about what this will mean before Steve gets used to having an omega during his rut and they couldn’t do that while he was lost in it. Plus, Steve had no idea what his inner alpha would be like, so it was better to figure that out alone.

“Stay the night at Wayne’s and I’ll call you in the morning once it breaks. I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered. His newly awakened inner alpha whined at not having his omega near by but Steve tried to ignore it.

“If you’re sure sweetheart. I love you.” Eddie said softly. “Get some rest and there’s a pocket omega under the bed.” He tacked on. Steve smiled confusedly...when did he get that?

“I love you too, freak.” The affection obvious in his voice. They hung up and Steve moved back to the bedroom. He remade their nest, trying to put it back to normal. After that, he went into the living room and kitchen, cleaning his den to make it presentable for his omega.

Steve was filled with this insatiable desire to have everything clean and perfect for a mate to return to and hopefully, if he did a good enough job, he would be allowed to bite and claim Eddie. Steve vacuumed the bedroom floor, his cock rapidly hardening until his mind went a little foggy. He climbed into the nest, thankful that he never got dressed after his shower, and pulled his omega’s pillow to his nose.

He sniffed it deeply with a groan before shoving it down between his legs to move against. “Omega.” He whined. His nose turned into the blanket. He thrust against the pillow over and over until he spilled, his knot swelling for the first time as he came. With a grunt, Steve’s hips froze and he squeezed the base of his dick tightly to assist.

After he caught his breath, he rolled over and did it all over again. And again. And again. For days. On the morning of the second day, he found the pocket omega Eddie mentioned and that made it so much more bearable. Still, by the end all he wanted was his omega around his knot.

------------------------

The fifth day after the movie night, he called the trailer and let Eddie know his rut had passed. Less than 15 minutes later, Eddie entered the apartment. Steve excitedly ran to the door to greet his omega with his arms wide. He picked Eddie up and spun him around much to the latter’s delight.

“I missed you too.” He threw his head back and cackled. Steve finally put him down on his feet and stepped out of his space a bit. “You smell like an alpha now.” Eddie said with a deep breath. Steve’s face fell.

“Are we going to break up?” Steve whispered. Eddie recoiled in shock.

“What? Why would we do that?” He asked, completely blindsided by the question.

“I’m an alpha now. And you hate alphas.” Steve said like it was obvious. He shrugged his shoulders and looked away, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweats. Eddie rushed forward and yanked Steve’s hands out so he could hold them.

“Oh, my love. I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, as tears sprung to his eyes. Steve was confused.

“What, why?” Though he didn’t pull away, instead he let himself be moved until he was holding Eddie tightly to his chest in the perfect place.

“I don’t normally like alphas that’s true. But Steve, I love you. No matter what. Beta, alpha, hell if you woke up tomorrow as an omega I’d still love you. Who you are; that’s who I love.” Eddie reassured.

“But the other day you said you couldn’t be around me.” Steve said even though he knew there was more to it than that.

“I didn’t mean that. I was just angry that you were being a knothead but with the rut, that all makes sense!” Eddie said.

“It does?” Steve asked. He wasn’t used to having a mating cycle so he didn’t know much about them.

“Yeah! You know when I’m in pre-heat and I get all clingy and a little bratty. Like I want you to take care of me and stuff? And I hate when you’re around Nancy alone? It’s the same thing. I can control the more...uh...feral instincts because I’ve had practice. But you had no idea what was happening.” Eddie pulled back a little to look him in the eyes. “Plus with your history with Jonathon, I’m not surprised you reacted so strongly.” Eddie shrugged. Steve rumbled a little growl at the reminder of the other man and Eddie chuckled lightly.

“Sorry.” Steve sighed. Eddie moved to the bedroom and took in the nest with pursed lips. He stripped down to his boxers before he crawled in and rearranged everything back to his liking, but he paused after a minute.

“Something’s missing.” Eddie said with a pout as he looked at his alpha. Steve felt the growl building but was able to push it down this time.

“I may have...thrown away Jonathon’s shirt.” He admitted sheepishly. Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Come here.” He said and pulled Steve to lay on top of him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You’re my husband, Stevie. My alpha.” He whispered. Steve purred softly and smiled when Eddie let out a chirp.

“You like my purr, baby?” He asked with a smile. Eddie’s face flushed but he didn’t look away.

“Yeah I do.” He admitted. “I have a request, if that’s okay.” Steve nodded his encouragement. “During my next heat, can we...exchange bites?” Eddie asked quietly, if a little embarrassed. Steve jumped up excitedly to stare at his omega.

“I thought you didn’t want a bite?” He asked even as his chest filled. Eddie shrugged. It wasn’t super common for omegas to claim alphas but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

“After you called the other day, I had a long talk with Wayne. I realized I hated the idea of bites and alphas because of my dad. He was so angry and mean all the time, I didn’t want to be tied to someone like that.” Eddie took Steve’s face in his. “But you could never be like that sweetheart. I know you could never hurt me or treat me any differently than you have for the past five years. You having a knot or a stronger wood smoke scent…” Eddie leaned in and sniffed at his scent gland. “Which I’m loving by the way. None of that changes the guy you are. And I love that guy.”

Steve stared awe at the man below him, his husband, his omega, his mate. “I’d love your bite, omega.” He whispered against Eddie’s lips as he leaned in to kiss him. Eddie sighed into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck.

-------------------------

Steve would apologize to the party later and host another movie night. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathon would get personal apologies since he’d been the worst to them. The girls would accept it graciously with a little teasing. Jonathon would brush it off though; he let his own inner alpha take the lead and made the situation worse; likely due to the perceived threat of an angry alpha near his own omega, and the challenge instinct Steve accidentally triggered.

Jonathon would give Eddie another item for his nest that he would return before Steve’s rut and accept back once it passed. Steve settled back to his normal self, after Mrs. Buckley gave him lessons on how to contain his inner alpha around others.

There was no more growling or biting. No challenging of the other pack members. It was harder if they were from outside the pack but he wasn’t going to do anything to upset his omega. Eddie even confessed that when Steve got a little possessive of him at bars he didn’t mind.

Eddie’s next heat forced Steve into another rut, syncing their cycles, and they exchanged mating bites. Eddie was his and he was Eddie’s no matter the designation and nothing would change that.

tags

@katyawriteswhump

buy me a coffee

[peppermint-whiskers]

Heyyy!

So @emositecc made me realize that we could totally share the first drafts/snippets I wrote when we were still planning the Mind Wipe AU. Here's the first version of The Reveal(tm) as a treat ;3 Plus art by emo!!

(this is like the third snippet in the snippets doc ahdjebd)

“Why, can't you tell?” Alastor laughed. He looped an arm around Pen’s arm, which earned a flinch from the man. “Don't tell me you don't recognize him.” Charlie looked from Alastor to Pen. Confusion warred in her head—what was he getting at? “Alastor, this is our friend. What—” “And I suppose friends lie to each other.” He shook his head sadly. Pen started shaking, his eyes wide and full of terror. “I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, dear Charlie, but your friend ‘Pen’ is none other but Sir Pentious in disguise.” No. No, that couldn't be right. Sir Pentious was dead, and Pen was— But the look on his face. Utter devastation—had he lied to her? She thought she could trust him. Why would . . . ? “Liar!” Vaggie snarled. “You've got a motive for this, Alastor, I just know it!” “Ask him yourself!” Alastor exclaimed. “I'm sure he'll tell you all about it, won't you, my friend?” All eyes turned to Pen. He flinched under their scrutiny and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Vaggie’s shoulders drooped. Charlie's own heart sank at the impending realization that one of her best friends was lying to her this entire time. “Pents is dead,” Angel snarled. “Cut the shit, Al!” He took an angry step forward, but Husk quickly held him back. If he was offended by any of this, Alastor didn't show it. “Do you remember his first reason for coming to the hotel, Charlie? He was sent to spy on us, wasn't he?” “N-no!” Pen screamed. “It's not—” “And he's doing the same thing now.” “I swear I'm not!” “He is the link Heaven needs to sink your precious hotel to the ground.” Static buzzed around Alastor, and he held Pen’s arm tighter than before. “If he can continue to get away with it, just think what the seraphim might do.” Charlie locked her teary eyes with Pen’s. “Tell me it's not true,” she gasped. “Pen—no, I don't—” “Don't believe him, please don't believe him,” Pen begged. “It's not—I’m not—” A bomb suddenly exploded in front of Alastor, one that exploded in red and white streamers. Cherri stepped forward, an angry gleam in her eye. “Step the fuck back!”  His grin widening, Alastor complied. “Certainly, but I would think I was doing a service to you.” She ignored him. Instead, she turned to Pen, who was clutching his neck with one hand and pulling at his collar with the other. “Pen,” she said, her tone lowering in an attempt to calm her boyfriend. “What the hell is going on?” “I'm—” Pen shook his head desperately. “Cherri, I can't—” He couldn't do it. Something blocked his throat—held his tongue so that he couldn't speak in his defense. And while his ears rang and his skin ran cold, Alastor continued spilling horrible lies.  He was always going to betray you, he said with a smirk. He won't even speak in his own defense because he knows it's all true, he said with the fakest sympathetic smile. Heaven sent him to spy on us, to stomp us out, he growled with a grin that was all teeth. And—and Pentious couldn't speak. He couldn't speak, and he watched with horror as the faces of his friends, of his loved ones, morphed from confusion to anger and betrayal. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't breathe— Charlie's eyes filled with tears. Cherri’s face twisted into something confused and hurt. He couldn't stay anymore— Opening a portal in a panic, Pentious ran away from the hotel, from his friends and girlfriend, from the horrible lies spilling from that horrible smile. He ran away and immediately ran into Sera. Oh, this is worse . . . He couldn't bear to look up at her, but Pentious managed to force his eyes up to meet hers. She looked angry—furious. “What. Happened?”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 1, Outside the lines

Masterlist Word count: 3k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

"I can't, sorry. I've got work." 

Zayne had hoped you would've given up with that text. After he got home, the alien feeling he felt during the wedding disappeared only to be replaced by his usual loneliness. Only, it felt worse. So much worse. As if the warmth he had felt in your presence had become his new normal, only to feel cold when he got home. 

He doesn't like it. He doesn't want it. All he wants is to continue in life as he had before. No weird feelings, no strange moments, no chaos. Just normalcy and structure. That's all he needs. All he wants.  

But you didn't give up. 

"When are you available? Or maybe we could get some lunch during your break?" 

He wants to be optimistic, he really does, but this is how it always starts. At first, his partners take what they can get - coffee date, a late dinner together, a lazy morning before he gets called in again - but eventually they all tire of his hectic work schedule. 

However, he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn’t go out with you at least once. 

"We can do lunch on Wednesday. I usually have a break at 12:30 until 13:00 if nothing happens." 

"Would you prefer to stay in the hospital for your break or go out?" 

That throws him off a little bit. Usually, the women he dates assume he'll take them out even if he has little time and can't even be sure if he has a break. When he doesn't respond for a few minutes, another message comes in from you. 

"How about I make us something delicious and we can decide if we want to go out when you're ready?" 

"Agreed." 

"Akso hospital, right? Should I tell someone when I'm there, or just text you and sit in the waiting room?" 

"Text me." 

"Alrighty, any allergies I should know about?" 

Zayne suddenly notices his cheeks hurt a little. He's smiling. He's been smiling a while from the strain he feels in his cheeks. It almost makes him angry. How dare you make him smile like this after barely having one conversation? How dare you shake his normalcy up for the chaos you bring? How dare you make his heart stir? This isn't what he signed up for. 

"I am not the greatest fan of carrots. Everything else is fine." 

"I'll keep that in mind! See you Wednesday!" 

His words, all his texts, were quite cold and calculated. Only communicating what was needed and yet your words almost jumped out of his screen. He could see you say those things with that sunny smile of yours. This whole thing seems unfair somehow. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Wednesday. It must be around lunchtime as Zayne feels hunger building. His eyes flick to the clock on the operating room wall. 1:15. He's been in surgery for hours, and the procedure is taking longer than expected. The patient, a young man with a complex abdominal injury, is stable, but the delicate nature of the procedure has been a pain. Zayne wasn't even supposed to scrub in, but one of his colleagues got stuck in traffic and this couldn't wait. 

When the surgery finally concludes, Zayne steps back and takes a deep breath, his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind still laser-focused. It's as if there's a glass box around him and everything that's happening around him is slightly muted. He glances at the clock again. 1:30. His stomach drops. He was supposed to meet you at 12:30. 

He pulls out his phone, expecting a strong of annoyed texts or, worse, radio silence. Instead, there's just one message from you, sent at 12:19. 

"I'm here!" 

He stares at the message, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. It's just a few words but he can feel the excitement behind them and the fact that there are no other messages means you're still there. You're waiting for him. Right? 

After taking off his scrubs and putting his white coat on again, he takes a moment to collect himself on the bench of the staff dressing room. The intensity of the surgery is still on his mind and he's having a harder time than usual getting himself out of it. Deep breathing doesn't work, splashing water in his face didn't work, affirmations didn't work. Finally, when he feels a little more grounded, he decides that he's made you wait long enough. 

Besides, his stomach is rumbling like crazy. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's been a while since you sat down, more than an hour you figure, but you don't really mind. As you always do, you brought your sketchpad. When you started doodling, a little girl, no older than seven, sat down next to you asking how you were doing that. No more than five minutes later, the two of you were sharing the pad to draw flowers together. Her mother seemed thankful for the break, having a newborn on her arm. 

'Why are you here? You don't seem sick,' the little girl asks curiously as you hand her the pink pencil she asked for. Your tote is loaded with art supplies wherever you go. You never know when inspiration strikes.  

'I'm not sick,' you tell her, 'But I am going to have lunch with a friend. He's a doctor.' You raise your voice excitedly in the second part of your sentence. She giggles. 

'Why are you friends with a doctor? They're boring,' she states through her giggles. You see her mother roll her eyes behind her. She wants to say something, you can tell, but you nod to her to make sure she knows it's alright. 

'Are you good at keeping secrets?' The girl nods vigorously with a proud look on her face but her mother shakes her head behind her. A chuckle escapes you. 'Okay, listen up. The doctor I'm going to have lunch with, I like him a lot but he doesn't know yet. This is our first date.' 

The girl gasps, her mouth wide open, big eyes staring at you excitedly, 'oh you have to tell him!' You pretend to be thinking very deeply about it, putting your finger on your chin to act it out even more. 

'Hmmm, I'm not sure yet. I don't know if he likes me.' 

'I like you,' the girl squeals, 'so he must like you too!' 

'Maybe I tell him next time. This is the first time we're going on a date.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne's breath catches when he spots you in the waiting room. There you are, sitting cross-legged on one of the uncomfortable chairs, a sketchpad balanced on your thigh, pencil in hand while you talk to the little girl sitting next to you. You're wearing simple linen pants and a black cropped t-shirt, your hair pulled up. You look like a ray of sunshine in the sterile, clinical environment. 

The way you're interreacting with the girl next to you is so patient, so gentle. You seem to have told her something outrageous with the way the girl is giggling. Your voice is warm and gentle as you encourage the girl to continue drawing. She copies with careful concentration. 

He can't help but watch for a moment as something tightens in his chest. He's not quite sure what it is – admiration perhaps, or something else he can't quite name yet. However, he can't stay stuck on it too long. He is already over an hour late and he's sure you've got other places to be as well. 

'Hey,' he says softly as he comes closer. You look up, your face lighting up with a smile as your eyes meet his. 

'Hey, you made it!' You turn to the girl sitting next to you. 'This is my friend, Zayne. What do you think? Should we show him our masterpiece?' Friend, ouch. But the little girl is giggling at your words, almost as if she knows more than he does. Did you tell her something? 

The girl holds up the sketchpad to show Zayne. It's a page with wobbly but enthusiastic flowers between carefully drawn masterpieces. Clear to see who drew what, but he can tell that you've been teaching her certain ways to make the flowers look better. 

'These are amazing,' Zayne says with the faintest smile, crouching down to her level. 'You're quite the artist.' 

The girl beams with pride. You tear off the page she worked on and give it to her. She scampers off to show her mother who gives you a thankful smile. You nod at her and stand up, brushing off your pants. Zayne grabs the woven basket from the floor while you quickly load your supplies back into your tote. 

'Sorry about that,' you grin, 'she looked bored.' 

'No need to apologize. I'm the one who's late,' Zayne says, his voice softer than intended. You shrug it off. 

'Doesn't matter. You're here now,' you say casually, 'so, did you want to stay in or go outside? Because I saw this pond in the garden...' 

Zayne hesitates. The garden is a beautiful peaceful spot, but with the rush of the day it might be better to stay inside. However, the thought of sitting there with you, surrounded by lush greenery and the gentle sound of the pond... it feels right. 

'Let's go to the garden,' he says, surprising himself. He quickly tries to rationalize it, 'I've been inside too long. It's good to go outside every once in a while' 

'Whatever you say doctor.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The hospital garden is a hidden gem, a small oasis of calm tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the building. The pond glistens in the sunlight and the grass is soft and lush. To Zayne's surprise, you prepared for this. You spread out the ugliest, yet charming, blanket he's ever seen and start unpacking the basket with the efficiency of someone who has done this many, many times before. 

'Okay, so I made a pasta salad because I figured you could use some carbs to keep you going,' you start explaining, 'It's got olives, anchovies, some olive oil as dressing. Then there's also some normal salad to get your greens in. And for dessert...' You hold up another container with a proud smile. 'Lemon cake.' 

Zayne's eyes almost seem heart shaped as he looks at the container. You notice right away and put the container down with a chuckle. 'Does the doctor have a sweet tooth,' you ask with a teasing tone. 

Zayne clears his throat, trying to collect his composure again. 'Maybe.' 

You grin, delighted at this new knowledge. 'Good. I'll keep that in mind for next time.' Zayne almost feels his cheeks flush at the thought that there could be a next time. He had his guard up so high and you've broken it down minutes into a first date. This is not good. He should calm down a little. You hand him a plate, pulling him out of his head. 'Dig in.' 

Zayne takes a cautious bite of the pasta salad, but is pleasantly surprised by how good it is. The flavors are bright and balanced, a welcome change from the tasteless hospital food he's used to. 'This is amazing,' he says, his voice sincere. 

'Glad you like it.' Zayne nods, taking another bite. He wants to talk to you, wants to ask about you, keep the conversation going, but his mind feels sluggish, still caught in the aftermath of the surgery. It seems the comforting bubble you created around the two of you made his exterior crack. Now he feels even more tired, because he doesn't feel like he has to hide it. He can just be tired. 

You watch him for a moment, seeming deep in thought. Something tells you he's tired, even though he hasn't said anything. His whole body seems to be slowing down. 'How has your day been so far,' you ask gently. 

Zayne hesitates, stuck between wanting to talk and not wanting to waste too much energy while still having half a shift left, then he shrugs. 'Busy. I had to scrub in for a surgery that ran longer than expected. It was a lot.' 

You nod, your expression softening as you watch him eat. 'I can imagine. You look like you've been through the wringer.' 

He glances up at you, surprised that you could tell. He thought he was hiding it pretty well. 'Is it that obvious?' 

You smile, but he sees no judgment in your face. Nothing that would tell him you despise him for not giving you his full attention. Instead, you look the tiniest bit worried. 'A little, but it's okay. We don't have to talk if you're not up for it. I'm happy to spend time with you either way.' 

Zayne feels a flicker of guilt. 'I'm sorry. I can imagine this isn't exactly... fun for you.' 

You shake your head, smile widening. 'Don't apologize. It's fine. I'm just glad I'm forcing you to have lunch, but I've got an even better idea if you're done.' 

Zayne studies you for a second, trying to figure out if you're just being polite, if you're never going to text him again, if you're going to leave and move to a different city. Instead, you seem completely at ease, chomping on your food happily. 'What's your idea?' 

'A nap.' You check your watch. 'If you have a half hour lunch break, we've only used a little over ten minutes. Could do you good to have a little sleep. Or just rest your eyes.' It sounds very appealing. Zayne's mind still feels slightly scattered from being in that sterile room for so long. Normally, he's fine after that but it seems the thought of meeting you cost him more energy than he bargained for. Resting his eyes sounds nice. 

'And how would we go about that?' His tone is a bit timid, scared to be so vulnerable so early on. But is it truly vulnerability? You're offering a nap to him. It's just a yes or no question. 

'You lay your head on my lap and I make sure you wake up on time.' Zayne feels his cheeks flush at your casual answer, but his body moves without his mind. You guide his head into your lap as he lays down on his back. 'I brought a book, would you like me to read to you?' 

'That'd be nice.' 

'Alright,' you smile and rummage through your tote bag, pulling out a little book, 'it's The Owl Service by Alan Garner.' 

Zayne listens with his eyes closed. One of your hands is in his hair, leaving every once in a while to turn a page. Your voice is melodic and expressive as you tell a story you seem to know very well. The bubble of comfort that was created when you sat down is suddenly very small. Seems the whole world is gone. The birds in the garden are but a background score for your story. Zayne's mind flickers in and out of consciousness, his mind wandering with the story. The story seems to be a children's story, but there's much more behind it. Either way, he doesn't have to stay fully awake to follow. 

A gentle tap to his forehead pulls him out of his dream world. His eyes flutter open and meets your eyes, shining like melting snow in the sun. You smile. 'Your break is almost over.' He nods and starts to stretch a little. Suddenly, he realizes he is holding something to his chest. Looking down, he sees a familiar hand with paint stains. He is holding your hand. 

'I'm sorry,' he stammers as he lets go and quickly gets up, regretting it right away. It's not good to sit up so fast after laying down for a while. If only he would follow his own advice. 

'It's fine. You were sleeping,' you smile kindly, 'however, if you do want to make it up to me, you can come over to my studio?' 

Zayne blinks, caught off guard. 'Your studio?' 

'Yeah,' you respond with sparkling eyes. 'I've seen your place of work, I'd love to show you around my place of work.' 

Zayne hesitates, a whirlwind of unfamiliar feelings rushing through his chest, but then nods. 'I'd like that.' 

Your smile lights up your whole face. 'Great! Text me when you're available.' 

As you start packing up, you expected him to go back inside, back to his job, but he helps you. He gathers the empty containers and closes them neatly so nothing left in them will spill in your basket, he takes the paper cups you brought and walks over to the trashcan near the footpath returning right after. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. He even helps you fold the blanket. It all goes so naturally, it makes your heart swell. 

As he leans down to grab the basket, an idea blooms in your head. 'Thank you,' you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. His face goes bright red as he stands up. Rushed, he hands you the basket. 

'No problem.' Then he disappears back into the building. The idea that bloomed in your head, the warmth that spread from your lips, the tingling feeling in your stomach. It's a wonderful experience. Nothing quite compares to falling in love. A giggle escapes you as you leisurely stroll through the garden, heading back home to put this feeling on canvas. 

Zayne, on his end, closes the door of his office behind him and tries to catch his breath. His mind feels fragmented, lost in wanting to fall in love again and not wanting his trust broken again. One thing is for sure, he doesn't want this to end. Terrifying as it may be, for the first time in a long time, he's willing to allow himself to feel. 

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