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nova-is-a-writer-now · 5 months ago

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Hidden embers

Chapter 2

Chapter summary: Tensions rise during a church fundraiser, unexpected closeness with Joel begins to blur the lines between what’s right and wrong.

A/N: It took me so long to post this, school has been killing me lately, my sincerest apologies. This is a fun little chapter, wrote it a while back. I’m currently writing chapter 4 and I can’t wait for you guys to read that one. I hope you enjoy this 🤍

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Age gap, DBF!Joel, some accidental physical contact lol

Series masterlist

Two days after the barbeque, you’re woken up by the gentle touch of your dad stroking your hair.

“Hey, sweetheart.” he says almost in a whisper

You squint at the clock on your nightstand, its red numbers flashing in the dim morning light. The faint glow through your curtains barely illuminates your dad’s face. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, kiddo. Just wanted to let you know I’m off to that church fundraiser we told you about. They need me and Joel to help with setting up lights and whatnot. Didn’t know if you’d wanna come”

You groan, rolling onto your back and closing your eyes. “Dad, it's 6:30 a.m on a Sunday. The only thing I wanna do right now is burrow myself in this bed for at least three more hours.”

He chuckles softly, standing up from where he was crouching next to your bed. “Alright, you’ll have to help your mom with the baking then. She’s gonna be selling all those pastries today and I bet she could use a sous-chef”

Before he can make it any closer to the door, you sit up in your bed and rub your eyes “I’m up. Be down in 5”

You cradle a hot cup of coffee to your chest, the summer heat creeping in very slowly this early in the morning. Your first stop is Joel’s house and even the struggle to keep your eyes open doesn’t distract you from the nervous flutter in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

You've been doing mental gymnastics, trying your damn hardest to keep your mind off of him, convincing yourself this is just a silly fixation and will pass as soon as you get used to seeing him around. Just push through it, and eventually, your heart will get the memo.

Your dad pulls up to his driveway and parks right next to his truck. The front door is in your direct line of sight when Joel opens it, carrying a couple boxes and a toolbelt slung over his shoulder. You have to make a conscious effort to not stare at his arms, at how big they get whenever he carries heavy things around—that proves to be a lot harder when he’s walking in a straight line towards you.

Thankfully, your dad gets out of the car to help, sparing you from further gawking. You hear him ask if there are any boxes left inside and from the way he heads back towards the house, you guess the answer is yes.You roll your window down to ask if he needs any help just as those strong arms you were trying to ignore rest themselves on the window frame.

“You didn’t strike me as an early bird.” Joel says, his eyes now leveled with yours, much closer than you had been two days ago.

Your cheeks betray you, flushing a shade of red that now feels reserved for him. “Do I strike you as my mom’s baking assistant for the entire day?” you retort, a grin sneaking onto your face.

You’d be lying through your teeth if you said you weren’t trying to earn another one of those earth shattering chuckles with your comment. Turns out you’re pretty good at it, because a second later he’s dropping his head, a low rumbly chuckle escaping him. “I reckon you don’t.”

His eyes come back up to meet yours, holding for a beat longer than they probably should, like he’s giving you one more tiny bread crumb to follow the trail, to figure out the riddle. Or maybe you’re just losing your mind, which is entirely possible.

Just when the tension between you two is about to reach a breaking point, your dad reappears with more boxes.

“A little help, pal? It wouldn’t kill ya,” he calls out, breaking the spell.

As your dad parks the car in front of the church, you spot Mrs. Calloway, the lively old lady you spoke to at the barbecue, waving energetically. The early morning sun casts long shadows across the church’s lawn, the air carrying the faint smell of freshly-cut grass.

“Oh good, you’re here!” she greets the three of you as you step out of the car.

“Mornin’, Mrs. Calloway. How’s the day treatin’ you?” your dad asks, hauling open the truck's tailgate.

“Oh, busy, so much to do. I see you brought me an extra pair of hands here,” she says, sidling up to you and giving your arm a friendly squeeze.

“Yeah, he was very convincing, couldn’t refuse the invite,” you reply with a polite smile. You've taken a real liking to Mrs. Calloway. She never talks about your parents when she chats with you. Instead, she asks about your life or shares stories about her cats—which is a refreshing change of pace.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t, pumpkin. I have a bunch of decorations to put up inside.” She leans in closer and half-whispers, “And for all their virtues, I wouldn’t trust these ones with decorating if it was my last day on earth.”

You can’t help but giggle just as a voice comes from the back of the truck. “Heard that.”

You turn to see Joel balancing a couple boxes with practiced ease “Is she wrong?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

He grins, shaking his head. “No, she’s very right.”

“Oh, Joel could help you out” Mrs. Calloway suggests. “There are some pretty big containers stuffed in the back of the storage room with everything you’ll need. Why don’t you go grab them while we start setting up the tables out here?”

“You got it,” you say, trying to wave away the thought of being alone with Joel again.

You walk into the church with Joel trailing just behind, his presence is a comforting warmth against the cool morning air. The quiet of the church envelops you both, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly. You spot a door in the back corner “That’s the one?”

“That’s the one.” Joel confirms, taking the lead as you reach the storage room.

Inside, you find a mountain of containers piled up against the wall, with big brown boxes and plastic bags teetering on top.

“So, how many of these do we need?” you ask, hoping to distract yourself from how close he is.

“Just a couple to start with,” Joel replies, handing you one of the containers. “We’ll come back if we need more.”

You both carry the containers out of the storage room, the clatter of plastic echoing through the empty church hall.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Joel says, setting his container down and opening it. You follow suit, pulling out strings of lights, banners, and a variety of festive decorations.

“I didn’t think we’d be doing arts and crafts today,” you joke, unfurling a particularly colorful garland.

Joel smiles. “Yeah, not exactly my forte, but we’ll make it work.”

You pick a banner out of the container, large enough to hang from one column to the other, and spot metal hooks screwed all the way up—clearly where it’s meant to go.

You notice a small ladder pushed against a corner and leave Joel’s side to fetch it.

He only seems to notice what you’re up to once he hears the ladder scraping against the column

“Leave it, I'll take care of that.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m not a lady in distress, I can hang up a banner on my own, Joel.” You reply stepping up on the ladder trying to test out its stability with a little bounce

“I know you can darlin’, but I’d rather do it myself. That ladder—”

“The ladder is fine, Joel. Go back to untangling those lights.” You’re not quite sure what you’re trying to prove – maybe this was an attempt at stripping away that childish image he had of you.

He disregards your comment and walks right to your side, his hands slightly stretched out like he's preparing to catch you.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you say climbing to the highest point of the ladder.

Sure, it’s old but if it held up this long it could hold for a little bit longer. “See? I’m just fine, I just gotta hook this up here…”

As if on cue, the ladder starts creaking ominously just as you stretch your arm out to reach the hook. Not half a second later, the rusty metal piece that was holding all your weight up snaps and Joel’s arms wrap around your body, pulling you safely against his chest.

For the second time that day, you could say that was the closest to Joel you’ve ever been. His face just inches away from yours, both arms holding you securely, the woody, musky scent your brain had labeled as uniquely his, overwhelming your senses.

Words failed you as you stared into those deep brown eyes, and every part of you wanted to believe it was just the shock of the fall, but it was getting harder and harder to keep shamelessly lying to yourself.

When he finally breaks the silence, it’s pretty much a lost battle. “Will you stop being so stubborn and let me help you now?”

“Favorite color”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Joel chuckles once again, and at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve pulled that off. With Joel Miller, even a small chuckle feels like a major accomplishment.

After spending the entire morning decorating the inside of the church (most of which you spent explaining to him he couldn’t mix the red decorations with the green ones because it wasn’t christmas), you were both assigned raffle duty. You sold the tickets and Joel put them in the big raffle draw, using the lever to mix them up as he went.

The two of you sat behind a little stand, and in your best attempt to hear as much as you could of that sweet, caramel-y drawl, you convinced him to play twenty-questions. Each of you took turns asking the other whatever popped into your heads, and the other had to answer honestly.

Your questions ranged from what animal he would choose to turn into if he could shapeshift at will, to his favorite subjects back in high school, and even who in your family he would take to a deserted island if he knew he’d have to partner up to make it out alive. (He picked you, obviously. Your dad was terrible at functioning in high pressure situations). His questions on the other hand had been generic at best, deadly boring at worst.

You leaned back in your chair, the wooden slats creaking under your weight, and gave him a playful glare.

“You said any question that popped into my head,” he defends himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh and you’re dying to know my favorite color, are you?” you ask back, dripping with sarcasm.

“I’ll lose sleep over it if you don’t tell me” his voice gets low and serious in complete contrast to how ridiculous his statement is.

“Blue,” you admit, “but not the default shade of blue everyone thinks of, more like a ‘clear water lake’ kind of blue” you look back at him and he just kind of stares, like he's too distracted by you to even register the answer to his question. “What’s your’s?” you ask, pulling him out of his trance.

“Brown.”

You laugh at his answer.

“Something funny?” he asks

“Only you, Joel Miller, would have brown as your favorite color.”

“It’s a perfectly normal favorite color.” He says defensively, a little frown creasing his features.

“Joel, it’s the most boring of colors, it’s not even a color in itself, it's all the colors mushed together.” you giggle at the absurdity of the conversation, leaning in closer, enjoying the banter more than you care to admit.

“It’s practical, goes well with everything, looks good in any house—an easy, simple color.”

“But your favorite color isn’t supposed to be about practicality, it’s supposed to be about which one you like the most.” You argue back.

“You tryna tell me how to pick my own favorite color, kid?” he teases you, receiving only a death stare in return.The warmth in his eyes makes your heart skip. “Fine, it’s green.”

“See? That's a normal favorite color”

“Yeah, and you’re a piece a’ work.” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips that tells you he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

Just like that, Joel Miller makes the rest of the day easy to get through. Even with the awkward feeling of being an outsider, looking through a window into a room full of people who’ve known each other their whole lives, he manages to ground you. He’s either pulling you into senseless conversation or letting you bask in a comfortable silence, and both feel like a lifeline.

By the end of the day, you walk around helping Ms. Calloway clear out the tables, throw all the empty cups and disposable plates into a trash back and group up the chairs so your dad can take them back inside.

During one of your ‘picking up leftover trash’ rounds, you see your mom standing next to Joel’s truck. He’s right beside her loadingback up the tools he’d brought with him this morning. You knew Joel was a lot colder and closed off with other people—that's what earned him his grump reputation in the first place—but in the short time you’ve been around him since you came back, you’ve never seen him be so stiff around anyone like he is with your mom.

That is certainly a rare sight, given your mom was one to charm any and everyone who crossed her path. Pageant queen, cheerleader, hair larger than life type—your mom is a sight for sore eyes, even you have to admit that. It was hard to engage in conversation with her and not be dazzled by her looks and also by her bubbly personality, or the persona she put on for others at least. It almost seemed like she hadn’t been told no once in her entire life.

But Joel seemed immune to it, no warm smile on his face, no polite small talk, not even gentleman-like behavior beyond the strictly necessary. In fact, something in his face told you he couldn’t wait to get on his truck and leave. He stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, every line of his body screaming discomfort.

You watch the two of them from a distance, your mom batting her eyelashes up at him, her body leaning towards him slightly, trying to close the gap he’s so obviously desperate to maintain. Meanwhile, Joel looks like he’s doing everything in his power to keep his distance, stepping closer and closer to his truck’s tailgate. His jaw is set like stone, eyes flicking to the side as if searching for an escape route, and you can almost see the tension radiating off him in waves.

Your mom leans in closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thinks is a conspiratorial whisper. Even from a distance, you can see Joel’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something like annoyance passing over his face before he schools his expression back to neutral.

An unshakable uneasiness tugs at your chest that won't allow you to walk away, against your best instincts you decide to barge in.

“Hey, Mom!” you chirp, sliding right up next to Joel. “I think Mrs. Calloway is looking for you. Something about the pies?”

Your mom turns to you with a bright smile, though there’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that’s hard to miss. “Oh, I’m sure she can manage without me for a moment,” she says, but you can tell she’s not thrilled about being interrupted.

Joel gives you a grateful look, his eyes meeting yours with a silent thanks. You catch a slight relaxation in his shoulders, like he’s the one being thrown a lifeline this time.

“Actually, Mom, she seemed really insistent,” you retort, trying to sell the urgency of the situation. “You know… with the wrapping things up and all.”

Your mom hesitates, her gaze flicking between you and Joel. Finally, she relents with a sigh, though the look she gives you says this conversation is far from over. “Alright, I’ll go see what she needs. But we’re not done talking about this, Joel,” she says, her voice carrying an edge that makes your skin crawl, before turning on her heel and striding away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Joel exhales a long breath. He extends you one more polite nod and jumps into the truck without another word. You don’t like the feeling it gives you, not one bit.

Before you can dwell too much in your thoughts, you hear your mom’s voice calling your name, and you turn to see her motioning for you to join her. Here comes the earful.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way over to her, bracing for the inevitable.

“Sweetheart,” she begins in a voice that’s both sugar and vinegar, “you really shouldn’t interrupt when adults are talking. It’s important to know your place.”

You nod, biting back the retort on the tip of your tongue. “I know, Mom. I just thought you might want to check on Mrs. Calloway.”

She narrows her eyes, as if trying to read your mind. “If you go around behaving like a heathen, it reflects poorly on me. You’d do well to remember that.”

You stare back at her, head high and an unfaltering cool facade. She used to intimidate you, this tone used to make you feel so small and insignificant, but it doesn’t anymore. Hasn’t for a good while now. “Got it,” you reply, forcing a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

#dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou joel #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #Hidden embers

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

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Bleach

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel wakes up in the middle of the night... not that he actually feel asleep to begin with.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral!reader, allusions/depictions of joel's sleep problems (insomnia, apnea, nightmares), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: ??? i was writing off tangent again???? so much so that i couldnt finish the fic and had to restart ???? help me T_T Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

Joel always restarted his count at a hundred.

58, 59, 60...

He probably counted to a hundred a hundred times by now. He rubs his cheek against your chest. His bad ear beholds the thump behind your ribs.

If it wasn't official hours ago, it was official now. He couldn't fucking sleep.

Normally, he would fall asleep to your humming and hair combing. It worked like a charm, normally. But then again, normal and he were long strangers. He was best friends with fucked-up and hard though.

Joel sighed, pulling his head up to look at your face. Your face. His person's face. His person. The hand you tucked in his hair spilled to the side, brushing haphazardly on his cheek.

He presses his palm atop of your fingers as he shifted. He cups your hand cause it was holy. He brings his nose to the crook of your neck and sprawls over you, sealing you beneath him, arm coming around your form.

He rubs his cheek against your skin but then he stops himself when he remembers your complaints about beard burn.

He sighs, mentally noting he had to shave; he had to shave, he had to shave, he had to shave for you.

He purses his lips at the memory, the sound of you laughing, telling him you didn't actually want him to loose the facial hair; you like him like that, how ever he let you have him. You told him you only tell him to shave cause you know he'd never remember to actually do it, i.e., to grind his gears.

Joel doesn't have a bad memory. He knows he doesn't have memory problems. It's just that he doesn't care enough to remember something like that, to shave. And maybe that was a problem.

He freezes when you stir beneath him. He holds himself up as you push deeper beneath him, limbs wrapping around his body. He grunts then holds his breath as you maneuver the way you did every night like clockwork, clawing at him like he was a teddy bear, a big ol' teddy, cradled close to heart, close to your pulse, between your arms and your legs.

He relaxes after you still. Slowly, he allows himself to shift his body weight all the way down on you. He moves slowly, hands gripping your thighs as he made himself comfortable, flush on your form.

"Joel."

He is instantly stone.

He doesn't speak.

He waits.

He waits for you to continue, to say something.

He slowly lifts his head up and looks at you.

Your lashes are pressed together, your lips, so very slightly parted, your nose pointed to his, still, just like the rest of your body. You were very much asleep; you had just called out to him in your dreams again.

He gently shimmies down and sinks his face in the crook of your neck. He takes in your scent and lulls himself with you. He peppers kisses on your skin, mostly for himself.

Himself. He smells himself on you. He smells the bleach you used to get the blood stains off his shirt. Joel told you not to bother. It was a shirt, just another shirt. There were many more shirts. He didn't care at all for this one. But now-

He reaches out to your cheek and kisses your jaw.

-now it was special. Now, it was sacred. Now, he couldn't wear it unless he knew he wouldn't get it filthy. Now, he wore it like as his Sunday's best, though it was a beaten up grey tee from an obscene college that he knew nothing of. It hadn't even fit him well when he found it--it was too tight-- but after over-wearing it, it fit him like a glove, then it didn't fit him properly at all.

He wonders if he'll wear you out like his t-shirt, if one day he catches you frayed and tired, all cause of him. All cause of him.

You deserved better. You deserved so much better than him. You had light behind your eyes. You had hope. You still cared.

And he?

He was himself. He was Joel. He was tired. He was angry. He was cynical. He was him. Before and after the world had gone to shit.

You deserved better.

"Joel?"

He sighs at the soft sound that escaped your lips. He closes his eyes and brushes his nose against you.

He wonders what you dream about when you call his name. He wonders if he makes you laugh, makes you feel good, or if he just screams and bosses you around. He didn't mean to be so jagged. He doesn't mean to be so rough. He enjoys it about as much as you do; you don't. He can't help himself though. It's better this way. It keeps you both alive. It keeps him-

"Joel, how long have you been awake?"

Joel freezes.

You shift beneath him. He feels you look at him.

"Joel," you croon, rubbing his cheek with your thumb.

He keeps his eyes closed. He stays still. He can stay still. He can fake it.

"I know you're awake," you mutter, moving your hand, placing it on his, "you're rubbing my side."

Joel's hand stops moving.

You sigh, leaning in to kiss his head, "you should have woken me up."

Joel is tempted to retort. He doesn't.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Nothing. He says nothing.

You tighten your arms and legs around him. You dig your fingers into the roots of his hair. Usually, this made him burn, this made his insides rage, he saw it as a challenge, a challenge he so greedily was receptive to in his desire to break you against him. It was his trigger, his go signal. And yet tonight he just wants to keep you close, to keep you in place, to record the beats of your heart in his head.

"If you want me to believe you're asleep, you should have started snoring."

Joel sighs. "I don't snore."

He can hear your smile. He can see it exactly in his mind.

"How would you know that?"

"I know I don't cause you keep moving me in bed."

Joel's body vibrates with your chuckle. He feels the smallest of smiles creep unto his lips.

"You snore really bad," you add.

"Maybe for a few seconds," he mumbles.

He feels himself begin to go drowsy. Your giggles cease.

"You want me to sing for y-"

"I'm fine," he mutters tersely, "don't worry about me."

He feels you shift to get a better look at him. He denies you this and holds you back. He is selfish, he wants to keep you close. He is scared, he doesn't want you to see how desperate for sleep he must look.

He don't fight him. He is glad for it. He feels you relax beneath him. You rub his back. You sigh, "I'm always worried about you."

Joel breathes deeply, "you shouldn't be."

"I want to be."

He finally opens his eyes, "you want to be?"

"Mmm."

"Who in hell wants to be worried?"

You draw stars on his back. You want to tell him he's your north star. You don't. He'll fall into his self-loathing. You wish he'd stop doing that. So, instead you say, "because I love you, you dummy."

You don't receive a response.

But Joel heard it. He hears it. He knows it. He doesn't acknowledge it. He never does. He never will. Not right now, very much not right now.

You don't mind. You know his heart. You love his heart, though he tries so hard to hide it from you.

A long moment of silence passes. It lasts so long that he thinks you're asleep, but you're not; you're drawing on his back, soothing him with it like you always do.

Joel begins to count again.

1, 2, 3...

"You know I dreamt we were abducted by aliens. Like the ones with Sigourney Weaver."

"Aliens?"

"Mmm."

"..."

"What'd I do?"

You snort, "what do you think? You killed them all."

"..."

"Then we banged."

"Heh."

You rub your face against his, "you wanna know a secret?"

Joel closes his eyes, "tell me."

"I wish you gave yourself more credit."

He slowly draws his eyes open.

"You're temperamental, scary, and mean, and you're well-abled, strong, and capable, but it's okay if sometimes you're patient, pleasant, and kind, and if you're hurt, weak, and struggling," you link your hands together over his back, "doesn't make you any less, doesn't make Joel any less Joel."

He lets his eyelids fall.

You close your eyes and listen to his breathing.

He counts your pulses.

He was really sleepy now.

"Worrying makes us human," you mutter, "let me worry about you the way you worry about me."

Joel wants to disagree. He wants to tell you not to worry or else you'll go gray like him. He doesn't though. He knows it pointless. And he knows he'll never win. Not against you.

Okay, he says in his head, you win.

... at least tonight.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fic #the last of us fluff #joel miller smut #the last of us x reader

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kittenintheden · 4 months ago

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snippet sunday

I have had a ROUGH few weeks at work lol so it's sapped a lot of my creative energy lol sob. anyway. here's whatever this is.

tagged by @shewhowas39, thank you!

***

Their tadpoles sing lamentations even in sleep. Fear. Loss. Love.

Lust.

They wake to moonlight with a shared gasp. He reaches for her shoulder to turn her toward him and kisses her hard enough that he nicks her lip with a tooth. It doesn’t seem to matter to her.

As soon as she rolls onto her back, he’s on her, nudging her legs apart with his knees and aligning their hips so he can grind the full length of his hard cock across her swollen center. Ori arches her chest into him and drops her head back, breaking their kiss with a broken a-ah.

Astarion’s own breath hitches and his brows twitch up as he looks down at her, throat bared to him completely. There’s nothing between them but trust, a harmonious hum along the mental thread stretched between their minds. The pulse beneath her skin flickers like firelight.

He bites down. She gasps. He shoves both of their bottoms off down to their thighs. She lifts her hips and spreads herself as best she can. He takes himself in hand, maneuvers under her clothing and folds her thighs up until he finds her cunt with the head of his cock.

Astarion drinks and thrusts inside at the same moment.

“Fuck,” Ori breathes, her voice thready as her fingers dig into his arms.

He fucks.

Ori’s cries come in bursts, timed with every slap of his hips against hers. It’s artless, instinctual. The deepest part of him that’s still a man, despite everything. The part that knows this is an act of life. The part that wants to be alive.

To be alive with someone to share that life with.

Astarion pulls his mouth from her with a moan, his tongue and teeth coated red with the essence of life itself, freely and lovingly given. He licks it away and wraps his arms under hers, holding her close while he ruts into her with pure abandon.

“Harkess tel'quiet,” he says, winded. “Kiss me.”

Ori rolls her head towards his and catches his mouth with hers, him inching his hand up beneath her until he’s cradling the back of her head.

When they finally break for her to catch her breath, Ori sobs out, “You’re so deep, I can’t… gods.”

Tension spirals tight into his lower abdomen and he groans out his need. “I need you,” he gasps.

She responds by coming on his cock with a howl. Her cunt tightens around him and the spiral inside his gut hits its limit and unfurls like a spring, sending ecstasy to the very surface of his skin.

He isn’t quiet about it.

Their voices fade, their breathing slows. Gingerly, he runs a hand down to her hip and tilts it toward himself, carefully pulling out. The air is cool on his wet-slicked skin and he shivers.

When he moves her clothing back into place, she sleepily whispers, “What are you doing?”

“Keep me here,” he whispers back, replacing her smallclothes and linen shorts. “Keep me inside ‘til morning. I need to know I’m with you.”

#astarion smut #my wips #kitten writes #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #tavstarion #not your sweetheart

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insomniamamma · 4 months ago

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Forever's Gonna Start Tonight: Joel Miller X F! Neurodivergent!reader

A/N: hey, you all remember how Spinner was supposed to be a one-shot? LMAO. I am incapable of one shots. I started this around last Valentine's Day and felt too intimidated to finish it. I guess most of the fandom wanted to take Joel to the big dance. So I shelved it for a bit, and then, while struggling with another WIP, I revisited this and found that I still really liked it. And you know what? Fuck it. Two cakes.

Warnings: A smidge of angst. A bit of awkwardness. Mentions of crappy people in Spinner's past. Spinner is neurodivergent. This is a direct sequel to this fic, so you should probably read that one first. Dancing. Very soft kisses. Spinner is meant to be a reader inset, but she's right on the line between RC and OC.

Ellie’s already up and gone when Joel comes downstairs, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Of all the teenage orphans he could’ve ended up with he’s stuck with one who has no concept of sleeping in on a Sunday. A mug of herb tea waits for him on the table with a saucer placed over top of it to keep it warm, and he feels himself smile, Ellie looking after him in her way, a curled scrap of paper pinned by the mug, marked with her laborious printing. Joel frowns. Ellie likes to leave him little notes when she makes it out of the house before him. Usually a shitty pun. Ellie collects puns the way a crow goes after shiny things. He cradles the mug in his hands for a moment before making his eyes focus on the note.

Valentine’s in two days. Ask her to the dance you pussy. Joel groans. Her. You. He’s been thinking of you. More than he expected to. Paired up with you on patrol and the weather went to shit. Bad luck and punky wood that wouldn’t do much more than smolder in the stove. Your hands were so damn cold. He knew from the moment you’d finally stopped shivering and relaxed against him and started snoring into his neck that you’d become a problem. The same way Tess was a problem, Ellie is a problem. Tommy is a problem. And now there’s you. He has to remind himself sometimes that he’s safe, that Jackson is safe, that he and Tommy and Ellie are safe here. And now you are counted into that worried toll.

He’s been thinking of you. The way your eyes will flick up and hold his before darting away. Your eyes turn away but then you smile, just a little. a soft dimpling of your cheek, like the two of you have a secret. And you do, he thinks, that night curled together, your freezing hands cradled in his, zipped your sleeping bags together like a couple of kids on a camping trip, the feel of you going lax against him, your face, your cold nose tucked into his neck, curled his arm around you and you burrowed in closer. A thread of tenderness strung between you.

Walked you home after he found you in the square. He knows you’re not brave, but you were brave that night, even though you shook as he pulled you up from the bandstand steps, walked you home, your arm hooked through his like he’s some old time gentleman but it made you smile even if you wouldn’t quite look at him. This is me, your porch light flickering slightly, power from the dam isn’t always consistent, there’s so much to do, so much maintenance, so many things left to rot, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but you surge forward and hug him, arms banded tight around him, feel him stiffen and then his arms come up around you, tucks you tight against him, cups the back of your head and draws you close, nestles you into the column of his neck, feels you relax in to his hold. “Thank you,” you breathed against him, allowed yourself to be held and then withdrew, caught your cold hands in his and squeezed. “Anytime, honey,” Your eyes didn’t quite meet his, but your cheek curved in a smile and then you closed the door between you.

He thinks about the two times he’s held you, the two times you’ve relaxed into his arms, but you still can’t meet his eyes. You might never meet his eyes. Joel decides he’s okay with that. The soft arc of your smile is enough.

He settles beside you, bowl in hand, venison chili and cornbread. Your eyes flick up to him and you nod, acknowledge his presence and then go back to eating, the cornbread is nice and grainy and sweet, the chili is thin but warm and decently spicy, more potatoes and sunchokes, tough beans than venison, this is the deep of winter and things are lean, find yourself daydreaming about Olive Garden of all places, the soup and breadsticks, so much food that you always had to take some home and you feel a nudge at your elbow. Joel says nothing but slides you a bit of paper folded into a compact triangle, and you feel yourself smile, glance at Joel and he’s busy sopping up his chili with his cornbread, looks nonchalant but you can feel the bounce of his leg beneath the table, tuck some cornbread into your mouth and chew, unfold the complication of paper, yellowed with printed blue lines, ripped out of some notebook. Will you come to the Valentine’s Dance with me? Yes. No. The implication being that you circle your choice and hand your answer back to him. You pull a nubbin of charcoal out of your pocket and draw a circle around the “Yes”. Hold the fiddly bit of paper in your palms, not sure how to turn it back into it’s triangle shape, so you press it into orderly thirds and slide it back to him. Steal little glances at him as he reads your answer. His leg stops bouncing under the table, and when you look at him, he’s smiling. “See you Saturday, Spinner, Joel murmurs. And you think you hear the smile in his voice but your are never sure.

Saturday. Saturday. Shit fire and save the matches. You said yes. You circled yes on that stupid note, like a stupid high school kid. Your experience of dancing is limited to court dances on the Ren Faire circuit with a dash of square dance and reels. You’re not sure how to act, you’re not sure what to wear. Do you have to dress fancy? Do you have to paint up your face? You have no idea what to expect so you do what you always do when some social expectation evades you. You go and ask Maria. Bring the tiny pair of socks you’ve been working on, still not entirely pleased with the final color, more brown than yellow, still working through different mordants. You wish they’d managed to snag a display of Rit from that Walmart, but nobody thought it was important. “Spill it,” says Maria, knows you well enough to know when something’s bothering you. “I don’t like the color, the mordants—“ “I know all about the mordants. C’mon. Spill.” “Joel asked me to the dance.” “And you said yes.” “I said yes.” “So what’s the problem?” “What if he’s messing with me—“ Maria laughs but then rests her hands lightly on your upper arms, a touch that means grounding, that means truth, something you would not tolerate from anyone but her. “Do you know that man to have a sense of humor? Other than those terrible puns he saves up for Ellie?” “Guess not. It’s just--“ You’re not sure how to word it, did plenty of dancing at Ren Faire, carefully proscribed steps and agreed upon roles, danced at your wedding reception with your ex mouthing the steps into your ear so you didn’t fuck it up, semi-formal dance in the seventh grade your mom fixed your hair and put you in a powder pink dress with a sailor collar and you’d spent the whole evening the darkest part of the gym you could find, waiting for it to be over. “I don’t know what I’m doing, do I need a dress because—“ “It’s not prom, says Maria, No one’s gonna be fancy. Except Tim.” You feel yourself smile. Tim with his his button down shirts and fussy little bowties, tall, whip skinny and twice the age of God. No one quite knows how he made it through the outbreak, but he knows how to make explosives so no one is in a real hurry to ask. “Tim’ll probably show up in a three piece suit.” “Wear something with no holes and you’ll be fine.” You frown and Maria grins at you. “That’s not exactly helpful.” “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Through the next couple of days, Joel is there like he always is, a steady, unobtrusive presence, the two of you side by side over the deep sink in the caff, dish duty but you don’t mind. Soap and scrub and pass them along to Joel who rinses and sets them in the racks to dry. “Joel?” “Hmm?” “I can’t dance.” He huffs laughter. “I’ve seen you dance.” And you feel heat rising in your face, ears going hot. Someone had played the Chieftains on the juke in the Bison (hang out there more often now that you know Joel is there) and the bit of step-dancing you’d picked up on the Ren Faire circuit had come out. “Not like normal people do.” Scrub the dishes and hand them off to him. Normal people, you hear him mutter, hold out a bowl for him to rinse and rack but he doesn’t take it. “I could show you,” says Joel, “You know, so you’re not worried about it.” “I’m not worried,” you say. “Yes you are,” he says, wipes his wet hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, “Come here.” You wipe your soapy hands on your pants and stand facing him, lip bit in a frown, he holds up his hand like he means for you to give him a high five. “Give me your hand.” Lay your palm against his and he laces his fingers through yours. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.” “Like this?” “Yep. I’m gonna put my hand on your hip,” he says, “That okay, Spinner?” “Sure,” and he rests his hand on you, not gripping, not grabbing, starts swaying, foot to foot, back and forth and you mirror him, warm weight of his hand, gentle pressure that swings you around. “That’s it? There’s no steps?” “No steps,” says Joel. “Just like dancin at prom.” “Never went to prom.” “Really?” You shrug. “We played Shadowrun instead.”

You settle on the wrap skirt, sewn from an old cotton bedsheet. Dyed yellow with a dusty box of Rit you found on the top shelf of a cabinet in the house they gave you. Didn’t turn out as bright as you wanted, but it’s still a nice yellow, like softened butter on a plate, and you like the patterns that the knotted twine made. Pair it with a rust colored v-neck, looted from the Walmart around the time you arrived in Jackson. You know it won’t hold up so you rarely wear it, but it looks nice with the skirt and clings to your curves in a way that isn’t entirely horrible, longies underneath your skirt because February in Jackson is fucking cold.

The caff looks different set up for the dance, long tables with their legs folded up, stacked against on wall, folding chairs around the perimeter, paper and fabric hearts hung from the rafters, all hung with old Christmas lights, cast your eyes around and worry, you’ve been stood up before, it wouldn’t exactly surprise you, and then you find him, tucked back by the DJ, cobbled together equipment from the high school’s AV club, too-rah loo-rah too-rah loo-ray-aay— he sees you and smiles, dimples sunk into his scruffy cheeks, stands and hurries to you, takes your hands in his. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show.” “I wasn’t sure either.” Runs his thumbs over your knuckles. He’s beautiful in the low, shifting light, disco ball with a third of the little mirrors missing, little blots of light passing over the walls, catching the silver threaded through his hair-and Everything I do start’s playing, that goofy song from Robin Hood movie, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to talk about how ridiculously inaccurate the movie is, Kevin Costner’s accent was so bad, his hands folded warm around yours. “Wanna dance?” “Yeah. Okay.” And you let him lead you onto the floor, his hand laced with yours, your hand on his shoulder, just like you did by the deep-sink, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching anywhere beside where your hands rest, and in hand and his hand on the swell of your hip, the two of you turn and turn, Joel doesn’t push. He doesn’t dig his fingers in, just sways you side to side in a slow circle. It’s nice in the anonymous murk, he doesn’t try to dip you or change the pattern, Bryan Addams fades into Cindy Lauper, time after time, and he pulls you closer always liked this song, he murmurs into your hair and you nod, tuck your face into the join of his neck and shoulder unthinking, and then you stiffen, this is where he will push back, drag you back to arm’s length, and maybe ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing, but instead he breathes out a contented sigh and you turn and turn and tun in the broken light, his pulse thrumming beneath your ear, if you’re lost and you look then you will find me, and for a moment the world isn’t broken, and then Time After Time Fades out and the fucking Chicken Dance comes on. “You wanna—“ “Absolutely not.” “You don’t know the chicken dance?” “Of course I know the chicken dance. I fucking hate it.” “Let’s sit this one out then—“ and then Tommy enters like a meteor, grabs Joel by the arm “C’mon man it’s the Chicken Dance!” Joel shoots you a beleaguered see what I have to put up with look and lets his brother haul him onto the floor. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, but he knows all the moves, the contrast of his grim expression and the shimmy of his hips as he wiggles his imaginary chicken tail is too much for you and you laugh bright and bold, the loud bray your parents said was unladylike, your ex said made you sound like a donkey, and for a second that old fear spikes, but no one’s looking at you, no one notices. Joel glances your way and smiles before his brother grabs his hands and swings him in a delirious apple hooch fueled arc while the accordion does it’s thing. The music changes again and Joel extricates himself and plops down in the folding chair next to you. “No Macarena?” “Gotta draw the line somewhere, Spinner.”

A string of fast songs plays and the kids take over the floor momentarily, some recognize and some you don’t, Joel rests his hand on your knee and you lay yours over his, sit back and let them have their fun, sip strong apple hooch out of pitted plastic tumblers, burns a little going down, but makes you warm inside. You lean against him and his hand leaves your knee, arm comes up around your shoulder. “Is this what prom was like?” Joel frowns. “The music’s kinda the same,” he says, “But everyone was dressed up all fancy. There was lots of drama. Lots of people crying about who asked who and who dumped who.” “Sounds stupid.” “Yeah, I guess it was. All that shit seemed so important and now—“ “We didn’t know.” Your eyes hold his, deep wells in the dim shifting light, even though it makes you want to squirm, too many times told look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, too many times told to stop staring, stop being weird, “Joel. We didn’t know.” He turns from you and stares out over the floor, nods his head, and you wonder if you’ve said it wrong, but his arm is still draped warm over your shoulder, looks troubled, but then the lights drop and a few familiar piano notes sound and the kids scatter into the dark, confused—turn around every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never comin round turn around “Oooh this is a good one—“ “C’mon, Spinner, let’s dance.” The floor fills with couples, mostly harried survivors like you and Joel, the folks of Jackson old enough to have danced to this song in stuffy school gyms hung with crepe paper streamers and balloons, Love’s Baby soft and Darkkar Noir and flop sweat. Maria and Tommy sway with their foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Ellie dances theatrically, mouthing the lyrics like a cartoon opera singer to the delight of a cluster of sugared up kids who’ve formed a loose ring around her. The configuration has shifted, both your arms draped around his neck, his hands on your hips, the pretense of space between you forgotten, some murky memory of the your middle school English teacher reminding people to save room for Jesus when you danced, had no idea what that meant at the time, but now you have some idea, Joel warm and strong and flush against you, gentle susurration of his breath in your hair, warm beat of his pulse beneath your ear. “Joel?” “Hmm?” “You remember this video for this song?” “There was football players or somethin. People with glowing eyes.” “And Ninjas. Don’t forget the ninjas. I think there was an angel too.” “And a guy in a fencing mask,” says Joel, “I think?” “You’re right! Glitter poured out of it when he lifted it up!” “Then she was just some professor all along, like she dreamed the whole thing.” “Just a dream.” You whisper against his neck and he holds you all the tighter.

Eventually the lights come up. Happy Valentine’s Day! Ez’s voice booms through the mic and you wince, for those of us lucky in love it is time to take that noble sentiment elsewhere— god, I hate that guy. — For those on clean up duty now is your time to shine. Everyone else needs to skedaddle. I will now play some skedaddlin music. And true to his word, that shit techno cover of Cotton Eye Joe starts playing at migraine levels, stagger out into the frigid night, clear and still and biting cold, got a bit more tipsy than you intended. Cider for when the seasons turn, applejack for the dead of winter, but Joel is right beside, hand hovered just over your hip in case you falter. He’s walked you home enough times that it’s not a question any more. You don’t have to. I know. Got nowhere else to be, Spinner. “This is me,” you say, you always say, faint flicker of your porch light. Power from the dam is not always the most steady. So many things left to rot, so many things to fix. “I know,” he says, like always, You hug him, squeeze your arms around him tight. “Thank y—“ “Stop that, Spinner. You don’t have to thank me for loving you-“ “You love me.” You draw back from him. It comes out as a statement and not a question, and here’s where he will retract, will back pedal, say he didn’t mean it, it was the applejack doing the talking, the applejack and the music from when you were both young and none of this had happened yet. “Yeah, I do.” And when you hook your eyes to his, they are wide and deep and dark with worry, and you can’t look at him, gaze slides to the curve of his shoulder, the shape of him against the starshot sky, so much brighter now that everything is over. His hands find yours and, his thumbs brush back and forth over your knuckles. And you have so many questions, since when? That freezing night on the trail? Before? After? Why? “For real?” Is the question that comes out, and you hate how small you sound, how your voice wavers. Squeezes your hands in his. “For real.” “Since that night?” “I think so. I don’t know. Holdin you, it felt right. Feels right. Shit. I’m real bad at this-“ You laugh, breath plumed out like dragon smoke, “Me too.” “Tommy used to make fun of me. Said I could never tell when girls were tryin to flirt with me.” “I can’t flirt to save my life. Never could. None of that ever made sense to me.” “Good thing I didn’t try some crappy pick up line, huh?” “Very good thing. There was this one guy in high school he started walking around me like this—“ You drop Joel’s hands and start orbiting him, watch that lovely smile crawl it’s way up his cheek. “—and when I asked him what the fuck he was doing he said, I’m part wolf, baby, we always circle our prey.” Joel guffaws, his eyes screwed up in crinkled crescents, rests a desperate hand on your shoulder as he doubles over— “That is. The dumbest. Goddam thing I have ever heard in my life—“ “I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or punch him. So I just kind of stared at him. And he went away.” “I bet he did. Look, Spinner, I didn’t mean to blurt it right out like I did but I do mean it. You don’t—“ He swipes his hand over the back of his neck, “If you don’t feel the same m’not gonna push. Shit, I’m sorry-“ You reach for him unthinking and cradle his stubbly cheeks in your palms. His eyes are big and wide and shining, he’s scared, you think, at least as scared as you are, and the words aren’t coming. In a movie you’d have some perfect come-back, something you could say that would make all the things roiling in your mind seem clear and concise. In a movie there’d be a declaration, something that would roll out of you and the music would swell, but now there’s only Joel’s warm, dark eyes and the yellow thrum of your porch light and the brittle chill in the air. You can’t say. You can’t make what you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling, resolve into words, so you kiss him instead, press your lips to his and he kisses back, mirrors you, warm, calloused palms cradle your face.

Not sure if it’s you or him who deepens the kiss, mingled breath and gentle touches, soft meeting of lips and tongues and hands, feels fevered and rushed and right, he tastes like applejack and when you break for air he rests his forehead against yours. “Wow.” He breathes against your lips. “Yeah.” Leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together, swaying together, a bit like dancing together in the caff, no disco ball just the bright and brittle sky, a million pin-point stars stitched through the black. “You can come in if you—“ “We both been drinkin” “You don’t want—“ “I do, but I wanna do this right,” draws the backs of his fingers down the curve of your cheek, “I want to love you the right way, honey. We’ve got time.” You wrap your arms around him and tuck your face against his neck where it feels safe, cups the back of your head in his warm palm, cradles you close. “Does this mean we’re going steady? Do people still say that? Going steady?” Joel chuckles, and you feel it, low rumble of laughter transmitted from his chest to yours, threading beneath the beat of his pulse in your ear. “Yeah. I think we are.”

#joel miller x f!neurodivergent!reader #joel miller x spinner #joel miller x fiber artist reader #spinner is a oneshot #LMAO i can't oneshot to save my soul #joel miller x f!reader

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elvensorceress · 1 year ago

Text

Sunday sentences

tagged by my beloveds @eddiebabygirldiaz @wildlife4life @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r no pressure tagging @hippolotamus @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @theotherbuckley @ronordmann @bekkachaos @buddierights @messyhairdiaz @fiona-fififi @thekristen999 @giddyupbuck @gayedmundodiaz 💕 have some Unless finale (which btw is over 29K so far 🫣)

Eddie leans against the fridge and watches Buck put the last few cans and jars away. He clearly has a system and there is no interrupting Buck’s organizational systems. So, Eddie merely gazes at him, unable to keep the smile from spreading over his face. Buck is ridiculously silly and adorable, and he’s home. This is their home together.

They have a life and a home and a son together. And they belong to each other.

Eddie doesn’t know how long it might take before those facts don’t make him choked up and dangerously close to happy tears. But a few hours is not long enough. He’s not sure a few lifetimes will be long enough.

“Thanks so much for coordinating with me and letting us keep up with everything.” Buck puts away the last can of green chilies and runs a box of cereal to the cupboards near the fridge, and then folds and stacks all the empty grocery bags. “No, no I really appreciate it and I know he does, too. He was worried he wouldn’t get to be in class with his friends anymore and he’s been working so hard. So— so thank you. Yeah, you too. I’ll keep in touch and he’ll see you this Monday. Yeah— yeah. Awesome. Have a good one.” He ends the call, sets his phone down with a loud thunk, and spins one more time until he’s facing Eddie with a beaming smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Yeah, several lifetimes of this won’t be enough. Eddie’s face heats and he has to match that bright smile, and just stare at his beautiful, ridiculous, magical, amazing partner. “Hi, love.”

Buck giddily bounces over to him, wraps Eddie in his arms, and kisses him to make up for all the very long minutes apart. It wasn’t even two hours, but it was far too long. “I missed you,” Buck even says while kissing Eddie’s cheek and jaw and the corner of his mouth, like everywhere wouldn’t be enough.

Eddie laughs as he holds on tightly with an arm around Buck’s waist.

Until Buck stops the kissing and leans away. “What you think it’s funny? That I missed you already? You don’t believe me?”

The exact opposite actually. “No, it’s not funny. Yes, I believe you.” Eddie pulls him back in and kisses him again, long and wet and full of overflowing joy. “I missed you, too. So much. Too much. I don’t like not doing chores and errands together. It was a stupid plan.”

Buck holds him closer, more securely, and giggles as he kisses back. “It was your plan.”

“Yeah, well. Again, it was stupid. I hate it. Tell me it’s stupid next time I suggest something terrible like that.” He takes hold of Buck’s thick upper arms and spins them so he can press Buck into the corner and atone for this egregious offense. He scatters kisses and soft nips along Buck’s jaw and down his neck and breathes in the inherent sweetness of Buck’s warmth until there’s nothing in his own head but dizzy dreamy warm luscious joy.

Buck whimpers and nearly melts all the way to the floor. Eddie holds him up though. He needs to shower him with affection. They’ve been without for more than a hundred and thirteen minutes, and he can’t be without anymore.

He nuzzles against the slope of Buck’s neck and shoulder and presses long, open-mouthed kisses to his warm skin. Buck’s hand comes up to slide through Eddie’s hair and cradle his head, so gentle and loving it makes thrumming, simmering heat coast over Eddie’s cold skin. He wasn’t cold before. But being touched by Buck is so much like summer sun and lit fireplaces and heating pads and hot baths and laundry fresh out of the dryer. It makes Eddie realize he’s been lonely and frozen for so long.

But he’s not anymore.

Buck tips his head back, offering more of his throat, and Eddie has to taste. He has to lick and feel heartbeat under his tongue. It leaves wet trails when he slides over sweet, musky, salty skin and he has to suck patches of light pink nearly red marks into skin because saliva is just not enough to sufficiently claim or possess and show belonging.

Eddie wants more skin. He wants to feel Buck soft and warm against him. He wants Buck hot and sticky and sweaty and all over him.

Except there’s a young, disgruntled voice from the doorway, “Oh, you’re doing this again. You know if I were at a friend’s house, you could do whatever you want and I wouldn’t have to be disturbed over here about what’s going on in our kitchen.”

Buck attempts to stand up more on his own, but Eddie doesn’t let him go. Just in case. Just because. But he does turn enough to look over at Chris. “I thought you wanted alone time in your room. Do you need something, bud?”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him and now looks too much like Shannon and Eddie has no hope of surviving ever. “Yes. You said you were going to talk about it. Me going to a friend’s house. This doesn’t look like talking about it.”

Eddie lets out a barely patient huff and looks to Buck. “What do you think?”

Buck’s eyes widen like he wasn’t expecting this at all. “What do I think? I mean—” He gives Eddie a look, subtly glances down between them where they are pressed together, and his cheeks turn pink. And— okay. Eddie can see how this is a very unnecessary question. At least as far as Buck’s point of view. He was already bringing up the idea of date night for them.

A first date.

A first date that isn’t really a first date but is still new, different, exciting. The start of the rest of their lives? Or something like that but less embarrassingly sappy. Potentially with a house all to themselves to come home to.

#buddie #fic: unless you ask me to #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #seven sentence sunday #911 #if you see typos no you didn’t 🫣

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peppymintdreams · 4 months ago

Note

What if Luca found out listener was a witch or something

what if the city of London try to kill them :000

I don’t know

I don’t know how that would turn out but I tried my best,

For the listener/reader I’ve been going in between using ___ or mc for their name so bare with me on this

Wicked

Luca Pearce x Witch Mc

A normal Sunday was what Mc had asked for. Luca and Mc had just gotten married and were on their honeymoon, but something was eating at Mc—something they should have told Luca years ago. They did not want this to be the moment he found out. As time went by, they dropped subtle hints every now and then, but Luca, being their husband, took it as a joke. Granted, they joked about many things, but this was serious.

So, they decided to just… straight up tell him. “Hey, L-Luca,” they started, feeling the weight of their confession. Everything about Luca was amazing—he himself was amazing. Luca turned around with a smile, “Yes? What is it, my lovely spouse?” His expression made Mc nervous. Usually, they were very stoic, trying to be unreadable to the public to hide who they truly were.

“Baby, I—” they paused, seeing Luca’s smile fade. “I have something to confess.” They took deep breaths. Since the dawn of time, witches have not been looked upon kindly by the public. Even though many would love to be these magical beings, there is always a small group dedicated to making others’ lives worse.

Luca set down the picture of him and Mc from their wedding that he had been holding. “Please don’t let this be—” Now he was getting nervous.

“NO, no, no! I do not want to separate, Luca, I promise,” they reassured him. This calmed him, leading him back to his normal calm demeanor.

“Okay, that is good to hear. I did not want it to end after getting this close to you. I cannot let you go,” he said, wrapping his arms around them. “I love you too much for you to be taken from me… no matter what or who you are, Mc, I love you… deeply.” His words echoed in their mind.

“Yeah… about that… I feel like I have not been completely honest about myself to you, Luca,” they admitted, placing their hands on his chest. Luca tilted his head like a curious kitten, looking down at them. He noticed they were holding the picture. How did they get it? It had been on the counter, and they were at least six feet away.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, glancing between the counter and Mc.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” They lightly tossed the picture into the air, and as it slowly glided away, Luca’s eyes widened, both confused and flabbergasted. “How?!”

Mc backed up a few feet from him. Mocha, their cat, came in, happy and rubbing against Mc. Soon enough, she was in the air, gliding right into Mc’s arms. “I was nervous to tell you and worried about how you’d perceive me if I told you before or during our wedding,” Mc said, stroking Mocha.

Luca stared at Mocha, the cat now cradled in Mc’s arms, his expression a mixture of shock and awe. “You’re... a witch?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. The sunlight streaming through the window danced around them, adding a surreal glow to the moment.

“Yeah, I know it sounds wild,” Mc said, their heart racing. “But I promise, I am still me. I just—”

Luca hugged them “no matter what you are mc you are still my perfect partner” Before they could finish, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside their cozy cabin. Mc’s eyes darted toward the window, and their stomach dropped. A group of townspeople had gathered, their faces twisted with anger and fear. They were brandishing firearms and pitchforks, a sight that sent a chill down Mc’s spine.

“Luca, we need to go. Now!” Mc urged; their voice urgent as they set Mocha down.

“What��s happening?” Luca asked, glancing out the window. His eyes widened in realization. “They’re coming for you, aren’t they?”

“It is not safe here. I should have told you sooner, but I did not think…” Mc’s voice trailed off, knowing the danger was real. The stigma of witchcraft had never truly faded, and now it was targeting them.

Just as Mc turned to grab their belongings, the door burst open, and townspeople poured in, their faces a mix of fear and fury. “Witch! We have found you!” one shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Mc.

“Luca, run!” Mc yelled, instinct kicking in. But before they could grab his hand, the crowd surged forward.

In the chaos, Mc felt a surge of magic rise within them. With a wave of their hand, they created a barrier, pushing back the townsfolk. “Get out!” they shouted, hoping to buy enough time.

Luca, however, would not leave them behind. “I’m not going anywhere without you!” he insisted, his eyes fierce.

Just then, Mocha, unfazed by the chaos, darted between the legs of the townspeople and leapt onto a nearby table, knocking over a candle that ignited a curtain. The fire spread quickly, adding to the panic.

“Follow me!” Mc called, guiding Luca toward the back door. They pushed through the crowd, using their magic to create small distractions—a flash of light here, a gust of wind there.

They burst through the back door and ran into the thick woods behind the cabin, the sounds of chaos fading behind them. The forest felt like a sanctuary, the trees shielding them from the madness of the town.

Once they were a safe distance away, Mc leaned against a tree, breathless. “I thought we’d be safe here,” they murmured, regret washing over them. “I should have told you before.”

Luca took their hands, his expression softening. “You are still you, Mc. And I love you, no matter what. We will figure this out together. Like I said to you when we got married, Me and you till the end together forever.” He said as the two intertwined their ring fingers.

Suddenly, a faint rustling caught their attention. From the shadows, a figure emerged—a fellow witch, cloaked and mysterious. “You two… come with me. The city is out for blood. I can help you escape.”

Mc hesitated, glancing at Luca. “Is this safe?”

“The only safe option is to get far away from here,” the figure urged. “Trust me.”

With a nod, Mc and Luca followed the witch deeper into the forest, the weight of their newfound reality settling in. As they moved through the trees, Mc felt a flicker of hope. They might be fugitives now, but they were together.

They were leaving behind the world they had created together their home and memories they had made.

After days of fleeing, Mc and Luca finally found a hidden glade deep within the forest away from the city of London away from the news and public. It was a secluded spot, surrounded by ancient trees, their thick canopies filtering sunlight into dappled patches on the forest floor. Here, they felt a sense of safety, a fleeting normalcy. They built a small shelter and lived quietly, sharing whispered dreams and stolen moments.

But one day, as Luca returned from a nearby city with supplies, an unsettling feeling settled in his gut. The path felt longer, the forest more oppressive, and he could not shake the sense that something was wrong. When he finally reached their glade, his heart sank.

The door to their makeshift home hung ajar, swaying slightly in the breeze. He pushed it open, dread pooling in his stomach. The interior was a wreck—furniture overturned, belongings scattered, and the air thick with a sense of violation. “Hey Babe…. I am back from the store, I got the candy you like…MC!” he called out, panic rising in his throat.

Silence answered.

His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of his spouse. On the ground, he spotted a crumpled piece of paper. Trembling, he picked it up and unfolded it. The note sent icy tendrils of fear creeping through him:

To the witch’s accomplice,

We have captured Mc. They are a threat to the safety of our city London, and we will not tolerate their existence. Authorities have taken them to conduct necessary experiments, and if you wish to see them again, you will cooperate. Know this: any attempts to rescue them will result in dire consequences. Mc will be euthanized if we deem it necessary.

Consider this your final warning, Mr. Pearce.

Luca’s hands shook as he read the note again, his mind racing. “No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath. The world around him blurred as the reality sank in—Mc was gone, taken by the very people who had tormented them. He felt a swell of anger rise within him, mixed with an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

He could not just stand there. Luca took a deep breath, trying to clear his racing thoughts. He needed a plan. The forest held secrets, and he knew it had its own magic. He could find allies among the other witches’ other friends, Andrew could be of help, but he would be risking Andrew’s life and that was something he did not want to do. He recalled the cloaked figure who had helped them escape—they could help him now.

Determined, Luca gathered his supplies and set out, retracing the path he had taken to reach their haven. Each step felt heavy with the weight of his fear for Mc. As he moved deeper into the woods, he whispered a silent promise: he would find them, no matter what it took.

Days passed, and Luca searched tirelessly, asking for help from anyone who would listen. Whispers of a hidden coven reached him, a group that opposed the town’s cruelty. He finally found them gathered in a clearing, their faces solemn yet fierce.

“I’m looking for Mc,” Luca pleaded, desperation lacing his words. “They’ve been taken, and I need your help to rescue them.”

One of the witches stepped forward, her eyes filled with compassion. “We have heard about the witch hunt. We will help you, but we must act quickly. The authorities are powerful and cruel.”

As they devised a plan, a flicker of hope ignited in Luca’s heart. He was not alone in this fight. Together, they would confront the dark forces that threatened Mc, and he vowed to bring them home, no matter the cost. The hidden coven worked tirelessly, and within days, they had a plan to infiltrate the facility where Mc was being held. Under the cover of night, Luca and several witches cloaked in shadows made their way to the imposing structure. The air was thick with tension as they approached the high walls topped with barbed wire.

Luca’s heart pounded in his chest. This was it. He could almost feel Mc’s presence, drawing him closer. With a wave of hands, the witches created a diversion, causing a series of lights to flicker erratically. Guards rushed to investigate, and Luca seized the moment, slipping through a side door and into the facility.

Inside, the cold concrete and harsh fluorescent lights were a stark contrast to the warmth of the forest. He navigated the maze of sterile hallways, guided only by his instinct and a desperate longing to find Mc. Each step felt heavier as he approached the heart of the facility.

Finally, he reached a heavy door marked “Containment.” Luca’s hands shook as he pushed it open, revealing a stark room with metal cells lining the walls. In the far corner, he spotted Mc, their figure slumped but unmistakable.

“Mc!” he called, rushing forward. Relief flooded through him as their eyes met, but it was quickly overshadowed by urgency. “Are you okay?”

Mc looked up, their eyes brightening despite their weakened state. “Luca! You should not be here.”

But before he could reach the cell, alarms blared, piercing through the air. A group of security guards appeared, their faces grim and determined. “Stop right there!” one shouted, raising a baton.

Luca felt panic clawing at him. “I’m not leaving you!” he shouted back, desperation pouring from his heart.

“Luca, listen!” Mc called urgently, their voice steady despite the chaos. “Remember our promise? ‘Me and you till the end, together forever.’ We can do this!”

Mc raised their hands, calling forth a brilliant light that enveloped the cell. The energy pulsed, and the bars began to tremble. Luca could feel the connection between them—a bond that transcended the barriers that held them apart.

Just as the guards lunged for him, Mc's spell faltered and unleashed a shockwave, causing the door to burst open. Luca dashed inside, and they embraced tightly, relief flooding through them. But their moment of connection was short-lived as security swarmed.

“Get away from them!” one guard yelled, grabbing Luca by the arms. “You’re under arrest!”

“No!” Mc shouted, struggling against the restraints that held them. “I won’t let you take them!” Luca cried out.

In that frantic moment, Mc focused their energy, whispering a spell that resonated deep within the walls of the facility. “Together!” they spoke,

Luca felt a rush of energy as Mc channeled their magic, the connection between them growing stronger. With one last push, the back wall of cell disintegrated, freeing Mc from their confines.

But in the chaos, security guards grabbed Luca, restraining him. “Let him go!” Mc cried, trying to break free, but it was too late. The guards overwhelmed him, pulling him back. “Go Mc be free” Luca called out struggling to free himself “No Luca… I wont leave without you” they said.

“If you leave, we’ll kill him now, if the witch is executed, we’d have no use for you!” one guard sneered, raising a baton.

Luca met Mc’s gaze one last time, and in that fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken promise: they would find a way back to each other. Go he mouthed as tears flowed down their eyes “No Luca I refuse to let you go” they said holding up their hands ready to cast any magic on anyone who came close to them making up their mind Mc casted a shockwave pushing all the facility workers back and gave Luca one last gaze before flying out of the building…free they were… free “I love you!” he shouted just as the guard knocked him out.

When Luca came to, he found himself lying in the grass outside the facility, the sky painted in twilight hues. Confused and disoriented, he pushed himself up, panic flooding back as he remembered what had happened.

“Mc!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet. The facility loomed ominously behind him, but there was no sign of his spouse. Heart pounding, he scanned the area, desperation clawing at him. “Where are you?”

As he stumbled away from the building, he felt a faint flicker of magic lingering in the air—a sign that Mc was still out there, and that their bond was unbroken. He had to find them, no matter what it took.

Determined, Luca took a deep breath and started walking into the encroaching darkness of the forest, fueled by love and an unyielding resolve to reunite with his spouse.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #peppymintdreamsproduction #luca pearce #luca zsakuva #zsakuva luca #luca the cutest husband ever #luca the cute boyfriend to fiancé and now husband #luca pearce x reader #sakuverse luca #luca #angst

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fantasyqueen502 · 2 years ago

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"I am a husband now, a father, and damn good one."

A/N: Jaskier x male Y/N who is a Cyclops. Story idea that most likely has grammatical errors. Let me know. Feel free to comment, like, and enjoy.

Summary: Jaskier's time after the fight and separation with Geralt.

Rated: PG-13

Fighting, blood, swearing, injury and mentions of sex.

A hooded man carries barrels of ale on his shoulders like nothing. "Bout time. It’s a full 'ouse, and we’re running low!'' a very short and greasy man rants.

"Forgive me." comes from the pitch-black hole in place of his face shielded within the hood. Stocking the barrels onto the rack with each thundering step.

"Forgiveness," the small man scoffs.

"This is a bar, not Sunday school," he corrects. Scurrying out of the way as the large man walks to his horse with a cart of more barrels of his finest ale, whiskey, and wine "Brew too good for royalty". If only. This was the only bar that paid him; it was below any other winery, but he didn’t have the choice of getting what he deserved.

"Do you know how many others beg for me to do business?" he inquires. That was a lie. "I just might take up on their offers if you disappoint me again," he threatens.

"Won’t happen again." The man grits his teeth, trying his hardest not to growl, imagining wringing his hand around the small man’s throat and giving him some peace. Hoisting two barrels onto each shoulder, whimpers sound, catching the small man’s ear.

"You brought that runt again," he groans. "All it does is wail and squeal, causing my patrons to leave because they can’t even hear themselves think. "Thing sounds like it’s dying. Half the--" the man chokes as the large man punches his arm clean through the barrel of ale. A stream pours from it as he fills a mug.

"This shipment is on me," he whispers, extending the mug into the small man’s trembling hands. "Ale’s on the house!" he bellows, the crowd cheering and rushing over to fill their pints. "I’ll stock the basement in peace if you don’t mind," he continues darkly.

"D-Don’t take too long," he tries to threaten.

"Wouldn’t dream of it,"

With the party going on above, the soft whimpers turn into loud cries. As the large man rolls his neck and shoulder.

"Shhhhhhhhhh," The hooded man says, taking off his cloak and looking over his shoulder at the red-faced babe. Balling her small fists into his back as she wailed. Loosening the sash and cradling her in his arms. "What’s the matter, Tola?" he calmly wondered.

Tracing the horrific scars that stretched across the left side of her face, he smiled as her cry stalled, taking his finger in her fist. The scars were even on her entire left arm. "I wish I could take the pain away." He holds her close. Resting his forehead against hers. She had thick lashes and a doe-brown eye looking up at him. A song starts, and she calms. He is in bewilderment as she seems to smile crookedly, tilting her head towards the strumming of a lute.

Walking up the steps, he looks at the stage and finds a man who is a personified peacock. Strutting about while belting out notes with so much passion, he hears a muffled coo from Tola under his cloak. He chuckles, feeling her snuggle her chubby face between his shoulder blades. Taking a seat in the back. She needed a good nap, and he needed a moment of peace. Folding his arms one over the other and resting his head on them.

With a yawn, he readies his horse, which whinnies and pulls away from him. "What’s wrong, girl?" he asks, stroking her snout. Following her line of sight, hearing pained grunts. Following them to a dark alley. Two men stand beside a man throwing up on all fours in the mud.

"Serves ya’ right!" one shouts, spitting on the man.

"Fucking! Cocksucker!" the other screams, winding up his foot and kicking the man in the stomach. Crawling onto his knees.

"I'm all for presentation and the art of building up suspense, but for my sake." He sways forward, stumbling back and looking up at the men. Groaning as his head pounded, he was sure his brains were knocked loose. "Get the fuck on with it!" He hissed. Tilting his head back to laugh. His teeth were stained pink from the blood that flooded his mouth. "Just… I'm begging you." His breath hitches, and his lips tremble into a frown. "Put me out of my misery." He sobs. "Just kill me." He begs, holding up his hands in prayer. The men snickered, exchanging looks with sick glee. Socking the bard in the face and laying him out flat on his back "Since you asked so nicely." Unsheathing a Buck knife, the cloaked man grabs the man by the back of the neck. The man yelps, striking his knife into the dark figure's shoulder to the hilt. He seethes, throwing the man into the brick wall, his head painting it red. The movement caused his hood to fall. The cloaked man grunts, yanking the knife from his shoulder and turning to face the second man, who trembles. He roars at the burn of his wound, causing the man to run away as fast as he could in fear. Calming his breath, he hears the bard's groan.

"I should have known." The man rants, struggling to his feet and holding his arms out to his sides for balance. "You don't have the balls to—" he trails off, trailing his eyes up from the worn boots. Meeting the giant that loomed over him in the moonlight. Jaskier gawks as he meets the giant man's eyes—well, one big eye in the middle of his face. "A cyclops." He gulps, his eyes widening in horror. The man grunts, waiting for the man to either run away screaming like humans normally do or lunge at him to attack. But the bard was just full of surprises. His eyes rolled back along with his body, which fell to the ground once more.

The bard groans as his hand goes to hold his head. Slowly sitting up from the couch he laid on. A warm fire; it was night, and he gasped at a steaming bowl and cup of water. Scooping the warmed potatoes and meat into his mouth.

"Didn't think you'd wake up."

He freezes, staring into the corner of the room, trying to make out the figure in the shadows. He gulps, tumbling as the stranger steps into the light, poking the fire.

"A-are you going to kill me? Use my meat for stew and my bones for bread."

"You're thinking of Giants." He corrects. "I'm a Cyclops."

"Oh." The bard sounds

"Humans are too gamy anyway." He chuckles at the bard's horrified eyes. The bard laughed awkwardly, not knowing if the one-eyed man was joking or not.

Following the squealing cries up the stairs, pushing open a cracked door to a nursery. Peering over to see a screeching infant. The bard couldn't help but coo, his brows furrowing with concern. Half of her face was scarred.

"You want your daddy?" He asks. "He should be back soon." He hushes. "How 'bout a lullaby? Works on all the ladies." He swings his lute from his back to his front. Strumming a tune.

"If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He sings and claps his hands. "If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He does so, making a face and causing the infant's cries to soften just a bit. "If you're happy and ya know it and you really wanna show it, If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He finishes looking at the babe to see her quietly whimpering. Poking her bottom lip, her big brown eye with her thick lashes soaked with tears. The moment is interrupted by thundering footsteps.

"What are you doing?" He demands in a growl.

"I heard her crying and you weren't around," he tries to explain being shoved as the father inspects the babe, who resumes crying.

Trying to console her as she screams louder than before. Looking at the fallen lute, he picks it up, shoving it into the bard's unsuspecting arms.

"Play!"

The bard couldn't hear the father over the piercing wails, but he could easily read the desperation in his eyes. He cleared his throat, strumming his strands to find everything in tune.

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He sings with an ear-to-ear grin, and the small babe's screams soften. Her big doe eye watched him with curiosity. Ending the silly children's song, her heavy eyelid closed as she fell asleep with a crooked smile.

---Years later---

Downing the remnants of his drink and passing the glass off to a barkeep. The last of the drunken parents now vacated the pub that was with life moments ago.

"Bard." causes him to whip his head, and a scoff leaves his lips. "Witch."

"What are you doing here?" he sneers. "And what fresh hell did you just crawl out of?" he gestures to her disheveled appearance. Damp hair and dirt smudged her face and apparel.

"Sewer," she answers plainly, taking the first step. "What’s your excuse?" she jabs back, quickly closing the space between the two.

"A sewer," he cackles. Never in a million eons did he find himself in better standing than the witch that terrified him. He took his chance. "I always knew you were a blood sucking, joyless—" he bites his tongue as her tiny frame pulls him in for a hug.

"--hugger?" he states in confusion. "Hugging. We are hugging," he announces, trying to convince himself that what was happening was indeed happening.

"Oh, gods," he sighs, holding him at arm's length. "I missed the days when my biggest problem was an ever-present sing-songy twit," she smiles.

"Uh, drink? I’m gonna drink," he stammered, squirming out of her grip. "I’m not having this conversation unless I’m drinking." He makes his way around and behind the bar. Placing two pints onto the counter, looking to the witch who takes a seat.

"You’re the Sandpiper."

"What? No. Yes. No," he yelps, frantically trying to play it off. "How do you know that name?"

"You pick up a thing or two when you’re in hiding."

"You’re in hiding?" He snorts, his brows quickly shooting to the skies. "Because you’re part elf… Yennefer, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry," he says genuinely. "I would not wish that fate on my worst enemy, and, yes, you are…" he searched for the right words. "Firmly lodged in that category, it has to be said, but… What they’ve done to you and your people is… Unspeakable."

"But some people are speaking."

"There are anonymous benefactors working behind the scenes, helping me, helping us, helping us make this right. I was at the great oak, Bleobheris, when it was raided. The Seat of Friendship, as the druids called it. Where every free thinker was welcome, no matter their race, their creed…they come for the elves, Yennefer. They’ll come for the dwarves. And sooner or later, they will come for everyone." He stares off, swallowing thickly. "Anyone that they deem the "other," so… Eventually… No artist is safe."

"Why help? What’s in it for you?"

Opening his mouth to answer the creak of the front door. The bard's face lights up at the sight of who stepped through. Yennerfer turns to see a small child. In a powder pink shoulder cloak. Hood up as she took each concentrated step.

"My heart." He smiles, kneeling before the child, who lifts her hands high to be picked up. He does so resting her on his hip. "Where's daddy?" He asks, pushing her wild bangs from her eye. She coos, snuggling into his neck and playing with the lace of his blouse. She points to a far window as Jaskier nods. "Want. Coin. Want. Coin," She babbles.

"Whose this?" Yennerfer couldn't help, but smile.

"My heart, Tola." The bard smiles. "My daughter."

"Pleasure to meet you, Tola." She extends her hand as the small girl takes it. "I'm Yennerfer." She smiles.

"She's usually quite shy," he comments, somewhat impressed.

"Children are great judges of character."

"Coin!" She continues.

"Again?" He asks with an overdramatic expression, holding her high above his head. She nods adorably.

"Toss a Coin to your Witcher." He smiles as she giggles. "O’ valley a plenty."

Seated in a jail cell after a failed transport and an interrogation with a man wielding fire. Escape with Yennerfer only to be caught and interrogated again by guards.

He now stood before the Witcher himself, who tore out his soul and left him on a mountain, asking for his help.

"Jaskier---" the brute grumbles.

"No, Geralt!" He cuts off, surprised to see the white-haired man meekly biting his tongue. "I am a husband now, a father, and a damn good one!"

Walking out of the jailhouse, taking cover through alleyways. Geralt stops, and the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"What's the matter?" Jaskier asks.

"Quiet!" He hisses, throwing the bard behind himself and readying his sword as a familiar figure steps from the shadows. The figure roars, charging.

"Ger---" Jaskier reaches, but the Witcher bellows and charges. "NO! STOP! STOP!" he shouts, his heartbeat in his ears, as Geralt swung his sword, and the figure dodges and knocks the sword away with sparks from his metal bracers on his forearms. Lifting his arm, Jaskier holds it back.

"Fuck off, Jaskier!" he growls, shoving him onto his ass. The dark figure looks at the fallen bard with concern. Taking the opening, the Witcher drives his sword into the beast's shoulder. With an exclamation of pain, Jaskier scrambles to his feet. Geralt yanks back his sword, lifting his sword high for the finishing blow. Swinging it, he stops. The Witcher's sword nicked the bard’s neck, standing between him and the beast. He swallows, and fear holds him stiff.

"If you want to kill my husband, you'd have to go through me."

His yellow eyes narrowed. Gritting his teeth Jaskier slowly raises his hand, moving the sword away.

The Witcher growls, sheathing his blade.

"Y/N, Geralt, Geralt, the love of my life." He smiles as the pet name dampens the flame of seeing the bard’s teeth stained pink and the scabbed-over cuts on his lips and brow.

The men both grunted their greeting.

"I do have a type, don’t I?" He mumbles to himself.

At home, Jaskier demands that Geralt watch their daughter. The cyclops growls at the thought of his precious gift in the hands of a Butcher. "I trust him." He assures him with a hand on his chest. "He's a right softy with children."

Running a bath, the bard returns with an armful of rags and a bottle of alcohol. Assisting his husband with his cloak and shirt, his eyes watered at the grunt of pain from lifting his arm. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles, holding the alcohol-soaked rag to the wound. The hisses and guttural groans from his chest "This is my fault," he croaks.

"My dandelion." He coos, holding his cheek, forcing him to look into his eye. Reading the bard like a book. "Who do I have to make suffer?" He growls. His bruised temple and stained smears of dry blood around his nostrils.

"I'm fine." He assuredly swatted away his husband's hands, going to test the temperature of the bath. Hissing as he shakes his injured hand that touched the warm water. Stepping out of his trousers into the bath, Y/N takes his hand and ignores his recoil, finding it covered in red blisters and giving each finger a tender kiss.

"Little Tola won't have nightly lute lullabies." He sighs.

"Your voice is music enough." He assures.

"Must you always shower me with compliments?" He breathes. Y/N chuckles, locking his strong arms around his waist and forcing him into the bath, joining him fully clothed in the water. Jaskier exclaims, but laughs, sighing with content eyes flickering from his husband's eye to his lips.

"What of me, my dandelion?" He whispers huskily. The bard rests his total weight on him.

"Hmmm." He hums in thought, running his nose along the scruff of his jaw. Looking with big eyes. "Make me forget." He pleads.

Sitting up and holding him close.

Geralt stoically sits in the living room. Slowly closing his eyes to block out the sound of squeals from the bard and rhythmic banging. Spending his fair share of nights at brothels and whorehouses that seemed not to be so loud. Water begins to drip from the floorboards.

Feeling a tug at his pants and looking down to see the small, one-eyed girl. Black hair in a messy bob. Staring up at the ceiling as the bard's pleas for God rode the air.

"Suppa'. Suppa'." She babbles.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares back.

She points to her open mouth, causing the Witcher to exhale through his nose. Walking into the kitchen with the girl holding onto his leg. Giggling, he makes her a simple loaf of bread with butter. Handing it to her with hesitation. She gingerly takes small bites, hopping happily in place.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier x reader #julian alfred pankratz #Jaskier x male Y/N #dandilion #imagine #geralt of rivia

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ourtearsofrain · 2 months ago

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Chapter 18- Praying For the Night to Comfort Thee

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: just over 3.4k

Warnings: AU typical events/threats/violence, heights, family issues

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Danny

Sunday, July 17th

It came as no surprise to Danny to find Sam in his arms when he woke up having remembered how they had fallen asleep the night before, what with the freezing temperatures and all. What did surprise him, however, was that Sam seemed to have flipped over in the night, finding him now laying with his abdomen flush against his, the other man’s left arm cradled between their chests as his right hand rested on the soft curve of Danny’s side, his face tucked into his neck as his breaths gently fanned across his skin.

What the fuck do I do? Ok, Danny, this is- this is fine. Everything is fine. Shit, how do I wake him up? Do I try to move first? Would he think it’s weird for me to be holding him like this? Danny takes a deep breath, realizing he had been holding it for fear of waking the other man. “Sam? Hey Sammy, wake up.” Unwrapping his arms slightly, he gently shakes Sam, hoping it would be enough to wake him.

“Hm?” Sam mumbles the sound out, only nuzzling his face deeper into Danny’s neck as his right hand tightens on his side.

Oh my God, this is actually torture. The Gamekeepers somehow set this up to put me in my own personal hell. There’s no other explanation. “Wake up, it’s morning.” Danny tries to focus on the opening to the cave, unable to see any light filtering through with how far into the mountain they must have been. “I think.”

Danny tries to untangle himself from the other man, but Sam’s grip only further tightens, causing Danny to look down at him the best he can, only to find his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to drag him back towards his body. “Five more minutes.” Once again, his words are muffled by Danny’s skin, and he only prays that Sam couldn’t feel his racing heart from where their bodies met.

“…Fine.” It quickly becomes apparent to Danny that Sam hadn’t even heard him give in as he falls back to sleep immediately, his body relaxing while Danny tries to do the same. I mean he didn’t seem uncomfortable… he was barely awake though. I don’t want to take advantage of that, of him. He- if he wanted to move, he would. Knowing him, if he didn’t want this, he would make it very known; probably using sharp weapons too. Danny ignores the small voice in his head still screaming at him to move as he tries to focus on the warmth and comfort radiating through him at the feeling of Sam tucked securely against him, considering falling asleep as well. We’re safe in here, no one will find us. We could just stay here, just us, for the rest of the games. They don’t have to find us. We could just stay here, together.

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The second time Danny wakes up, it’s less of a surprise to him that Sam was still pressed against his front, but he still feels that warm flush of shame overcome him as if he was doing something wrong. Shit. How long have we been out? Glancing down at Sam, he feels blood rush to his face as he sees him meet his gaze, looking up at him through his lashes with those big, brown doe eyes of his. As his mind reels at what to say, Sam breaks the silence first, relieving him of coming up with anything.

“I thought about waking you up, but you seemed to need the sleep. Figured we were safe in here.”

“Oh- uh, thanks. And I uh- I thought that too, that’s the only reason I went back to sleep. We should… probably get going.”

Oh my god, is he pouting at me? “But we’re safe in here. And you’re so warm, I swear you’re like a goddamn portable fire.”

Danny can’t tell if the light laugh he lets out is from Sam’s words or the nervous butterflies turning his stomach upside down, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but Sam’s as he realizes once again just how close they were. “We’re gonna need food and water sooner or later, Sammy. We should get going. Sooner we get out of this section, the sooner we get somewhere where we don’t have to sleep like this to keep warm.” He doesn’t know how to take the small frown that twists Sam’s lips, but he tries not to think about it anymore as he finally gets up, finding his jacket and covering himself back up as fast as he can.

Even as he rolls his eyes, Danny can tell that Sam meant it lightheartedly as he grumbles out his words, mirroring Danny’s actions as he redresses himself. “Fine, if you insist. So, where are we going?”

“I was thinking we head over to water, better than going back to fire. Plus, we could use to refill our canteens. Hey, let me look at your arm really quick.” Danny crosses the cave quickly, still barely unable to see as the fire had gone out long before they awoke, his eyes still trying to adjust to the darkness. Finding that Sam had already taken his sling off, he gently massages the sides of his forearm, taking quick glances up at his face to see if he had any reaction to his light prods. “Still hurt?”

“A little, but it’s only a small ache. I should be fine to take the splint off.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I know it must be annoying, but I don’t want to take it off too soon. You should be fine without the sling, just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt again, Sammy.” The confused annoyance present on his face melts away at Danny’s words, crumbling whatever he had considered using as a counter argument until he finally agrees.

“Fine. But I’m taking it off tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Neither say anything more as they pack up the remainder of their belongings in silence, with Danny taking slightly longer as he carefully folds up the rabbit pelts and blanket they had used. His mind drifts back to the day before as he works, having not had any other time to process it. Looking back, he realized how terrified he had been when he thought he had lost Sam, despite having known him for such a short period of time. I was, I was beside myself- sobbing and just praying he would be ok. I don’t know what this feeling for him is, but I know it’s dangerous. I can’t get too attached; the only way for him to make it through this is if I die.

“If it’s still snowing out there, I might just stay here.” Danny can barely make out the distaste on Sam’s features as he shoves the remainder of his belongings into his bag and grabs his axe, slinging the bow and quiver over his shoulder quickly as he stands.

“You’d really leave me to go on all alone? That’s cold, even for you.”

“Who said you can’t stay here with me? And haha, cold. Get it?” Danny only rolls his eyes as Sam laughs at his own joke, trying to keep a smile from his face at the sound of the other man’s laugh echoing against the walls.

“Yes, Sam, I get it. You’re hilarious. Now, let’s get going.” Danny places his hand on Sam’s lower back to nudge him forward, trying to find the exit as he feels along the wall with his other hand, his knuckles brushing the rock as he holds his axe. As Sam’s steps echo beside him and he feels the beginning of the path, he drops his hand from the other man’s back, not missing the small, disappointed huff he lets out. What was that for? Why’d he do that? Maybe it was annoyance and not disappointment. Maybe he didn’t want me to touch him like that. Danny’s mind circles the same thoughts as they walk along, and it isn’t until he sees a soft light before them that his focus shifts towards how the hell they would get out of the mountains.

“Holy shit.” With his voice full of wonder, Sam stops as they reach the end of the path, his jaw slightly dropped as he looks out onto the snow-capped mountains with wide eyes. “You know, it’s honestly really beautiful here in the daylight without snow blowing directly into your eyes.”

Yeah, it is beautiful. Danny rips his eyes away from Sam to look out at the mountains only to feel a pang in his chest at the familiar sight. In 7, he had grown up with the mountains towering over him, and the image that once brought him comfort now only made him yearn to be back in 7. Back with Josie, with David. Back with his family. “I know. Let’s go.” Danny wipes his eyes briskly, hoping Sam hadn’t caught the gesture as he starts down the mountain, thankful that the small path they had hiked up had remained mostly free of snow overnight.

As the mountains flatten and the rocks below them become sandstone, Danny looks back to Sam, knowing that he may be able to guide them better than he could. “Wanna take the lead? Since you’ve been here and all. You did mention that you and Hazel found a cave to hide out in, what are the chances that it’s still empty?”

“No clue. Both tributes from 4 are dead, they’re the only ones I would worry about being in this area. Hazel could’ve run back there, though, so we need to keep an eye out for her.” Neither say anything more as they walk along, Sam a step ahead of Danny as he tries to remember the way back to where him and Hazel had kept their head down for the first two days.

--------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sure it’s this way!” Sam has to shout to be heard over the storm, the rain whipping their exposed skin just as bad as the snow had. Both men had given up hopes of staying dry early on as the rain showed no hint of stopping, their clothes completely soaked through within the first five minutes of the downpour.

“Does it matter anymore?! Honestly, at this point I don’t even care about the cave, we just need to find somewhere to hide out for the night and dry off, preferably!” Something was wrong, Danny could feel it in his bones. He couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination, or if the pools of water around them had begun to spill over. It’s definitely rising, the water has risen at least two inches in the last few minutes, it used to fall just above the tread of my boots, now it’s up to my ankles, at least. “I think- I think we need to get to higher ground!”

“I agree!” Finding a tree line in the distance, both men start towards it, their biceps pressed against each other as they wade through the water. By the time they reach the first tree closest to them, the water has risen to their mid-thighs, still showing no signs of stopping. Danny thinks he sees panic flash behind Sam’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure as the sun remains blocked out by dark grey storm clouds. “Should we keep going?! Try to find higher ground?!”

The water was now at their waist, slowing their movements and sending shivers coursing through their bodies. “No time! We need to climb! There’re some branches up there that should support our weight!”

“Are- are you sure?!”

“Yes, just trust me!” What the fuck is he so scared of? Is he afraid of heights or something? We’re running out of time.

“Danny! Wait!” Danny feels Sam’s hand grip his bicep, fear apparent in his eyes as he blinks through the raindrops clouding his vision. “I- I can’t climb trees!”

“What?! Like physically because of your arm, or just in general?!”

“In general!”

“Seriously?!”

“Give me a fucking break!”

“They didn’t fucking teach you that in your special Career survival schools?!” He can’t be serious right now. Please be joking, fucking please be joking.

“No! It’s not my fault! It’s not like I organized what they taught us! And-” Danny can’t tell if his cheeks were red from the cold or embarrassment, but Sam looks down sheepishly, trying to avoid his gaze. “And I’m scared of heights.”

“Oh my god.” Danny’s mind goes blank, not knowing what to do next at this information. I can’t leave him, I can’t do that. It’s- the water is at my stomach now, any longer and we’ll be drowning in it.

“Please don’t leave me.” Danny can barely hear Sam’s panicked words over the downpour, but he can see the fear and desperation in his eyes as droplets of water drip from the end of his nose, his hair plastered to the sides of his face.

“I won’t, I promise.” Fuck. What the fuck do I do?! “Just- just get on my back!”

“What?!”

“You heard me, take my axe, hold on, and I’ll climb up!”

“Are you sure you can hold my weight?!”

“If we don’t try now, we both die!” Danny watches his internal battle of whether to take his offer up or not, eventually deciding as the water rises to their chests.

“Fine!” Sam makes quick work of taking Danny’s axe and moving to stand behind him, his arms carefully wrapping around his neck as both their weapons rest on his chest.

“Legs too!” Come on, come on, come on. Sam hesitates momentarily before Danny feels his legs circle his waist, trying his best to keep his grip as the water works to loosen it. “You ready?!”

“Just go!” Danny reaches up to grip the lowest branch, praying that it would hold their weight as he pulls them both out of the water. He feels Sam’s weight fully as they rise above the water, his arms beginning to shake. Fuck, I’m used to climbing with just my weight, I- I think I can do this, it’s just gonna take all my strength. As they reach 20 feet off the ground, Danny feels the burn in his biceps and forearms, hoping that Sam wouldn’t feel his muscles tremoring. The climb becomes easier as the branches and foliage above them shield them from the torrential rain, allowing Danny to see each branch above him and plan their path instead of blindly feeling for a large enough branch to support them.

As the branches start to become smaller and weaker, Danny looks down below to gauge their height. Probably about 50-60 feet, that should be good, right? They’d have to flood the entire arena to reach us up here. “Oh god.” Feeling Sam’s arms tighten around his neck, Danny guesses that he had also looked down, his fear causing his heart to hammer against his ribcage and reverberate through Danny’s bag and into his back.

“Don’t look down! You’re fine, we’re fine up here, everything is ok, Sam. Ok, just- just hold on, this should be high enough!” Danny swings his leg backwards over a large branch, hearing Sam whimper behind him as he lowers them onto it, their backs to the trunk. The second he feels Sam drop to sit on the branch, he uses the last of his strength to pull himself up slightly and move to sit behind Sam, pulling his body towards him until his back rests against his front. “Give me these.” Danny tries to keep his voice gentle as he takes the weapons from Sam, sandwiching them between the trunk and another branch at his side, freeing his hands to wrap around Sam’s upper arms and chest.

Glancing at his face, he sees Sam’s eyes screwed shut, his face twisted with terror as his breaths became more shallow and rapid. Is he about to have a panic attack? Fuck, I can’t have that right now, he could hurt himself. “Hey, Sammy, just breathe. Just breathe, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

“P-promise?”

“On my life, Sam. I swear.” Feeling Sam try to relax in his arms, Danny doesn’t miss the way that his breaths remained panicked, his body still tense and stiff. “How can I help you?”

“I just- I just need to talk, have something to distract myself with. I- why were you crying in the mountains?”

Fuck. He saw that. What do I say? How do I explain? “I- it reminded me of District 7, of home. Of my family and friends.”

“You miss them?”

“More than I could put into words.” Danny tries to keep his voice even as his tears return to his eyes. Now that it’s raining and his back is to me, it doesn’t really matter, does it? “Don’t you?”

“I- I don’t know. My sister and I didn’t leave things on the best terms, and- and my parents have always been more focused on my brothers since they won. And they- they haven’t been around much since their games. I didn’t know them like I thought I did.” Danny thinks he can hear Sam start to sob through his words, muffled by the patter of the rain against the leaves surrounding them. “I- I miss Josh, I miss his stupid jokes and the way he always insisted on his arms being on top when he hugged me, even though he’s shorter than I am. I miss Jake and our late-night talks when we were the only ones still awake, even if he’s been an asshole to everyone he loves since they won. I miss how they were before the games destroyed them, before they knew what it was like to be tortured. I miss being a kid with them, being worry-free and happy. I told Jake I would stay alive for him, I promised, but without you I would be dead. I never should have volunteered, I never should have thought I was cut out for this. I don’t even care about winning anymore, I just want to go home.”

Fearing that if he let Sam continue rambling, it would leave him worse off than when he had begun, Danny cuts him off quickly, offering what little comfort he could as he squeezes his arms tighter around him. “Slow down, Sammy. It’s ok. You’re gonna get through this, it’ll all be ok.”

“Tell me- tell me about your home, your family.”

Danny’s left momentarily speechless as he tries to think. I never expected him to ask- to care about that. “It’s beautiful, I wish I could show it to you. I would take you through the forests in the middle of the day, the ones on the outskirts of the districts where no one ever goes. We would just walk and listen to the birds singing in the trees, and the way the light filters through them is- it’s remarkable. We might come across a few deer or rabbits, but we wouldn’t have to kill them to survive. We would just sit and watch in peace as they grazed. My house is right near the outskirts, it may be the shittier part of town, but the forest is right outside my door. My sister and I had to move there after- after our parents died. My best friend, David, he lives right next door. He’s taking care of Josie while I’m gone. His family they- they pretty much adopted us the second we moved in. His parents have a lot of kids as it is, but they-” You’ve made it this far, you can’t stop now. “They never hesitated to help us out when we needed, treated us as their own.”

“I’m- I’m glad you have them, Josie has them.” Thank god, it’s working. Relief crashes over Danny as he feels Sam finally begin to relax against him, his breaths returning to normal as he calms down.

“Me too.”

“Can I ask you something? It’s been on my mind since the moment I saw you.”

Oh? “Go ahead, Sammy.”

“The hoops in your nose and ears. Are they real gold?”

Danny almost laughs, both from having expected a completely different question and from the fact that Sam hadn’t assumed the answer on his own. “I’m from District 7, Sammy. Of course they aren’t.”

“When we get out of this hellhole, I’ll get you real gold ones. As a thank you, and- and you deserve nice things anyways.”

When we get out. We aren’t both making it through this, they won’t let us. Danny pushes the thought aside, knowing if he brought it up to Sam, it would only make him panic more. “Sounds good, Sammy. Thank you. Try to- try to get some sleep, ok? I won’t let you fall out of the tree, I promise.”

“Thank you, Danny.” Sam’s exhaustion catches up with him immediately as he falls asleep quickly in his arms. As Danny’s mind refuses to stop circling the same thoughts, he’s grateful that Sam had passed out so fast. Danny didn’t want Sam to hear him cry. If I win, I get to go home to Josie. I get to see her again. But if I win, I lose him. I don’t want to- I can’t lose him.

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Taglist: @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @musicislove3389 @holdingup-fallingsky @freyjalw @hailthegodsong @Maddie-Rae @currentlyfangirling10

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #daniel gvf #sam gvf #sanny gvf #greta van angst #sam kiszka x danny wagner #sam kiszka #danny wagner #hunger games au

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sunlightandswords · 5 months ago

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The man I've been in love with for the past several years is getting married on Sunday. It's, of course, not to me. In a place like ours, where our kind are hunted for the nature of what we are, two men could never openly have the kind of love we deserved. Our love was not the rose which blooms in springtime, but the moss that grows underfoot; we loved quietly, so very quietly, that we never spoke of it, as if we were afraid that if we gave it word it would be too real, too easy to find, too easy to kill. Instead, we settled for what we had. I could never make you morning coffee in our shared flat, but I could run my hands through your hair one last time before the sun comes up, before I go. I could never give you a bouquet of those stunning blue flowers that we saw on the hillsides; but I could print out pictures of them, cradle your hand in mine a little too long as I gave it to you, tell you softly that I love them because they're the same blue as your eyes. I could never bring you chocolates and sappy love cards on valentine's day, or make you hot chocolate and watch the fireworks on New Year's Eve, but I'd come to see you every full moon, when the light illuminated the snowy forest paths just enough for us to walk together, to disappear into the thick of the brush and settle by that frigid river, hand in hand; hearts kept beating in that bitter cold by the inexplicable, inadmissible rush of warmth we felt around each other. I never had any illusions that we could openly be together. In any land, in any time, the fear ingrained in us would never let us do that; but somehow, I always hoped that you would have the courage to, if not live truly, to at least live freely. To be like me, to break your engagement and live a bachelor, now and forever. To move away where people ask less questions and turn more blind eyes- didn't you want that, too, love? I knew it would never happen. That you'd never come with me. You always bore the brunt of society's words harder than I; you are tied to this place in a way I can only understand through you, because of you. But God, did I hope you would, anyways. I've loved you all our time together. I wish I could have told you, but even on Sunday, when you're holding the hands of your bride, even as I close my eyes and pretend your vows to her are ours, in some other life; as time passes and you sink into that facade of heteronormativity, the way everyone else like us has, and as you leave me behind, like an unpleasant memory that won't leave your mind, know, Bear, that I'll love you all the same. Every day that we see each other and every day that we don't.

I love you, Bear.

#mlm #doomed by the narrative #doomed yaoi #tragedy #queer trauma #the grief is never ending #but so is the love

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linaket · 2 years ago

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Writing Update (2/18/23)

Tinder Saint Progress:

8 / 15 chapters complete

word count: we made it to 20k! (projected: 40k)

Excerpt:

Cathan’s gaze fell to the small flicker she cradled. “I am tired of being afraid.” She wrapped her other hand around the fire, holding it close enough to burn. “I’ve always been afraid. Every day. Look at you, Vahn. Even if I wanted to ask, I can’t. You are bleeding and no one has bothered to say anything about it.”

Vahn lifted a hand to his brow, scraping over the dried flakes of blood and wincing from the bruise. “Not bleeding anymore, technically.”

“There has to be something better than this. I have to believe that. If the wars don’t take us, there is always someone else waiting. ”

Salinae’s heavy, willing hands were a ghost at Vahn’s throat, and Ilye’s too-loud voice bracketed the memory.

“Maybe they're waiting," he said, "but these trials will kill you a lot quicker.”

Cathan’s smile was an elegy that had long been written. “Then I won’t have to be afraid anymore, will I?”

🎵 Music: Eyes On Fire, Hahlweg ft. wayfie

I’m taking it slow Feeding my flame Shuffling the cards of your game And just in time In the right place Suddenly I will play my ace

I've been listening to some version of this song since I first started writing SP, but it is usually a Kanna song (the Blue Foundation, Zed's Dead Remix lives on her playlist).

This one didn't really inform any of the current chapters I worked on. It's actually far more consistent with Vahn in later chapters or even after Tinder Saint closes, but it's been keeping me excited to get these early chapters tightened up so I can show him growing and getting there and have my powerful, confident Vahn come out the other side of all this.

Thoughts:

I'm actually doing this a day early because I start a long stretch of work days tomorrow. I planned to do these on Sundays, but it's probably going to be... around Sunday because I'm very bad at knowing what day of the week it is.

Technically, I only have two scenes left lingering in what I'm considering my "early" section to complete... I had a lot of lingering bits that needed to get edited in and I managed to get that done, so its just those two scenes remaining.

I am getting more excited each day as I get closer to actually hitting the part of this story that I'm dying to write. Somehow, all three of my days off are in a row the week after next (Feb. 27-Mar. 1) and I want to have all this early part cleaned up enough by then that I can marathon through that section. It's hmm... 2-3 chapters and not even the "biggest" reveal, plot wise, it is simply the thing I'm most excited about in terms of being challenging and tricky in the best way.

It feels really strange, though, to think about how little I have left to write? Technically I've already written half of what I projected this novella to end up at and that took forever but... I have a feeling that after I get these last lingering parts from the beginning out of the way, if I had a free week to just write morning to night I'd be able to finish this in that time because its all knocking-down instead of carefully setting up and I tend to wrecking ball through that part of things.

I can probably get pretty close to finishing this draft by end of March... middle of March, depending on how far I can get in those three days that I do have off and if nothing out-of-bounds happens which... it really might, I have a lot of odd things floating around in my life right now that I'm expecting to hit right when I don't want them to.

[prev. week]

#writing update #TSetc #Spotify

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sebsxphia · 2 years ago

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This is so self indulgent- but could you do something about falling asleep in Jake or Bradley’s arms after a long day? Cause 😍

bradley always knows.

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader.

￫ c/w: mentions of painful headaches, fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: @sydneejean i couldn’t resist writing something as soft and fluffy for bradley so i hope you enjoy! this is part of seb’s soft sunday. find the other fics here! 💌

Your head felt like it was going to burst from it’s seams and drip through your ears it hurt that bad. Your day from hell, as you would accurately describe it, had you feeling defeated and exhausted by the time you crossed the threshold into your home. You could recognise the soft piano keys drifting through the house when you closed the front door. You wanted to shut the outside world out completely. The music was the first thing to soothe your pulsating head all day, but they came to a stop and your head went back to beating.

“Baby?” You heard Bradley’s voice follow the sound of the finished piano music.

He came through the doorway from your front room that held his piano and your desk. It was front facing the sun and you adored the summer time when the sun would cast a golden glow over your walls, the shadows dancing in time to the music Bradley was playing that particular evening.

“Baby? You’re late, what happened?” Bradley called out to you again. He wasn’t accusing you of being late, no. There was worry in his voice.

“Stand still traffic all along the northern lane. My phone ran out of battery from meetings all day, I forgot my contact lenses so my head feels twice it’s size and my favourite sandwich was all sold out by the time I got to my very late lunch and it’s only fucking Tuesday.”

A pout formed on your face as you kicked off your shoes and hung your coat up. It was winter now and you barely saw the sun with how long you were tucked away in your bleak office.

Bradley could recognise the tiredness in your face. It was etched over your features like an old painting. Your shoulders were hunched and your pace was slow as you came towards him, looking for his warm and familiar embrace. He stretched his large arms open wide and you fell into him with an ‘omph’.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It sounds like you’ve had the day from hell, hm?”

“Exactly my thoughts, Roos.” You reciprocated with a little smile. Bradley always thought the same as you.

Bradley smoothed down the back of your hair as you nuzzled closer into his broad chest, trying to soak up the feeling of his warm torso. Bradley pulled you away from his frame and you groaned in protest. He still kept you close by gently cradling your jaw with his slender fingers.

“I don’t want to rub it in and please don’t be mad at me, but as you know I was off today and I didn’t prepare dinner in case you wanted a treat. Takeout?”

You could feel an inch of tension roll off your shoulders and your eyes fluttered at the indulgent thought.

“How could I be mad at you?”

“I know, I just want you to know I still want to take care of you, baby.”

You leaned up and brushed your nose lightly against his, feeling the hairs of his upper lip tickle your skin. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and your lips twitched upwards into a blissful smile.

“You always do, Roos.”

He kissed you back sweetly after you reassured him.

“Go upstairs, get changed, shower, whatever you wan’ do and I’ll order.”

You didn’t even need to check what he was going to order. As always, Bradley always thought the same as you.

An hour later you were scraping the last morsels of food off your plate and slumping back against Bradley’s chest on your couch. You’d slipped into Bradley’s old navy shirt and something easy was playing on Netflix. Some show you picked that could be enjoyed, but didn’t need your full focus.

You hummed in bliss and let a sigh escape your lips, one that you had been holding in all day and you felt you could finally release it as you were pressed in between the legs of your sweet Bradley with a full belly. Your inhale after flooded your nostrils with Bradley’s familiar scent. It was warm like cinnamon with a slight tang of sea salt. You twisted your warm frame around and lulled your head to the side. Your cheek was now pressed against his peck and your legs curled up in between his.

Bradley wrapped his hands around your frame and gave you a light squeeze. “Comfy?” His voice was just above a whisper.

“Very.” You agreed and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, both of you still mindlessly watching the television. “What time is it?” You murmured out to him again.

“Nine o’lock, darling.”

“Okay, one more episode then I’ll go to bed.”

All it took was fifteen minutes and Bradley could hear your soft and small snores. Your body was going limp against his. He cocked his head down and saw your eyes finally closed shut with the tension now all drained from your face. Bradley smiled proudly to himself knowing he could still take care of you and always will.

He was careful not to wake you too much as his broad arms scooped under your body and hoisted it to his chest.

“Lets get you to bed my baby.” His voice was soft against your ear as he carried you up the stairs.

“Ni’ night, Roos. Love you.”

He stilled for a moment hearing your voice peep out from his hold. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest at hearing your voice laced with blissful sleep. He wanted to squeeze you and pepper your face in kisses, but he could save that for tomorrow.

“Night, angel. Love you more.”

taglist:

@tallrock35

@luckyladycreator2

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