#my porch is around the back of the house and on the second story so it’s not easily accessible

[tomwambsmilk]

Ppl really start acting entitled as shit once they make an offer to buy the house you live in

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

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[1d1195]

Hummingbirds

~5.2k words

From me: Based on a song of the same name--you'll see the lyrics in a moment. You'll need to suspend your belief a bit. I'm not sure everything makes perfect sense, but. Some of this story takes place through emailing and I didn't have a good method for this. So bold will be Harry's emails. Pink writing will be hers.

Warnings: angst, fluff, anger honestly just fluffy. second chance love

Summary: Harry has been angry for a really really long time. Only one person ever made him confront his anger.

“Eli, baby, we have to go!”

Harry could hear her from outside. He smirked, sipping his tea while he waited for Buddy to do his business. The air was crisp just like October should be. Decorative spider webs lined the front porch and the flower bushes in front of it. He was utterly pleased with his life. So completely happy.

“Mommy! I can’t find my dinosaur sneakers!”

“I don’t know how to spell it,” Evie frowned. “I’m going to fail!”

“Just do your best and practice, my love. I believe in you,” she assured as she zipped her backpack up at the doorway and stuffed her feet into the slip-on sneakers by the door. They make me feel old, she told Harry. They’re the perfect shoes for a busy Mum, he assured her. And I think y’look hot wearing them.

“Eli, honey!” She called back. “They’re here by the front door!”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “How lucky am I, Buddy?” He asked shaking the leash slightly. The dog turned to him and then tugged him around the yard looking for the right spot; totally unaware or unaffected that Harry had the best life there was to live.

“I-M-P-E-R-U-T-I-V-E.”

“Close, baby girl,” she smiled encouragingly. “It’s an A, not U.”

She looked miserable as she stepped off the porch. Evie approached Harry while his wife bent to help Eli with his sneakers. “I’m going to fail, Daddy.”

He chuckled at the little nine-year-old. Crouched to her height twirling the leash tight around one hand. He straightened her little hair bow on the side of her head, pinning her hair back to one side. He kissed her forehead. “Mummy said y’were close. Y’did a great job. Y’jus’ have t’remember there’s an A,” he reminded her and then pinched her cheek gently. “Like the grade you’re going t’get, right?” He winked at her.

Evie’s sweet eyes lit up with new hope. She turned to the pretty woman at the door holding Eli’s hand to usher him quickly out of the house now that his shoes were securely on his feet. “Mommy! Did you hear what Daddy said to help me remember?”

She grinned so beautifully; it melted him. The center of his chest felt deliriously warm. It felt equivalent to being snuggled under a blanket with her, warm and close while it snowed outside their house. The kids drinking hot chocolate at the coffee table and a movie playing in the background.

It was unbelievable she was all his. “What did Daddy say, Evie?” Eli held onto her hand tight while he jumped from the second to last step of the porch while Evie explained the A she was going to get. “Well, I guess you inherited your smarts from Daddy, hmm?” Which was unequivocally a joke. She was a hundred times smarter than him. Or at least it felt that way. But he loved her so much for never making him feel less than. She was good at that. It was impossible to feel less than in her presence.

She was good at everything. Her job, being a wife, but perhaps his favorite thing, she was a tremendous mother. Something he knew she would be good at, but not to the extent he witnessed on a daily basis. Eli hurried to Harry and Buddy petting the dog’s head and giggling when he licked his face. Harry kissed the top of his head and gave his little body a squeeze. “What smarts?” Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes as she finally approached her family. “You’re plenty smart, baby,” she shook her head with a gentle smile. The two kids that looked like the perfect combination of them went to her car and climbed into their respective seats. Harry wrapped his free arm around her back and pulled her to his side. He kissed her temple, nosing along her hairline.

“Not as smart as m’beautiful wife,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“I love you.” She tilted her head up for a kiss which Harry never let her wait for.

“I love you,” he grinned into the kiss.

“Ew!” Eli called.

“Mommy, let’s go!” Evie was eager to get to school and ace her spelling test.

“Bye Daddy!” Eli shouted. She gave his cheek a final peck and she headed across the yard to take their kids to school. “See you at my soccer game!”

“Hey kitten?” He called.

“Yeah?” She asked over her shoulder.

“M’a lucky man t’have you,” he reminded her.

She shook her head, laughed. “Me too, baby. Luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

The second her door closed behind her a swarm of hummingbirds fluttered so loudly into the yard. Seemingly out of nowhere. The noise of their wings was unbelievable. A dull roar. It was hundreds of the little birds, and she paid no mind to them as she started her car. Buddy didn’t care about the intrusion either. Even the kids were indifferent. “Are y’seeing this?” He called out to her. He blinked curiously when she didn’t respond. “What’s with all the—”

*

I had a dream last night / we were married in that house you always talked about / you were rushing to get the kids to school / packing their lunches, reviewing their spelling words / it was hummingbirds

Harry’s heart was beating like he had just finished a workout. His skin felt clammy. The sheets were wrapped too tightly around his legs. He groaned as his alarm vibrated to the same hum of the birds in his dream. The music playing alongside the vibration made him grumpy. “What the fuck?” He whispered and smacked the song off. He wished he could go right back. Did Evie pass her test? Did Eli score a goal?

Did she still love him the way he dreamed about?

*

Dr. Hendren listened to Harry’s dream but very much already knew the ending. It was the same as all his dreams with the house and the girl that he had been hearing for ten years.

“Harry,” the doctor said gently as he watched Harry on his screen. “Do you know what hummingbirds symbolize?”

“No,” Harry was grumpy. He always was after a dream that was so real so lifelike. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted her back. Wanted to see her. Wanted to know.

“Healing.” Dr. Hendren was quiet while Harry processed that. He worked his jaw, swallowing, and flexing it as he tried to get the words to come out. His body felt tense. Like he was trapped inside a box that was too small. That didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like he was healed. He was still frustrated most of the time. Work was a minor distraction, and the loneliness was crippling at times. The only reprieve was dreaming of that pretty girl he knew so many years ago.

Why did it have to be her? She didn’t deserve Harry and his bad attitude. She already suffered through it for two years at a time when life should have been fun, lovely, sweet. They were kids and Harry was an ass. He never even said he loved her back then.

“Don’t you think,” Dr. Hendren continued quietly, and Harry knew what he was going to say. “You’ve been quiet long enough about what you want?” He shrugged. “Harry,” he tutted.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”

“You were a kid.”

“She deserved more.”

“Then tell her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t want to talk to you and you’ll have some closure and you can stop dreaming about it.”

Harry remained silent, looking around his empty apartment. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I’ll reach out to her.”

“Harry,” Dr. Hendren said quietly. “Have you thought about the best-case scenario?”

He shook his head. Thatkind of hope could kill him. But he knew why the dreams were so powerful these days. Why they were so steady and quick.

Woke up bleeding from my mouth / I bit my tongue right through / well I broke the habit / I guess that I’d had it not saying the things I need to

The following morning, he searched his inbox from an email he hadn’t used in ten years and found the address he never thought he’d email again after he broke up with her way back when.

But Harry wasn’t twenty anymore. He was trying to move on. Trying to fix things that should have been fixed a long time ago. He sat on the couch, typed out seven different versions of the message and clicked send before he could overthink it any longer. He slapped the computer shut and rubbed his hands on his pants. He took a sip of the tea he made hoping to calm himself and told himself that it was okay if she didn’t answer.

Hey. Long time. Not sure if you use this email. I know it’s been a long while. Hope you’re well. ... I’ve been thinking of you. And truthfully, I had a pretty realistic dream that you were in the other night. Nothing weird. Just my old self and back then and... I don’t know. ... How are you?

If she was working, she might just be getting settled. Or maybe out with a friend. Running errands. He refrained from imagining a little family that was waiting on her for dinner but reminded himself anyway that there were a million reasons she—

His phone lit up on the table beside the computer and his heart skipped a beat.

Harry Styles. As I live and breathe :) I’m well! How are you?

That little smiley face made his heart ache with adoration for her. He could picture her pretty face smiling. But she answered.

Good. Yeah. I… I’ve been going to therapy regularly. Finally had to and... my doctor and I have discussed a lot of things. You were one of them. I just... wanted to chat with you. I’m sorry, this is so out of the blue and weird.

No! Not at all, Harry. I’m glad you reached out. It’s really nice to hear from you. Therapy? That’s amazing! Do you like it?

I’m a work in progress.

Aren’t we all? :)

He smiled feeling relieved. Even just reading words on a screen made him feel at ease. He could practically hear her sweet, encouraging voice.

What are you up to? Do you live in state still?

Yes! I actually just moved down the road from the college. I’m a guidance counselor at the local high school.

That’s lovely. I’m not surprised you accomplished your goals. Your students are lucky to have you. Are you doing okay? It has to be draining.

A lot of the time yeah. But it’s rewarding as hell. You know I love kids, and I love being able to help.

Harry wondered if it was possible to love her more than he ever had before.

There’s a shadow on my shoulder / always whispers in my ear / that I’m so angry all of the time / I should be alone another year / I didn’t say it how you needed it / must have written it down a thousand times / all the things I would scream at the top of my lungs / if I wasn’t so busy saying I’m fine.

Harry had a habit of not saying what he was feeling. He bottled so much of it up and hid it from the rest of the world. Even people he loved. When he was dating her back in college, he kept a lot hidden and exploded when she asked him simple questions about himself. Trying to understand him and why he was angry all the time. Her willingness to look past it, try and help, and just continue to be kind to him made him angry too. It was constant, draining. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

There was a tiny voice in his head that told him he was too angry for her. She deserved someone lovely and sweet. Someone who would talk to her and tell her things. Be the person she deserved. Because despite everything, Harry loved love. It was nearly impossible for him to show it back then. But he did. He wanted to love her the way she needed.

But he was so busy being angry and bottling his emotions he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t love her the right way.

It was so unfair to her and looking back on it made him feel like a proper ass.

So, he was grateful for the email communication. He couldn’t imagine having this conversation with her about all this in person. They chatted for days. Catching up on things, reminiscing. Their email chain was up to 100 something messages. Some messages were long. Harry chatted about his family and she about hers. There were updates on work. On friends they still spoke to and no longer did. The conversation continued over the course of a little under a week.

But the most shocking details came from her.

I mentioned I moved... my ex-fiancé broke off our engagement. Don’t feel too bad for me, it’s actually a relief in hindsight. Something I’ve been trying to figure through. It’s why I know that anything you feel you did wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it was. There’s far worse relationship enders than a little bit of anger.

Jesus, I’m so sorry, kitten.

Well, isn’t that a sweet name for sore eyes :) Don’t be sorry. It’s good. I have this cute apartment to myself and it’s for the best it happened now before there were too many variables to consider...like kids or a house or something, you know? I’m definitely sad. But he wasn’t the one for me at the end of the day.

Sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s not really fair given our past. I think a lot of my friends disagree with my choice on this to let him go so it’s nice to just tell someone non-judgmental.

Harry felt angry the way he used to. The way that made him want to scream and he felt the desperate need to message Dr. Hendren because he felt out of his depth. All he said was sorry. How could she feel he was non-judgmental. He was judgmental. He was judging the fuck out of the piece of shit that broke her heart and made her sad.

But he was no better.

The man is an idiot to lose you. I know from experience.

:) I have to head to bed, there’s a big pep rally tomorrow at school so I have to have my brain ready for chaos. Sleep well Harry.

Good night, kitten.

He reread those messages over and over and right before he was going to fall asleep, his phone lit up with one more message.

You’re not an idiot by the way. He might be, but you, Harry Styles are not.

So of course, he dreamed of Evie, Eli, and the sweet girl at the other end of his emails that night.

And hummingbirds.

Thousands of hummingbirds.

*

Most of their messages were short.

I’ve been going to therapy for three years now.

That’s wonderful, Harry. Really. Do you like it?

Yeah...it’s hard.

:( Yeah... It really is. Do you like your therapist?

Yeah. I’ve had him the whole time.

Yeah? That’s good. I’m... proud of you. I don’t want to be weird about it, but I know you were angry. Really angry. It wasn’t good. You didn’t deserve that. I’m glad you have someone to help you work through it.

...You were so nice to me. When you shouldn’t have been. I didn’t treat you right.

You were wonderful, Harry. We were practically kids. If our relationship had any faults, it was because we were too young. I don’t regret a second of time being with you.

His heart skipped a beat. He felt that frustration from back when they were young, and she was so understanding but it didn’t make him grumpy or feel inadequate. All he felt was a sense of belonging. Something he probably would have felt back then if he could have gotten out of his own way. She was willing to look past it then as she was now.

You’re much too forgiving. He wrote. Because old habits die hard.

You weren’t fine, Harry. You didn’t know. We didn’t know what we were dealing with at that age.

Harry hadn’t a clue what he was dealing with. Did he even know now?

Can... can I give you something?

Give me something?

Yes. I... I can bring it to your apartment or to school or we can meet, I just... I’ve been trying to let it go but I think... I think my dream was reminding me that... there’s more to you. More I need to do for you.

Sure, if you think it will give you closure.

God, Harry wanted anything but closure.

Just to clarify: I don’t think you owe me anything.

I kept a lot hidden from you. I held back and it wasn’t fair. All you wanted was to love me and I wouldn’t let you.

It’s a vulnerable thing, Harry. To be loved. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were just young.

But... you knew I wasn’t fine, and you tried and... I just wasn’t fair to you.

You were fine, Harry. I promise. Bring me whatever it is that you need to give me to make you believe you did what you could with what you had.

*

Her apartment had a wreath on the door. It was beautiful with an array of burnt orange and red flowers and green vines. The perfect fall wreath. Beside the door were three pumpkins of different sizes. If he didn’t have her address, he almost thought he would know it was her place. He looked at the mat in front of the door that said welcome, and he wondered if there was any other place where someone actually meant it.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and knocked. After a minute, the door was out of the way.

At 18, Harry thought she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever met. During the time they dated, he thought she got more beautiful every second. Apparently, he was right because the woman before him somehow got exponentially more beautiful. Her smile was so inviting, so warm. Like he was seeing an old friend. “Hey Harry,” her voice was sweet. Not an ounce of distrust, frustration, nothing. Their breakup was ten years ago. Not a degree of anger was left.

Harry wasn’t angry either. Not anymore. But if she had broken up with him and he hadn’t done all this work to better himself, he would have been. He didn’t know how she could be so sweet after all she went through.

“Hi,” he swallowed. “I don’t want t’keep you. S’really nice t’see you,” his dream didn’t do her justice. Sure, she was beautiful especially with their imaginary kids. Simply stunning. But this was more. This was the beautiful angel he loved so much even when she wasn’t his to love.

“You’re not keeping me; do you want to come in?” She shifted to open the door wider. “I can make some tea. Or we can order pizza?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I jus’ want t’give y’this,” he handed her the shoe box.

She opened the lid. “Well, you know I won’t say no to shoes,” she smirked.

As much as he wanted to laugh at her joke, he felt like he made a mistake. The box was out of his hands. Not because of what was in there but because of the fear of rejection and being so vulnerable. Feelings of inadequacy were currently circulating through his bloodstream. “Um... s’not—”

“What is this?” She asked, tilting her head. He swallowed, pinched his lower lip between his fingers and took a deep breath.

“S’letters.”

“Letters?”

“I wrote t’you.”

“Me?”

He took a deep breath. “M’sure y’know m’not good at saying what m’feeling.”

She replaced the lid, leaning against the frame. “I feel like I’m a little lost here, Harry.”

He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget or reach back out to take it from her. His mouth felt dry. He wished he had taken her offer for a glass of water now.  “I know y’said y’thought we were fine. But m’not happy with how I treated you. Y’were an angel. The perfect girlfriend and I treated y’unfairly a lot. I guess I’ve really held onto that and some of those letters are old but when I hit low points I thought ‘bout what y’said back then. How I wasn’t on m’own. I was allowed t’be angry. But I had t’let people in. All that. I wrote t’you a lot over the years. M’therapist said it was actually one of the smartest things I’ve done on m’own,” he chuckled. “I want you t’read them. When y’have time. I guess. I don’t know,” he cleared his throat. “This is really scary,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she nodded encouragingly and reached out to his forearm. She squeezed it reassuringly. It was only a touch on his arm, and he felt so good feeling it. He knew it was her training kicking in. Like a broken, beaten student at her office door. “I can do that,” she assured him. “Do you want me to text you about each one? Or just a summary of all of them? Or do you want me to not say anything?”

He looked at his feet. “Fuck...” he whispered to himself. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ll start reading tonight and I’ll decide in the moment. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

He nodded, looked at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“S’a lot.”

“I enjoy reading, Harry,” she grinned and moved her hand to his upper arm and soothingly rubbed up and down. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Of course he did. There was no one else he really did. He nodded, feeling nauseous but still lighter. “I’m gonna go now,” he swallowed.

“I’ll email you,” she assured him with a smile and headed inside.

*

Like it grows old real fast / how much you can love and not get it back / were we too attached? / It’s a shame how often goodbyes last / I thought we were better than that / I thought I was stronger at last.

The knock on the door was hurried, eager. Insistent on being heard.

At first, he felt frozen in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner he made himself and placing the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he imagined the knock. Maybe he was just dreaming again. Plus, she said she would email right? This wasn’t something to feel nervous about.

But the flutter of knocking continued. He hurried from his frozen position as the rapid taps hit the wood. He knew. His gut telling him exactly who was on the other side of that door. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed before pulling it out of the way.

“You bought me the house?!” She shrieked.

Harry dipped his head to avoid her eyes. “Yes.”

“Harry Styles, what the fuck?!”

He felt sick. “You hate it?”

Her eyes were red, glossy. Not what he expected at all. But why wasn’t it? This wasn’t normal. After a breakup of her own where she was sure she was going to marry the guy. Harry appeared out of nowhere. Telling her that he had a dream about her, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

She covered her mouth and shook her head. “Harry,” she croaked.

“I’m—"

“You can’t buy me a house! We’re not even... Harry. This is insane! You have to see that!”

He shrugged. “I guess... but... I don’t know, kitten. I think about you all the time. I see this house in my sleep. I see our life in m’dreams every night.”

She was wearing only socks. Like she didn’t even have time to put on shoes. She held the paper in her hand wrinkled like she had read it hundreds of times already even though he had only given it to her the night before and he just knew which one was in her hands. She cleared her throat and read the date from ten years ago before she read the remainder of the letter.

To the resident(s) of 1278 Chestnut Street

My name is Harry Styles, and I am a college student in town. My girlfriend and I walk by your lovely home every day when we head to our favorite coffee shop after class. We love your home. Or I should say, my girlfriend LOVES your home. She claims it’s her dream home. The porch, the yard, the location... everything. She even loves your driveway. Every bit of your house is part of this fantastic dream she has of the life she wants in the future.

I don’t know if I’ll be with her forever. I am... working on myself. I’m not very good at all this relationship stuff. Especially when it comes to her. Quite frankly, I think she deserves way better than me. But on the off chance I am lucky enough to keep her in my life for as long as I would like, I want to make her dreams come true. She deserves that. She deserves every single one of her dreams to come true. She is the kind of girl that deserves every good thing that can possibly be provided for her.

If you ever find yourself selling, would you please consider emailing me first? Of course, if you have family that you plan on giving your home to, I understand. I can’t even promise I’ll be able to afford it, but I’ll want to know. If only to pass on the message to her somewhere down the line. She deserves the chance to have all her dreams come true.

I’m not sure where you are in life or if you have ever been in a relationship like this one. This girl is so special. She’s an angel. The kind of love that even a movie couldn’t show, or a book couldn’t write. I’m lucky to have her right now and I don’t know why she’s with me. I don’t know why I’m even sending this crazy letter other than I know I have to try. Even if she’s smart enough to leave me, I want her to know her dream home is available. Somewhere down the road. Even if we’re not on the same road anymore. That’s what she deserves.

I’m sorry to bother you like this. I hope you can understand what love can do to a guy in college with a girlfriend who is LEAGUES above him. Thank you for taking time to read this and I hope you continue to enjoy your lovely home.

Sincerely,

Harry

Her voice shook as she read it. “You sent that when we were in college.” He nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the packet stapled together. “They emailed you,” she whispered. He nodded again.

“Dear Harry. We got your letter. When the time comes. We’ll be moving closer to our children. They’ve never expressed interest in our house the way you have. My wife and I met in college and believe me, I know a little something about finding the girl of your dreams. It’s nice you’re working on yourself. You deserve the life that fits this house too. We hope it’s with the girl that is leagues above you (although, we imagine she’d think differently). We’ll be in touch. The Andersons.”

Harry watched her flip the page as she made eye contact with him briefly before returning her gaze to the paper in front of her.

“Dear Harry. We hope life is treating you well. That you’re working on yourself, and your girlfriend is still around. If she’s not, we hope you’re not being too hard on yourself. We wanted to let you know we’ll soon be moving to a retirement community close to our son. We want to have you (and your girlfriend) over for dinner if you’re available. Let us know.”

Harry knew what was coming but he was still terrified. Why was she here? Barefoot. Reading the letters to him. What did she think.

“Dear Harry. It was so nice to meet you in person. Here is the contract we discussed. See you soon.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Kitten,” he whispered.

“Dear Harry. We hope you get her back. Enjoy your home. Never stop giving out your love. The Andersons.”

She was teary, swallowing hard. Her hands were shaking as she held the papers in front of her. “You bought me a house.”

He nodded. There was a pause. “M’sorry I took so long.”

She dropped the papers and launched herself into his arms. He stumbled back at the impact. Her arms around his neck, her feet barely touching the floor as she tucked her face into his shoulder. “Harry,” she whimpered. Harry sighed, wrapped his arms tightly around her, one at her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” his voice felt raw. Like he was the one that was crying and shaking. Not her.

She sniffled and nodded. “I know,” because she did. She read every single letter. Watched the date change but one thing never did and that was the love she felt in each letter.

“M’so tired, kitten,” he croaked.

“Of what, baby?” She cupped his face. The emotion on his face was tender and nothing like she remembered from ten years prior. Her thumb soothingly rubbed his cheek.

“Life without you,” he closed his eyes tight. “This house is yours I want nothing more than for you t’have it, but I want it t’be ours.”

She sniffled, ducked her head briefly as she glanced around. “You decorated it for Halloween,” she whispered.

“You would have done better.”

She snorted. “Harry...”

“If this is the house that makes you happy then I want it jus’ as much, kitten. But you’re my home. You always have been.”

“I don’t know what to say Harry,” she whimpered.

“Say yes.”

“Harry...” she whispered.

“Please, I’m so tired of loving and loving and never feeling that way. I know s’how I made y’feel in college and y’jus’ dealt with it. Y’jus’ wanted love and I didn’t give y’what y’needed. But m’ready now. M’so ready t’do whatever y’need t’love you the way y’deserve. The way y’always deserved.”

Not for the first time in his life, Harry prayed that if this was a dream, he would never wake up.

He never thought he would hold her again. Never thought she would be in the house she always wanted. Or that she would know he was sorry for how he was back when he was an angry kid.

Perhaps most importantly, he never thought he would feel her lips on his ever again.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

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@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[taiyaakii]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Forbidden ! . . . ( 西村力 )

01. Style 운명 . Drabble 02. CONTAINS: Fighting, reader comes from a kinda bad home but it's not specified how, Riki's parents (his mom mainly) don't like reader euhhhh ! 03. wc ! 612

"It's not her fault! How often do I have to say that, you're blaming her for something that's not even her fault!" Riki shouted back at his mom

It was unusual for everyone in the house, Riki was close to his mom, so the constant fighting was a change "Riki I'm not going to tell you again... I don't like her. Okay? I do not like her."

Riki rebutted quickly "Why? What did SHE do to make you hate her so much? Not what her parents did, what did SHE do."

"Maybe SHE didn't do anything directly but Riki you need to understand when someone is raised like that, in a bad home, they carry those habits, they repeat them, and she is going to turn out no better than her mother." The room was silent, Riki was stunned, to say the least

He had never heard his mom talk that way, about anybody

As tension filled the air, Riki's expression became blank.

He turned around and started heading for the door, shoes already on as he barely got to his room after school before his mom started questioning him

"Riki get back here! We aren't don-" Her voice mumbled by the now shut front door

Riki knew he was fucking up his relationship, but he couldn't just stand by while his mom talked shit about you, that's not fair and it's not how he was raised

The walk to your house was quiet, spent in solitude as he thought of the excuse he would use this time

"Bad grades"

"Forgot to clean up after myself, again"

"Got into a fight with my sister"

No, none of them would work. He used a multitude of excuses as to why he got kicked out every time he'd ask to stay at your house, while the truth was, he was walking out on his own

But he couldn't tell you that 'cause then he'd have to explain why, then he'd have to explain the fight, which would lead to you figuring out why he's refused to let you meet his mom, which in turn, would make you upset, and he refuses to make you upset

Plus if you did know, you'd probably break up with him in fear of getting between him and his mom's relationship.

It's a shame you're so sweet

-

Stepping onto your front porch, he knocked, and as you let him he questioned if anyone was home besides you, to which you replied "No" like always

Now on your bed playing with his hair as he lays on your chest, you question "What did you do this time? Hmm??"

He thought for a second "I uh, got an F on my math test" He had already used this one a few times but it always worked so another time wont hurt

"Again??..."

He sighed "yeah." Pushing his head further into your neck

You sighed and kissed his head, ending the conversation there as you cuddled him tight, slowly drifting off into sleep, "I love you kiki" you mumbled

"I love you too my baby" (ew cheesy)

As much as Riki loves his mom, he can't stand hearing her talk so badly about the one person who makes him feel so loved and happy.

Maybe one day he'll tell you truth as to why he get's "Kicked out" so often, maybe one day you and his mom will meet, and she'll realize just how lovely you are, maybe she'll realize that despite everything, you're the sweetest kindest person, and that you truly make him happy.

But until then, he'll just have to keep making excuses as to why he got kicked out.

@taiyaakii

Im sorry this isnt very good, i wrote it quickly with no real story in mind >.<

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming with me about all of this ily both <3 Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

[nmn-yty]

— ๋࣭ ⭑࿐ first time ｡o♡⋆˚｡⋆.

read part 1: here!!!

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: caring for a bunny seemed harder than you thought

tags: 「SFW! fluff! (ik the title is misleading but i promise this is all fluff!) | hybrid!lee know | referring to lee know as minho | soft!lee know (he's even cuter in this one) | hyper lee know>< | bunny bath time! | the neediest bunny ever | another sweet little kiss! | reader has no gender」

word count: 1.7k

a/n: back at it again! ik ive said it so many times throughout my blog but im truly thankful for all the likes and reblogs(◞‸◟)♡ this will not be the last of my bunny lee know endeavor but stay tuned for more hybrid, skz, and kpop stories in the meantime! also keep in mind that ive never owned any pets so the animal behavior is based on memory of things ive seen online, dont come for me pls>< anyways, i hope this one lives up to the hype of the first part, enjoy!!! (also i apologize for not posting sooner><)

+ stylized lowercase, missing punctuation (not done on purpose), and minimal revisions

a few days in and the days seemed to get harder and harder for you. not because minho was causing you any trouble, but because the fluttery feeling in your stomach kept growing the more you spent time with him. it was scary how perfect he was in every way.

you were sitting on your couch enjoying a nice hot drink, when the familiar sound of thumping on the wood floor caught your attention. you looked down to find a playful bunny minho. he was scurrying around your feet, even moving his paws to your legs.

"what's wrong?" you set your drink down on the table in front of you.

minho kept on pawing at your legs. you reached down to pick him up, placing him in your lap.

"i can't understand you when you're in the form, you know?"

he looked up at you with a nonchalant expression, you expected nothing out of him. before you knew it, you had a hybrid minho sitting in your lap bridal style, hands wrapped around your neck. the weight and size change startled you, but he loved to tease you and transform whenever he pleased.

"can i please go outside for a bit?" he was really bouncy and sounded out of breath. you had to remind yourself that he was a wild animal. although you took him in to stay in your house, his animal instincts couldn't be suppressed.

"okay, but only for a little-" he cut your sentence off by changing back into a bunny, still knocking you off guard.

he scurried off your lap and towards the back hallway, scratching at the door for you to open it. he looked back at you with those big dark eyes. they always sparkled perfectly in the right lighting. seeing him being all hyper as an animal was truly so endearing. you've always wanted someone like him in your life. the universe definitely planned out your lives to be intertwined.

you rolled your eyes from his fast movements and got up. the second you opened the door wide enough for him to fit, he dashed out onto the grass. it has still been snowy for the past couple of days, but today the grass held a light layer of snow from earlier that day.

he was hopping around the entire yard, sniffing around bushes, chewing on some of the obtainable food he could get his mouth on. you could see the footprints and tracks beginning to circle around the snow. the whole surface of your yard was being fully inspected by him.

you couldn't help but sit down by the steps of your back porch. hugging your knees in admiration, you followed minho's path all throughout the whole time you were out there. you couldn't help but get flustered about the racing thoughts in your mind. something as simple as watching him be comfortable in his environment made you feel at ease.

what you didn't know was minho found himself wanting to be human more for the both of you. it was exhausting for him at times, but he couldn't help but laugh with you, smile with you, feel with you. he never got to experience these moments with anyone before. he wanted each adventure with you to last for hours.

he looked up to find you staring at him, which made his heart race faster than it normally should. draining energy fast, he flopped on his back, waving his paws and feet in the air. getting a chuckle out of you from the distance, he felt satisfied. the sudden urge to dig overwhelmed his thoughts, getting back to his feet and digging straight down from where he was standing.

luckily, you had your mind to distract you from his actions. he started to go feral, getting the dirt and snow all over his face.

drifting away from your daydream, you found your white fluffy bunny turning brown from the dirt and snow.

"minho, no!" you quickly ran over to him, making him realize he was likely in big trouble. thinking two steps ahead, he dove out of your attempt to grab him. shocked and stunned, you still chased after him. he was running steadily back towards the house. the universe was on your side though, as the back door was closed and all minho could do was try to reach up and grab the handle. however, being in his small form, he failed miserably.

"cmon silly," you bent down to grab the squirming animal in your arms, the warmth from your body making him docile and shut down.

once you got to the bathroom upstairs, you gently set minho on the floor. his eyes were slowly closing and he tried his best to keep them open again. before he could fall asleep, he jolted himself awake, which unfortunately turned him into his hybrid form.

"do you want me to take my clothes off so you can bathe me?"

his question made you whip your head around in shock, stuttering nonsense to try and distract yourself from the image of himself being naked in front of you.

"dont be difficult... turn into a bunny so i can wash you quickly."

he let out a small whine, almost like it was his plan all along to get dirty and have this scenario go his way.

you crossed your arms and gave him a dissatisfied look. you weren't really mad at him, you just wanted the day to end quicker so you two could snuggle in bed together.

one big movement turned him small again, he hopped onto your legs, as you had knelt down to get comfortable. you turned on the water in your bathtub and ran some warm water about two or three inches from the bottom. placing him inside the tub, you grabbed a cup to scoop up the water onto his body. the first rinse was quick, he even shook some water off himself like a dog which made you smile.

the scrubbing process also went by fast, working your fingers gently through his coat, the dirt coming off completely. you picked up the cup again, filling it with water. washing the soap away, he shook his body again, trying to dry up as fast as he could.

"calm down minho! ill dry you off in a second."

the water beginning to flow down the drain, you picked up a sopping wet minho from the tub and placed him on the rug next to you. the towel to dry him was hanging on the side of the tub. you laid it flat against your lap, picking him up again and placing him on top of the towel.

you wrapped him up in the towel, trying your best not to cover up his face. you patted and rubbed the cloth into his body, making sure to cover all the spots. his ears, his tail, and his paws all becoming dry and fluffy again.

he hopped off of your lap, turning to his hybrid form. this time you expected something from that big of a leap. you were starting to learn and master his behaviors. he was sat on the floor facing you. for some reason, his hair and ears were still wet in this form. he held one of his ears out, squeezing it to wring out the remaining water off himself. you got to your knees and threw the towel over his head. going a little harder this time, you scrubbed his hair dry to the best of your ability. you noticed him closing his eyes in comfort, especially when you got to his ears.

he looked up at you through his messy hair. he hummed softly, he was so happy you were taking such good care of him. not noticing at all, when you removed the towel his bunny ears went away. he was noticeably more dry and your job was done. you turned around slightly to drape the towel on the tub again.

he let out a cute yawn, so ready to flop into bed and get some sleep. when you turned back around you couldn't help but notice some brown specks on his face. did he have freckles this whole time and you were just too star struck to notice? you reached out to rub his face, making him freeze and have his full semi-conscious attention to your actions. the specks turned to brown streaks against his skin.

"youve been digging so much in the dirt, come here."

he scooted over to you, patiently waiting for anything to happen next. you realized now his nose and cheeks were lightly covered in dirt. you reached over for a new towel and quickly turned the faucet on to run some water on it. swiping the warm cloth on his cheeks, his face became very pink. you didn't know if it was because of the pressure you applied to his face, or if he was actually having some emotional reaction to this.

his gaze was so sensual, almost like his mind had gone to mush and he could only display emotions of pure submission. his thoughts became chaotic, trying to resist the urge to tackle you and have you all to himself.

after a while you could feel your face burning up, scared about any of his next moves or words.

"why are you looking at me like that?" the dirt was almost gone. you moved closer to his face, only inches away in order to get the last bits off.

minho didn't answer you, instead he stared more intensely at you, patiently waiting for you to finish. putting the towel down, you gently rubbed the wetness off his face. even more skin to skin contact was making him lose control. the hue of pink showing from his face becoming almost cartoon like.

"mm tired," his eyes began to droop again. he wanted his last conscious thought to be that he was secure next to you. as dramatic as ever, he laid out his body in your lap, slowly beginning to drift off and finally recharge.

this feeling was starting to become a natural occurrence in your daily lives. whether he was a small bunny, a cute hybrid, or a human who could actually sweep you off your feet, you had him. he felt safe around you and wanted to be near you. using one hand to meet his hand, rubbing it gently to soothe him, you used your other hand to play with his hair. even as a human, he was still soft and cuddly. you bent down to place a small kiss on his head, making him nuzzle himself deeper into you.

part 3 is up! click here!!!

♥︎taglist: @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lunathewonyoungstan @syedazarintasnim @yourlocalstayyxi @mmarusa @yukichan67 @qwonyoung23 @cupidcures @verynormalsstuff @leezanetheofficial

© nmn-yty ★ 6.07.2024

[stylesispunk]

'I love you, it's ruining my life' | Part ii

Joel Miller x f!reader

part one | part three

summary: The aftermath of your confession and how all it ended, for now.

w.c: 3,9k

warnings: angst and just angst. Perhaps grammar mistakes cuz even when I edited the chapter, I tend to be stupid.

a/n: As I promised, part 2 is here! Thank you so much for all the love you gave it to the first part, I'm really happy you loved it despite the messy writing. This part will not be the end, so a third part is already in the works to end this mini story since I had to talk about the aftermath of the events in part 1 and I couldn't fit everything here, you know. Part iii may have a time jump. Happy ending or sad ending for these two?? Make your bets after reading this part. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

After what had just happened, you closed the door of your house with a slam, as if that would help you to silence the thump of your heart cracking with anguish. You didn't even get to savor the taste of Joel's lips on yours; they felt tainted by poison and treason creeping from the unfaithful actions of two people in a vulnerable state. You felt completely dirty by your actions; the tears streamed down your face, washing the warm hands of Joel over your checks away, with the salty rustling of his skin on yours.

After a few seconds, you recovered your composure, inhaling the smell of your soon-to-be ex-home. You looked around your living room; there were boxes containing all the memories you had made for the last eight years of your life inside, saved from the postmortem state. All the days, seconds, and years seemed illicit and foreign, and you could not stop crying.

You sat by the door, head on your knees, next to the window, stealing glimpses of a frantic Joel, who was now walking towards his car, getting away from you for real. Your heart broke even more because you knew that your confession didn’t matter and that you were destined to recall things you never did. He had made his choice. He was going to get married to another woman, and you weren’t going to witness such torture. 

You stood from the ground towards your bedroom, still crying from the hope you had that he was going to love you that way, but he didn't, and you couldn't blame him. He was a good man, one who knew how to love but not how to receive, or perhaps he didn’t want it from you.

As you retreated to your bedroom, the weight of your actions bore down on you like a crushing wave. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the knowledge that you had irreversibly altered the course of your life and Joel's.

The tears continued to flow unabated, leaving a trail of salty bitterness in their wake. You collapsed onto your bed, the sheets offering little solace from the storm raging within you.

When you made your way upstairs, you didn’t know that Joel turned back towards your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing apart his insides with every breath. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that hung heavy in the air, suffocating him with its weight.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn back, to run as far away from the mess he had created as possible. But something, perhaps a glimmer of hope or a desperate longing for closure, propelled him forward, urging him to face the consequences of his actions.

You loved him, and he loved you too. He had waited to hear those words for so many years, and now they felt like treason, and he felt like a villain.

With a trembling hand, he opened the door of this car and drove towards Tess’s house, not knowing this would be the last time you would be sleeping next to his house.

As Joel arrived at Tess's house, he was greeted by the warm glow of the porch light and the familiar scent of her perfume wafting through the air. But instead of feeling comforted by her presence, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud.

As he stepped inside, Tess's worried expression immediately caught his attention. She approached him with a furrowed brow, her eyes searching his face for answers.

"Joel, I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

“Of course, what seemed to be so urgent?”

"I...I called you because I needed to talk to you about something." She spoke.

Joel's heart skipped a beat as he listened to her words, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a heavy weight in his chest.

"What is it, Tess?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tess took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. "I couldn't shake this feeling, Joel. The thought of you spending the night after our wedding with...with her," she paused, unable to bring herself to say your name. "It just didn't sit right with me.” She paused, “We’re getting married tomorrow, and I just need to know that she won’t ruin our lives.”

“Why would she?” Joel asked, feeling an urgent desire to defend you.

Tess hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she struggled to find the right words. "I don't know, Joel. It's just that there's always been something between you two. Something I can't quite put my finger on."

Joel's heart sank at her words, the weight of guilt settling heavier upon him. He felt his heart exploding from the shame. He looked down at his hands, taking his time to gather all his courage and act like a man.

“I kissed her.” He confessed, and the silence sliced the skin of both. “I kissed her because I wanted to do it.”

As Joel uttered those words, a heavy silence descended upon the room, thick with the weight of his confession. Tess's eyes widened in shock, her hands trembling as she struggled to process the revelation.

The air hung heavy with tension as Joel's words echoed in the space between them, the truth of his betrayal leaving a bitter taste in the air. He could feel Tess's gaze boring into him, her expression a mix of disbelief and hurt.

"I... okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll pretend it didn’t happen, but she is not coming to the wedding, and you won’t see her again.”

Her attempts to mend an already broken trust were being stabbed with a knife.

"She won't because there won't be a wedding, Tess," Joel said, his voice filled with resignation. "I can't go through with it, not like this. Not when I know that I've already destroyed any chance we had at happiness. Not when I don’t know what I feel.”

Tess's eyes widened in shock at his words, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. She had never imagined that their love could unravel so completely and that the future they had planned together could crumble before her eyes.

“And you deserved a man who didn’t put his love for you in doubt when the woman he waited to love confessed her feelings to him,” Joel said.

Tears welled up in Tess's eyes as she looked at Joel, her voice trembling with emotion. "I...I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the weight of their shattered dreams.

Joel reached out to her, his hand trembling as he gently brushed away her tears. "I'm sorry, Tess," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... don't know what I want anymore."

Tess felt a surge of anger rise within her at Joel's words, the pain of his betrayal still raw and fresh in her heart. But beneath the anger, there was also a sense of resignation, a realization that their love had been built on shaky ground from the start.

"And what about her?" Tess asked, her voice tinged with bitterness. "What about her? Do you know what you want with her?"

Joel looked away, unable to meet Tess's gaze. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know anything anymore."

Tess felt a lump form in her throat at Joel's words, and the next thing Joel felt was a slap on his cheek.

Joel felt a pang of sorrow shoot through his heart at Tess's action, as if all her resentment had consumed him with the hit of her hand on his skin. Tess turned away before he could even realize it. Withit tears streaming down her cheeks, Joel knew that he had lost her for good. And though it pained him to admit it, he knew deep down that he deserved every bit of her anger and resentment.

And his thoughts drifted to you. For him, it was a feeling in his heart at the thought of not having you in his life anymore.

He had broken the hearts of two women last night, and he couldn't bear that feeling.

Joel woke up at noon the next day. There wasn't going to be a wedding that day. He had told Tess he had kissed you because he felt it. There were tears, yelling, slurs screaming at him, and even a slap when it was completely deserved.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the previous night playing out in his mind like a never-ending loop. The tears, the yelling, the slap—it all echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

Joel knew that there wasn't going to be a wedding that day and that the future he had envisioned with Tess had been shattered beyond repair. And as he lay there in the silence of his empty house, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of emptiness.

But even as his heart ached with longing, Joel knew that he had to face the consequences of his actions. He had hurt Tess, shattered her trust, and broken her heart, and he couldn't ignore the pain he had caused.

With a heavy sigh, Joel dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the bitter taste doing little to chase away the bitter taste of regret that lingered in his mouth.

As he sipped his coffee, Joel knew he had a long road ahead of him. He had to find a way to make amends and earn back the trust and forgiveness of those he had wronged. And amidst it all, he vowed to do whatever it took to hold onto the love he felt for you and to fight for a future where you could be together, despite the odds stacked against them.

Joel had met Tess two years ago. At first, it was something cosmic and faster, like spending some time together after he had fixed her house, but then the pages between them started to get written and Joel began to spend less time with you. You tried to dismiss the gut-wrenching feeling consuming your void inside, but you promised him to take care of Sarah, while he had taken the chance to bet on love once again.

He deserved it, but you wanted to be the one, and you consumed yourself into your own pity just for one glimpse of his smile, hoping someday he would notice you that way.

It was two months later when Joel invited you to meet Tess for the first time. As you stepped into the cozy café where they had arranged to meet, a pang of bittersweet emotion tugged at your heart. You couldn't deny the twinge of jealousy that gnawed at you, knowing that Joel was introducing you to someone who could potentially become his wife someday.

Despite the ache in your chest, you plastered on your best smile, determined to be supportive for Joel's sake. After all, you had promised to always be there for him, no matter what.

As Tess walked in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Joel, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. They were already sharing a secret language you would never get to understand. She was everything you weren't—beautiful, confident, and effortlessly charming. And as Joel introduced you to her, the weight of his hand on your shoulder felt like a silent reassurance, a reminder of the bond you shared as best friends.

You exchanged pleasantries with Tess, forcing yourself to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. You laughed at her jokes, engaged in small talk, and did your best to be the supportive friend that Joel needed you to be.

But beneath the façade of your smiles and laughter, your heart ached with a sense of loss. You were already grieving your friendship with Joel, as if you were feeling the distance growing between you both, as if his introduction of Tess marked the beginning of a new chapter—one where you would no longer be his sole confidante and companion.

And as you watched Joel and Tess interact, their laughter mingling in the air like a melody of happiness, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to stand in her shoes—to be the one who captured Joel's heart and made him smile in that way.

But despite the ache in your chest, you pushed aside your own desires and fears, burying them beneath layers of friendship and loyalty. Because in that moment, all that mattered was Joel's happiness, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of your own.

You made sacrifices for the people you loved.

As Joel's thoughts drifted back to the present, he tried to recall all the times he missed the way you glanced at him full of love, and he didn’t even notice. Even when he was the one looking out beyond the simple glimpses,.

He felt like a fool. Joel sat in the quiet solitude of his house, contemplating the light of the sun creeping through the window. His thoughts drifted to you once again and again. He knew that he needed to come to talk to you later to make amends for the pain he had caused and perhaps even begin to write a new chapter in your relationship. But deep down, he also knew that he needed time to heal himself and mend the wounds of his own heart before he could hope to repair the damage he had done to yours.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel was jolted back to reality when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Turning his head, he watched as Tommy stepped into the house, a tired Sarah sleeping in his arms. The pitying glance that Tommy shot him didn't go unnoticed, a silent reminder of the wreckage of his almost-married life.

Joel offered a weak smile in return, his heart heavy with the weight of his own guilt and remorse. He knew that he had let everyone down—Tess, you, and even himself—and he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that hung over him like a dark cloud.

But as he watched Tommy and Sarah disappear into the other room, Joel knew that he couldn't wallow in self-pity forever. He had to find a way to pick up the pieces of his broken life and move forward, even if the road ahead seemed daunting and uncertain.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel didn't notice when Tommy returned to the living room, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Hey, Joel, why didn't you tell me?" Tommy asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Joel blinked, snapping out of his reverie as he turned to face Tommy. "Tell you what?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Why didn't you tell me that “bubu” was moving out?" Tommy clarified; his tone was laced with concern. "I saw the moving truck leaving.

Joel's heart sank at Tommy's words, a wave of realization washing over him. He remembered now—the conversation from last night, your tearful confession that you were leaving for good. "She couldn’t be serious," he had whispered, the words heavy with disbelief and desperation.

Without another word, Joel stepped away from the couch, his movements heavy with purpose as he made his way towards the door. Ignoring Tommy's calls behind him, he pushed open the door and stepped outside, only to be met with the emptiness of your house next door.

The sight of your empty home, stripped bare of all its memories, hit Joel like a punch to the gut. The realization that you were truly gone, that he had let you slip through his fingers without a fight, left him feeling hollow and alone.

With a heavy heart, Joel sank to his knees on the doorstep, the weight of his regrets crushing him beneath their unbearable burden. And as he gazed up at the empty windows of your house, he couldn't help but wonder if he had lost you forever.

It was a warm summer afternoon when Sarah said her first word. You, Joel, and Sarah were lounging in the living room, playing with her favorite toys.

As Sarah babbled and cooed, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp at the colorful shapes before her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and wonder wash over you. Watching her grow and learn had become a highlight of your days, a bright spot in an otherwise ordinary existence.

“Bubu”

Joel's face lit up with pride and joy as he scooped up his daughter, a mixture of awe and amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Did she just say her first word?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder.

You couldn't help but laugh at Joel's playful jealousy, knowing that he was only teasing. "Oh my god, baby!" you cooed, reaching out to gently stroke Sarah's soft cheek. "You're just too clever for your own good, aren't you?"

"Bubu," Sarah repeated, her eyes sparkling with innocence as she reached out towards you, her chubby fingers grasping at the air.

"I can't believe she didn't say 'father' first," Joel joked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckled at Joel's comment, feeling a surge of warmth fill your heart at the playful banter between father and daughter. "Don't be jealous, Joel," you teased, giving him a gentle nudge. "I'm 'Bubu'—that's a tough title to beat!"

And as Sarah continued to babble and coo, her laughter filling the room with its infectious joy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging there.

From that moment on, "Bubu" became your nickname, a term of endearment that Joel had bestowed upon you in honor of Sarah's first word.

And though the years had passed since that day and Sarah had long outgrown her baby talk, the nickname had stuck. It had become a symbol of the bond you shared with Joel and her, a reminder of the love and affection that had blossomed between you over the years.

Back in the present, Joel sat alone in his bedroom, the weight of his regrets heavy on his shoulders. The memories of the events that had unfolded in recent days weighed heavily on his mind, filling him with a sense of profound sorrow and remorse.

As he sat in the quiet solitude of his living room, Joel couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to permeate the air around him. The absence of your presence in his life had already left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping wound that refused to heal.

And your letter on his hands weighs like the steam of a rose, making his hands bleed as the words written on it punctuate deep wounds in them.

“Joel,

As I sit down to write this letter, my heart feels heavy with the weight of everything that has happened between us. There are so many words I want to say and so many apologies I want to offer, but I know that mere words can never truly express the depth of my regret and remorse.

I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you and that every choice I made was made out of fear and confusion. But I know that my actions have caused you pain too, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I know that things between us may never be the same again and that the trust we once shared may be irreparably damaged. But I need time and space to heal and to find a way to live my life away from you.

I want you to know that I love you, Joel, more than words could ever express. You have been my rock, my confidant, and my closest friend, and the thought of losing you fills me with a pain that is almost too much to bear. My biggest expression of love is letting you go.

Please know that I will always cherish the memories we shared together, the laughter, the tears, and the moments of joy and sorrow that we experienced side by side. And no matter what the future may hold, those memories will always hold a special place in my heart.

I hope that one day we will be able to look back on this time with a sense of gratitude, knowing that it was the challenges we faced together that ultimately brought us closer. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts, in my heart, and in my prayers. And know that no matter what happens, I will always love you, now and forever.

Have a wonderful wedding and a happy marriage with Tess. I hope you know you deserve to be loved.

I’ll miss you and Sarah so much."

With all my love,

Bubu or you can just call me by my real name now.

As Joel read the words of your letter, each sentence pierced his heart like a dagger, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. The weight of your words pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, leaving him feeling numb and hollow inside.

He hadn’t gotten married, and you thought he had. You left thinking he got married to another woman.

The realization that you were truly gone, that you had made the agonizing decision to leave him behind, sent a wave of despair crashing over him. He felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath him, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes as he read the final lines of your letter, your words of farewell echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. The emptiness of your absence loomed large in the room, a stark reminder of all that he had lost.

With trembling hands, Joel clutched the letter to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow keep you from slipping away from him completely. But deep down, he knew that no amount of pleading or begging could change your mind, that you had made your decision, and there was nothing he could do to change it for now.

You were truly the biggest loss of his life; there was too much to grieve and yet so much to hold onto. He was going to go back for you, but he had to heal that part of him that pushed you away from him and let you find yourself before he could come back into your life again.

.......

I'm tagging people who asked me and those who asked for a part 2, if you want to be removed you can tell me 💌

💌 taggs: @immywonderdefender @sarahhxx03 @powellssaturn @ifall4dilfs @harriedandharassed @skysmiller

[teddiesworldd]

could you do a pt2 of the zombie outbreak with ghost, maybe the zombie outbreak ends and they get used to being a normal couple? idk

after the world ends (p2)

this is part two of my ghost apocalypse au, you can read part one here!

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on part 1 and for this request which inspired part 2! i hope it's what you imagined <3 (1k words)

pairing: simon ghost riley x reader

tags/warnings: apocalypse au, fluffy, some descriptions similar to ptsd, starting a family, the ending they deserved ;')

day 154 of the apocalypse, 5 months after the first outbreak, 2 months after the second.

time creeped on slowly as the days melted into weeks, and then months. you’d become quite accustomed to life behind the fence, picking up various skills to make yourself useful in camp. the others had taught you everything you needed to know. you could now fish, hunt, cook - survival was something that came so naturally now, it was like your life before never happened. like it had always been this way. on your trips out of camp with soap, you had noticed shoots of grass and leaves sprouted up through the concrete over time and covered your city in an overwhelming green haze. 

other than the odd trip outside the safety of the fence, your days were calm and laid back. you often spent them laying out by the river with simon, watching the water flow past in the warm spring air. more recently though, you’d looked after the german shepherd you had found with soap in the city, which you had lovingly named riley after your love. there was always plenty to do - things needed fixing up, whether that be the equipment or each other. 

in the evenings, you no longer watched soap and ghost talking from your tent - you sat alongside them at the campfire, simon’s large hand holding yours. you shared stories of your lives before the outbreak, dreaming of what you’d do when the world turned the right way around again - if that would ever happen. and when your conversations died down, simon led you to his bed and you spent the night with your head on his chest, listening to his faint heartbeat to drown out the sounds of the infected who got too close to the fence.

it wasn’t all smooth sailing; some of the others in camp had fallen sick and the nearest pharmacy was completely stripped by other groups, leaving nothing to treat your own wounded campmates. illness spread like wildfire here and all you could do was nurse their wounds and cook hot meals to lift their spirits and provide warmth. a few lost their lives to disease or to the zombies, but most fought on, struggling through the days.

you’ll never forget the moment when you heard about the cure. 

head resting on simon’s shoulder, swaying gently to the faint crackle of the radio. his hands gently gripping to your waist, holding you close like he never wanted to let you go. it was a routine that you both had for a few weeks now, after your first night together in the tent. rocking gently to the music as the sun glowed shades of pink and orange in the late evening. "my girl, i'll marry you when this is over." he'd tell you every time you held each other like this. simon had never felt so enamoured with someone in his whole life. he couldn't wait for the day you shared his last name. it was what kept him going through all this - the thought of living a normal life with you on the other side. soap sat nearby, cleaning up whatever he’d found during the day, cheesing over the action figures he found in the house he raided, watching as you and simon fell utterly in love with each other.

the music cut off and the announcer said that a cure had been developed to treat the infected. and suddenly you remembered everything that you had left behind 5 months ago.

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

four years later, you sat out on the porch of your home with a cold drink, watching simon play with your daughter in the backyard. he proposed to you as soon as you heard the radio broadcast and you married shortly after normality returned, falling pregnant and buying a house together. it never really got any easier - cuts turned into scars and memories of your days in camp turned sour, plaguing your dreams. often you’d wake up in a cold sweat, fear running through you like you were still there. but simon never failed to bring you back to earth again, stroking your hair and shushing you to sleep again. soap visited often, riley always jumping up at him madly as he stumbled through the front door. your daughter had grown accustomed to calling him “uncle johnny”, which he loved and it made him well up the first time he heard her say it.

nothing would really be the same again - you had lost most of your friends and family, and the world never quite got back to the way it was before.

but in a way, that was okay. because so much good came from it. 

“mommy, look!” you daughter giggled madly from the bottom of the garden. you snapped out of your thoughts, eyes landing on your 4-year-old daughter who was halfway up the tree at the bottom of the lawn.

“i- i did try to tell ‘er not to,” simon sighed, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “but you know what she’s like... little adventurer.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. it definitely wasn’t the first time she’d gone up there - she climbed up it like she’d done it a thousand times before.

“reminds me of someone i know.” simon said, looking down at you in your chair, nothing but love in his eyes. he kissed you sweetly, reminding you of the first time your lips touched that night in your tent. 

“i’ll start making dinner, yeah?” he finished, hand gently squeezing your arm before heading into the kitchen. you really did get so lucky the day you crossed paths in the woodland.

“can someone help me down?!” your daughter shouted, riley barking up at her playfully as she clinged tightly to the branches.

“yeah, honey, i’m coming” you replied, placing down your drink and heading down the garden.

˚✧. thank you for reading!

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˚✧. dividers by @ saradika-graphics and @ si-eunnis

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[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔ - 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): none so far. Despite the photo being used as the cover of the story, there are as little body descriptions for the reader as possible.

A/N: English isn’t my first language and I did my best do edit it all - so if something escaped me, please, let me know .ᐟ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter one: sealing the deal ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Rafe Cameron stood on the front steps of Topper’s house, starring at the tall wooden door where the stakes were impossibly high. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw set in frustration. What the hell did it have to be her? He’d asked himself that question a dozen times on the drive over, and still, he hadn’t come up with a good answer. She was the safest option. Not the best. Safest. That was the only reason. Or so he kept telling himself.

As he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, the door swung open and there she was – Topper’s sister, dressed in a loose t-shirt and denim shorts, barefoot on the porch. Your hair slightly tousled framed your face, the same sharp, calculating expression you always wore whenever he was around sent a flicker of irritation through him - it was like you always seemed to know what he was thinking before he did.

Your gaze narrowed, sweating over him, briefly curious and confused.

“Rafe?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re at the wrong house. Topper’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. She always had a way of making him feel like he was already losing some unspoken competition. “I know.”

“Then why have you been standing on my porch like a psycho for the past ten minutes?” You arched a brow, holding the urge to just close the door and go back to your tanning session. You were so relaxed before your phone rang, an alarm from the camera app informing that there was movement in front of the house. You had rolled your eyes when you recognize the figure in the video, hoping he’d leave but he didn’t so there you were.

Wasn’t it too early for your patience and kindness to be tested?

“You are.. infuriating, aren’t you?” Rafe dry laugh escaped his lips, plastering on a fake smile as he held back the urge to call you names. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

You arched an eyebrow, lips curling slightly at the corner. “So… what do you want?”

Rafe hesitated, eyes flicking to the side for a second as if looking for an escape. He could still leave, save himself the embarrassment. But no, he needed this. He squared his shoulders, locking his gaze onto hers. “I need a favor.”

His words made you arch your brows, head tilting as you watched him with curiosity and suspicious – Hadn’t Topper stopped with the pranks?

Your surprise was brief, barely a flicker in your eyes before you masked it with a smirk. “You need me to do you a favor? Now I have to hear this.”

Maybe Rafe Cameron was finally out of his mind.

Rafe gritted his teeth, your teasing tone instantly getting under his skin, as usual. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You leaned against the doorframe, your body tilting slightly toward him, but with that same casual arrogance you always carried towards him. “Doesn’t seem like nothing if you came all the way here to ask. So, what is it?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to look away. “There’s a wedding this weekend. The Haverfords’ daughter. I need a date.”

Your eyes narrowed, lips pressing together as you tried to hide a smile, masking your laugh with a cough. “You’re asking me to be your date to a wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

“Fake date,” he corrected quickly, teeth gritted. He ran a hand on the back of his hand. Rafe sighed, shifting his weight “I need this to seal the deal with the Haverfords. Their daughter’s wedding is this weekend, and it’s a high-profile event. Showing up solo? Not good for business. It’s about optics—looking stable, like I’ve got my life together. You help me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You gave him a slow, incredulous look, eyes flicking over his face as if waiting for him to reveal the punchline. “And why me, Rafe? You could take any girl on the island—half of them would jump at the chance.”

Rafe felt a familiar irritation rising. Couldn’t you say no or yes already? “I don’t have time to babysit someone all night. I need someone who can, you know… hold their own. You get how these events go, and I won’t have to worry about you saying something dumb.”

Your smile faltered slightly, and you studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. “So I’m your safest option?”

“More like my most reliable option,” he countered, but there was a tightness in his chest, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground. “You won’t embarrass me.”

You crossed your arms more tightly, your lips pressed into a line as you looked at him with a mix of defiance and intrigue. “And if I do?”

“Then I’ll figure it out,” he said, but he could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks. Anger. It irritated him how you had this effect on him, like his heart was suddenly racing, erasing any trace of calmness from his being. “But I need someone solid, not a gold-digger looking for a free meal.”

You stepped a little closer, your expression unreadable, eyes locked onto his as if searching for something beneath the surface. “Was that Rafe Cameron complimenting me?”

“Don’t read too much into it. I think you know how to navigate these situations. That’s all.” Rafe said, trying to keep his tone steady. “Look, if I knew something else would work, trust me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you right now. And it’s just for one weekend, alright?”

“So that’s what I am to you now?” You tilted your head, finding it rather amused to watch him squirm. Desperate trying to be nice for once. “Your best option?”

“Look, I’m not saying that—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re saying,” You cut him off, your voice rising slightly, though it lacked real anger. Your eyes sparked with something he couldn’t quite define, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “You need me because I won’t make a fool of you.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, refusing to back down to admit that yes, he was a bit desperate for help. Your help.

He really didn’t want to risk making a not good enough impression. The best investor of Charleston would be in that wedding. Hell, he had invited Rafe himself. The Cameron young man needed him to boost his business to another level. To build something great, a name for himself so he wouldn’t leave in his father’s shadows and hear his disapproving comments whenever he hit the pillow. He’d make his dad proud for once. Be the man of the family.

Your arched your brows, lips trapped between your teeth as the rational voice argued with the kind voice in your head. “You really need this, don’t you?”

You held his gaze, a mix of challenge and unspoken understanding lingering between them. The air felt thick, and for a brief moment, he was struck by the way your expression softened, the corners of your mouth barely twitching as if you were holding back a smile.

“I’ll do it,” you finally said, breaking the tension. “But only if you take me shopping for the wedding. I need something that’ll actually fit in with that crowd, and you’re paying. Of course.”

He opened his mouth to protest but found himself momentarily speechless. “You really think you can just— I don’t have time for this.”

“Take it or leave it, Rafe,” you shrugged, stepping back slightly. The challenge in your eyes was unmistakable, yet there was something else there too, something that made his pulse quicken in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fine,” he relented, forcing a casual tone as he looked away, trying to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a sly smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast… Boyfriend.”

As you turned back to the house, Rafe caught a glimpse of her profile, the way her hair fell just right, and for a moment, he felt an unsettling rush – even her nose was slightly upturned in an annoying way.

While he walked down the steps, he could feel her gaze lingering on him, the tension from their earlier conversation still hanging in the air, heavy and confusing.

“Pick me up tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late, Cameron.” You quickly tell him before closing the door, not leaving any room to argue.

As he stepped off the porch, Rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that this fake date might become something far more complicated than he had intended. It wasn’t like you to do anything that favored him, even for money.

Lying under the sun, she closed her eyes, trying to relax. But Rafe Cameron’s words replayed in her mind like a broken record. Out of all the people, he had come to her – someone he couldn’t stand for more than half an hour without starting a fight. The thought made her scoff softly, her fingers trailing across the warm fabric of the lounge chair.

What had he been thinking? Or maybe the better question was, why had she even agreed? The sun felt oppressive now, its heat only intensifying the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. The same strange tension that had pulsed between them earlier crept back into her chest. She hated how her heart had raced during that conversation, how he managed to get under her skin just by breathing.

But she could use the money. Soon her college break would be over and her mom wasn’t being easy with her spending habits lately - even threatening to cut her credit card if she didn’t take better care of her finances.

She hoped this would count when she reached heaven’s gate. Helping Rafe Cameron should be a VIP ticket to the paradise in the after life because God knew she’d need all her patience and self control for that.

With a frustrated sigh, she stood up. Enough. She wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about Rafe Cameron.

Without a second thought, she walked to the edge of the pool and dove in, the cool water enveloping her like a cleansing balm. As she surfaced, the weight in her chest loosened, but she knew it wouldn’t be gone for long.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine

Please interact with the story. Your reblogs, likes and comments help me stay motivated. Your support means the world! ^ྀི 💖

[oweninadaydream]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐭 𝟏 || 𝐅.𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : Say Don't Go (Taylor's version) (From The Vault) or 4 times you say 'I love you' and Finnick says nothing back.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : Finnick Odair x reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : 2K

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 : angst/fluffy ending (in part 2), (not really) unrequited love?, insecure reader, jealousy, TW: sexual exploitation (second story).

𝓪/𝓷 : This is my first time writing for Finnick and I'm so exited for you guys to read it!!! Hope you enjoy this fic :) Part two is already posted!!! You can find it here. If there are any mistakes I'm sorry , English is not my first language.

𝟣. 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒 

The quietness of the night was only being disturbed by the sound of crickets and mockingbirds. The cold breeze was the only thing keeping you awake. Well, that and Finnick. You were seated next to him on the porch of your house which was right next to his. Three years had passed since you won the 67th Hunger Games and you still weren't used to the gloomy sight that was Victors Village, especially not at night, when the solitude and darkness of the streets made you remember things you thought (or hoped) were long gone in your memory but that deep down you knew would always haunt you, until the day you died.

Finnick scooted closer in order to share his blanket with you "Stop being so prideful, I can see you shaking" he scolded you for being so stubborn. " I did it on purpose, I just wanted to make you cuddle me" you joked, as it was normal in your friendship.

He had been your mentor the year you were reaped , you got along well but didn't become that close then. You knew that those were his second games as a mentor and you could feel that he wasn't emotionally prepared to bond with you just to see you die days later. Still, he prepared you the best way he knew and was always kind towards you. After you emerged victorious from that nightmare, the Capitol decided to profit off of your charm ; you were too young, scared and lost, just like Finnick once had been (and still was). That's when he took you under his wing , and you would forever feel grateful for that.

He was your rock, your light within the dark, your safe person and he saw you as his happy place, someone he could rely on, his partner in crime and the person with whom he shared his deepest thoughts, his dreams, his nightmares and hopes for an utopian future. Finding each other seemed something simply destined to be. You needed each other in ways that no one else could wrap their head around.

Despite having that special and heartwarming relationship with him, you wanted more. You were utterly and madly in love with him. Your infatuation had begun during training and only grew stronger after he approached you after the games. The thing between you was so fragile, so special that you had never thought of confessing your love. The possibility of driving him away caused your heart a kind of ache worse than any stab received back in the Arena. Your feelings felt selfish, how could you want more? Your greedy passion would ruin everything (or so you thought), so you settled for what you had.

On the inside, you knew he wasn't the kind of man that would dismiss your feelings rudely and that he would continue to consider you his friend , but it just wouldn't be the same, and seeing your dynamic change in such a way would be a more fatal fate than dying at the games.

" The way they're shining, how beautiful" he quietly mumbled loud enough for you to hear. "I know, the stars look unreal tonight" you agreed while staring completely mesmerized to the night sky. "I was looking at your eyes" you turned to see that he wasn't in fact stargazing like you were. You were out of words. He was usually flirty and he never ran out of lovely words to dedicate to you, but you still reacted as if it were the first time. "Charming as always, dear" you replied as you rested your head on his chest. He moved so you could be more comfortable and you wanted to stop time at that exact moment.

" Thank you for always being there for me" he said in a more serious tone. " You know that I'd do anything for you. Are you okay? Where is this coming from?" you asked with a worried frown adorning your face. "These past few days apart have been rough and it made me appreciate you more" he confessed timidly. How privileged were you to be able to see him in his most vulnerable state. The moon, his hands holding yours, the heat you felt on your face, it was simply too much.

"FINNICK!" a blood-curdling scream came on the scene, startling you both. He quickly stood, as he had already identified the person behind such a yell. "ANNIE?!?!? WHAT'S WRONG?!?!?"

Annie was the victor of the last Hunger Games. She had been mentored by Finnick just like you, but unlike with you, Finnick had rapidly grown fond of her ever since they first met. You knew you shouldn't have thought too much of it, but your mind was your worst enemy. You couldn't stop yourself from imagining a very near future where he chose her over you , leaving you behind and all alone in this world. You liked her : she was kind, delicate but strong and very beautiful, but for those very same reasons you were becoming jealous of her and her chances of getting together with your best friend.

Annie appeared in front of your porch wrapped in a blanket and trembling while sobbing. " They're gonna get me" "Hey hey Annie c'mon, no one's gonna hurt you anymore, you know I'll make sure of it" How caring was Finnick, it was just natural for him to become the protector in every situation. "O-okay" Annie said with little confidence in her voice "Would you stay with me tonight? I had a really bad nightmare" her doe eyes had the reflection of the full moon in them ; it truly was a breath-stealing sight "Sure thing darling, I'll be there in a second, wait for me at home, all right? It's okay " his soothing voiced and calmed her down enough to return to her house by herself.

He turned around to look at you "I'm sorry, I have to go" "I know, Finnick, it's okay" you assured him, even though you were shocked by the term of endearment used for her, as it took Finnick quite a while to refer to you as sweetheart, honey or your favorite, love.

What was wrong with you? That poor girl had just got out of the games and was terrified out of her mind after dreaming about a traumatic experience she had recently been through (just like you did in you day) and the only thing you could think about was how jealous you were because she was being comforted by Finnick in such an intimate and caring way, because she had his full attention and she would be the one lured to sleep by his calloused hands running through her hair that night. You were not thinking logically and you lost control of your actions.

"Hey" you shouted to catch his attention, as he had already begun to leave towards Annie's house "I love you Finn, I just wanted you to know" you confessed as your froze in place . You told each other how much you loved each other all the time, but it had never been like this : not under that light, not with all that sentiment in your eyes and definitely not with such a voice tone. It was clearly a confession and you could't believe what you had just done.

He stared and smiled, transmitting you his appreciation for such kind words and he continued the way to his destination. Oh fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. He hadn't interpreted your words as you spilling your guts about your feelings, it was just a friendly 'I love you' to him. Annie was perfect for him, you could never give him that sweet innocent love you believed Finnick deserved. The anxiety quickly transformed into anguish and you went back inside to prepare yourself for a night full of tears and stupid hypothetical scenarios about them. About him.

𝟤. 𝐼𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒

Looking around the enormous gardens you couldn't spot a single person you genuinely cared about. This Capitol party, as the previous ones, were filled with members of high society that gazed at you and the rest of victors as if you were exotic wild animals.

Reaching your secret hiding spot, you felt yourself letting your guard down. Even if distracted, you noticed the warm hand on your shoulder. You spun on your heels to identify the person behind that unexpected and yet comforting touch. Of course, Finnick Odair. Your confident, your best friend, your protector and the love of your life (role that's he's unaware of). "Shit Finnick, don't do that!" you playfully reprimanded him while smacking his chest. He pretended to be hurting but ended up laughing at your little tantrum.

"Wow, Cinna has outdone himself, you look charming my dear" he said as he gently took your hand to make you spin and admire the fine clothes you were dressed in that evening. Based on the pink blush that adorned his cheeks you quickly arrived to the conclusion that he was far from being sober and you didn't blame him, these events were unbearable if not intoxicated. "You're not bad yourself, Odair" .

The two of you danced, talked, drank more than you'd be able to remember the next day and flirted, a lot. Your heart couldn't take one more touch nor one more compliment from this man . "There's something you're not telling me, I can see it in your pretty face" he commented while hugging you from behind. He'd always known everything about you, so that remark was not surprising. Still, your heart started beating at an alarming speed and you felt the sweat coming out from your shaky hands.

What if you told him? Based on the spark in his eyes during the party you could only assume he was at least interested in you as more than a friend. You were intoxicated and wrapped between his arms, what if you just told him? "I... I love... you..." you mumbled while closing your eyes as if that would make you invisible to him. The deafening silence brought out your worst fear : rejection. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. You've fucked up real bad this time. You turned around to face him and get this done as fast as possible.

That's when you realized : he hadn't heard you confessing your most cherished secret. You had an opportunity to go back in time, to act as if nothing had happened. You couldn't risk losing him. You locked eyes with him and Finnick tilted his head to the side in drunken confusion as he hadn't caught on to what you had so shyly whispered. Smiling sympathetically you shook your head as if to not give importance to what had been previously said. He didn't give too much though to your dismissive answer. "Would you like another drink, love?" His characteristic smirk accompanied the proposal perfectly, inviting you to give in ; as always, you couldn't deny him anything.

Before you had the chance to approach the drinks table , one of Finnick's regular clients grabbed him by the waist and whispered something into his right ear. His eyes suddenly darkened and his once relaxed features stiffened significantly. You already knew what was about to happen. You were no stranger to the services President Snow forced him to provide to Panem's elite. In fact, you were another of the poor miserable souls in charge of satisfying every desire of anyone who was wealthy enough to afford the luxury of laying with a victor.

Telling the wealthy woman to wait at their usual meeting place, he shook her off. Finnick approached you, feeling guilty and not wanting to part from your side. After a single chaste kiss on your left cheek, he left in the same direction as his client. You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding and tried to prevent the tears from falling. As common as this was, it never got easier for neither of you.

Later that night you found yourself in a similar position as Finnick. The man caressing your body didn't pay any attention to the way you were spacing out and you felt thankful for that. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying over and over again the moment you almost told Finnick how in love you were with him and wondering what would have happened if you had had the courage to repeat those three words just a little bit louder . But it doesn't matter, not anymore. He was drunk and so were you, nothing sincere would have come out of his mouth at that time and you highly doubt sober him would have corresponded your feelings anyway. If only things were different.

[hbyrde36]

It's Only Forever

It has been an absolute joy to write this big bang fic over the last few months, and I'm SO excited to finally get to share it with the world! I could not have done it without my amazing beta @penny00dreadful, always going above and beyond the call of duty to cheer me on, and help make this story the best it could be. Thanks as well to @hitlikehammers, and of course my official unofficial cheerleader @pearynice!

Featuring art in this chapter also by @penny00dreadful!

[Penny Art Link] and @/SissayeRys [Art Post Link]

R: Mature | WC: 4427 | | Ch 1/8 | Read on AO3

Chapter 1: As The World Falls Down

Steve was running late getting home.

Literally running, because his last ever basketball practice had gone long with everyone wanting to say goodbye to the departing seniors, and he was supposed to be home an hour ago to babysit his little brother.

Not that anyone asked if he wanted to watch the stupid nerd, It’d just come to be expected of him. He'd run into a bit of a dry spell lately as far as dating went, and grown tired of playing third wheel to Tommy and Carol, but after one too many Friday and Saturday nights spent at home, his Mom and Gary seemed to have decided he was now at their disposal every weekend to watch Dustin while they went out for their fancy dinner parties. 

Which he wasn’t bitter about, or anything. 

It’d been overcast all afternoon, the smell in the air all but promising rain, and just as he was cutting through the last backyard with his own house coming into view, the sky opened up, soaking through him to the bone in seconds.

“You’re late.” His mother said, scowling from the top of the porch steps with her arms crossed over her chest. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Sorry,” Steve grumbled. He’d forgotten to plug in his phone last night and its battery had died by fourth period. “It’s not my fault. Practice–”

“Well don’t stand out there in the rain, you’ll drip all over my nice clean floors.” She cut off his explanation, turning on her heel and striding into the house.

It was a little late for that. Water was already running from his sopping shorts down his legs, but Steve still rushed along behind her, kicking his mud-coated sneakers off by the door to try and minimize the damage.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Steven. Your stepfather and I go out very rarely–”

Lie.

Steve rolled his eyes at her back as she turned to grab her handbag off the foyer table. 

“–And you know I only expect you to babysit when it won’t interfere with your own plans.”

“Like you care about my plans,” Steve mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as she adjusted the purse resting on her shoulder. “Go take a shower and check on your brother. He's in his room. Gary left some cash on the kitchen table so you boys can order a pizza for dinner. We should be back around midnight.”

Steve nodded curtly and turned to head up the stairs, but paused, looking back over his shoulder when she called to him again. 

“Oh, and Steven?”

He managed to hold in his sigh, but only just. 

“Yes, mother?”

“Don’t indulge him too much about that fantasy game, whatever it’s called. He’ll never live up to his potential with his head stuck in the clouds like that.”

No problem there. 

Steve had no interest in Dustin’s Dungeons and Dorks game anyway.

Again, he simply nodded, and this time watched her leave, waiting until the front door closed behind her before taking the steps up to his room. 

As much as he loathed babysitting, it was infinitely better than being dragged along as a show and tell object, like he’d been in the past. A pretty trophy to prove that divorce or not, she was still the perfect mother. Look, I raised the co-captain of the swim team! The captain of the basketball team! He’s sure to get into an elite university one day, just you wait and see!

And sure, it was a lot, but she just wanted what was best for him, right? Even if it was a little… suffocating at times.

But, in the end Steve hadn’t done that—had he? Nope! Here he was, set to graduate high school in just a few short weeks, and had gotten exactly zero acceptance letters.

A “gap year”, they called it. He was taking a gap year to discover himself, to travel. That was the lie his mom and Gary would tell their friends when asked which Ivy League school their eldest son would be attending in the fall.

It was kinder than the truth, that his GPA and test scores were no match for the candidates he was up against, no after how hard he’d studied, that he hadn’t caught the eye of even one athletics recruiter. 

He was good, but he wasn’t the best—in anything. 

He couldn’t even attend the local community college with Tommy and Carol to fill his time. The deadline to apply had come and gone, with his mom and step-dad staunchly refusing to let him submit the paperwork. No son of theirs would lower himself to attending the public school equivalent of higher education. 

It left Steve in a rough spot. His chances at getting into what his parents considered a good school wouldn’t be any better in a year's time, and amidst his failure he felt like he’d been written off, his mom and Gary now focusing all their efforts on their youngest son, the one who still had the chance at a proper future.

As much as it pained Steve to admit, he actually liked the kid, loved him even, but he couldn't help feeling a little jealous about the fact that Dustin still had time. He had his whole adolescence ahead of him, while Steve felt stuck, and more than a little lost. 

It was the one shred of truth in his mom’s gap year nonsense. Steve did want to discover himself—yearned for it. Eighteen years on this earth and he didn’t have the first clue who he was, or who he wanted to be. He’d been too busy trying to live up to others’ expectations.

Once upstairs Steve showered quickly, threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants and his favorite yellow sweater, and crossed the hall to Dustin’s room. 

“Steve!” The kid’s face lit up the second he came through the door. “Hey, do you remember that campaign I was telling you about?”

Steve raised his head to the ceiling, praying for patience.

Here we fucking go already.

Dustin barreled ahead, undeterred by his lack of response. “You know, the one with the goblins and the Goblin King who comes to this plane and steals children away? Well, technically he only comes when someone wishes for it. So I guess it’s not exactly stealing but that’s part of the trick, right? And–” 

“Yeah, yeah, I vaguely remember that I guess.” Steve finally jumped in waving a hand, knowing if he didn’t Dustin would keep going on-and-on until the polar ice caps melted, and the sea level rose to the point that their house was underwater.

The kid grinned broadly. “I’ve been working hard on it every night this week, and I think it’s finally ready to play! What do you think?!”

“You want—me—to play your nerd game?” 

Dustin’s smile faltered around the edges. “Yeah, I mean, I know it would be better to play with more people, but I thought—”

“You think more players would make this appealing to me somehow?” Steve asked, incredulous. He crossed his arms, only to drop them back down to his sides immediately, shuddering with the realization that he was doing a perfect imitation of his mother.

“But, when I told you about it before you said it was cool!”

Steve sighed. He probably had said that, but in his defense he hadn’t actually been listening. 

Time for a new tactic then. 

“Dustin, you know how our parents feel about this stuff.”

“Why do you always take their side?!” The younger boy shouted.

“I-I don’t!” Steve sputtered. “They just want what’s best for you, and–”

Dustin scoffed. “That’s bullshit!”

“Buddy, come on–”

“No! You just want them to ruin my life like they did yours!"

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen red so fast. He balled his hands into fists, fuming, and turned to leave without another word.

“Wait! I didn’t mean it!” Dustin called after him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Don’t go, stay and play with me… please?”

“I wish your stupid game was real. I wish the goblins would come and take you away!” Steve hissed through gritted teeth before slamming the door behind him. 

Was it childish? Yes. But at least in his effort to have the last word, he’d gotten the creatures’ name right. 

He was pretty sure.

Steve ran down the stairs, stomping his feet on every step along the way in another juvenile display of anger that he hoped Dustin could hear. 

Itching for something—anything to distract himself from the words Dustin had thrown in his face, he slid some shoes on and took the trash out to the curb for morning pick up, the rain having slowed while he was in the shower. It did nothing to slow the spiraling of his thoughts.

Was his life really ruined? 

Had he made a mistake in following his mother’s direction?

Or was it his own fault for not working harder, not being good enough? 

Was it too late to try for something different?

Steve puttered around the kitchen for a while, killing a little more time before finally calling to order their pizza, and when he felt like he’d cooled down enough to not throttle his kid brother, went back upstairs to check on him. 

“Alright, the pizza should be here in thirty, and If you want, I guess we can play until—” Steve began as he opened the bedroom door, but cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing that Dustin wasn’t sitting where he’d left him. 

“Dustin?” He called out, stepping further into the room. The kid had to be in there somewhere.

A thump over by the bed caught his attention, and Steve turned to see a sizable lump wriggling under the comforter. “Gotcha, you little shit.” He whispered, tiptoeing over as quietly as possible before flinging the covers off to reveal… nothing.

How had the shrimp pulled off that trick?

Steve scrambled around to the other side of the bed, convinced he’d find the boy crouched beside it on the floor, or even hiding under it, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Okay,” Steve chuckled nervously. The hair on the back of his neck was standing at attention, and his upper lip was starting to sweat. “I give up, you can come out now!”

A sudden and heart-stoppingly loud crack of thunder made him jump, startled, and a flash of lightning seconds later, followed by the room falling into darkness around him as the power went out, was enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Shit.” 

Steve ran over to the light switch on the wall, flicking it up and down to no avail. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, panic threatening to overtake him, but not quite loud enough to drown out the distant sound of giggles somewhere in the shadows. 

“This isn’t funny, Dustin!” He shouted in the vague direction of the sound.

A muffled bang, and a crash on the opposite side of the room had him swinging his head around again. How was the kid making it sound like he was everywhere, and also nowhere at once?!

“Aren’t you getting a little old for hide and seek?!” 

Steve lunged for the old bay window that took up almost the entirety of one wall of Dustin’s room, intent on throwing the drapes open to let in some moonlight, but before he could reach it the window burst open, letting in a rush of cool wind, sending the curtains billowing and the shadows dancing around him. 

From one moment to the next Steve blinked, and where before there was nothing but the damp window ledge, now stood a boy the likes of which he’d never seen before. 

A riot of dark, unruly curls fell around a pale, pretty face. His deep brown eyes were lined in charcoal, with a silver shimmer painted artfully above, accentuating their already otherworldly beauty. He wore a top of leather armor, like something straight out of medieval times, or one of Dustin’s fantasy novels, and skin tight pants that looked buttery soft, hugging the contours of his hips, calves, and thighs, as if they were painted on, drawing special attention to a certain rather prominent attribute that had Steve looking quickly away, his cheeks positively flaming. Slung over it all was a long cloak that glittered in the dim light. The color so dark blue that it was almost black, with a high fluted collar.

Steve swallowed hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded, like he was about to pass out.

“W-who are you?” He asked.

“You know who I am.” A deep, husky voice emanated from the stunning figure’s throat. “After all, you are the one who called for me.” 

“The Goblin King?” Steve's mouth fell open, his own voice full of doubt and disbelief.

Not only for the fact that none of it was supposed to be real. It was just a stupid game, wasn’t it? But shocked too because goblins were meant to be small, grotesque, monstrous creatures, as far as he knew, and none of those were words he’d use to describe the walking wet dream who’d just broken in through his little brother’s window. 

The Goblin King’s plush lips spread into a wide grin. 

“Not what you were expecting?”

Steve mentally shook himself. He had to focus, Dustin was missing for fuck’s sake. “What did you do to my little brother?”

“Exactly what you asked me to do. I took him away.”

“B-but I didn't mean it!”

The boy gave a gallic shrug. “What’s said is said, sweetheart.”

Though he knew it was only meant to be condescending, a thrill ran up Steve’s spine involuntarily at the pet name. He pushed the feeling aside, shouting, “Bring him back!”

The Goblin King pursed his lips, unimpressed.

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, please?”

“Go back to your life, Steve. Hang out with your friends, play the good son again. Forget about your brother.”

“I can’t!”

“Sure you can! Look, I’ve even brought you a parting gift.” The Goblin King raised his hand, which Steve was sure had been empty before, and held up with the tips of his fingers a perfectly clear flawless sphere, a little larger than a billiard ball.

“What is it?”

“A crystal.” As The Goblin King spoke he began to weave the ball through his fingers, rolling it back and forth along the surface of his hand in a way that appeared to defy gravity, and Steve fought hard not to be mesmerized by the display. 

“If you look into it just right, it’ll show you whatever you want, your wildest dreams even. But something like this?” The man paused, raising an eyebrow as he stilled the crystal and held it out like an offering. “I wouldn't give this to just anyone—say, a pathetic boy who happily spends his nights with his whiny little brother. Give him up, and you can have it.”

“No,” Steve ground out, well aware that he was being baited. And he refused to fall for it. 

“You don’t want to do this, trust me.” The King shook his head. “You’re no match for me and my goblins.” 

“He’s my brother, I have to get him back!”

“Very well.” The Goblin King tossed the crystal skyward where it vanished into thin air, and jumped down from his perch on the window sill, tilting his head as he studied Steve's face. 

Steve held himself carefully still, caught between wanting to shrink away from the other boy, and a strange desire to lean in close to him. 

“You want your brother back?” The Goblin King began, turning to point out the still open window behind him and the view beyond—no longer the night sky and the backyard Steve had known for most of his life, but something entirely different, a stretch of valley, mostly dead and barren, and just beyond that…

“He’s there. At the center of the Labyrinth, in my castle beyond the Goblin City.”

Steve blinked rapidly, taking a few steps closer to the window. He’d never seen anything like the intricate maze before. It was massive, made up of various levels of high walls, and hedges, and who knew what else. And set right in the center of it all was a tall stone castle. 

“Still want to look for him?” The King asked.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t look that hard.” 

The enchanting boy began to pace a slow circle around him, and when Steve turned his head to follow the movement, he realized with a start that they were no longer standing in Dustin’s bedroom. The window was gone—the house was gone. He was in that place, standing on the dry dusty grounds that surrounded the Labyrinth, about half a mile from its perimeter. 

“Harder than you think.” The Goblin King gestured down at Steve’s wrist, pointing at the watch he wore there. The hands on it spun wildly as he watched, then all at once came to rest at the top, where an extra hour had appeared on its face. “And time is short. You have 13 hours, one for every year of your little brother’s life, to solve the Labyrinth before he becomes one of us, stuck in the goblin city forever.”

“Forever?!” Steve gasped, raising his eyes to find only empty air. 

The Goblin King had vanished without a trace, and Steve had no choice but to start walking, the sound of his watch ticking its countdown making each step feel more urgent than the last.

As he had done so many times before, Eddie sat back on his throne, legs draped across the arm of it, sulking over the monotonous reality of his existence. 

The Goblin King.

It should have been a dream gig. 

There were parts he found enjoyable, of course, but all-in-all it was lonelier and far more boring than he could have ever imagined. He quickly grew tired of what little entertainment was provided by the plethora of creatures he was now responsible for ruling, and it didn’t take long before he’d explored every nook and cranny of the Labyrinth—his Labyrinth now—to the point where he knew it backwards and forwards, and could find his way to any place within its walls with his eyes closed, with or without magic.

Chrissy’s appearance had been a welcome surprise. Another stolen child left to rot in the Goblin City—one more in a long list of things his predecessor had neglected to mention before he fucked off to god knows where—she had been living among the citizens as one of them for years, unbeknownst to Eddie. Until the day she’d shown up on the castle steps asking to speak with The King about some neighborly grievance or another. He no longer recalled the reason for her outrage but he did remember being impressed by her.

They became fast friends, the only two humans living amongst the wild creatures of the realm. Well, former humans was probably a more accurate descriptor. Surely Eddie was something else now, considering he hadn’t been able to do magic before he became whatever he currently was, and neither he nor Chrissy seemed to be aging at a normal rate. His humanity, or lack thereof, wasn’t something he usually liked to think about too much.

It was wonderful for a while, finally having a real friend by his side, someone he could be himself with, not feeling the need to put on the act of King with her like he did with the goblins or the rest of his subjects, but eventually even Chrissy’s companionship wasn’t enough to fill the gaping void in his chest.

So here he was, sprawled on his throne, swirling a few of his crystal balls around in his hand as he stared into them, looking for something he couldn’t put words to, while watching the other world go by, when something caught his eye—a pretty face with a body and voice to match. He was playing basketball, of all things, and Eddie had never understood the draw of sports before, but he could certainly see the appeal of this particular boy in those sinfully tight little shorts. 

It became a habit after a while, to look in on him every now and then… for research purposes.  

Steve, the name Eddie came to know the other boy by through listening in, was a baffling specimen. As nice as he was to look at—and he was very, very, nice to look at indeed—he was also a bit of an entitled asshole, at his worst around his friends and in school, through classes and sports alike. He became a slightly different version of that guy at home when faced with his parents, and yet another when he spent time with his little brother, who he seemed to hate one minute and love the next as though he couldn't decide one way or the other. 

Then there was the Steve he was when he was by himself. 

Alone in his room with no one around to observe—that he knew of, anyway—Steve was quiet, contemplative. At times Eddie thought he might even be lonely? Which just seemed like a wild concept considering the boy was, more often than not, surrounded by friends and family. 

It pissed Eddie off a little, to be honest.

Here Steve was with the world laid out at his feet. A nice house, a brother who looked up to him, parents who were there, maybe bordering on overbearing sometimes but was that really such a bad thing? Born with a silver fucking spoon in his mouth, and he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t seem to appreciate any of it.

But no matter how much the other boy annoyed him, Eddie couldn’t seem to stop watching, wanting to know more—see more—look his fill, and unravel the puzzle that was Steve Harrington.

Then one day, it happened.

The thing Eddie had been equal parts looking forward to—if only to break up the tedium and escape his own realm for a while—and dreading since the beginning of his tenure as the Goblin King. 

Someone made a wish.

And he was duty bound to see the deal through. He was pretty sure he had wiggle room, but the basics were clear: steal the child, explain the terms, and if the guardian chose to play the game and fight for their child’s return, then play the game he must.

Eddie stood in the middle of his closet, discarded clothes thrown haphazardly around him, and knew he was running out of time. The goblins were anxious to get to work and do their part.

“What are you even doing in there?” Chrissy shouted from the other room. 

She’d been out there waiting for him, judging him, while he swiped on a bit of eye makeup, teasing his hair a bit for good measure, and changed his outfit at least three times, looking for just the right ensemble to help him pull this off. He sighed, looking down at himself—leggings and leathers, It would have to do. 

Eddie poked his head out into the bedchamber. “Uh, getting dressed? What does it look like!” 

Chrissy was lounging on top of his bed, her head propped up while she read over a small stack of scrolls. There were hundreds of them lying around the castle, tucked into desk drawers, shoved in corners, collecting dust on bookshelves, and Chrissy had taken it upon herself to read as many of them as she could to figure out how things worked around here so they could make the most of it. It was slow going, admittedly, Goblin being her second language and all, but she was getting there, and had already uncovered many tricks that were about to seriously come in handy. 

She shot him a sharp look, eyebrows raised.

He grumbled wordlessly, quickly ducking back into the closet to lace up his boots and throw his favorite cloak on for good measure, before finally stepping out.

“Took you long enough,” she said, throwing the roll of parchment she was reading aside. 

“Can’t rush perfection, darling. I have to make sure it all sends the right message.”

“Why, because it’s your first time going back?”

“That, yes. But also—” Eddie looked down, nervously tying, and untying, and retying the fasteners at his neck until his cloak hung just so. “I can’t believe it, but It’s him, Chris.”

“Who?”

“Steve.”

“Oh,” she squeaked in surprise. “The guy you’re always creeping on while you fondle your balls, or whatever?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I am not creeping, I am observing. How else am I supposed to keep up with the times when I'm stuck here?”

“Sure, Jan.”

“I’m going to assume that’s one of those references I don't understand because I've been here since the dawn of time.”

“The eighties were hardly the dawn of time, Eddie.”

“Some days it feels like it,” he groaned, flopping himself down on the pillowy-soft mattress next to her. “How do you know so much about pop culture anyway?”

It was a genuine question, one he'd asked many times before with no luck. She’d been in the Labyrinth much longer than he had, and yet somehow still had a better grasp of the modern outside world. 

“You have your ways of keeping up with the times, and I have mine.” She gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Now, get up and get a move on. You have a job to do, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” he huffed.

“And you don’t have to wear those ridiculous collars, but here we are.”

Eddie jumped back up to his feet, slapping a hand to his chest in mock horror. “You wound me! The clothes are the best thing about this job! They’re cool!”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “To nerds.” 

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? Your extensive collection of feather boas?”

She was stalling. 

They both were.

Eddie snapped his mouth shut abruptly without another retort, swallowing hard as he backed his way to the door, wishing he could take her with him for moral support.

But Chrissy was right. He had to go, and he had to go now before he lost his nerve. 

“I-I guess this is it. I’ll be back soon with the child,” he said quietly.

She nodded, offering him an encouraging smile as he slipped out. “And I’ll be right here to make sure no one scares him too badly.”

Chapter 2: Into the Labyrinth

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

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Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! 💜

[hellfirecvnt]

Light my Fire

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 5

Summary: Your plan goes awry. Tensions are high. What's everybody gonna do about it? Ooh.

Warnings: sex, edging, creampie, quickie, crime makes him horny, low-key fluff at the end (idk how to end stories????)

Notes: EW this chapter is so short, but it's only bc this is the end of this series and I'm about to do another Lee Russell series I'm really excited about. Stay tuned!

Read part one here. // Part two here. // Part three here. // Part four here.

The night air is brisk as you park your car in the far-off lot behind the school. You're swift and careful sneaking inside, unseen. You beeline straight for the principal's office where Neal and Lee wait for you.

"'Bout fuckin' time, Y/L/N," Gamby barks, holding the door for you and scanning the surroundings as if you've been followed. You haven't. That's just how he is.

"Shut up, I forgot we were even doing this until Lee texted me."

"Both of you shut up, this is serious," Lee takes a seat at the desk and Gamby enviously joins him on the other side as if an audience of just you is enough to require them to validate their seniority.

"Why're you so serious? We're just scaring her a little," you laugh, unable to imagine anything going wrong with a plan that's meant to knock a vase or two over.

"Might have something to do with it being a felony." Neal arches his brows.

"You know what else is a felony? Doing hallucinogens on the school campus during a football game. You're already in it, Gamby. I hope you look good in orange," you taunt, earning a pair of narrow eyes from him.

"Will you two fuck sticks shut up for five goddamn seconds?!" Lee bursts, his voice hitting that cracked note it does when he's stressed. You and Gamby look at each other, confused. It seems the two of you have underestimated how much pressure Lee is holding right now.

"Damn, dude. It's alright, calm down." You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get in there and get out. Easy." Your pep talk seems to do the trick and all three of you file out to the bus lanes to hop in a rented white van.

The trip is silent and eerily long. You and Neal exchange tense glances, but Lee stays stone-focused on the road. He's not even driving, Gamby is. Lee's just unwavering his attention from the asphalt, deep in thought, you assume.

The van pulls up to a house in a small neighborhood, stopping out front. It's a little bold for your tastes, but you don't plan to be in there long anyways.

"Oh shit, is this where she lives?" You ask.

“What a shit-hole.” Neal adds, laughing.

"This is my house, motherfucker." Lee looks at him with wide, angry eyes. "It’s a mid-century sea ranch!"

"It's a... It's a great sea ranch, Lee." You attempt to talk down his stress, but he just shakes his head as he climbs out of the van, promising to be back after he grabs something from inside. When he comes back, his hands seem empty, but you don't question it.

The act continues and Neal pulls the large rental van into the nearby cul-de-sac and parks, turning off the headlights. You stare out the window, scanning for any movement inside the house.

"Looks still to me," you whisper.

"She's gonna be at that game all night," Neal mumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt.

The three of you pile out of the van quietly and make your way up to her back porch. Neal begins to wrap his tie around his fist.

"Are you seriously gonna punch out that window?" You ask, concerned about the risk factor. Gamby only raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck you. No you're not," Lee's laughter is cut off by the shattering sound of a small window in Dr. Brown's back door.

"Oh, shit!" You and Lee exclaim at the same time.

"Bitches first." Neal holds out his arm, welcoming Lee inside. The three of you scramble to find things of value to knock around and stage a thorough break-in. Suddenly, you hear the sound of a loud crash.

"A little much, Lee, don't you think?" You hiss, annoyed by the monstrous volume of the crash.

"Gamby broke the fuckin' window," he protests.

"Yeah, so we could get in. It's a fake robbery, you think they're not gonna break a fucking window?" Neal's sass only amplifies Lee's.

"Darlin', smash this mug and we'll leave right now, I promise." The look on his face tells you loud and clear that he's lying to you.

"You're a lying piece of shit, Mr. Russell," you huff and he shrugs with a "shy" grin.

"And yet, you're gonna do whatever I say, aren't you?" His eyes twinkle and you know he's right. Your expression is one of defiance as you snatch the mug from his hands and slam it on the ground. The tiny shards of porcelain explode in every direction against the polished hardwood floor.

"Well, look at you, hardened criminal." Lee grins, breaking out into a damn near rampage. Gamby seems to have caught whatever enraged bug bit Lee and the two of them tear through the house like maniacs.

"Oh, no..." You stare in horror as the two buffoons tear Belinda's home to shreds. You're watching Neal in horror as he wrecks her china cabinet. The only thing that can tear your eyes away from the mess is the unmistakable stench of burning synthetic fabric. "Lee?!"

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. We need her gone," he says with an emotionless face. He tilts his head to the side, still looking at you as the flames get higher. It's like he's someone else for just a second, and while you know you should be off-put and even scared, you can't stand how much you want him right now. The two of you are frozen in a stare-off as the house fills with toxic black smoke. Gamby's yelling something, but everything's muffled as all your attention belongs to Lee.

"Y/N, come on!" He screams one more time before cursing aloud and grabbing your arm. Neal drags you out of the burning abode and shoves you out the back door onto the lawn where you land with a thud, only then being knocked out of your lusty trance. Gamby hacks and coughs from the amount of smoke that filled his lungs while he waited for you to get out of the house.

"Neal?! What the fuck? Where's Lee?" You scramble to your feet, blackened by the tarish nature of the soot. You look around frantically for your third other superior, but he's nowhere to be found. "Gamby!" You snap at him, demanding answers.

"Hey, motherfucker. Let's not scream each other's names out here while the place is burning down," Lee appears from the bushes like some sort of Halloween trick. You roll your eyes, relieved to see him.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" You whisper harshly, leading the men to the van. The drive back to the school is silent. You're unsure what everyone else is feeling now that the heat of the moment has cooled. Have you all gone too far? Did anyone see you? Your mind races with anxiety. You've just been an accessory to arson just because the man behind the lighter looks a little too good in his silly patterned suits.

The van pulls into the school lot and Gamby drops the two of you off by your cars.

"I'm gonna... Get this thing off the road. Return it tomorrow." Neal drives off, leaving the two of you alone in the parking lot. Mr. Gamby is clearly distressed and dissociating from the reality of what he was just a part of, but Lee? Lee's calm. More calm than you've ever seen him. So calm, you wonder if it's an act or if he truly did find that much release and relaxation in destroying another person's home for his own gain. It's disgusting behavior, and the way he's carrying it makes your knees weak.

Lee Russell looks you up and down with a flat face. His lack of readability makes you nervous and excited. His eyes trail back up your body and to your eyes, inviting you to follow him inside the dark, locked school. You can barely stifle an excited squeal as you trail happily behind him. He's uncharacteristically silent, bubbling at the brim with adrenaline and desire. The feeling of conquering his enemy is almost as orgasmic as fucking you senseless in the principal's office.

He opens the door and you giddily trot inside, taken aback by how dark it is in here at night. You're attempting to let your eyes adjust when you hear the door close and feel Lee's nimble, needy hands groping roughly at your chest from behind.

"You looked a little scared back there, darlin'." He kisses and nips at your neck, whispering with warm breath in your ear.

"Lee, we could get in so much trouble," you speak through small gasps.

"But we won't," he chuckles against your skin, tightening his grip around your breasts. "I'm fucking invincible." He suddenly spins you around, almost like dancing, before he guides you backward toward the desk, laying you back on it so he can lift your legs around his waist. Neither of you pays attention to any of the small ornaments and stationary that fall off in the process.

He crashes his soft, balmed lips against yours, moving his head back and forth in sync with yours. It was unclear to you until now how touch-starved you were before he had his hands on you so roughly, never mind having him only a few days ago.

"Lee-" you huff his name, hoping to speed this heated affair along so you can feel him inside you.

"Shh, sweetheart," he whispers, placing a thumb on your pouting lips. "Let me savor this." He tilts his head back, hands gripping your waist, pulling your clothed cunt to his growing erection straining against his slacks. You lie back on the desk, accepting each of his sexual prods and squeezes. Primal groans of pleasure rumble lowly from his chest as he slides his palms up and down your body, studying every inch of you, mesmerized.

It feels like he's toying with you forever. Pressing your breasts together and slipping his hands under your bra. He catches you off guard when he finally slips a hand up your skirt and skillfully slips your lace and silk panties off your legs. You gasp, suddenly fully exposed to him yet again.

"I really don't give a shit if they bring in a new principal as long as I've got a claim on this tight fucking pussy of yours," he sighs, jaw hanging slack as he slips a well-manicured finger up and down your throbbing clit. "Fuckin' Christ."

You release a string of hearty moans, desperate for more and more. He smiles a big, white smile as he plays you like an instrument, filling the room with the sounds of your pleasure. Lee's lips part as he focuses intently on his fingers scissoring inside you, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. Just as it seems you're going to give, he pulls away without so much as a kiss.

"Lee!" You whine, quickly replacing his fingers with your own. That's not part of his plan, though. He grabs your wrists and holds them in front of you, staring into your face in the very dimly lit office room. He holds your wrists in place and watches your shifting, desperate face. "Please!" You arch your back, attempting to run against him like you're in heat, but he doesn't let you reach. Your climax quickly dwindles away and your knees feel like they're made of gelatin.

"Shhh," he whispers, but it turns into a taunting chuckle. He's laughing at you. Laughing at the puddle of a woman you turn into for him. He truly feels invincible. "Do you want it, sweetheart?" He asks with the same emotionless face and tilted head he had in Belinda's burning home.

"I need it, Lee. Please," you moan, hoping so badly this is finally it. Lee reaches for his belt and unfastens the metal and leather painstakingly slowly.

"God, look at you, begging for me to fuck you after what you helped me do." He frees his throbbing cock, positioning his pre-cum soaked tip at your awaiting cunt. He hovers there, hanging his mouth open and tilting his chin up as he looks down at you, taunting. "So close..."

You do all you can to meet him halfway, to feel him inside you, and to dismiss this erotic display of dominance. Lee slaps the head against your sensitive slit a few times, collecting your arousal with his before sinking his tip into you. You release a filthy, guttural moan that makes him shudder as he slips in all the way to his hilt.

"Fucking, god damn it," he groans. "All I've been fucking thinking about..." He slowly slides out, nearly withdrawing completely, but then he slams his hips against yours. This brutal thrust defines his rhythm and he begins to fuck you like he hates you. His bucking hips slam into you hard and fast as ravenous moans pour from his lips.

"You're... Fucking insane," you giggle between rough thrusts.

"This pussy's fucking insane." Lee quickens his pace, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He quickly removes himself from you, only to yank you off the desk and spin you around. Once you're facing the desk, he bends you over and roughly lifts your pencil skirt to expose your round ass. He repositions himself at your pussy and slams his way in. The room is an echo chamber of the two of you expressing your pleasure through loud, sensual moans.

"Lee!" You gasp, arching your back to better present yourself to him. He fucks rhythmically as you're quickly pushed closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispers, chasing his own high. After a few more minutes, a vulnerable groan escapes Lee's lips, and the two of you climax at nearly the same time. He finishes inside you as you flood his desk and pants. The two of you hold still for a moment before he slowly slips out of your sensitive entrance and allows the rest of the mixture of cum to pour out of you.

"Lee... That was-"

"You're coming home with me tonight, Y/N." Lee smiles warmly, almost as if he's waiting for you to accept or decline. You're still fuzzy-brained and dripping with the evidence of his violations.

"Oh, yeah. I'd, um, love to," you accept shyly, confused and aroused by this new genre of dominance from him. Lee stands next to you where you lie face down on his desk, knees buckled beneath you. He gently strokes your hair as he speaks.

"I don't wanna go scaring you off or anything, but" he pulls your hair away from your face. "We don't have to call this anything-"

"I wanna call it something," you say, quickly. He grins.

"I don't care what you wanna call it. I'm calling you mine."

End.

•••••

Taglist: @therest-stillunwritten // @its-in-the-woods // @justme12200 // @sixx-writes // @littlenosoul // @itsyellow // @blackwoodtree // @hiddlebatchedloki // @ivyinthesun // @alastorsw1f3 // @sexy-monster-fucker // @writtenbyhollywood //

[kkvqwrites]

A Visitor

Someone from Simon's past comes knocking.

Word count: 1,480

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, fem!reader (no use of y/n)

CW: Mentions of past abuse/DV

A/N: This is technically canon divergent since Simon's dad is presumed dead. Also I could have sworn his name was Lee in the comic but when I went back to check I couldn't find it, so it'll do.

The knock at the door came at perhaps the worst possible time. Simon had dozed off watching rugby with the baby snoozing on his chest, one of his large hands plenty big enough to support her. The man was a notoriously light sleeper, and always vigilant, so it was nice to see him relaxed enough to doze off. 

You hurried to the door, hoping against hope the knock didn’t wake the two sleeping beauties. You hadn’t been expecting company, so your secondary hope was that it wasn’t someone who wanted to linger. Upon opening the door, though, you froze, perplexed. Standing before you was someone you’d never seen before.

The man was old, but how old it was hard to say. His clothes were worse-for-wear and he looked like he hadn’t showered in days. The wrinkles in his face betrayed a permanent smirk. He was rough around the edges, not just in appearance but in the way he carried himself. You had half a mind to ask if he was there asking for charity, but the words stuck in your throat. Something about this man made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

“Can I help you?”

“Dame of the house, I presume?” The words were polite enough on their face, but something about the way he said them grated, as did the way his eyes raked over you as he said them.

“Yes. Can I help you?” you repeated, hoping to speed this interaction along. 

“Name’s Lee Riley, here to see my son.”

The name wasn’t familiar, except for the surname. Dumbly, you blinked at the man for a few seconds before realization struck.

Oh.

Oh no.

Simon had inherited his mother’s warm brown eyes, but looking closely you were able to see traces of him in the man’s stature and bone structure. Standing before you wasn’t just any random person, but a monster you had heard about only in stories. You felt sick looking at that smirking face, knowing it was the same face Simon had to look at as a boy facing relentless abuse and terror. 

Instinctively, you squeezed the door shut just a bit tighter, as if to barricade yourself in the house and keep him out. The two people you loved most in the world were inside, blissfully unaware of the piece of shit on your doorstep, and you intended to keep it that way. 

“Get off my porch and never come back here.” You willed your voice not to betray how uneasy you felt. The man barked a snarling laugh.

“Ha! Mouthy bird my son went and found himself. Just like his old man.”

“He’s nothing like you,” you spat, your voice struggling not to rise alongside your temper. “And there’s nothing for you here, so get -”

A hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks. Simon stood behind you, the gurgling baby in his other arm. His eyes were fixed over your shoulder on his father, expression unreadable.

“Take her and go upstairs.” His tone was gentle, not a reproach but a warning to get far away from whatever was about to happen. You hesitated only a moment, silently praying for some way to save Simon from this confrontation. He spent so much of his life fighting against his father, against the beatings and the fear and the expectations that he’d grow up to be just like him. You were desperate, in that moment, to spare him one more fight. But one glance between the two men, at the stare-down they were having, made your shoulders sag in defeat. This was something that had to happen, and you and the baby being in the crossfire would only make it worse. 

You lifted your daughter into your arms and made your way upstairs to the nursery. Once safely inside, surrounded by soft pink toys and blankets and baby books, you wanted to cry. Simon never got the opportunity to be soft, never got the tenderness he showed you and your baby. Getting out some blocks to let the baby play, you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on downstairs on the porch. 

What you couldn’t see, what no one could see or hear, was the war that was going on inside Simon’s head as he took in the sight before him. The shriveled old man before him had once loomed so tall it seemed impossible to ever escape him. Now, half-bent and coming up to his son’s collarbone, it was almost laughable. This was the tyrant who robbed him and his brother of their childhoods; this was the coward who had beaten his sweet, joyful mother down into a zombie. He had seen her just now in your defensive posture, and something in him had gone scarily quiet. Ready. Eager, even.

He had done it once; bullied the bully and forcibly removed his father from the home, and he was all too ready to do it again. He was ready, in that moment, to do whatever it took to be the wall between this evil on his doorstep and the family he had built, that which he cherished above all else. The nerve of this piece of shit, the gall to show up out of the blue like this and contaminate the doorstep had Simon’s anger rising in a persistent wave. 

“Why are you here?” His tone didn’t betray the storm of emotions roiling under his skin; he’d had that trained out of him long ago. He didn’t much care what the answer was. What he was really thinking was Say something. Try something. I dare you. I want you to. Let’s finish this.

“Can’t an old, sentimental man visit his son? The manners of your generation!” The man’s taunting expression and jeering tone were almost enough to get his face flattened into the ground. Almost.

“I’m no son of yours - you said that yourself. Now I suggest you take my wife’s advice and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“Wife! Atta boy,” the man cackled, barreling on and completely ignoring him. “And a tyke too. Taking after the old man after all, are we?”

Simon’s knuckles flexed. You were right when you said he was nothing like the man standing before him; he had worked hard to be sure of it. Every therapy session, every time he communicated with you when he was upset, every time he cooled off before arguing, every time he looked at his infant daughter and vowed silently to the universe to only ever show her safety and love, he was making sure of it. Every time he used his strength and brutality - perhaps the only gifts his father ever gave him - for the good and safety of the world and made the decision not to bring it home with him he was making sure of it. Every time he used his pay to pay bills and take care of the house instead of spending it at the pub, he was making sure of it. Every time he nurtured the friendships and brotherhood he had with his teammates, he was making sure of it. Everything he was as a man, as a husband, as a father, was in spite of his upbringing, not because of it. And he would be damned if this man would take credit for any of it.

It was on the tip of his tongue, this acidic rebuttal, when realization struck: he’d won. He’d grown into a man he was proud to be, a man who embodied everything his father had tried to beat out of him. He’d created a home where he and his loved ones felt safe, he’d found a good-hearted woman and built her up rather than draining the life from her, and now she was a great mother to his daughter. His beautiful little daughter who would never know the fear, the hunger, and the confusion that had marked his earliest years. 

The realization was shocking and humbling, and he blinked, taking in the scene before him with seemingly new eyes. The dirty, snarling man before him was nothing. Not a challenge, not a threat, nothing more than a nuisance. Not worth the air it would take to explain why he was wrong, and certainly not worth putting his hands on and causing a scene. 

Simon let out a long breath, and with it, decades’ worth of something to prove. The man before him wouldn’t hear it, and couldn’t understand it, and that was okay. Because Simon understood it, and you understood it, and one day your daughter would understand too. He could see his future stretching out before him, and there simply was no room for the mean little man on his porch. 

“If you ever come back here, you’ll regret it.” He said, finally.

And then he closed the door.

[ghostfanwriter]

🎀🧰 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐭 𝟖 🧰🎀

←Previous

🎀 Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Again!Reader

🧰 Setting: Lincoln. It is 2023 but Joel, Frank and Bill are as young as they were when they met in episode 3.

🎀 Synopsis: Your suffering was too much for your father to handle, so he decides to make you happy again.

🧰 Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut (no details for spoilers but... It's mouths everywhere and very graphic descriptions), softdom!Joel, Joel talking her through, a few descriptions of reader's hair being long.

🎀 Word count: Sixteen thousand....? (I wish I was joking, it is actually 16.5k, I can't control myself)

🧰 A/n: Finally it is here and finally you can read it and I'm sorry it took me so long, (also sorry it is so long and wordy) but I hope you cry and smile a lot!!! Thank you all so much for the support with this series all this time. I don't deserve you 🩷 I'm really happy with it and really proud of it. I hope it meets your expectations and I hope you feel it is a good way to give closure to the last chapter.

Comments, reblogs and all that sweet love are as always so, so appreciated. It makes my day to read all the kind and sweet ways in which you all relate to this story and how it resonates with all of you 🩷🧰🎀

"Does she need anything?" Joel asks, almost panting as he ran to the radio. Whatever it is. Your dad just has to say it and he's gonna go after it for you.

He hates every second it takes Bill to respond.

It is another sunny yet slightly chilly afternoon, the leaves in the trees begining to fall as summer comes to an end.

You're on your porch, practicing the part you remember of the song Joel told you he used to play for Sarah, when someone walks close to you. You look behind your shoulder, finding Frank with a wide smile on his face.

"Hi, dad... Is everything ok?" You ask, smiling softly at him, a smile that — as usually now — doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"I got you a gift." He says, and you carefully put the guitar beside your chair, looking curiously at your father. He hands you a medium sized canvas, and your temples tense when you see it.

The view from your bedroom window, except this time the weather isn't the focus of it, nor the reason why he painted it.

It's the house across the street. With fences around the large and grassy front yard, the sheep, the greenhouse in the back, and a simple, black shilhouete of a tall man. Of him.

You feel a pang of pain looking at the scene you know is never gonna happen. It's not like the painting of a sunny day, that you know will happen again after the rain ceases. It's something you'll never have, something — someone — you want, you need, and you just won't get to experience. Your eyes burn with a mixture of sadness and anger — a feeling you've never felt towards Frank before —, but you hide them from him, a single tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek.

"It's nothing compared to the drawing I did over the photo, but..." You joke, forcing a smile, mentioning the polaroid you took and drew on top of as you quickly dry your tear.

He nudges your arm playfully, sitting on the armrest of the chair you're seated on. "Guess I still have a lot to learn from you." He smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"Thank you, dad." You say, but you can't shake the confusion as to why your would dad gift you this.

So you could see it everyday as a reminder of what you could've had? Of what you're never gonna have?

About a week after you've hung that painting up on your bedroom wall — which is what you fall asleep to every night now, hoping to dream with it, with him—, you notice your dad working again on Sarah's painting.

"Why are you finishing it? It's too big for him to take it back with him." You say almost bitterly as you enter your dad's studio, startling him.

"Oh... I thought you were helping your dad in the garage." He takes a second before answering, seemingly nervous to see you. "You know I don't like unfinished work." He tries to sound nonchalant, a typical Frank smile on his lips. "Also maybe you could take a photo of it and gift it to him. Well... give, uhm, give it to Tess so she can give it to him." He corrects himself, his smile faltering. "I'm sure he'd appreciate that." Frank says, his face lightening up again with a smile packed with... Anticipation?

A glint of hope ignites inside you, combusting inside your chest, suddenly too big to fit inside you, but you kill it as quickly as it's born.

He's not coming back, don't nurture those roots any more.

"Alright." You sigh, your voice restrained. "Do you have anything here to throw away? Dad's gonna burn a few things from the garage, there's too much accumulating." You say.

Since the bonfire never happened — there wasn't really a mood for it —, the unusable wood and inflammable material started to pile up even more then they already were.

"A bonfire?" Frank's face twists with a mischievous smile, and you can't help but giggle.

"Not that dad will ever admit it." You smile softly, and he cheers.

He gives you a few broken or moldy frames, and you take them back to the middle of the street in front of your house, assembling them with the rest of the disposable wood your dad is gonna burn.

You sigh at the thought that this should've happened over two months ago. That Joel was supposed to help, to be there with you. To enjoy the bonfire, to play his guitar, to hold you afterwards...

Stop it. You promised you wouldn't cry over it.

You look at the house across the street and let out another sigh before drying a few tears from your cheeks and going to the garage to help your dad bring the rest of the things outside.

For the next two days your dad refuses to light up the bonfire, for whatever reason he didn't wanna tell you, and you didn't give it much thought.

"I think it's gonna rain." He said exasperatedly as an excuse while he covered the pile with a tarp, and you just went with it, despite the clear sky.

But today he came from a run for supplies with an urge to do it, and while he unpacked his truck, Frank took you inside to prepare a few pretty platters with some snacks for you all to eat at the bonfire.

"Now let's go get you ready." Frank says after you're done.

Your dad can't help but be performatic.

"Get ready?" You ask, confused, looking down at your baggy shirt and shorts, clothes you'd only ever wear on your period or when the weather was gloomy, and that since Joel went away became your everyday choices.

"Yes, sweetheart. Get ready. Take a shower, put on a nice dress, fix your hair and put some makeup on." Frank's face lightens up with his own words.

"You're still not over your doll phase, I see." You joke. Your dad always loved to dress you up.

You'd hop into the shower and come back to see your bed covered in different clothing options, and you were always amazed by how well he learned to do complex hairstyles just from teen and vintage magazines Bill found while outside. He'd dress you up in different outfits and you'd walk down the stairs in every single one of them while Bill judged them all.

Your family's very own little fashion show.

Needless to say, Bill always loved you in every single one of them, and your childhood is full of fond memories like that.

"I have a perfect doll at home, of course I'm gonna wanna dress her up." He kisses your temple.

"I don't... I'm not feeling it, dad. I'm sorry." You say quietly, looking down while you clean the counters, feeling bad for letting your father down on such a sweet tradition of the two of you, that always turns whatever you're doing into a special event.

And you can't help but remember how he helped you get ready the day Joel and Tess first arrived. How he said if they were to see you for some reason, you should be as pretty as you could. It makes you remember how Joel looked at you, how he smiled at you, how he said you were everything he thought he'd never see again.

"Hey, look at me." Frank says almost sternly, calling your attention, and you look up at him, your eyes watering already. "Darling... I want my daughter back!" He says, almost whining, frustration mixed with sadness making his voice shaky and his eyes watery.

"Dad..." You cry quietly, feeling bad. You know he is right. You can barely recognize yourself. But you feel powerless, you've just convinced yourself that there's no point.

He is not here to see your dresses, to smell your perfume, to praise your soft skin and hair. He's not here to see your smile.

"Honey, you gotta take care of yourself for you, even if he's not here anymore." Your dad can definitely read your mind. "Just like you always did. I want my sunny, giggly and happy girl back. I want you smiling, laughing, being silly. I want you in summer dresses and with your hair shinning, lipgloss on and smelling like our garden." He says, caressing your hair. "I know how happy all that makes you."

"I do miss it." You admit, with a pout and a smile, taking his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his and swinging your hands gently.

"Then c'mon, my silly doll. Let's get ready. Try to have fun. Even if it lasts for just a little bit." He smiles. "Then tomorrow we try again, fresh." He says, guiding you upstairs to your bedroom.

Frank went pale when he saw the pairs of lingerie Joel got you, but you told him what happened the night you put them on — that last night, and how Joel told you to get changed — and he sighed, telling you to put on a more... Simple one. You choose a romantic white and embroidered set.

You take a slow and warm shower, and leave the bathroom smelling like berries and roses, dressed in your lingerie and a robe. You walk out of your bathroom to find the dress Joel picked for you that day, carefully placed on the center of your bed, your dad smiling softly at you, his hand on his right cheek.

The dress is short, made of a light blue fabric with some small white and yellow daisies embroidered on the neckline, that has a lettuce trim. It has thin tie-up spaghetti straps and a defined waistline. It's supposed to hug your back and waist while having a more loose grip around your chest and thighs.

"He did choose the right one." Frank almost whispers, looking at you and then the dress.

"He did." You smile softly, your eyes watering just from thinking about that day as you run your fingers through the delicate embroidered flowers.

"Do you wanna wear it?" Your dad suggests, his eyes glimmering with both excitement and the glowy, warm dance of the flames of the bonfire — that Bill lit up while you showered — bouncing on the walls around your room.

"I don't know, dad..." You whisper, your sight blurry because of all the tears.

"You should wear the one the chose." Frank lifts your face. "It's a sweet memory you have with him." He dries the tears that roll down your cheeks.

You smile weakly, remembering him sitting down on your bathroom floor, his legs spread while he fixed your cabinet, talking about the QZ and thoughtfully helping you pick a dress even though he clearly had more important things to do.

You nod and Frank helps you in it, telling you how pretty you look while he ties the straps up your shoulders, before browsing through a few vintage catalogs after a simple and romantic hairstyle.

You sit in front of the mirror so he can start curling and doing your hair, and for the first time since Joel left, you have a sincere smile on your face. You've missed this, these simple moments with your dad, doing your hair, dressing up, talking about nothing, making up gossip (usually about your poor dad Bill) like you're in a beauty salon — or at least how Frank described women's beauty salons to be in the past.

After an hour of playful; "I heard Bill hasn't cut his hair in like... Three years" and "Oh, but they say he's so lovely under all that beard and grumpiness", your dad finishes up, his eyes watering as he takes a step back to take you in.

The romantic dress, your delicate white shoe and sheer socks, your soft hair cascading down your shoulders, with two delicate and small white ribbons on the back — a new addition he saw in a beauty catalog and begged Bill to find when your poor dad went out to look for supplies—, your rosey cheeks — courtesy of the beetroot blush —and glossy lips.

"You're perfect, my dove. You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen." Frank says, his voice tangled with emotion, and you smile.

"Got your good genetics." You joke, and he chuckles.

"I wish, my love." He whispers lovingly, running a hand on your hair. "But even though my blood doesn't run in your veins..." He starts, his voice thick and uncharacteristically serious as he takes your hands in his. "I guess all the time we've spent together passed some of my good looks to you." He jokes, and you laugh, giving him a hug.

"I love you, daddy." You say, and he tightens his embrace, his eyebrows furrowing at the sweet name.

"Long time since you last called me that." He smiles, his tears — that he tried so hard to hold back — now flowing freely down his cheeks.

"And now I love you even more than the last time I said it." You smile even wider, and you two only let go when you hear a gentle knock on your bedroom door.

"You're gorgeous, honeybun." Bill says from the doorway, his eyes red and watery, his expression soft and tender as he looks at you.

"I'm starting to think you two are gonna throw me in the fire as an offering." You say playfully, wondering why they're being so affectionate about the bonfire.

Maybe...

No. You're just hurting yourself.

"Well, now that you mentioned it... That's not a bad idea." Bill chuckles softly. "I think the Gods would love you. Probably the best offering they've ever had. We'd have good crops and healthy animals for the rest of our lives." He says, playfully looking at Frank, and you remember how Joel used to call you angel, the memory of his low and husky voice in your ear making your eyes wetter.

Bill nods at Frank, who nods back. "I'll be by the fire." Frank says, kissing your forehead one last time before holding your chin. "My pretty girl." He smiles at you, leaving your bedroom, drying his face with his sleeves before touching Bill's shoulder and giving him a peck on the lips as he passes by him on the doorway, whispering something to him.

Bill steps closer to you, taking your hands in his, caressing the back of them, his eyes lovingly roaming around your face. "You are my daughter." He starts, his voice proud and shaking. He has never let you doubt that you're his child, even if you don't share the same blood. "And you know I'd do anything to see you safe and happy. Anything. Even if it doesn't make me happy." He says, his eyes reddening, and you tilt your head, softly squeezing and caressing his hands, soothing him.

"Daddy..." You say softly, your heart aching.

"But that's not possible because if you're happy I'm also happy." He smiles, his voice barely coming out. "There's no scenario I can imagine in which you are happy and safe — his voice breaks — and I'm not happy for seeing you happy and safe." He says, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I love you more than anything, my love. You're the best and most important thing this life has ever given me, and I only am the man I am today because I've had you with me all those years." He says between tears, and you tenderly dry his face with your thumbs.

"And I couldn't ever ask for a better family. A better father. I know all you do is to protect me. Even if it hurts at times." You say softly, finally coming to peace with what Joel asked you.

How could you ever hate your father for doing that he thinks is best for you? For trying to protect you?

"I want you to forgive me." He whispers, his head tilted down and his eyes looking up at you. "Forgive me for not allowing you to experience love." He cries, and your heart breaks along with his voice.

"Daddy." You cry, squeezing his hands. "You love me so much, you show it to me everyday. I know love. I know your love, dad's love... And for a while I knew Joel's love too." You whisper the last part, but he doesn't react to it.

"I'd be so miserable without you and your father, my love. You two are everything I care about. The only reason I'm still here. The only reason why I've made this place so good and comfortable." He says, his crying intensifying while his trembling hands move to tenderly caress your hair.

"And I know I'd be happy as long as I were with the two of you, no matter where we were. Even if we lived in a QZ, in the middle of the woods or anywhere. It's not this place that makes me greatful. It's the both of you." You smile, kissing his wet and salty cheek, and he smiles back.

"Damn good thing we have the fences though, right?" He chuckles playfully, giving you a side look as you kiss him.

"Absolutely." You smile. "The hot water and fruits may also make me love you a little more." You giggle softly, and he chuckles.

"I'm charming like that." He laughs, taking your arm in his. "I love you, I always will. And I love the woman you've become. You're strong, you're beautiful and you deserve all the happiness you can manage to have in what's left of this world." He says, for the first time — except while teaching you how to survive and defend yourself — talking to you like you're an adult.

"I'm only all that because I'm your daughter. Because you raised me." You whisper, your voice full of pride and love. "I love you too." You touch your head to his shoulder tenderly, your love for each other filling the air around you while he holds you for what feels like forever — but still not long enough.

"C'mon, your dad is waiting for us." He says after a while, and he fixes your hair before walking you downstairs, his arm tangled with yours.

He goes slowly, no rush as he sometimes steals glances at you and smiles. You don't understand why, but this moment feels special. If feels like you're gonna remember this feeling forever.

You find the front door open, and he guides you towards it. From inside you see Frank smiling by the bonfire as he looks at you, and you see his lips moving, whispering 'my princess', making you smile back at him.

You walk outside your house with your arms still tangled with your dad's, and as soon as you look at the bonfire...

It can't be.

"You. She needs you." Bill cried on the radio, inviting Joel to come back, to stay with you. To help him make you happy.

You eyes well up instantly, your mouth hanging open and your nose burning with the sudden rush of tears flooding your eyes, and you try to run, but your dad holds you back, taking your face in his hands.

"Honeybun..." His voice is shaking. "You know I love you more than anything in this life, don't you?" He asks and you nod emphatically, repeating 'yes' over and over as tears roll down your cheeks. "Promise me you'll always love me more than anything too?" He asks, his eyes watering as he smiles adoringly down at you.

"I could never love anything more than I love you, daddy." You cry, hugging your dad tight. He kisses the top of your head and gives you a reassuring look.

"I love you." He whispers, releasing your arm. You look at Frank, and he nods, his cheeks wet.

You turn back to the bonfire. To him. And you run.

You run desperately into his arms, open and ready to hold you. His body stumbles back as you jump into his embrace.

God, how you missed his arms, how you missed his smell, his warmth. You can't even speak, letting the tightness of your embrace speak for itself as you grip his shirt and shoulder blades tight and he almost lifts you off the ground, his heart beating so fast that you can feel it against your chest.

"Joel..." You cry in his ear, squeezing him as much as you can to make sure this is real. He is here. With you.

He cries your name back, holding the back of your head and wrapping his other arm protectively and tightly around your waist, his tears wetting your hair. Your hair that he missed so much, with the softness and the scent he craved so much, the scent of your skin, the feel of it, the glow you emanate, that seems to leave your pores and intoxicate him.

He pulls back slightly, his hands holding your waist and cupping your face — that way he always cups your face —, his thumb caressing the delicate skin underneath your eye, his eyes looking adoringly down at you, like you're the most precious, most special and delicate thing left in this planet. Like if you're the sole reason behind his wide smile, that seems to mimic yours. Wider than you've ever seen before.

Your presence gives him an instant sense of peace, a sense of belonging, of purpose. He wants to preserve this. Your wellbeing, your safety, your peace, your smile. Make sure you're well fed, healthy, taken care of. Make sure you're happy and loved.

It makes him want to forget about the old Joel. The sad and bitter, stoic and practical man that wouldn't want to get involved with you under the cowardice of not being good enough for you. He will be good enough. Vulnerable enough, open enough, romantic enough. He will allow himself to love you. He is gonna make damn sure of it everyday, he promises to himself. There won't be one day he won't do everything in his power to make you the happiest woman alive.

The old violent and deadly Joel will be preserved though. Kept quiet in a corner, always vigilant and attentive, ready to surface if he ever has to protect your town, your parents or especially you. Ready to not measure means to keep you safe.

You look behind him and see three big bags on the floor. "Are you... Are you staying?" You ask with a wide and contagious smile, almost out of breath, and he nods, his eyes somehow becoming even softer.

"Only if you want me to." He smiles, like you could ever say no to him, like if you could ever not want him to stay. Ever not want him.

Your smile somehow widens even more and you hug him tight again, like if any inch between you two could perhaps give him a chance to leave again. A chance he'd of course never take, never leave you again, never not have you again.

You enjoy his warmth for a little longer, remembering how soft and comfortable his embrace feels, how his fluffy flannel makes his chest feel like a pillow. How safe and special you feel in his arms. The arms that had no responsibility to love you, to choose you, but that did anyway.

And he holds you close. His strong arms keeping you shielded and protected, warm and safe. He never wants to forget what it feels like to hold you again. His heart seems to find a calmer pace as it feels your own beating against his chest.

A few moments later you remember that Joel isn't the only person last on earth and turn back to your parents, their arms holding each other's, Frank resting his head on Bil shoulder, with a smile that almost matches yours and Joel's, and Bill with a stiff expression that breaks when he sees the pure bliss and joy on your face. Any remnant of doubt or uncertainty leaving his shoulders as he sees the smile and the glow he missed so much these past few months.

You run to them, hugging both at the same time, your face nesting between their shoulders, and they hug you back, protectively wrapping you in their arms. You all share a silent understanding.

This is what life must be. Full of love and trust. Full of people who wouldn't hesitate before doing what's best for one another. Who wouldn't hesitate to protect and care for each other.

"He moves one finger you didn't want him to and you tell me, you hear?" Bill says as you pull back a little, still in their arms.

"Bill..." Frank laughs.

"You raised me, dad. You know I'd kill him myself." You joke, and Bill's eyes glimmer with amusement.

"That's my girl." He laughs proudly. "She's my daughter." He playfully nudges Frank, like it'd be news to him.

"Yeah, it shows." Frank laughs back, and you hug them tight again. "Go stay with him, love. Your dad and I are gonna bring out the food." Frank says, and you nod, walking back to Joel, who once again takes you in his arms, holding you tightly, as if trying to make up for lost time before letting go and sitting down at one of the benches your dad put by the bonfire.

You sit beside him, your body facing him, and he fixes your hair tenderly.

"The ribbons look nice." He compliments, and you smile. He notices the smallest new details about you, and it makes you feel special and pretty.

"Thank you." You purr, feeling your cheeks warmer than before.

"I got you something." He smiles at you, reaching behind himself to pick a bouquet he made with some wild flowers he found on his way back to Lincoln and some craft paper Tess helped him sort out in the QZ. It makes you smile, your eyes welling up.

"Joel... They're beautiful." You manage to say, your voice barely there.

"Some are already dying, but they are the ones closer to the QZ. The closer to you, the brighter they are." He says softly as he fixes the tie-up straps of your dress, and your heart melts. "Just like me." He whispers, his eyes red, and you smile lovingly at him.

You notice there's a paper amidst the flowers, and you take it in your hands, finding it to be a photo of Joel, that's all wrinkled, like he was planning to throw it away.

"When is this from?" You ask curiously, smiling up at him, his cheeks covered by a small blush.

"That's..." He clears his throat. "The photo I took when I got you the polaroid camera, to test it. I took it before eating the food you made me." He chuckles. "I thought it looked terrible, but then I thought you'd kill me if I ever told you it existed and I never gave it to you." He smiles, gently taking your free hand in his.

"I would." You smile, tenderly caressing his cheeks in the photo, feeling his thumb caress the back of your hand.

"Sometimes I'd doubt myself." He whispers, like he's just thinking out loud, his eyes traveling around your face, a small and silly smile on his lips. You frown, tilting your head slightly as you turn to face him. "I'd wonder if you were really like this." He smiles, and you feel your cheeks heating up even more, in a way only he can make them. "Not even the photo you gave me would convince me that you were this sweet." He says with an adoring smile.

"Do you remember this dress?" You ask quietly, and he gently plays with the fabric covering your thighs.

"I knew you'd look perfect on it." He smiles. "It's like it was made for you." He says.

"Just like I was made for you." You whisper back, a shameless smile on your lips.

His eyes are wet as he looks at you. "I missed you." He whispers, his lower lip trembling.

"I missed you too." You whisper back, resting the bouquet on your lap and cupping his face, bringing his forehead to touch yours.

He nuzzles your nose, fighting back the instinct to lean forward for a kiss.

"Guess we're doing it... The little ranch." He says instead, sniffing softly and beckoning to the house across the street, a single tear falling from his cheek onto yours.

"Am I still invited to move in with you?" You laugh softly, caressing his stubble, and he responds the laughter.

"Meh... We'll see how it goes." He playfully shrugs with a smile. "I wouldn't wanna do it without you. You're the most important part of any of my plans." He whispers, his tone soft and serious as he squeezes your hand and turns it to kiss the delicate skin of your palm. "We're gonna stay with your parents while I renovate our house — our house... — and then when it is perfect, we're gonna move in. We're gonna be patient until then." He says, and you frown. You know exactly what he means.

"Joel..." You half whine. Why does he has to be such a good man?

"I know, baby. But that's not what I want from you. And I promised your father I'd have everything settled before I touched you. So both of you know I want this." He sounds sincere, so sincere, so honest, it breaks your heart. "All of this. And mostly you." He smiles.

You've been through it, but your stomach freezes at the thought of your dad and Joel talking about whether the two of you did... That.

"Did he ask you if we had s-...?" You ask, your voice small and mortified, your always sweet eyes wide open.

"We didn't use the words themselves." He quickly says when he sees the panic in your eyes, caressing your hand soothingly. "But I assured him we haven't... Actually done it yet." He says. "And he made me vow to keep it that way until I'm settled here."

Your dads return before you can respond, with trays of kebabs, some savory oat muffins you made earlier that day, fruits and a few drinks.

You all start eating, and you notice how hungry Joel seems, how he eats like he's hiding his real hunger, and it breaks your heart. But as you cook him another kebab over the bonfire flame, you get a glimpse of what life's gonna look like from now on. Taking care of him, making sure he never has to go for a day without being well fed and loved.

"Only thing missing here is some s'mores." He chuckles, looking down at you with a full mouth and a silly smile.

"Oh, I've never had those...!" You gasp, almost whine, your eyes shining with the idea of it.

"They're amazing, you would've loved them." He smiles, cleaning a few crumbs on your cheeks.

You and Frank talk and have fun while Joel and Bill mostly just watch, both still testing the waters with each other. Bill tries to read Joel, noticing how his eyes shine when he looks at you and how happy you seem with him, how close together the two of you are sitting, with your thighs glued to each other's; and Joel tries to not be too invasive or physical for Bill's liking, even though he wants nothing more than to keep you close and his arms around you for good measure.

Bill eventually joins in the conversation, asking Joel about the path from the QZ to Lincoln. About what he saw, if he noticed anything different or concerning. Joel explains how he covered his trail and describes his encounters with the dead and the infected, and you worriedly try to check his arms under his flannel, making him laugh softly at your worry, reassuring you he's fine.

···

After you're all full, Frank asks your help to bring the dishes back inside, and you follow him. After you set everything in the sink he tells you to leave it to clean the next morning and takes you to his studio, where he hands you the finished painting of Sarah.

"He gave you flowers, right? Go give him your gift." He smiles at you, and you smile back.

You walk outside the house with the canvas behind your back, and you spot Joel and your dad talking to each other. There aren't any big smiles yet, but it's happened before, so you hope it's gonna happen again.

You go to them, turning the canvas towards him, and his eyes swell as soon as he sees it, his eyebrows moving and his lips quivering.

Frank captured Sarah perfectly. Her soft eyes, her hair, her freckles and dimples. Her silly smile is almost as bright as the real thing used to be. He can't help but caress the canvas, like he could feel the soft skin of her cheeks.

Joel cries like he's seeing his girl again, like she's there with them, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a breeze pass by him when he saw the painting. Like she's by his side, present, approving of his much longed and deserved happiness. Like she's smiling from wherever she is, finally resting now that he has all this. Now that he has a safe and loving environment for himself. Now that he has you, like she knows you're gonna take care and love her father.

He hugs you, no words needed to express his gratefulness, how much he loved it.

"It's perfect. It's her. My babygirl." He manages to say between tears anyway, and when you pull back, Bill walks closer to Joel, looking at the painting, his own eyes watering.

"I know you're gonna be everything my daughter needs, Joel." He says. "Because you are a father too." His voice breaks. "You know exactly how much she means to me. I... I Promise I'll do my best to rebuild my trust in you. For her. We're gonna make this work." He whispers, and Joel nods, a determined look in his eyes. He knows it's not easy for Bill, and he wants to earn his respect once again. "And besides... She's my daughter. I know she'd deal with you before I had to step in." He chuckles, and Joel laughs.

"I know she would." Joel agrees, his eyes watering as he looks at you.

"You take good care of my little girl. You make her happy. You keep her safe. You keep that gorgeous smile on her face." He says, turning back to point at you and your wide smile, tears pouring from his eyes. "And we ain't ever gonna have a problem again." He tells Joel, who once again nods, offering his hand for your dad to shake.

He's not good at being vulnerable around others, but he hopes that's another feeling you might restore in him.

"That's everything I'll ever do." Joel says, and they shake hands, a mutual feeling of respect and trust being established between the two men. When Frank joins them, Joel offers his hand for him to shake.

"Oh, c'mon, I'm not Bill!" Frank laughs, pulling Joel into a hug that he happily responds to, feeling grateful for Frank's trust in him this whole time, and for the portrait he's still holding.

"Thank you, Frank." He whispers as they hug. "For trusting me even when I didn't deserve your trust. And for giving my girl back to me." He says, his eyes once again down to Sarah's painting.

"It was an honor to paint her." Frank smiles. "And she's not the only girl I manage to get back to you." He smiles back at you. "You take good care of my baby. Her father is a psycho, you know that." He jokes, and Joel chuckles.

"We all are to protect who we love." He nods, the old Joel speaking. Lethal when it comes to protecting you.

"You're part of our family now. Thank you for making our daughter so happy." Frank says, nudging Bill for him to say something.

"Yeah, yeah. Family." He says, his voice dry and choked in his throat. "We'll do our best to make her happy." He says, and Joel nods.

They all turn to look at you, and you feel like you could burst with love and happiness. Your parents and the man you love. All going out of their way to make you safe and happy.

"Love! Photos!" Frank tells you excitedly, and you run inside to get your camera.

"Frank..." Bill mumbles, but Frank shushes him.

"Bill today is a special day for our daughter." He says, his voice firm. "We are taking photos." He fixes Bill's hair tenderly, Joel smiling as he watches the two of them.

No wonder you're so special. Being raised by these two.

You come back with the camera Joel got you, and you first take a photo of the three of them together. Frank standing in between as they all give you their best smiles.

Then Joel takes a picture of you and your dads, smiling to himself at your bright smile.

"It looks perfect." He smiles, and Frank takes the camera from him.

"Go on, love. You two. Get the flowers, where are the flowers?" He says, and you and Joel pose together, his arm around your waist while you're wrapped around him, holding your bouquet, a happy and loving smile on your lips, and a wide one on his. "Beautiful. Now a kiss!" Frank says, and Bill shifts on his feet.

Joel is a little hesitant, but you gently cradle his face and touch your lips to his for the very first time since he went away, wanting to save the real kiss for when it's just the two of you. His arms tighten around you, and your dad cheers.

"Beautiful!" He says, showing you the photo.

"Our second first kiss." You smile, looking at the photo, then at Joel.

"You haven't kissed yet?" Frank gasps, and you shake your head. "Oh, and I got it on camera! That's so precious, my love." Frank says lovingly, and Bill smiles as he looks at the photo as well, your smile even as your lips are pressing against Joel's leave no room for him to doubt just how happy you're gonna be with him.

After a few more conversations and photos you all decide to get some rest. Your parents kiss the top of your head and go to their bedroom, Bill glancing at Joel one last before going inside, nodding at him.

All of the dishes are forgotten in the sink. "A tomorrow morning problem!", like Frank said earlier. And the bonfire, still burning its last flames, to be dismantled and cleaned the next morning as well.

You help Joel put his bags and the painting in the living room, only his backpack on him as the two of you go upstairs, holding hands, a peaceful sense of belonging consuming him as he thinks about how this is his life now. About how you don't have to hide, to lie, to suppress your feelings or worry about not having each other the next day.

And he doesn't have to worry about trust or boundaries. They're all set, and he wants more than anything to prove to your dads that he's not just after good food and a safe and comfortable bed with a pretty girl laying on it. He wants you. Happy and safe, his.

···

You reach your bedroom and open the door for him to walk in. He closes his eyes and smiles when the sweet, floral and citric scent he missed so much enters his nose.

He sets his backpack down and looks at you while you carefully place the bouquet on your dresser and fix your hair in your mirror.

"I forgot how good your bedroom smells." He smiles, walking behind you and looking lovingly at your reflection on the mirror, placing his hands on your waist. You turn around, wrapping your arms around his waist, inhaling his own scent.

"You smell good, too." You whisper, snuggling your cheek to his chest, indulging in his comforting warmth, in his presence, in his smell, the gentle rhythm of his heart, the rumble of his breathing.

"Your dad told me to shower when I got here." He chuckles, pulling you out of your trance as his hands trace gentle circles on your back.

"He made me get all dressed up." You giggle softly, certain that it was Frank that told him to shower, and he gently releases his grip on you, lifting your chin with his thumb so you look up at him.

"You're beautiful, my angel." He whispers.

The warm and now softer glow from the bonfire below your window casts a beautiful and intimate light on both of you, outlining Joel's face perfectly. All of his features; his big and sculpted nose, his big and soft brown eyes, his pouty lips, his cheekbones and jawline. His hair, that's still a bit wet near the roots, yet already fluffy and messy on its — now slightly longer — curls, his stubble — the tiny little white hairs starting to flourish —. Everything perfectly layed out for your eyes, making you remember exactly why the thoughts of him made you so breathless.

And when your eyes land back on his, you notice their softness towards you. A softness they only acquire when looking at you. A softness that seems to draw your eyes lower, to his lips, that makes you lick your own, anticipating feeling his touch again, his warmth... his taste.

Like you've rehearsed it, at the same time that you get on your tiptoes, he slowly leans down, gently cradling your face and touching his lips to yours. Intoxicating you with his hot breath against your nose, breathing the same breaths as the warm air that leaves his lungs fills your own, his gentle yet firm hands on your lower back and cheek, the roughness of his fingers on your skin, the softness of his wet lips caressing yours.

Feeling his beard tingle your face again makes you melt into his arms, it makes you melt and it makes you moan softly into his mouth, making him hold you tighter and gently tug on your hair, deepening the kiss even more and grunting as he tastes what he's missed for so long. The sweetness he thought he'd never have in his hands again.

Your tongues dance together in a passionate and intense display of intimacy. Intimacy that you've learned not long ago, that he taught you all about. An intimacy that makes him feel like you've known each other your whole lives, like your love follows you way before this life and these bodies. Like your souls have been longing to be reunited for much longer than just a few months.

You tug at his jacket, wanting to squeeze him, to make sure he's real and all yours, to try and make him feel just how much you've missed him, to have him as close as possible to you.

"Baby... We talked about this." He pulls back to whisper breathlessly over you lips when you start pressing your body against his, the kiss going from slow and romantic to hungry and needy, the sensations traveling from your tongue directly to form a pool between your legs.

"Please, Joel. I need you." You moan, burying your face on his neck, kissing the warm skin there.

"Baby..." He tries to protest, feeling that same vulnerability you always erupt inside him.

"We don't have to do anything we haven't done yet." You purr, looking up at him. "Please, Joel. I thought about you every single night." You say, and you see his nostrils widening, his chest expanding and his jaw clenching as you confess to have done what he also did.

Every single night after the first few weeks, when pain and guilt started to give space to the longing and need to be together again. Nights where he laid on his side and held himself tight, imagining what you'd feel like, remembering how warm your skin felt against his, how good you smelled, how much he missed your nails on his back, your fingers curling on his hair, your lips burning his skin, your warm and wet flesh around his fingers. Nights where he held your photo to smell the - fainter by the day - perfume you sprayed on it and to look at your sweet smile, remembering how your face contorted and how you cried his name, the sound still echoing in his mind.

"You're gonna kill me." He whispers, pulling away, leaving you whimpering softly as he walks towards your window, resting his hands on the bottom of the frame, looking at the house across the street. The one he chose to live in with you. To make yours.

You walk towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head against his back. "It's ok." You whisper, feeling his back expand with his heavy breathing. "I can wait. I like that you want to wait." You say against his back, your hands caressing his stomach and chest, and after a few moments, he turns around, facing you, his eyes scanning your face.

"Did you tell the truth?" He asks, his voice low and quiet. "Did you think about me like that?"

"I did." You confess again, feeling your cheeks warm up as your gaze drops to his old and dirty boots and your delicate shoes and white sheer socks.

"Then why do you need my help, angel?" He asks with a soft smile, almost a smirk, gently cupping your face and pulling it up so you look at him, his thumb caressing your cheeks.

"Because I couldn't... do it without you." You purr, leaning into his touch until he removes his hand, making you whimper as he once again walks away from you. "Joel..." You whisper, watching him.

He hears it and chuckles softly before sitting on the edge of your bed and looking at you. His gaze just like you remembered it. Hungry and lustful but somehow still soft and lovingly, his dark eyes glistening with the flames of the bonfire that are weakly dancing around your room. The intensity of his gaze makes you shift on your feet while you wait for him to say something, your fingers nervously curling around one another.

He pats his lap, calling your attention. "Come here, angel." He calls, his voice as soft and demanding as always, and before you even process it, your legs are obediently walking towards him, earning an approving smile. "Good. Come here." He instructs again, this time pulling gently on your waist for you to sit across his lap.

"I missed the way you talk to me." You confess in a whisper.

"You did?" He asks, tucking your hair behind your ear while his eyes roam around your face, a silly smile on his lips.

You nod, your eyes catching his gaze as you just stare at each other in silence for a bit.

"I like the way you tell me what to do." You purr, your shaky voice betraying how nervous you are to be so close to him again.

"And I love how you trust me..." He responds quietly, like he's just thinking out loud. "... How responsive you are to me." He whispers.

You look up at him, your eyes glistening behind a thin layer of blissful tears. "Responsive?" You ask softly, and he smiles.

"You'll see what I mean." He reassures you, carefully grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling it above your other shoulder so he can kiss the soft and sensitive skin of your perfumed neck, earning a breathy gasp and a pleased frown from you. In response, he nibs and sucks on it, squeezing your thigh gently, his hands caressing your skin, going underneath your dress to caress the soft spot where your thighs and your hips connect.

"Joel..." You whisper, trying to give him better access and simultaneously wrap your arms around him so you can touch him back.

He places both hands on your waist and gently pushes you off his lap, and you're quick to turn and straddle him, just like you did that first night on your armchair, your hands going under his arms to tug at his shoulder blades while his go to your waist and hips, holding you firmly - squeezing you so good - and tugging at the soft fabric of your dress while his lips trail wet kisses from your neck to you shoulders as his rough fingers gently undo the straps of your dress, kissing his way back from your shoulders to your jaw, and from your jaw to your already open and inviting lips.

You moan into the kiss, his hot breath caressing your skin and his beard burning you and making you lean even closer to him.

He grunts as you tug on his hair, your hips instinctively rolling against his, and he starts pulling your dress up your thighs with the back of his fingers, caressing and kneading the tender skin of your thighs as he reveals them, his worn out and barely-there nails greedily digging in the soft skin of your hips and bottom in an eager attempt to make up for the time apart, to remember and to feel everything he thought about every single night, to never again forget how you feel like under his touch.

He continues pulling your dress up, and you help him by lifting your arms, allowing him to fully reveal your soft and perfect - somehow even better than he remembered - curves, your delicate white set of lace bra and panties... And he goes numb, his eyes locked on your body and his lips apart, his hands moving up your waist, his thumbs caressing your breasts and rolling around your clothed nipples, his chest moving deeply as he tries to catch his breath, lost in the sight of you.

"I missed you so much, my angel." He whispers, his gaze making its way back to your own, his eyes soft and watery, filled with unspoken words of love and passion, with the longing of all those weeks apart, all those nights where he'd have done anything to be by your side.

All the times he caught himself looking into nothingness, lost in thoughts about you, about how you must've been and how much he wished to be doing the same nothing, staring into the same nothingness, but with you. How much he missed all of you. Every single smile, breath and noise you make. Every wrinkle in the corners of your eyes when you smile, every mark, spot and stretch, everything you'd be insecure about if you've grown in a regular setting. Things he'd never change about you.

He couldn't think of a single thing to change about you to make you more special, more perfect for him.

"I thought about you all day long. And you came back to me." You whisper back, your eyes not as shy as his, your tears flowing freely down your cheeks and onto your neck, inspiring some of his own to make the same path, rolling down his cheeks and soaking his beard. "When my dad was dressing me up... I kept thinking that maybe..." You begin crying softly. "That maybe it was because you'd come back. But... Thinking about it, after so long... It hurt... And I kept burying these feelings down but..." You smile brightly up at him, your eyes leaking blissful tears. "But you came back for me."

"I'd always come back for you." He says with a smile, his voice thick as he once again wraps his arms protectively around you, cradling your face against his chest. "I'd never not come back for you. Even if not now... I'd come back for you one day. I'd never let you be alone, my baby." He promises as he holds you behind your right knee and the nape of your neck, standing up with you in his strong arms and effortlessly fliping you over so you're lying on your back, on the edge of your bed.

"I wanna be yours. For the rest of my life." You say, caressing his hair with both hands as he kisses the now salty skin of your neck and collarbones.

"One day." He promises against your skin before looking into your eyes, his face hovering torturingly close to yours. "The day our - our - house is ready for us. That day; or whatever day after that, when you're ready for me..." He says, his voice softer than the dandelions your father planted near your garden, the dandelions that for so many sunsets heard the name 'Joel' as you exhaustively called and cried for him, with the hope that that day he'd finally come back through those gates. "That day I'll make you mine." He whispers before kissing your lips again, a short kiss before his lips move to your cheeks, where he continues. "That day I'll show you what it feels like to be mine. What it feels like to be a woman." He whispers before kissing, biting and sucking on your neck, right where he knows your vein is.

"Joel..." You moan again, squeezing his bicep through his flannel.

"I'll show you what it's like to be my woman." He whispers, his voice now lower and raspier, huskier. "I'll show you what it's like to belong to a man. To belong to me." He promises, his eyes soft and filled with a possessive passion for you.

He kisses your lips again, a short and wet peck that makes you moan for more, tugging at his hair and looking down when he draws a wet path of kisses down your throat... your collarbones... your chest... his wet and warm lips kissing the outline of your bra before engulfing your clothed left nipple in his warm lips, a sensation that makes you ache between your legs and your back arch up into his touch.

You whimper when he lets go, but as soon as you open your eyes, he's leaning in for another kiss, his hands leaving your waist and reaching behind you to unclasp your bra and reveal more of you to his sore — hungrier by the second — eyes.

"Ahnn..." You moan, your back arching higher against his body when he takes your bare nipple in his mouth, the wetness and warmth of his mouth making your legs move in response to the growing warmth and wetness between them, your toes tugging at the sheets.

"You're so fucking soft, baby." He mumbles against your skin, his eyes closed as he rolls your nipple around his tongue, suckling on it.

"Joel... It... So... Good..." You moan nothings into the air, recalling the first and last time he did this to you, how good it feels to have him so close, how special you feel with how he takes his time with you, how he doesn't make you feel like this is about pleasing him, but showing you how much he can pleasure you too.

"I'll make you feel so good, my baby." He says before kissing the lower side of your breast, then your waist, stomach, your bellybutton... Then the skin above the hem of your panties, his hands reaching underneath you and holding and kneading your bottom as he kisses along the whole waistband of your panties, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers tangle on the delicate and thin fabric.

"I know you will." You whisper, making his eyes harden with lust before softening at the sight of your sweet smile. He stands up by the bed and gently pulls your panties down your legs, upwards his chest, and he smells it, closing his eyes and growling at your scent. He places both of your feet on his chest, caressing your legs as he admires the woman — the angel — underneath him.

Seeing you fully exposed to him for the second time, this time knowing he's not betraying your dad's trust, that he's doing it the right way... It makes him forget how to breathe, his hands caressing your thighs, his eyes travelling around your body, pure love and desire burning in their softness. It makes him allow himself to fully drink you in and shamelessly indulge in just how perfect you are, in how every curve of your body seems to have been sculpted in his dreams. Like you were really made just for him, exactly how he wants and needs you.

"You're perfect." He whispers in awe, more like just an observation for himself as he kisses your ankles — with those cute fucking socks — and then his way up your legs, simultaneously lowering himself back between them, kneeling on the floor at the edge of your bed, pulling you closer to the edge. "Mine." He says when his lips reach the inner sides of your knees, his hands squeezing the front of your thighs, his arms under your thighs. "Perfect for me. All for me." He possessively squeezes your thighs as he kisses their inner skin, making you moan when he parts your legs, the air once again leaving his lungs to be filled only with the awe of you.

With the scent of you, the wetness and the color, the softness and the taste... Dammit, he can't wait to finally actually taste you, to finally feel your tender and warm flesh against his lips, your wetness coating his lips and tongue, your muscles contracting underneath and around his tongue.

"I shaved for you again." You purr, removing him from his daydreams, invitingly spreading your legs wider for him, shamelessly offering all of you for him. In a way you'd only ever do for him, even if he never came back and someone else did. "I did all this time... Hoping you'd come back." And you did it, longing to see the same darkness in his eyes you saw the first time you said those words. The same darkness you're seeing right now.

"I'd have loved you either way, angel." He whispers, kissing your mount. "A real man doesn't care about that, baby. Certainly not in a sweet girl like you. But I do appreciate the view." He growls before kissing the skin where your thighs connect to your core, earning a surprised and sweet gasp from you. "I can't think of a thing that'd make me not want you." He whispers, kissing your folds before tasting you.

"Ahhnn..." You moan softly, almost laughing with bliss at the feeling of his tongue licking along your slit, diving onto your clit, swirling around the small nub. "Joel... Hmmm..." You moan, your eyes already closed and your breathing already heavy.

"I haven't even started yet, baby. And that's what I mean with responsive..." He smirks before exploring every corner and fold of you with his tongue, his beard deliciously scratching and bruising your skin. "You're so fucking responsive to me, to the smallest little touches."

You try to spread your legs even further for him, eager to give him as much as possible, and he notices your struggle with the need to give him more and to soothe yourself somehow, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your whole body already overwhelmed by him and the foreign and delicious sensation of his mouth on you. He lifts your legs, touching your knees to your chest.

"Hold your legs for me, angel, please." He asks softly, and you hug your knees, one in each arm, your legs fully spread and your core in full display for his hungry eyes, leaking with need for more, the sheets connected to you by a thin streak of your leaking juices. He presses both his thumbs on each one of your lips, watching as the arousal seems to leak out of your core as he presses against your flesh, his eyes darkening and becoming hazed as he anticipates watching you come apart for him again.

Vulnerable, responsive and shameless, just like he remembers your outbursts to be like. Your eyes closed shut or looking desperately into his own, your lips curled downwards in whimpers and cries, your hands squeezing him.

"I'mma need you to be real quiet for me, alright, baby? Only for my ears." He whispers, looking up at you, and you nod. "Can you do that for me, angel?" He asks softly.

You nod, words are way past your brain's capacity now.

"Words, my sweet girl." He squeezes your thighs. "Use your pretty words for me."

"Yes." You say in a breathless whisper, your whole body is shaking in anticipation.

"That's my good girl." He praises before parting your folds with his thumbs. He grunts at the view and buries his lips underneath yours, his beard scratching you, only adding to the feeling as he sucks on every bit of flesh, slurping in your juices and pressing his tongue against your aching and pulsing entrance, circling it and teasing pushing in.

"Joel!" You urgently beg for more, your voice quiet and small. You need more. You feel like you're so close already, his teasing and the way he's almost worshipping you making your body run to the edge. Already so close from falling that you want to hold back just to feel this for longer. "Joel, I... I can't hold it!" You purr in delicious agony, begging for both his mercy and more of his touch.

"Let go for me, princess. We've got all night to recover and do it again." He says huskily before once again parting your inner folds with his thumbs, admiring your tightness. "You're gonna feel so good around me, baby." He licks the exposed entrance, indulging in the wetness and warmth of your aching body. His tongue lapping on the pool that's formed inside you.

"More, Joel. More, please." You plead, hugging your knees closer to you in a desperate attempt to soothe your even more desperate body.

He responds by taking your clit in his mouth, licking the bud and pushing the hood back with his tongue, the feeling of his soft and warm tongue on your most sensitive spot making your body jolt with a literal spark of electricity that runs through your flesh, the feeling making you desperate with need, like if you're coming already under his tongue, your eyes snap open.

You gasp as he does it again, your eyes now closing shut. He smirks and lets the hood cover your clit again before he begins sucking on it, the feeling burning, itching and aching, all at the same time as your legs tremble desperately against your chest, your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your mouth open in a silent scream as you lose complete control, your body tensing up, your juices flowing freely from you to your sheets, and your mind going blank, not a single thought or feeling that isn't the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you crossing your mind.

Only him, his tongue, his hands holding you, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you in place, his scent, his warm breath against your tenderness, his eyes watching you crumble. You feel an agonizing pleasure washing over you, your body melting underneath his touch.

You come back from your high with tears falling down your cheeks, your legs sore and shaking, your breathing heavy and your throat dry, a sticky pool on the sheets underneath you and Joel gently kissing your folds, trying to help you come down and gather some of the leaking juices that you've just released.

"Joel..." You try to whisper, but the sound half dies on your tongue, the sweetness and need still making their way to his ears, and he smiles up at you, once again kissing his way up from your folds to you mount, through your stomach till your breasts, stopping by your nipple before reaching your collarbones, then your neck... Your throat and jaw, then kissing a tight trail until he reaches the corner of your lips.

"You did so good, my baby." He praises, his voice filled with pride. "So intense but so quiet and sweet for me." He whispers, touching his forehead to yours, and you smile, your cheeks warming up even more.

"Can you do this to me again?" You whisper sweetly, an undeniable amount of innocence and love in your request, making him chuckle.

"Everyday if you want me to, my angel." He smiles, kissing your forehead. "I'd never deny tasting you, making you crumble like that." He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his lips, your taste mingled with his own making you moan and tug at his curls, needing more, all of him.

"I wanna make you crumble too." You say breathlessly when he pulls back, and he smiles softly.

"Baby..." He starts, and you know that tone.

"Please, Joel!" You furrow your eyebrows. "Please, it's not fair you do it to me and I don't do it for you too." You purr. "I want to do it for you." You reassure him with a smile.

Your eagerness to please him... Something most women did everything in their power to not do... Fuck. He's one lucky son of a bitch.

"Baby... Me doing it to you is one thing... But... You don't have to do the same. We can try something we've already done before." He says, and the honesty, patience and respect in his voice makes you want to ravish him. To make him feel so good for making you feel so comfortable and safe, that he's gonna forget his own name.

"The more you tell me I don't have to... The more I'll wanna do it." You smile, a hint of mischief and innocent curiosity to know what it feels like to finally taste him, to really have him in your mouth, his breathing heavy, his face contorting, his fingers on your hair... "Please." You purr, using the face that gets you everything you want.

And he knows it damn well. He knows you always get what you want. And tonight is not gonna be the first time he says no to you.

"Still trying to kill me, I see." He smiles, kissing you again, his hand once again traveling down your body, gently pinching your nipple and rolling it in between his thumb and index fingers until you whimper in response, then making a ticklish trail down your waist and hips, finding your core again, spreading your folds and pushing the tip of his middle finger inside your - even tighter after your orgasm - entrance. "So fucking tight, baby... Gonna squeeze me so fucking good." He growls against your lips before pushing the finger fully in, curling his finger to masterfully hit your sweetest spot with a precision that not even you have yet.

"Oh... Joel!" You moan, your eyes closed and your eyebrows furrowed as he continuously presses the right button inside you. "Joel?!" You say, your eyes snapping open and confused by the intense and sudden sensation, the feeling increased, as intense as it always is after an orgasm. "Joel I..." You struggle, your face contorted in a perfect display of the blissfulness he's washing your body and soul with.

"Keep saying my name, my sweet girl." He kisses your lips gently before going down and burying his face back between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth, creating a mind numbing sensation as his finger still pumps your favorite spot.

"Joooel!" You cry out, forgetting to be silent, your upper body jolting up.

"Shhhh... No, baby... Be good for me, c'mon. Not so loud." He frowns before diving back in, his lips glistening with you. Your eyes roll back as your hips eagerly move against his face, making him grunt and squeeze your thigh with his free hand. "That's it..." He encourages, and you move even more intensely, your hands tugging at his curls, the sheets and anything at your reach as you feel another soul crushing orgasm building deep, deeper than ever before, inside your core.

"Jooooel!" You cry out again, more quietly this time, only for his ears, your voice strangled.

"Good girl." He praises. "Give it to me, angel. I know how much you love my attention, baby... And you're doing a really good job for me, so quiet and good for me..." He says before sucking your clit back into his mouth and inserting another thick finger in your tight insides, thrusting them in and out gently and pressing your sweetest spot between thrusts.

"Aaaah!" You whimper before it hits you suddenly and you're gone. Mind blank, legs shaking, body convulsing and hands almost painfully tugging at his hair as you have the orgasm of your life.

He groans when he feels your fingers pulling on his curls and your clit throbbing underneath his tongue, his eyes fixated on your pretty face all twisted and scrunched in almost painful pleasure as he breaks you apart. His fingers getting soaked inside you, your walls gripping him so tightly he can't even pump his fingers, just continuously pressing against your sweetest spot until you finally begin to come down.

"Joel! Joel! God! Joel!" You desperately pull him up onto you, holding tightly onto him, kissing his lips with more need and passion than ever before, tears flowing out of your eyes not only because of the overwhelming feelings he just made you feel, but mostly because you still can't process this is real.

You're not dreaming. This is not one of those dreams. He's here. With you. In your bed. His fingers inside you. He's finally yours again.

"Shhh... It's ok. I got you." He whispers when he breathlessly pulls back, kissing your neck, giving you time to recover and catch your breath.

"Joel..." You whimper against his neck.

"I'm right here, darling. You did so good for me again, my baby." He soothingly caresses your hair. "You always do..." He kisses your shoulder.

"That..." You say breathlessly. "I want you to do that again." You say, giggling a silly giggle as your brain starts to regain its shape.

He chuckles, pepering tender kisses all over your shoulder, collarbones, neck and jaw.

"I'm still gonna make you feel even better than that, baby." He whispers in your ears, his breath tickling your neck, making you laugh and get covered in goosebumps. "Over and over again. Until you get tired of me." He promises.

"Then you won't ever stop." You purr back, caressing his beard and his cheek tenderly, enjoying the feeling of having him in your arms again.

"We've got the rest of our lives for that." He smiles, leaning in for a sweet and slow kiss, his weight pushing you deeper onto the mattress, making you moan and pull him even lower onto you, your hands on his back, tugging at his shirt and squeezing his muscles.

"Can I do it now?" You break the kiss when you feel his bulge pressing against your thigh.

"Angel..." He says softly, kissing your jaw.

"Please, Joel... Just a little bit... I wanna see you again... I thought so much about holding you again..." You whisper, your hand moving down his stomach, testing his resistance.

He presses his thumb against your lower lip as is trying to shush you, pressing against it, caressing it. You don't hesitate in kissing it and licking it gently, swirling your tongue around his digit, and he presses his thumb against your tongue, pushing it inside your mouth. You invitingly part your lips and suckle around his thumb, swirling your tongue around it, watching his face; his eyelids heavy, his lips parted and his breathing heavy. He pulls his thumb back, a thin thread of saliva connecting his thumb to your pink and wet lips.

"Fuck..." He growls breathlessly. He just really can't say no to you. He sits down beside you, patting the mattress between his legs. "Come here, baby." His raspy voice calls, and you don't hesitate, quickly dropping to the floor between his legs. "Listen!" He warns softly before you reach for his belt, and you retract your hands, his hand gripping your chin firmly. "No mouth unless I say so." He sternly says, his mind reeling on the sight of your pink and wet lips around his thumb.

"Joel...!" You whine, frowning in frustration, sitting back on your heels, your hands resting on your thighs. He only looks down at you, his eyes serious and stern.

"No mouth or nothing at all." He says, and you frown.

"Alright." You mumble, making him smile.

"There's my good girl." He says, running his thumb on your cheek before placing his hands beside him to support himself. "Take my pants off, baby." He instructs softly.

You decide to first untie his boots, carefully removing them from his tired and calloused feet, hearing him groan in relief. You remove his socks too before undoing his zíper, your fingers curling underneath the waistband of his jeans and boxers down his legs before looking back up at his cock.

His throbbing, hard and aching cock. Aching for you. For more of you than he'd admit right now. For all of you.

You smile up at him, waiting for his permission to touch him, and he smiles down at you.

"Go on, baby. It's yours." He says, his voice affected by lust and affection as he gives himself to you.

"It's mine?" You whisper, shooting him a tender and playful smile as you loosely wrap your fingers around him, frowning when you feel how hard and warm he is, how tender his skin is despite how really hard he is in his center. Just like you remembered.

God, you missed him.

His pink and glistening tip, his thick and towering length, his vein that travels from his base all the way to his tip, his foreskin involving his tip, his balls heavy with everything you can't wait to begin craving.

"All yours, baby. It likes you. Missed you." He smiles down at you, and you can feel your cheeks a little warmer.

"I like it too. Missed it too." You whisper before stroking him slowly and gently, getting used again to how he feels in your hands.

"I can tell, baby..." He whispers, looking down at you. "Remember how you did it that time in the bathroom?" He asks softly, gently fixing your hair behind your shoulders.

"Uhum". You nod.

"Good. Do it just like that. Slow at first, then faster." He instructs softly, and you smile up at him.

You grip him a bit tighter and move your hand slowly, making him grunt. You watch how his foreskin moves along with your hands, covering and uncovering his tip, his precum pooling in his tip as he allows himself to be consumed by your touch. Your soft hands, your curious gaze and touch, how happy he is to have you again, to know you're his. To do this... And to see you everyday, to take care of you everyday, to kiss and hug you everyday. He moans and cups your cheek, tilting your face up as he leans in, his stomach pressing against your hand as he kisses you again. His lips desperate to never again forget what you taste like.

"You're so beautiful, my angel... You're so, so perfect for me." He says, his eyes travelling around your sweet and flustered face. "It's like you were made for me. Just for me, just so I could find you one day." He whispers.

The thought of being his, of your whole body belonging to him, your whole purpose to please and make him happy is more overwhelming than it should be, and it makes you purr in response. "Maybe I was." You say, making him smile and kiss your forehead before leaning back to give your hands more room to work.

"Maybe you were." He whispers tenderly.

You continue your steady movements, your eyes curiously watching him, and you feel your hands wet. You see his precum leaking out of him and you smear it all over his length, making him grunt as your hands slide easily along him, a wet sound filing your ears, making you lick your lips.

"Joel... Since it is mine...?" You ask sweetly, ready to beg for it if he says no.

"Guess I did say it." He sighs while he sits back. He's not strong enough for this. "It's yous, darling... You can do whatever you want with it." He gently pushes your hair behind your shoulders again, his cock throbbing with the ideas he knows you might have.

"I promise you wont regret it." You smile and lean in, smelling him curiously before gently kissing his very tip, your lips just ghostingly grazing his sensitive skin. He lets out a shaky breath when your warm breath hits his sensitive flesh, his eyelids fluttering closed.

"I know I won't, baby... I know I won't." He grunts quietly.

"Hmmm... Tastes like you." You purr, smiling up at him, your hand never stopping its slow and steady, tight pace on him.

"And is that good?" He chuckles softly.

"Uhum..." You lick it, earning a grunt from him. "Delicious." You purr before a long and firm swirl of your tongue around his head. "Hmmmm... Very, very delicious." You moan, twirling your tongue around him again, feeling how soft and wet the flesh of his tip is. Doing it just like that night, when he breathlessly called your name and let you taste him for the first time. "Better than I remembered."

"God... That's... Jesus, angel... Don't tease me like that..." He groans, and you frown.

"I'm not teasing you." You say, licking him again.

"But you are." He pants.

"I just like kissing it." You whisper with a sly smile, and he frowns.

"Yeah, baby. I... God, I like it too. But I need more, I've waited long enough." He growls, trying to keep himself together, his body desperate for more.

"Teach me how to give you more." You whisper.

Jesus Christ.

"Suck on it, baby. Go slow, not too deep. Do it like you were doing with your tongue, but sucking on it at the same time." He instructs breathlessly.

"Ok." You say before wrapping your soft lips around his throbbing tip again, this time sucking and licking simultaneously, earring a grunt.

"Good, just like that." He praises. "Don't forget your hand." He says, gently wrapping his large ones around yours, and you begin moving it up and down his length, moving your wrists at slightly different paces to increase his sensations. "Good job... Fuck... Just like that." He moans, his hands moving along with yours, their warmth reassuring and comforting.

You continue giving him more, gently suckling on his tip, enjoying the feeling of it against your lips and tongue, the curves of the underside of it, the warmth and taste, how wet and how soft it feels. You lock your lips around it and swirl your tongue around the head, and he moans when the underside of your tongue slides over his aching tip.

"Holy shit... Baby..." He pants, trying not to stop your exploration, even though he wants nothing more than to hold your head and relieve himself. Instead, he looks down at you, reminding himself that it is you, your mouth, your first time doing it, and his hand tenderly tangle on your hair as you continue getting to know him once again.

The feeling of his hand in your hair is soothing and reassuring. It makes you go deeper, taking him halfway through and sucking with your whole mouth, closing your eyes at the feeling of him inside your mouth, your tongue sliding along his underside, exploring a vein that's pulsing against your touch.

"Oh, baby... Fuck, that's it." He moans breathlessly in response, his hand unconciously tugging gently at your hair. "Try hollowing your cheeks now." He commands with a smooth voice.

You do it and as he occupies your whole mouth, for a sweet moment it's almost like the rest of him is gone. All but his cock in your mouth and his hand in your hair. The feeling of his warm, tender and hard flesh in your mouth is foreign yet familiar, like you've imagined it for so long that it's like you've always had it. Like you were always meant to have him.

"You're doing so good, baby... So fucking good for me." He praises, looking adoringly down at you, his face slightly flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He looks Godly, he looks happy and satisfied, and it makes you want to take him in even deeper, to please him even more, so you do, your eyes locked on his.

The sounds he makes in response and the way his face contorted when he hit the back of your throat made you wanna take even more of him, let him fill your mouth. And the way he pulled on your hair and growled when you did it made you wanna do it again, and again, and again...

"Baby...! Fuck...!" He grunts, his voice strangled, unable to tell you to slow down, his chest and stomach rising and falling heavily with every movement of your mouth on him. The sight of how you were affecting him made you hungry for more, it made you want to take him even deeper and even harder, so you go, and you accidentally gag around him, your vision going pitch black for a second.

His hands tighten around yours, pulling himself out of your mouth as you gasp for air. He looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pierced together in concern.

"Angel, hey, baby." He says softly, calling you by your name as well, holding your shoulders to keep you back, and you sit on your heels, looking up at him with red and watery eyes. "Hey, look at me, don't do that, darling." He says, shaking his head while cupping your face and using his thumb to gently clean the precum and saliva dripping down your chin.

"But I wanted to..." You purr, looking up at him, your cheeks burning at your own eagerness. "Did I hurt you?" You ask, your eyes wide with the innocent worry.

He chuckles in response, his gorgeous face lightening up. "You didn't hurt me, baby, no." He fixes your hair. "But you're not ready for that yet. You're learning and you gotta go slow." He explains softly, kissing your forehead.

"Slowly. Alright." You agree before reaching back for him, stroking him slowly and tight.

"See? That feels good already, baby... As long as it's you doing it... It'll always feel good enough." He kisses your swollen lips tenderly. "No going too deep for now, alright? Or I won't let you do it anymore." He smiles softly despite his warning.

"Uhum." You nod before leaning back in, stroking him and cupping his balls.

"Oh... Careful with those, baby..." He says softly, an you gently soften your grip, just rolling them around in your hand.

"Does it feel good when I touch them?" You whisper, and he frowns at the question.

"Yes... Yes, baby. It feels really good when you touch them." He breathes, his voice restrained. "It'd feel really good if you sucked on them too." He pants, giving in to his desires. "Nice and gentle." He instructs.

You smile and take one of them in your mouth, making him hiss, his hand returning to your hair. You suck gently on it, rolling it around your tongue and feeling how it feels underneath the skin, how squishy it feels, how you can feel their outline underneath the stretchy and cool skin. He grunts and moans in response, unable to hide how your curious exploration affects him anymore.

You kiss your way up from his balls to his cock, licking and sucking gently on his base, your hand working near his tip as you place open mouthed kisses along his length.

"Baby... God..." He pants, the way you're so curious to tasting and exploring him makes him feel like he's about to lose his mind and his self-control. "Lick it for me, baby. Suck on it." He groans.

You listen and slide your parted lips up his side, your tongue drawing a wet line across him, making him buckle his hips involuntarily. You begin moving the same way up and down, parted lips and tongue tasting him while your lips suck along his length, paying special attention near his tip.

You suck his tip into your mouth before sliding your lips down, his tip pressing onto the side of your cheek and popping off with a wet "bop" that makes him moan.

"Fuck, that feels so good, baby." He chuckles, caught off guard, and you notice how much he enjoyed it, so you do it again, taking his tip in your mouth an sliding your lips sidesways towards his base, his tip once again pressing against your cheek before popping off, making him pull at your hair.

You moan and suck his head back inside your mouth, whimpering around him, your mouth eager to make him feel good and get the same reactions and sounds out of him as you grow more confident with your touch.

You look up at him, watching how you're affecting him, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parted, his eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed.

The sight is too Godly to resist, so while you suck and Bob your head hungrily around him, you let your hands wander up his stomach and chest, your fingers clawing on his shirt and trying to tug at his skin. Instinctively, he leans back, giving you more room to explore his body as his eyes open to look down at you and his fingers draw soothing and tender circles in your scalp, just above the nape of your neck.

Your hands reach underneath his shirt, touching his sturdy and large torso, gripping his skin and moaning at how good he feels under your fingers. How good his belly feels to hold onto.

He takes one of your hands and squeezes it, his eyes closed in bliss, his eyebrows furrowing every time you swallow what's building up in your mouth and squeeze him a bit in against your lips.

"You're perfect, baby... You're doing it so good for me... Making me feel so good..." He praises, and the confirmation that you're making him feel good ignites the same need that you had before, making you want to go deeper, harder, faster and make his eyes roll back the same way he makes yours. "Let some leak down and use it to move your hands." He instructs, and you let some of his precum and your drool wet his cock.

"So messy..." You mumble around him, looking up at him, and he chuckles.

"Messy is good when you're doing this, baby. Messy feels very good." He explains.

"Hmmmmm..." You moan around him, taking your hands back to his cock and twisting your wrists, his foreskin moving under your wet palms and fingertips as the friction of your hands along with your mouth tightly enclosing around his tip make his hips buckle up, a hiss leaving his lips.

"Fuck... You... You figured all that rest yourself, baby?" He grunts, trying to hold his sensations back and let you enjoy yourself as he shifts his hips, trying to regain some control.

"Uhum." You nod around him, your tongue twirling on his sensitive and leaking tip as you caress him with the underside of your tongue, seeking the same reactions.

"Holy shit. Baby... I'm... Trying but... You're... Fuck... You're gonna have to stop." He pants, the desperation in his voice as he tries to hold back and last more almost making you laugh.

The sight of this big and strong man crumbling under your touch is new and exciting, making you feel powerful and...

Like a woman...?

The realization that his pleasure, his release is under your mercy makes you slow down and harden your movements, exactly like you do to yourself to prolong the feeling of being on the edge.

"Baby... God..." He looks for divine mercy, his eyes locked on the roof as you test his boundaries and limits, as you see how far you can take him before he loses control. "Please, my baby... Just... I need it. I need you." He pants, his eyes now glued to yours, the vulnerability and the honesty with which he gives himself to you makes you fasten your tongue around his tip and stroke him tighter, slowly increasing your hands speed. "Arrnh!" He groans. "Yes, baby, just like that, feels so fucking good."

His response makes you grow more confident, closing your eyes and doing what instinctively feels right to you. Hands tighter and faster with each stroke, lips wrapped underneath his head and tongue twirling and moving up and down, pushing against his urethra.

"Aaaargh! Baby... Pull back... Pull back, fuck..." You hear him grunting almost like he's in pain, and as you open your eyes, the sight makes you moan.

His hair disheveled, his gorgeous face scrunched and pained, his teeth clenched together, his eyes heavy and dark, his neck red, that one vein one second away from exploding. You continue, doing what you think is gonna make him feel even better, hollowing your mouth and suckling on his tip, just like he taught you, and his mouth falls open with a silent gasp, his eyes scrunched together.

"Baby... Pull... Back..." His stern voice sounds more like a pleading as he tries to get you to back off so he can finally let go, but instead, you begin sucking even harder around his tip, almost like you're trying to drink from him.

And he can't hold back anymore. He snaps, his hand tugging hard on your hair, so hard you whimper and furrow your brows, making him tug at your sheets instead, his grip so tight that his knuckles turn white and he pulls the sheets from underneath the mattress, his hips buckling up against his will, pushing more of himself into your mouth as you greedily lock your lips around him and drink every last drop that he gives you, sucking and stroking him progressively more gently and slowly as he comes down from his high.

"Aaaaah!" He pants and gasps for air when you let go of his still semi hard but utterly worn out cock, his arms threatening to give up underneath him as he looks down at you, his eyes hazed and filled with satisfaction and awe. "Baby that was... Amazing... You did so good, my baby, such a good fucking girl for me." He praises, too weak to do much more, and you smile up at him, proud of yourself for making him feel like this.

You climb up his body, and he lays back down, his hands on your waist and hips as you lay your naked body on top of his clothed torso, looking up at his blissful face. All of his wrinkles and the usual stressed frown between his eyebrows gone with the attention you just gave him, his eyes closed and his lips parted as he catches his breath.

"I told you you wouldn't regret it." You whisper, kissing his jaw.

"Regret it? Fuck... Baby... I... Why do you think I've never let you do this before?" He chuckles.

"Why?" You ask playfully, playing with the buttons of his flannel.

"Because I knew you'd make me feel so good, baby." He smiles. "I don't know what I did to deserve you. But I'm also not about to start questioning it and make God realize he sent you to the wrong motherfucker and take you away from me again." He chuckles.

You giggle and snuggle closer to him, letting go of your weight and feeling his body moving with his heavy breathing, the movement soothing you, like you're swimming in a sea of Joel Miller.

"Joel...?" You say quietly as you two just breathe and enjoy the warmth of one another.

"Yes, baby?" He whispers back, his hands caressing your back and holding you close.

"We need to take a shower... And put some clothes on." You say softly, lifting yourself and looking down at him, his face relaxed and almost silly, his eyes as soft and happy as always when they're looking at you.

"Guess we do." He smiles, pulling you down for a kiss, tongue tracing your lips before you grant him entrance and he deepens the kiss with renewed passion and tenderness. "I love you." He whispers against your lips, the words rolling easily from his lips, as if he's said them multiple times when you weren't there to hear it.

You pull back, looking into his eyes as he smiles at you. "I love you too." You whisper, your eyes welling up. "I love you, Joel." You repeat, smiling widely, and he flips you both around, his body hovering above yours.

"I love you, my precious angel... And finally you're with me to hear me say it." His eyes water. "I said it so many times... Looking at the picture you gave me... With that pretty smile... I couldn't stop thinking about you." He says, his voice loving and vulnerable.

"I waited for you to come back. Every single day, until yesterday..." Your voice breaks. "... I spent the sunsets looking at the gates, hoping I'd see you walk in again." You cry softly. "And I'd keep doing it. Eery single day... I'd always wait for you." You purr, and he cups your cheek that way, his thumb caressing the soft skin underneath your eyes as his other fingers wrap around your ear, his gaze loving and tender.

"And I always asked Frank about you. When he was the one on the radio I'd always sneak in and ask about you. I always made Tess ask about you. She said you were always on your porch," He smiles. "looking beyond the gates, trying to see me... I felt so bad, baby." He cries, looking down at you, his lips trembling.

There's the vulnerability that only shows up when you're around.

"Joel..." You whisper, cradling his face, trying to soothe him.

"You didn't deserve to go through any of that... Any of that." He says, his eyes closed in shame.

"Joel... Baby... Look at me, please." You purr sweetly, gently squeezing his face so he looks at you. "I'll tell you what I told my dad." You sigh to calm yourself down before speaking. "I only hurt the way I did for you because I love you. Because you mean so much to me. And I don't regret a thing. Not even the pain I felt. Because now that I have you... The pain is gone, and I know what I feel for you is real, because the pain I felt was real. And I'll never feel that pain again as long as I have you." You say tenderly, and he kisses you again, his mouth silently pouring all the pretty words he can't formulate to express just how much he loves you, just how much he feels for you as he finally allows the roots and branches inside his chest to grow and flourish, to set themselves now that he knows you're his forever, and he can almost feel his chest expanding just to fit all these new feelings you're sowing on his heart.

"You're my everything." He whispers lovingly. "You make me happy in a way I thought I'd never be again. In a way I know I don't deserve to be." He says weakly. "But you make me feel like I'm worthy of it." He cries. "Because if such a sweet and special angel like you can see through me, can love me... Then I'll try everyday to be the man you deserve." He says, and you smile.

"You already are the man I deserve, Joel. You're the man I want. The man I love. And I'm so glad you were the one to visit us. I'm so glad you found me." You say lovingly, and he kisses you again, his hands squeezing and caressing your soft skin as he tries to convince himself that he's not dreaming with you again.

"I wanna hold you all night long." He whispers against you lips.

"You can hold me under a warm shower first." You whisper, smiling, and he smiles back, getting off the bed and pulling you up to your feet as well.

You gently undo the buttons of his shirt and pull if off him, seeing his strong and sturdy torso again, remembering how good he looked that day, the water droplets glistening in his chest and stomach. You slowly run your hands up his arms, kissing the little "v" shape between his collarbones, and he groans softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

"Angel..." He whispers, gently tangling his hand on the hair on the back of your head and making you look up at him. "We've got the rest of our lives for that..." He kisses you gently, just a peck before he guides you to your bathroom, turning the shower on to let it warm up and watching you stand in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror as you remove the ribbons from your hair.

He comes behind you, wrapping his big arms around your naked body and pressing his own skin against your back, just kissing your shoulder and caressing your stomach and your sides, his touch gentle but still possessive.

"It's gonna be good, I think." You smile, looking at his reflection in the mirror, caressing his arms.

"What's gonna be good?" He smiles, looking at your reflection, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Spending the rest of our lives together." You say lovingly, and he chuckles.

"I couldn't make better plans myself." He kisses your neck before pulling back to check the water. "Come on. It's nice." He smiles at you, offering his hand, so you tie your hair up and join him.

He envelops you in his embrace, the warm and soothing water calming your muscles and soothing your mind as he gently washes your body, holding you with your back close to his chest, his touch feather light, careful around your most sensitive areas, and still your body jolts slightly when you feel his rough fingers.

Then you wash him too. His back, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his legs. He only doesn't let you wash his cock "To avoid not going straight to bed." According to him.

He wraps you in your towel and grabs one for himself. You both walk back into your room, and you put on a pair of pink pajamas with red hearts. He dresses something out of his backpack, just a plain t-shirt and some boxers.

You lay down and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest and caressing your hair.

"Promise I won't just wake up tomorrow and this is gonna have been a dream?" You whisper, and he smiles.

"Only if you promise me I won't wake up in the QZ without you again." He says.

"I promise." You whisper. "You're not going anywhere, and even if you went, I'd go with you... You're mine." You smile against his lips.

"I'd never take you out of here, my angel..." He says lovingly. "But I promise I'd always find my way back to you."

You kiss him again, a more simple and intimate kiss, the type of kiss that says a lot without doing much, and he holds you close with his large and warm hand on the nape of your neck, not wanting to lose your warmth just yet.

"I love you, Joel." You whisper again. You're never gonna get tired of repeating it.

"I love you, my angel... my baby... my..." He finishes with your name, his voice as soft as ever, and you nestle even closer to him, feeling safe, loved and happy in the arms of the man you longed for so many nights. Indulging in the warmth you missed so much, a warmth that no blanket could replicate as you shivered, falling asleep with his name on your lips and your eyes wet.

"Goodnight, Joel." You whisper against his chest.

"Goodnight, my angel." He whispers back, kissing your forehead and sighing in happiness. His chest full again for the first time in... Twenty years.

Finally!!!

Finally I was happy and proud of this, and finally it is yours! I'm once again so, so happy and so grateful for each and every single one of you who supported me through this year and a bit that I'm around here. This story is over a year old, which just comes to show how patient you all are and how much we love Joel Miller 🤧

I'm really honoured and happy to have received every message, every comment, every like and every reblog in this series. I hold it really kind to my heart (I wish I could show it to my friends) and having you to share it with means the world to me.

I love you all and I hope this met your expectations 🩷

See ya 🩷🎀

Tags:

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Hallows' Eve

Masterlist

Original Posting: 02 Oct 2020

MCU/DC Cross-over AU

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes, dark!Steve Rogers, dark!Clark Kent x Black Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, creampie, spanking, dirty talk, daddy kink, assault, non-consensual sex. Proceed with caution!

@mcudarklibrary​ entry for Dark MCU Kinktober

A/N: Ahh shoutout to my bff @titty-teetee​ for indulging me with this idea lol. I love ya >:D

October 30th, middle of somewhere, Texas.

Well, there was a house-- rickety as it was, the home stood in a clump of mesquite trees, accented with tufts of Johnsongrass, springing up through the cracks of the stone walkway and leaning against the stairs to the front porch. It had never looked darker than this night had. But even so, the jagged wood roof  rose high to a second story, long windows looked like eyes with the small front door for a mouth. A steady breeze moved through the trees, shaking and whishing the long thin branches, slicing through the air. The whispering of nature speaks to you, like God to man, invoking what has been and what was to come. An unexpected thin place perhaps, the house, having not been filled for quite some time looked like it could have been haunted. Maybe a part of you wished it was. Like the walls and foundation had the ability to make up its own people within, or remembered who once lived there. 

Bucky’s fingers nudged your lower back as you walked alongside him. The duffle bags zipper clinked against the fabric and you were suddenly aware of how quiet it was out here. The crisp autumn air, slowly contorted to that spikey chill of early winter lingered on your skin. So you walked closer to him for some quick warmth. 

“They should be--” said Bucky, lights glowed up from the dirt road. The paleness glowed over both you and Bucky, the house, the dormant land. “There they are.” he said pausing for a moment and then continued once again.

“You had to pick the spookiest spot huh?” you said under your breath. 

He shrugged as he stomped up the stairs. “I was here yesterday, I got it ready. It’s a perfect spot for a quick get away.”

“But did you have to invite company? I was looking forward to it just being you and me.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys in his pocket as a couple of car doors slammed behind you. 

“‘Come on babe, Steve doesn’t have anywhere to go really.”

“I’ll start the fire!” shouted Steve. 

You didn’t turn around, your eyes stayed on the shadows of Bucky’s face where his eyes should have been. 

“Okay, I get that. But what about the other guy? What did you say his name was? How do you know him?”

Bucky jabbed the key with the lock, he chuckled a bit before answering. “Clark Kent, his name is Clark.”

“So you’re picking up strays now?” 

“Get to know him, you’ll like him. He's a great guy, hardly a stray...”

You followed Bucky into the house slowly, he flicked on the switch flooding the living room with light. Okay, you thought, doesn’t look so bad. At least the furnishing appeared to be from within the last ten years, the walls looked newish, with sharp borders, and reasonably decorated. 

“Besides, I picked you up, remember?”

You dropped your bag flat on the ground. “Hey, now. Are you trying not to get lucky while we stay here?”

Bucky continued into the house with the grocery bags. “I’ll get lucky regardless.” he cut his eyes over his shoulder back toward you. It sent another chill, this time up your inner thighs. He wasn’t lying.

“Oh god, not that stupid-”

Bucky ducked in close, the flimsy plastic mask buckled under the pressure of nuzzling your neck. You gazed into the bathroom mirror at Bucky who’s rubber Michael Myers mask was staring lifelessly back.

“I know you wanted to try something different….but….”

His hands kneaded your sides, higher he climbed over your sweater to your breasts.

“You look ridiculous…”

One hand left your nipple and began tugging at the top of your leggings.

“Shh…” he tried to stifle a laugh. “..just go with it..”

And you did, by leaning your head back against the blue denim jacket as his fingers wondered underneath your underwear.

“..let daddy have a feel.” his breathy question muffled through the mask. Slowly he began to circle your clit, mouth hanging open your hand held the top of his black gloved hand and pushed him to press harder.

“Look at yourself...how needy you get.” he whispered.

You try to peer beyond the mask, the slits for eyes but there was nothing. Only darkness met you there. Bucky brought up his hand, held it in front of the mirror and you. He split his fingers, thick wetness strung between them like webs.

“Bend over-- hold on to the sink.” he ordered, with his hands disappearing behind you. The sound of his clothes ruffling you stared back at the mirror.

Bucky stepped forward, knocking your ankles apart with his shiny black boots and yanked your pants, underwear down and gently, he tipped into you. His long length traveled against your folds sinking further inside.

Ghostly scenes are made from the smoke casting up from the flickering fire being fed from lava colored coals. The metal chair underneath you feels cool on your bottom, because even though you are sitting on a blanket the cold night air hangs around you. 

Steve was ending his story. Though hardly a spooky tale, it didn’t have to be, for his tales were based on true events. Speaking of blood and gore the morbid tone grew in his voice and brought a shadow of delight in his eyes. You carefully watched him, observed his hunched over shoulders, his eyes turned to yours sometimes while he spoke but mostly stayed on the fire. 

You chugged from the bottle of hard cider as Bucky ate, that stupid mask was pulled up over his brows. But Clark Kent, this stranger, sat nearly directly opposite. You moved your eyes to him ever so often while Steve told his story. One of the two thought about food on the way here, chicken, you guessed was their craving. Clark leaned back, his black jacket bunched at his waist as he rose a hand to his mouth. The crunch of the crust of fried meat did not break Steve’s momentum. 

When he finished, Bucky nodded to the accuracy of the amount of soldiers, to why the only man left was brave and courageous. Clark’s eyes met yours over the flames, his skin pale, the wavy dark curls framed his face. He smiled at you as he chewed. You noticed it then, unsure why you wouldn’t have before, he held the grey cooked bone between his fingers and stuck the end in his mouth. You blinked, maybe you were seeing things -- this was your sixth cider for the night.

“Are you eating the bones?” you asked.

Clark continued to gnaw on it till it broke off in his mouth. “Waste not want not,” he said through a mouthful.

He continued to stare back at you and at the same time a chill coursed its way down your spine. Shivering in the gentle breeze the urge to go to the bathroom shot through you. 

“I’ll be right back,” and excused yourself from the fire.

Had to be a bit past ten p.m., though this was supposed to be a pleasant fall break, it didn’t truly feel that way. Not with two extra guests. You tried to not feel so desperate to be alone with Bucky. You finished washing your hands and opened the bathroom door. In the dark, lit up by the light of the bathroom a figure stood. You jumped so hard, grasping at your sweater, bent over grabbing your waist, the boogeyman mask simply stared back at you without moving.

“Bucky I swear to -- why would you? -- take that stupid thing off-” and you reached for the mask but his hand grabbed your wrist. Slowly he walked over the threshold, leaned over and flicked off the light. 

“Oh no!” you feigned a plea. “Seriously..--help..help.” you giggled through another.

The door slammed behind him trapping the dark inside. He pulled you close at first, residing to his strength, you let him touch, grab, pluck at your body. Backing you back up against the sink the rubber mask pushed against your neck, smiling in the dark you could hear him attempting to kiss you there. 

His hands ran around the waist of your leggings, one big hand gripped and caressed your ass, slipped toward your split and rubbed your asshole. You jumped again, this time wrapping your arms around his neck. Different, he had never done such a thing before, but you went with it. 

His finger crawled passed it, his other hand pushed down the front of your legging and circled your clit. 

“..help...a big bad man...help..” you chuckled under a moan. 

He jerked you away suddenly, pulled down your leggings and underwear, with a hand on your shoulder he forced you to bend over. The room filled with the sound of a smack to your back side. 

“Bucky!” 

The stinging lingered but white hot pain replaced it with another hit from his gloved hand. 

“Okay!” you rushed out. Maybe he was just being kinky, perhaps your pretending might have put him out of the mood. 

He hit you again making you grip the lip of the sink harder. “I’m sorry daddy..” you hissed.

He was back behind you again, his whole body pressed against you, scratching at the skin of your ass he plunged two thick fingers into your entrance.  Heavy breathing billowed from under the mask, hot air pooled over your shoulder and around the back of your neck. The weight of him bent you forward. He pulled out his fingers from within you and began to prod with something warmer, and far thicker at your slit as his other hand tangled with your fingers on the sink. 

And he pushed in, “..damn!” you moaned.

Jerky, irregular thrusts stretched you more than what you remembered. “Bucky!” you gasped, hoping he would slow the pace. But the other hand grabbed for your throat, squeezed tight and pumped you harder. 

“Daddy, please..” you half begged, half needingly whimpered. 

That changed his stroke, and soon the ache descended into bliss. 

“Fuck...daddy…”

His hand on yours returned to your clit, pushing hard and swiping steadily, your knees nearly buckled. Thicker for sure, veiny too, you thought, god what the loss of one sensory can do on a drunk mind. Your body bucked back against him as you rode out the orgasm. He squeezed harder, hissing and groaning under the mask you could nearly imagine him as someone else. And when he stilled inside of you, even his hiccups of pleasure could be thought of another. You shook the fantasy away as he stepped back. 

Before you could even turn around, the door opened, your eyes shot to his brown boots and then up to his back. And he left you there.

You stuffed pieces of a premade popcorn ball into your mouth. Bucky sat there weaving a tale of spirits walking through walls, of ancient gods embedded into objects best left to rest where they laid. Still buzzing hard you stayed captivated by his tone. It was something about the secretive way his voice projected that kept you staring at him, wondering if it could be true, but knew it mustn’t. 

It was still cool out, the shabby blanket thrown over your sore legs did little to keep the wind out. But it made for a good catcher, which is what you were doing toward the end of his story. Picking up pieces of fallen popcorn, and pizza flavored chip crumbs somehow made it to your mouth despite the only source of light was a waning fire.

“So if you ever hear your name called..don’t ever answer back, unless you can see it’s a actually living person.” Bucky finished and glanced over at you proudly.

“I hate that story.” you slurred your words a bit and shook out the blanket on your lap. “I hope you’re happy, you have to walk me everywhere until we return home.”

You picked up the last bottle off the ground and drank the last bit. The clash of flavors swirled on your tongue leaving a bitter after taste.

“Babe do you have any gum?”

“There’s a pack in the middle console--” Steve spoke up. “Back there in the truck..” he said hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes over in Steve’s direction. A smug grin, and a wrinkle on the side of one eye simply gazed back at you. 

“You’re fine,” he said finally. “You’ve got us here...nothings gunna get you.” he reminded smoothly.

And the moment was quiet, poised on the end of the gentle breeze blowing through the heat of the fire. The rustle of sleeping honeysuckle vines, somewhere near the old rotted out shack Steve’s truck sat was the only identifiable sound for a few seconds. 

“Fine.” you huffed and stood up to get that gum.

You walked down the dirt path the short way from the front of the house where Bucky, Steve and Clark sat. The tin roofing of the old shed rocked, and slapped against itself the closer you got. And of course Steve parked on the other side, out of the sight of the house and fire. But you walked quickly, or rather, as fast as two aching legs could in the cool weather. 

The knocking sound only got heavier, louder as you squinted in the dark toward the blackest corner of the area. Steve’s truck was within a few footsteps and you batted away any imaginings of spooky phantoms. You slipped passed the door, your hand flipped up the middle console and snagged up the pack of gum before slamming the door back. And when you turned around, just off from where you had previously walked was a figure. The white, deathly pale mask was the only part you could really see.

“Fuck!” you shouted, dropping the pack of gum. “Bucky!” you hissed and reached back down to retrieve it. 

The yellow fire light was at his back when he moved forward toward you. 

“Okay...no more mask!”

You stuffed the gum under your arms and went to yank at the mask. But he caught your arm and squeezed down like a vice grip. “Hey--easy there..” you said quietly. 

He pulled you toward the shed, but just outside of it, along the rotten wall of it a few old deep freezers were lined up against it collecting weeds, and dust. 

“Oh no, Bucky..those look super dirty..” you tried to jerk your arm away but he only pulled you harder. “...Really? You’re this committed to fucking in that mask?”

This time your hand grabbed enough of the back of the mask to rip it fully up over his head. At that same moment you were jerked forward between the rusty freezer and him. Your eyes now bulging and fighting for light to correct what you were seeing in the dark stared up at him. You blinked several times once more before you realized the angular features did not belong to Bucky. Thick curly hair, messy all over haloed around his face, and of course, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, he was taller. It was Clark.

You made to quickly move away from him but he snapped you back, “Get off me!” Your voice shook, and so did your body. 

“Bucky’s right over there...all I have to do is scr--”

The air whipped out of your lungs so fast as Clark slammed his palm over your mouth and rushed your back down on to the freezer. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for this..” he whispered.

No amount of squirming could equal the might Clark welding against your struggling. It was like a man made of iron held you down, even when his other hand disappeared between your legs, the tearing of your legging, your underwear did not loosen his hold. And then the unfolding of his clothes paired with the gentle brushing of the vines against wood near your head sent you into hysterical kicking. Your legs on either side of him squeezed, and jerked to no avail. 

“-don’t act so innocent. You’ve already fucked two different men tonight.”

You stopped kicking, eyes wide above his hand you glowered at him through the dark. “You won’t mind..will you?”

Shaking your head you held your breath. The thick end of his cock began to push past your folds. 

“Slut.” 

He lowered his forehead on to yours, what you imagined was him staring back down at you but could see only the tip of his nose. A shuddering breath pulled through your nose as he sank further to his balls. “You’re wet from it still…”

He started snapping into you, hard and fast, slapping his lust into your unwilling cunt. Clark’s hand slipped to your chin, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Are you going to call me daddy too?” he asked, with his breath steadily huffing into your mouth. “..Say it for me baby..” 

“Let me hear that little desperate voice..” He kissed you, slipping his tongue along the inside of your lower lip and then against your face as you turned your head. “Come on..” And then he started jabbing, a feral thumping into you. Sharp pains up your thighs shot further into your core. You denied him and he lowered his head to your neck. He sucked on your skin, flicked his tongue around and inside your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. 

You whimpered in response as his teeth began to snag on the wet skin of your neck. He sucked hard, drawing out needle points of pain. 

You pray to god Bucky could hear this, you’ve been gone too long certainly either Steve or him could. Clark kept nibbling, and groaning in between thrusts. When you refused once again he shoved his palm back over your mouth, the other brought your wrist up and twisted it into a bone breaking angle. 

He stopped moving inside of you as his deep voice raked over clenched teeth, “What was that?” he asked. The warm palm slid down to your chin. 

“..daddy.” you shivered out.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Good..girl.” he whispered. 

“That wasn’t so hard to say was it babe?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice from the darkest, most grown up side of the shed sent your eyes reeling in the dark. Clark put his hand back over your mouth and kept going. 

Bucky stood at the edge of the freezer, in the dark the features of his face were smudged. A gentle hand caressed the top of your forehead. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let Clark finish.”

At Bucky’s words, Clark released your mouth, he rose up and held your upper arms down as he continued to fuck you roughly. Your eyes stayed on Bucky’s silhouette, high pitch whimpering up at him did not go unheard. 

Bucky cupped your chin and head. “Shush,” he hushed down your sobbing face. 

Another pair of hands tore at the front of your sweater. To his right, another figure stepped to your side. The figures loomed over you while your breasts chilled, and peaked in the cool night air. A deft hot hand kneaded and groped at the nearest one. 

“You told us she was good….” Steve pinched your nipple hard. “She’s fucking outstanding.”

Bucky leaned over you, he grabbed for your thigh but you kicked away. Clark relinquished some leverage to pull your thigh up so Bucky could hold your ankle. “Yeah, get in there good.” Bucky’s voice rose above your strangled cries. Steve got your other leg, held it folded it in high and tight, that allowed Clark to pound you deeper. 

He grinded his hips into yours burning his stiff cock into your core. His grip tightened around your arms pinning you for good below him. “Where am I going to empty my balls?” Clark demanded on a puff of air. 

Tears slid down the corners of your eyes. They rolled from the darken outlines of Bucky above you to Steve at his side and then back to the man between your legs. 

“..in me.” you sniffled out. 

“And who are we--” Bucky asked softly. 

You didn’t bother to look in the direction of his voice, Clark’s head threw back, a deep moan started in his chest as his hips kept pumping. “Say it baby..” Clark whispered.

“..daddy.” you whimpered.