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eowynstwin · 22 days ago

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peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fight to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #mwritessoap #madi writes #am i happy with the photos i used? no #am i going to make an effort to change them? also no #does that image of a whirlpool look terribly erotic? oh yes #selkie soap #peristalsis

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punkshort · 3 months ago

Text

Evergreen | Chapter One: Denial

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Tommy encourages Joel to join bereavement group counseling, where he meets you. You connect over a similar loss and the common thread of loneliness, leading to something unexpected for you both.

Chapter Warnings: grief, angst, mentions of OC deaths, mild references to: suicide, self harm, drug use (none by reader or Joel), language, panic/anxiety attack (Joel), Joel POV

WC: 8.8K

A/N: I've been working on this goddamn series since May. Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to it but I am committing to a posting schedule now that it is almost complete and I appreciate you all for being so patient. Hope you enjoy tons of fluff and softness and angst.

Series Masterlist

Joel's hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared blankly at the faded brick building connected to the small, run down parking lot. He watched as the clock ticked down to six in the evening, and with each passing minute a new car parked nearby or someone walked through the double doors. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he was surprised to see people of all ages streaming inside.

Then he saw a young woman with two children, one in each hand, neither of which could have been over seven years old, walk inside with watery eyes and he dropped his gaze to his lap in shame.

Mia had been gone for nearly ten years. He had no business being there. His grief wasn't fresh. Over the years, he's learned to cope with it, to live alongside it. The people who were there that night needed the support.

Joel didn't need support. He was just lonely.

He reached for his key, still dangling in the ignition, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he patted down the front of his jeans until he located his phone, then lifted his hips off the worn seat with a grunt so he could fish it out.

"Yeah?"

"You better not be thinkin' 'bout leavin'."

Joel swiveled around in alarm, searching the parking lot for his brother's truck, but all he saw were the last few stragglers hurriedly walking up to the front doors, the anguish practically weighing them down as they moved.

"You watchin' me now?"

Tommy chuckled on the other end.

"Nah, I'm at home. I just know you."

Joel rolled his eyes as the clock ticked to 6:01 on the dash.

"This is stupid, Tommy."

"It ain't stupid. It's been almost ten years and you've never looked twice at another woman. You can tell me you've moved on or that you're fine, but I'm not buying your bullshit," Tommy said sternly on the other end. "I don't think you ever gave yourself a chance to process what happened and it's important you do that. For your mental health and all that."

"Maria tell you to say that?" Joel scoffed, but still unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"Maybe. Don't matter who said it, it's true."

"Fine. I'm walkin' in now, I'll call you later," Joel said, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

The building wasn't very big. From the lobby, Joel could hear a male's voice making what sounded like brief introductions as he strolled quickly down the hall. He rested his hand on the push bar and took a deep breath. Right as he was about to enter, he heard someone else's light footsteps jogging up behind him. He turned around as you approached, a little breathless and with a guilty smile.

"Oh, good, I'm not the only one who's late," you said, nodding towards the door.

"Uh, yeah," Joel said, clearing his throat softly, "we can share the heat," he joked, opening the door and stepping aside so you could walk through first. You shot him a grateful look and mouthed thank you before entering the room.

The group all turned their heads at the disruption, as expected, but the counselor waved them in with a warm smile.

"Welcome! Have a seat, we were just getting started."

Joel found the first empty chair he could, in the very last row closest to the door. You glanced around the room before sliding into the same row as him, just a few seats down.

"As I was saying, welcome to the grief and loss support group. I'm Dr. Harris, but please feel free to call me Ryan."

Ryan was young. Definitely under forty. Something about that irked Joel. He imagined this man going to school to learn how to be caring, how to listen and say all the right words at the right time so he could make a decent paycheck and call himself doctor while he went home to his wife and picket fence and his patients went home with a gaping hole in their hearts.

"There is no wrong way to grieve," Ryan was saying from the podium with a practiced look of solemnity. "All of you are here for different reasons. And while you may look around here and think nobody else could possibly understand what you are feeling, I am here to tell you that you are simply wrong." Ryan took a moment to let his words settle over the group before continuing. "We have all lost somebody in our lives. That is the common thread that weaves us all together. And I'm here to tell you to use it." Ryan clenched his fists for emphasis and Joel had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Lean on each other. Listen to one another. This is a safe space. Nobody will judge you here, no matter what you may think, everybody in this room is here for the same reason."

After what felt like an eternity, Ryan invited the people in the room to approach the podium to speak, no longer than ten minutes, he had said, reminding everyone that their time was limited and they always could speak again at the next meeting.

One by one, people trickled up to the front of the room. First it was an elderly woman who explained with tears in her eyes that her husband of forty years passed away a month ago.

"It sounds silly," she sniffled, "but it feels like I'm... untethered. Like I lost my connection to this world when he left and I'm scared I might just... float away."

Next was a man around Joel's age who visibly struggled to hold back his tears about his late sister.

"I just keep reminding myself I didn't cause it, I can't control it, can't undo it. I'm really mad at myself for not paying attention to the warning signs. She was struggling, y'know?" His glassy eyes addressed the group briefly before he cast his gaze back down. "The best thing I can do is try to rebuild. Don't let the anguish fester. Don't let it consume me. Because she wouldn't want that."

After that, a girl no older than twenty, arms and neck covered in tattoos walked to the front. "She was my best friend since we were eight. And I know it's my fault, I know it is," she choked out, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I gave her her first hit. I could see she was falling too deep into it and I didn't try to help her, I was too focused on my own shit and not seeing what was right in front of me. To this day, I can't look her mom in the eye-" the girl hung her head and took a moment to gather herself. Chairs squeaked as the group patiently waited for her to continue. "But I'm clean and sober almost six months now," she said with a watery smile. A small round of applause broke out amongst the group and she nodded her thanks. "I'm thinking about going to school for social work. Maybe I can honor her memory in some way."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you cross and uncross your legs nervously but made no move to walk to the front.

Same as him.

When the clock on the wall ticked closer to seven, Ryan addressed the group one final time.

"I'll stick around in case anybody wants to have a talk after group. Just a reminder that I'm only here once a week, but my esteemed colleague, Grace, runs another group on Tuesdays, so please feel free to stop by one or both. I also left some cards in the back next to the coffee. My information is on there if you would like a one on one appointment and on the back is the crisis hotline. Please take one, you never know when you may need it."

The room collectively seemed to stand, a murmur rippling through the group as people began to softly speak again, reaching out to neighbors, either introducing themselves or catching up from the last session. Joel scratched at his chin and looked around the room as people continued to filter around. Some paired off to grab coffee, some went to talk to Ryan, but Joel just stood there. All alone.

He took a deep breath and headed for the back, then lingered at the small stack of business cards Ryan had mentioned. He picked one up and flipped it over, studying it, when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Excuse me," you said, and he swiveled around in surprise.

"Oh, sorry," he replied, stepping to the side so you could reach the coffee. He pretended to look at the card but watched as you filled up a cup. He waited for you to add cream or sugar but you didn't. You lifted the cup to your lips and took a tentative sip before recoiling at the heat and doing it again.

"That, uh, any good?"

Your eyes locked onto his and you shrugged. "'Bout what you'd expect."

He smiled and looked around the room, fidgeting with the edge of the card before sliding it into his pocket. "This your first session, too?"

You shook your head and stepped aside, a little closer to him, so others could get to the coffee. "I've been coming here almost two months."

That surprised Joel. Based on the way the rest of the group seemed familiar with each other, he had suspected the two of you were both new.

"Two months? Wow," Joel said, "how's it workin' out for you, if you don't mind my askin'?"

You sighed and gave him a little smile.

"Some days are better than others. But I figure it doesn't hurt, so..." you trailed off and crossed your arms, your fingertips tapping against the paper cup. "My mom begged me to come, so I did. I think it makes her believe she's helping in some way by pushing it and I grew tired of feeling like an emotional burden."

Joel frowned. "I'm sure that ain't true. No parent thinks their kid is an emotional burden."

You chuckled and drained the rest of your cup. "You'd be surprised." You tossed the cup into the trash before giving him a brighter smile. Although expressing your emotions was the entire reason you were there, you still felt uncomfortable doing it. "So this was your first time? What did you think?"

"Jury's still out," Joel replied honestly. "Promised my brother I would give it a try, same as you. My daughter just went off to college last month and I think he and his wife are worried 'bout me bein' all alone for the first time in, well... forever, I suppose." His lips pursed in thought for a moment. "Feels kinda like I don't belong here. My wife passed almost ten years ago. I've learned to live with it by now. It ain't as raw as all that-" he gestured up to the podium, referencing all the individuals who poured their hearts out for the past hour. Then he realized he was rambling and chuckled. "Sorry. Can't seem to shut up." He looked at you sheepishly and you smiled back.

"That's good. That's what you're supposed to do here," you assured him, then took a deep breath. "I lost my fiancé a year ago, so I can relate... kind of."

"I'm sorry," he said, furrowing his brow and examining your face. "You're so young, you shouldn't know what that feels like at your age."

"Not that young. I'm thirty-one," you joked. He laughed and rubbed his chin.

"Well I got twenty years on you, seems pretty young to me."

"You're fifty-one?" you asked, and he nodded. "You look good, I wouldn't have guessed a day over..." you trailed off as you studied his face and he grinned.

"Go ahead, be honest."

"Forty-three," you decided, and Joel laughed. When was the last time he felt this lighthearted?

"Well that's the nicest thing I've heard all week," he replied. The room began to thin out and you shifted your weight.

"Well, I guess I should get going," you told him, almost sounding regretful. Then you pinched your eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Joel," he said, sticking an arm out to shake your hand. You gave him a warm smile before telling him your name, your hand getting dwarfed by his thick, rough fingers.

"Will I see you next week, Joel?"

"Yeah," he replied, walking out with you and holding open the door. "I'll give it another chance."

"Good. I mean, you know, I'm glad you're giving it another chance," you found yourself inexplicably stumbling over your words and before your face began to heat up you veered off towards your car with a quick wave.

Joel's eyes trailed after you for a minute before he opened the door to his truck and climbed inside. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his lower lip, lost in thought while he stared straight ahead at the emptying parking lot. Then you drove by in a higher end white SUV and he watched as you took a right turn out of the lot and disappeared down the road. He sighed and started his truck, realizing he was one of the last cars in the lot, and decided to stop at a fast food drive thru on the way home.

"Uncle Tommy told me you went to a grief support group the other day, how did it go?" Sarah asked him over FaceTime. He pushed the lever on his recliner and leaned back into the chair with a grunt.

"S'alright," he mumbled.

"Did you share anything?"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

"'Cause, baby girl, these people just lost someone close to 'em. I can't get up there and talk 'bout your mama, it's been so long-"

"That doesn't matter," she said, interrupting him. He could hear other kids in the background laughing but she remained focused on her screen. "I don't think you've ever really processed Mom's death and it's important to me that you try. I worry about you, old man," she teased, and Joel grinned.

"No need to worry 'bout me, I'm stayin' busy."

"Yeah, doing what? And don't tell me you're eating frozen meals and watching baseball because it'll break my heart."

Joel's eyes drifted to the empty plastic tray on the coffee table.

"No," he said gruffly. "Ain't baseball season. I'm watchin' basketball."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Dad," she whined, "what about your friends? The guys from work?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her they were busy with their families, with their wives, so he lied.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get together with Jimmy later this week. Gonna shoot some pool."

"That sounds great!" Sarah exclaimed, her face instantly brightening. Her eyes snapped up to someone behind her phone and she grinned, holding up one finger, then looked back at him. "Listen, Dad, I gotta run. I promised a few friends I would go to the football game with them."

"Oh, so you'll watch football with your friends and not me?" he teased, and she giggled. "Alright then, text me when you get back home safe."

"I will. I love you."

No matter how many times he heard it, those words always warmed his heart.

"Love you too, baby girl."

The call ended and he set his phone down with a sigh. Sarah was right. He couldn't waste away in his house all alone, waiting for her to come home to visit or for Tommy and Maria to come by for dinner. He needed to get a hobby. He glanced outside then looked at the time before turning off the television and pushing himself out of his recliner with a groan. He shuffled down the hall to his bedroom to change out of his old sweatpants and ratty tshirt, then snatched his keys off the kitchen counter and headed out to the driveway.

He drove aimlessly through town, his window down with his arm hanging out, soaking up the sun's rays. Kids were playing on the sidewalks and people were walking their dogs or pushing strollers. Everyone just seemed so... happy. Content.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Maybe he should start with a fish, first.

He jumped on the highway and cruised with one hand on the steering wheel. Hank Williams crooned from the radio and Joel took a deep, relaxing breath. He was coming up on the exit for the mall. Sarah loved dragging him to the mall. A smile played on his lips and he figured why not.

He veered off the highway and slowed when he approached the red light, the mall parking lot straight ahead. It didn't look terribly busy. With the weather as nice as it was, he imagined most people would be spending their time outside.

Joel found a good spot right out front. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked inside through the Macy's. A blast of freezing cold air conditioning hit him like a ton of bricks, cooling the sweat that was collecting on the back of his neck. He managed to make his way through the maze of the department store and entered the mall itself. There were a few groups of girls around Sarah's age giggling and carrying shopping bags and the random couple here or there walking into William Sonoma or Brookstone.

When he passed by the food court, he saw a few solitary older men sipping coffee and reading the paper or people watching. Joel huffed under his breath, wondering who on earth would come to the mall just to read a paper until he realized he was no better.

Was he going to become just like them one day? Would he come to the mall to nurse a coffee just so he wouldn't feel so alone? The thought had his throat closing up.

He paused and leaned against a railing overlooking the bottom floor of the mall, pretending to be looking for someone when in reality he was struggling to breathe. His heart was fluttering too fast in his chest and his vision was narrowing.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus on taking deep breaths. It was like reality crashed down around him all at once: Sarah was moved out of the house. Tommy was happily married. And Joel was going to die all alone.

He gasped and blinked, trying to clear his head and mentally talk himself down, but it was no use. He leaned forward a bit to rest his forehead on the cool, stainless steel railing but his knees began to buckle. Just when he thought he would need to stop someone and beg them to call an ambulance, he heard someone say his name, temporarily snapping him out of his daze.

"Are you okay?" you asked, the smile slipping from your face when you noticed how flush he looked. He could only manage to shake his head. Without hesitating, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him stand, then glanced around. Spotting an empty bench, you led him over and helped him sit. You rubbed your palm over his upper back soothingly and sat next to him, reminding him to breathe deeply until his vision cleared and he felt his strength return.

"Christ," he mumbled. He sat up and leaned back so the back of his head rested on the bench and stretched his long legs out. "Thank you," he added, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"No problem," you said, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Or, no. I don't know," he sighed, dropping his hand from his face. "I think it just hit me all at once."

You slid over on the bench to give him more room. "What hit you all at once?"

"That my little girl is growin' up and -" he stopped himself, the words and I'm all alone getting trapped in his throat. "And I just miss her, is all."

You slowly nodded and glanced around the mall. "What does she like?"

He smiled. "Clothes. Music. Makeup. Books."

"What kind of books?"

"The fantasy kind. Y'know, like Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter."

A huge grin spread across your face. "Follow me, I have an idea," you said, standing up and looking down at him before you realized you might have overstepped. "I mean, unless you're-"

"No, let's go," he replied, standing up and stretching out an arm for you to lead the way. He fell in step next to you as you led him down towards the other end of the mall and after a few minutes, he realized where you were leading him.

"The bookstore?"

"Yep," you said cheerily, shooting him a playful grin. "Trust me."

And he did.

"There's some really incredible series out there right now. Why don't we pick one out, you can read it and share it with her so you guys have something to do together from a distance? Do you know if she's read The Word of the Heir? That's by an incredibly talented author who actually got the idea when she was only seven years old," you told him excitedly, leading him deep into the bookstore, dodging tables and displays until you made it to the fantasy section. Joel slowed down and looked around, his panic attack slipping further and further from his mind.

"Uh, I ain't sure," he replied as you held up the book. You tucked it under your arm and began to look again.

"How about Empire of Kings? I haven't read that one but the author is relatively new and I've heard he's an extremely talented storyteller."

Joel shrugged, again unsure what Sarah may or may not have read. All of the titles sounded so foreign to him until his eyes landed on the spine of a thick, hardcover book.

"Oh, this one sounds familiar," he said, plucking it from the shelf. "The Crimson Stone. I think she wanted to read this but I don't think she ever finished it. It's a series-"

"Yeah, I know that one," you told him quietly. He glanced down at the book again and read the author's name.

"Daniel Davis, ain't this the guy who died in that bad wreck downtown?" Joel mumbled as he flipped the book over in his hands to read the back. You nodded. "Maybe I'll get this one."

"Don't waste your money, I can give it to you for free," you said, gently taking it from his hands. You ran your palm distractedly over the cover before flipping it open and looking at the tiny black and white photo of the author on the inside jacket. "This was my fiancé," you added, your voice thick. Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Shit," he mumbled. "I-I'm sorry, his name just sounded familiar, I remember it from the paper..." he trailed off, floundering for what to say to comfort you. Why couldn't he fucking think?

"It's okay," you told him, waving him off, but the guilt still laid heavy in his chest. "There's no way you would have known." You slowly closed the book, giving the picture one more glance, and handed it back to him. "But really, if you want to read them I have tons of copies just sitting around. He had a few other books outside of this series, as well, if you guys wanted them."

Joel's eyebrows knit together. "I don't wanna take your books. They gotta have sentimental value or somethin'."

"No, seriously, I have boxes of them just sitting there. He was in the middle of signing copies for readings he was supposed to do before-" you stopped yourself and cleared your throat. "Anyway. I can bring them to group next week or you can come by the house and look through them yourself if you like."

Joel nodded and nervously chewed the inside of his cheek. "Do you wanna talk 'bout it?"

You looked up at him then, all wide eyed and filled with so much sadness that it made his chest ache. No one so young and pretty should have to go through so much pain. Your eyes drifted over his face for a moment, quietly studying him before responding. "Yeah. I kind of do."

Joel looked over his shoulder and spotted the café across from the bookstore. "You wanna get a coffee and find a quiet bench or somethin'?"

"That sounds nice," you replied, so he put the books back on the shelf and walked out into the mall. He spotted a bench near an empty storefront and he told you to go have a seat with the promise of bringing you back something to drink. There wasn't a line at the counter. He couldn't imagine many people wanted coffee that late in the day, so it only took a few minutes before the barista slid the two cups of black coffee across the counter and he met you back at the bench.

"Black, right?"

You smiled and gingerly took the cup. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"From group the other day," he replied, then sat down with a grunt. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, each of you letting your coffees cool before you spoke.

"I usually don't talk about it. Every week I tell myself I'm gonna go up to that podium and pour my heart out and every week I chicken out."

Joel didn't say a word. He learned early on with Sarah when she was upset, she just wanted someone to listen to her. So that's exactly what he did. He sipped his coffee and just listened. And before you even realized it, you were telling him everything.

You began by telling him Daniel was from Austin but you met in Portland, where you grew up. For a while, the two of you tried doing a long-distance relationship, but once you were finished with school you took him up on the offer to move in with him in Texas. Shortly thereafter, he proposed and you had spent the last year of his life planning your dream wedding. The night of the accident, you had been touring a venue an hour outside the city. It was dark when you finished up and drove back home.

Daniel didn't do anything wrong. You insisted Joel knew that first.

A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and ran a light, completely crushing the driver's side and killing Daniel instantly. Somehow, you had only come out of the accident with a small concussion and a badly bruised chest from the seatbelt.

"Jesus," Joel muttered when you exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, darlin'. That's some fucked up shit." His eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat. "Shit, sorry for cursin'... twice." He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably and a slow smile spread across your face. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you burst out laughing.

"Thank you," you said in between giggles. He grinned, confused but happy you were laughing and not crying. "I needed that. And you're right, it was some fucked up shit."

Joel chuckled and took a sip from his coffee. He heard his phone ring so he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before silencing the call and putting his phone away.

"You can take it," you said, wiping a stray tear from your eye and jutting your chin towards his phone.

"Just my brother. I'll call him back later."

"Ah, the infamous brother that made you go to group?"

"The very same."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger, but the way he bosses me 'round you'd never know it," Joel said with a grin.

"He's probably just looking out for you."

"He knows I'm feelin' especially lonely without Sarah. Sarah's my daughter, by the way," he said, pulling his phone out and showing you his lock screen: it was a selfie of him and Sarah on the beach, Joel looked red as a lobster and Sarah's hair looked tangled from the wind but there was no denying the happiness in both their eyes.

"She's beautiful," you said warmly. He smiled and put his phone away.

"Got that from her mama."

"I don't know, I see a little bit of you in her smile," you teased, bumping up against his shoulder playfully. He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

"What I'm tryin' to say is, I can relate a bit to what you're goin' through. Y'know, losin' a partner and feelin' like you got no one left," he said. You took a deep breath.

"Yeah, sounds like you do."

Joel nervously picked at his jeans, trying to figure out the right way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like an old creep, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke first.

"Maybe we can hang out together and keep each other company?" you offered. He turned his head and grinned.

"I was 'bout to suggest the same thing."

"Really?" you asked, looking as relieved as he felt. He nodded.

"Sounds like we both could use a friend."

Something in your expression shifted. It was too quick. He couldn't pinpoint it but whatever it was disappeared, leaving behind a genuine smile.

"I would really like that, Joel."

"What the hell? You couldn't call me back yesterday?" Tommy scolded when he marched into the small, messy office the following morning. Joel glanced up from behind his desk; papers, a calculator and a pencil scattered about in front of him. He took his reading glasses off with a sigh, abandoning his work. He hated doing the administrative part of his job. He always preferred to be on site or meeting with clients.

"I was busy."

"Busy?" Tommy repeated before collapsing in the worn out chair across from him.

"Yeah, busy. I was... with a friend," Joel mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant but Tommy's ears perked up.

"A friend? Who?"

Joel shrugged. "Someone I met at that group you made me go to."

Tommy's eyes lit up. "Hey, that's great. See? I knew it'd be good for you. What's his name?"

Joel pursed his lips before softly saying your name and Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"A woman? That's even better, Joel."

"It ain't like that-"

"'Course not," Tommy said, "I'm just sayin' it's a step in the right direction."

"She's too young," Joel said defensively, giving Tommy pause.

"Okay..."

"We're just friends. She ain't from 'round here, ain't got anyone in Texas."

Tommy frowned as he watched Joel shift uncomfortably in his chair, wondering what made his brother get so sensitive, so he chose to tread lightly.

"So you're keepin' each other company. That's nice."

"Yeah," Joel said, standing up with a grunt and rubbing his lower back before he snatched his coat from the wall. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," Tommy said, standing to follow Joel out of the office. While he locked the door behind him, Tommy couldn't help but ask, "How young is too young?"

"Thirty-one," Joel replied, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

Tommy shrugged, falling in step next to his brother as they walked towards the parking lot. "Sounds like an adult to me," he muttered, but Joel chose to ignore it. "When are you seein' her again?"

"End of the week," Joel replied before climbing into the truck.

"Friday?"

"Yeah, after work. We were gonna order some dinner and look through some books she's tryin' to get rid of."

The corner of Tommy's mouth twitched. "So, like a date?"

"It ain't a date," Joel said firmly, his jaw set as he pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive in the direction of the first worksite. "She's mourin' the loss of her husband, it's not a date."

"Husband?" Tommy repeated, then Joel shook his head, growing flustered.

"Fiancé. Not husband."

"When did he pass?"

Joel thought back to what you told him the night you first met. "A year ago."

Tommy hummed and looked out the window, tapping his fingers against the car door in rhythm with the beat from the radio. Joel side eyed him while they sat in silence for a few minutes before he rolled his eyes and sighed. "What?" Joel asked with an edge to his voice.

"A year's a long time, is all."

"She's in grief therapy, Tommy. She's in pain and tryin' to come to terms with it. Quit makin' it sound like somethin' it ain't."

"Just 'cause she's in grief therapy don't mean she ain't ready to move on-"

"Goddamnit, this is the last time I tell you anythin'," Joel grumbled as he made a left hand turn. Tommy hid a smile behind his hand and looked out the window.

"Alright, no need to get all defensive on me now."

Joel opened his mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut. The more he pushed back just gave Tommy more ammunition. Besides, he knew the truth. You were looking for a friend, someone who could relate to what you were going through. There was absolutely no way you were interested in a man twenty years older than you. The thought was so absurd it almost made him laugh. You were young and beautiful and charming and you had your whole life ahead of you.

No, surely Tommy was wrong.

When Joel pulled up to your house, his eight year old truck the noisiest thing on the whole block, he let out a low whistle and threw it into park, deciding at the last second to keep his car on the street for fear of leaving an oil stain or something on your pristine concrete driveway. He sat in his truck for a moment, taking in the monumental Victorian house before him. He recognized it from his youth, but back then the siding was chipped and the windows were foggy, in desperate need of replacing. He always admired houses like yours and part of his heart broke whenever he saw one fall into such a state of disrepair that it was beyond saving, but not yours. No, at some point in the past ten years, the house was upgraded but managed to maintain the original charm.

There was fresh siding and new windows installed, the insides framed in what looked like delicate lace curtains, complimenting the style of the house. The roof looked like it had been replaced and the front door looked new, but the original architecture remained. He could easily tell whoever bought the house took great care with it, and the contractor in him breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't fall into the wrong hands, or god forbid, a flipper.

When he walked up your driveway towards the small stone path that led to your front door, he slowed to look at the garden that flourished in front of the wraparound porch. It was a beautiful mix of wildflowers and hedges, and while wildflowers had a tendency to look messy and unkept, you somehow managed to make it look neat and well put together. Fat, fuzzy bumblebees bounced drunkenly from flower to flower and as he climbed the wooden steps, a hummingbird buzzed past his ear, spooked by his presence.

He pressed the button to your doorbell, noting you chose not to install one of those camera doorbells and for some reason, that bothered him. Normally he wasn't a huge fan of technology, but you were all alone in this big house. You needed to be safe, to be careful. Your house was in a nice neighborhood, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

The door swung open and you greeted him barefoot with a warm smile before stepping aside to let him in. You were wearing a loose tshirt that hung off one shoulder and he chastised himself when his eyes traveled down your tight fitting jeans to your ass as he followed you into your home.

He shrugged his reaction off to just typical male instinct and forced his focus onto the lovely foyer surrounding him as he slid off his boots. Polished cherry wainscoting lined the walls and his eyes widened when he noticed the small tiles in the shape of little octagons below his feet.

"Is this original?" he asked you in disbelief as he pointed to the ground. Your gaze followed his finger and you nodded.

"We tried to keep everything original, if we could," you explained.

"Wow," he breathed as he stepped forward into the hallway, his eyes unable to keep up with how fast his brain was operating. His gaze slid over the original hardwood floors of the hallway, fresh wallpaper, and wide, polished staircase with a plush carpet installed in the center of the steps. Much to his delight, you chose to furnish the house to match the style, as well. Antique fixtures hung from the ceiling and a real wood table was pushed against the wall. A small lamp sat on top with a stained glass Tiffany shade, and next to it was a pile of mail and a framed photograph he tried not to examine too closely out of respect.

"This way," you said over your shoulder, and he followed you blindly deeper into the house. You pushed open a swinging door that led into your kitchen, and for the first time since arriving, his nose was the first of his senses to respond instead of his eyes.

It smelled absolutely heavenly. He had no idea what you were cooking but his mouth instantly watered at the smell of garlic and salt and some kind of meat.

He swallowed and hoped his stomach wouldn't growl and embarrass him.

"Thought we were gonna order somethin'?" he asked as he watched you hurry over to the stove to stir something.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I felt like cooking," you replied without looking. He glanced around the room, noticing you chose to update the counters and cabinets to look more modern, but kept the original flooring.

"Mind? Are you kiddin' me? Haven't had anythin' decent to eat since Sarah left for college."

Memories of fast food drive thrus and frozen dinners flashed before his eyes as he watched you turn off the burners on the stove. You opened a cupboard and stretched on your tiptoes to reach a bowl, the hem of your shirt riding up ever so slightly and revealing a small sliver of skin on your back and suddenly, his mouth was watering for an entirely different reason.

Stop it.

"Need some help?" he offered, and you fell back onto the flats of your feet, shooting him a nod and smile. He didn't mean to, but he reached up from behind you for the serving bowl, his front brushing gently against your back, and your shoulders tensed. Shit.

"Sorry, here ya go," he said, handing you the bowl and immediately giving you some space, not catching the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured shyly. He watched you spoon vegetables into the bowl for a moment, grabbing random jars of seasoning and sprinkling them on top before stirring it up, and he finally remembered his manners.

"Can I help?"

"No, no, I got it," you insisted, waving him toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. "Go sit down, I'll be right out."

He wandered over to the propped open door and entered your dining room. Pausing for a moment, he admired the chandelier above the table that looked old but the brass had been polished and the crystals cleaned. The drop ceiling was even remarkable: squares of textured patterns that repeated across the whole room, adding a whole other layer of elegance to the already impressive first floor. His eyes drifted to the dark wood table, where two spots were already set across from each other. He pulled out a chair and sat down, shifting his weight a bit and noting the chairs must have been recently reupholstered based on how firm the cushion was underneath him. You breezed in after him, hardly giving him enough time to take in the elaborate fireplace and mantle at the end of the room, and began to set down plates of food. His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw fresh, fried chicken and whipped mashed potatoes.

"You didn't have to go through all the trouble," he assured you, but you smirked at the way he stared at the chicken, the aroma from the breading overpowering his senses.

"It wasn't any trouble, I like to cook," you replied, disappearing into the kitchen to grab the vegetables and a basket of fresh rolls before finally joining him at the table.

Joel spread the cloth napkin over his lap, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from devouring everything in sight. He glanced up at you and you grinned.

"Go ahead, help yourself."

You watched with a small smile on your face as he loaded up his plate, then played with your own food until he took his first bite of chicken. He froze, his mouth full, and stared at you in awe before he dropped the chicken leg on his plate and leaned back, a deep, appreciative moan rumbling from his chest, making your thighs squeeze together under the table.

"Goddamn," he said once he swallowed. "That's the best fried chicken I've ever had in my entire life, darlin'."

You giggled and finally took a dainty bite of your own before nodding in agreement. "It's not bad."

Joel scoffed and took another bite. "Don't sell yourself short, now. I know what I'm talkin' 'bout. What'd you put in this?"

He listened, completely enraptured, as you explained how you soaked the chicken in buttermilk the day before and all of the seasonings you used in the breading.

"Oh! I almost forgot the lemonade," you said, standing back up and rushing into the kitchen, returning with two cold glasses and setting them down on the placemats. He nodded his thanks, mouth still full, and you giggled again.

You were already planning on packing up all the leftovers so he could take it home, but you still encouraged him to have as much as he wanted while it was warm and fresh.

"Did you make the rolls, too?" he asked after he took a bite.

You laughed and shook your head. "No, I'm not that good. I bought them this morning from a local bakery I like around the corner."

You had finished your meal long before he did, watching with your chin in your palm as he went back for seconds, reveling in the noises and compliments he made with practically each bite.

"Here, have some more," you told him, nudging the plate of chicken in his direction, but he leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "I can't, but everythin' was delicious. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm thrilled to cook for someone again," you replied with a sad smile before standing up and picking up your plate. He immediately stood and began to collect the rest, but you waved him back down.

"Sit, sit, I still have dessert," you told him, and based on the way he looked at you in that moment you would have put money down that he could be knocked over with a feather.

"Oh, darlin', you did too much," he replied, immediately flooding with guilt that he didn't even bring wine or flowers.

"Stop! I told you, I like doing it and I never get a chance to anymore, so please, sit down and I'll be right back."

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told and, while listening to you in the kitchen, peered out the back window at the meticulously kept grounds. Your house, like you, was absolutely beautiful. It felt like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You reappeared in the dining room with a bowl of diced, sugared strawberries and a plate of warm biscuits. He watched in stunned silence as you fixed him a plate, spooning the strawberries on top of a fresh shortcake, but told him to wait a moment before hurrying back into the kitchen and returning with a small bowl of homemade whipped cream.

Joel thought he died and went to heaven.

He could tell you didn't want to hear him complain that it was too much, so instead he lavished your baking with praise and thanks, both of which seemed to make your eyes shine bright and your lips remain curled into a smile the whole time.

"You're taking the leftovers home, too," you warned him once you finally allowed him to help bring things back into the kitchen. You were packing everything up nice and neat in matching Tupperware containers and stacking everything into a paper bag. As much as he wanted to decline, he really wanted your leftovers more, so he continued to thank you as he began to wash the dishes in your farmhouse sink. You had tried to fight him on it, but he finally wore you down and won. Stubborn little thing, he thought.

After dinner was cleaned up, you led him back down the hall and up the wide staircase, explaining that the books were all housed in a den at the top of the stairs, but when you opened the door to the room, den seemed like too small a word for it.

It was gorgeous, plain and simple. The cherry wainscoting continued in this room with a dark green wallpaper to accent the wood. All along the wall were antique sconces lighting up floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed full of literature. On the back wall was a large, heavy looking desk with a wingback velvet chair. The desk itself had books and papers scattered about, as if someone were in the middle of something and was rudely interrupted, but based on the layer of dust, he had to imagine nobody had sat there in some time.

And then it hit him: this was your fiancé's office.

A laptop sat open and turned off on the corner of the desk, along with a dusty printer behind the chair on the carpeted floor. He noticed what had to have been manuscripts of some kind based on the lack of coverings on the bound papers piling up next to the printer.

He was an author. This is where he worked.

That was when Joel realized you had been suspiciously quiet. He turned towards you, his eyes scanning your face, studying it. Your arms were wrapped around your middle as you stared blankly at the desk.

"We don't gotta do this today," he said softly, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No, it's okay," you replied, your voice so small it nearly broke his heart. You turned and walked toward the corner of the room, opposite the desk, where a small couch and coffee table sat. A few cardboard boxes were stacked nearby, two of which remained unopened, one recklessly torn into. You started with that one.

"Here," you said, pulling out a few books and handing them out. He stepped forward and took them, looking down at the covers and the beautiful artwork that adorned them. "These are the first trilogy, you should probably read them first before the next. They're different stories but they inevitably weave together so it'll make more sense if you-" you paused, your voice getting caught in your throat, and that's when he realized you had been fighting back tears.

"Hey, it's okay," he told you gently, putting the books down on the coffee table and carefully touching your shoulder, urging you to sit on the couch. After a moment's hesitation, you did, and he sat beside you. "This was too fast. I'll leave these here and maybe one day, when you're feelin' up to it, we can try again."

You looked up at him, eyes watering, and shook your head.

"No, take these now. I have more, I have tons, actually," you said, nodding towards the unopened boxes. "I just haven't come in here since he died and I didn't think it would be this hard." You wiped furiously at your cheeks, trying to hide your anguish.

Joel's heart thundered in his chest. He rubbed your back, trying to offer you a glimmer of comfort while he glanced around the room. "Maybe it was too soon," he offered again.

"No, it's been a year, Joel. I needed to do this." You took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "Thank you. I know this is probably more than you expected-"

"Nah, hey, none of that, now," he cooed, mindlessly petting your hair. "If you needed someone to be here for this, I'm glad you picked me, okay?"

You sniffled and nodded, quietly thanking him again before taking another deep breath and exhaling with a nervous laugh as you looked around the room with him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course," he replied.

"How long did it take for you to move on after your wife passed?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about it, his fingers still playing with the ends of your soft hair as he slowly rubbed your back. "Well, hard to say. She was sick for a long time so I think I had time to come to terms with it before she died, y'know?" You nodded and listened to him, hanging on his every word and inadvertently leaning into his gentle touch. "Then I had Sarah to worry 'bout and, I don't know, time just... passed me by." He chuckled dryly for a moment before continuing. "My brother thinks I never got over it, Sarah thinks I never processed it, but they only think that 'cause I never dated anyone else."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his confession.

"Never?"

He shook his head and gave you a lopsided grin. "Been busy, I guess."

"But aren't you... lonely?"

He sucked in a sharp breath and cast his gaze to the floor. How did you manage to see right through him so quickly? Was it the common ground or something else?

"Wasn't too bad til Sarah left," he admitted, "but now... yeah. Yeah, it's lonely."

You scanned his face, watching the flicker of sadness in his eyes he tried to hide from you, and you inched a bit closer.

"I'm glad we found each other, Joel," you whispered. His eyes found yours again and he smiled.

"Me, too, sweetheart."

Then, without giving it another thought, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. It was so tender and soft it felt like he was on the bus in fifth grade and Christine Murphy was giving him his fist kiss all over again while kids in nearby seats teased them with sing-song voices.

You pulled back and looked into his eyes, searching for any hesitation but all you must have seen was confusion because you leaned forward again, kissing him with a little more emotion, your small hand coming up to cup his greying, prickly jaw. You tasted like strawberries and lemonade and you smelled like vanilla and it was making every neuron in his brain fire all at the same time, to the point where his body had no idea what to do but remain frozen.

It was when your tongue first slipped past your lips and flicked nervously over the seam of his mouth that he finally came crashing down to earth. He sat back, breaking the kiss and holding you by the shoulders, staring deeply into your eyes. You were both panting slightly, probably from the excitement and adrenaline, as he tried to figure out what to say, what to do. You were in a fragile state, he decided. You made a mistake, the moment got away from you both and it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You were too young and sweet and beautiful. You didn't really want anything to do with an old man like him. He just happened to be there when you were vulnerable and that was all.

The words never came. He couldn't form a coherent sentence. As the seconds dragged on, your face began to fall and embarrassment flooded your chest, the atmosphere in the room suddenly so thick that it was difficult to breathe. You cleared your throat and leaned back, his hands falling from your shoulders, and then you were the first to speak.

"Oh, no."

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #comfort Joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #the last of us au #joel miller au #joel miller angst #Joel miller grief #the last of us angst #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #evergreen fic #Joel pov

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breannasfluff · 4 months ago

Text

Running the flower store is a nice break. Danny’s got to do a bit more math than expected–no, Mr. Lancer, that doesn’t mean percentages were useful–but Harleen didn’t lie about the job. He sells the odd book, waters the plants, and moves the bouquets in and out of the flower fridge.

On the second day, someone comes whirling into the shop, slamming the door behind him.

“Hi, can I help you?” Danny has on his best customer service face.

The guy spins around and does a double-take like he wasn’t expecting to see Danny. “Who are you?”

“I work here. Are you looking for a book or flowers?”

The guy has dark hair, almost black with a hint of brown in the sun and blue eyes. He’s bulky enough that he likely works out. Laugh lines are starting at the corner of his eyes. “Where’s Harleen?”

“She’s on vacation for a few days. I’m watching the store for her in her absence.” Danny can’t help but tense, keeping a sharp eye on the stranger. What if he intends to rob the store? Danny’s got his taser, but that won’t help from behind a counter. Subtly, he reaches for intangibility, keeping it ready on a moment’s notice. He’s not about to get shot–again.

“I’m Dick,” the guy says. “Sorry about the interrogation. It’s just…Harleen never takes a vacation. She must trust you to watch the shop.”

Danny shrugs because he really has no connection with the girl. “It’s just a job. Can I help you with anything else?” He’d really prefer Dick finish his maybe-or-maybe not legitimate business and leave.

“Right!” Dick swings back to look at the rest of the store. “I am going to see my friend later, it can’t hurt to bring some flowers. Got a suggestion?”

Normally, Danny would join the customers as they look at flowers, offering what suggestions he can. Now, he stays firmly behind the till. “The daisies are a nice pop of color. We have a few bouquets of dry flowers if you want something that lasts longer.”

Dick hums and considers the flowers. “Maybe the daisies.”

Danny rings him up, still keeping an eye on Dick. “I’ll let Harleen know you dropped by looking for her.”

“I’d appreciate it. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

He does, but there’s no way he’s telling. Who knows why Dick wants to know–if that’s even his name? “She’ll be back soon.” He defaults to his blandest smile.

Dick wilts slightly under it, pulling the daisies toward him. “Okay, thanks. See you later.”

Not if Danny can help it. Maybe he should stay late tonight, just to make sure the guy doesn’t come back and try to break in. Explaining how he fended off a burglary might be a little difficult, but Harleen doesn’t deserve to have her shop trashed. And if she’s a friend of Pam’s, then she can be an acquaintance–friend?–of Danny’s.

Harleen laughs so hard she’s wheezing when Danny warns her about “Dick” and his off-vibes.

“I’m guessing you know him,” he says, giving her a scowl. He’s been practicing his scowls. Batman’s famous for them.

“Do I ever!” Harleen cackles, half lying across her counter. Finally, she hauls herself up with a grin. “No wonder Pam likes you.”

“Couldn’t let this place get robbed.”

“You did good, Dan, don’t worry. I appreciate you watchin out for the store.” She glances around at the plants and books with a soft smile. “This place is my baby. It’s nice to just have a…normal job. I’m laughin because Dicky is probably the most harmless person to come into this store and you clocked him as a robber.”

Danny sniffs and looks away. He’s learned to listen to his instincts and his instincts said that guy was Trouble with a capital T. Maybe it’s the kind of trouble Harleen likes, but he’s not about to get mixed up in it.

Read the rest here!

#What Binds Us #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #poison ivy #dick grayson #richard grayson #danny phantom #danny fenton #harleen quinzel #harley quinn #batman #dcu #breannasfluff #my writing

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oraltraditionfiction · 16 days ago

Text

Us | QH43

Quinn Hughes x f! reader (angst)

Summary: Snippets of you and Quinn's secret relationship, and the aftermath.

Warnings: angst, hurt with no comfort, ambiguous ending, sad Quinn, anxious reader etc

WC: 1.8k

Author's Note: !!! This is fully inspired by us by Gracie Abrams (which has been on repeat for like. 4 days now. absolute banger.) This is pretty angsty 😭 I apologize in advance I think I was just really in the mood for some pain.

This has an ambiguous ending (for the most part) but I do have an idea for a part 2 if anyone is interested! Anyways, enjoy! - 🐇

(I'd also like to note that the italicized poetry is taken from Crush by Richard Siken, and Leaping Poetry by Robert Bly!)

I know your ghost, I see her through the smoke, She'll play her show

And you'll be watchin'

He caught himself watching you again. It had been habit for so long now. Checking on her from the corner of his eye. He had learned to act in such a way that it was hard to tell he was stealing a glance at her. Her. He needed to snap out of it.

He looked straight ahead, steadfast in his resolution to break old patterns. He could hear her from the end of the hall. She was briefing one of his teammates on the video they were about to film.

“I know this is hard but please try not to swear, at least not too much. The timbre of her laugh, echoing down the hall. Quinn knew without looking at her that she was checking her phone. Her disorganized notes app, full of spare ideas for videos and poems that came to her during the twilight hours. “Oh! I know this is obvious but, try not to talk about anything personal that you or a teammate wouldn’t want 400 teenagers online to know.” He watched from lowered lids as she brushed past him, a slight hesitation in her steps as her shoulder brushed against him. “That stuff’s just hard to edit out-“ her voice trailed off as they turned a corner. The reverb of her warm murmur echoing back to him, taunting him. He just knew she was reminding Brock not to talk about anything personal because of him.

He scuffed his covered skate against the worn floor. Tilting his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, and imagined that he was waiting for her to walk with him, instead of someone else.

Wonder if you regret the secret

Of us, us

He could remember the first wrong turn.

“What do you mean you don’t want to tell anyone?” He had asked, confused, thumb stroking against her pulse point soothingly as she cradled his face.

“Quinn…” she had sighed, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable sitting on her old patterned couch. He kissed her palm, a small comfort.

“I mean, you’ve seen the weird shit people can comment about the wags.” He nodded. “Imagine just seeing that all day. All that negativity. And it’s just your job to navigate that and delete it. I’ve seen awful things about some of these women.” She swallowed, slipping her hand away from his cheek. He missed the warmth immediately, absently leaning into her orbit to make up for it. “I just,.. I don’t know what I would do. Knowing that people were saying those things about me.”

Quinn understood. Honestly the thought of seeing those kinds of things said about her…

Yeah. He could keep a secret for a few more months.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Quinn said, folding her into his arms. “We can keep it quiet for a little bit longer. Just until you’re comfortable.” He could feel her melt into him, relaxing at his agreement. Once she was more comfortable with the idea of them, he thought she wouldn’t mind what people would say.

It felt like what I've known

You're twenty-nine years old

So how can you be cold when I open my home?

Quinn placed the last box on the bedroom floor, lovingly labeled “poetry <3”. As he gingerly cut through the packing tape, he heard a gentle knock on the door.

“You don’t need to knock,” he laughed, turning his head so he could look at her.

“I mean, it’s your house still-“ she said, anxiously shifting her weight from side to side. Quinn stood, fondly shaking his head as he approached her.

“Your house too now, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his arms around his girl, and swaying from side to side.

“I just don’t want it to be too soon Quinn. It’s only been like, a year.” Shesaid, tense in his arms.

“Mi casa es tu casa, right?” he said jokingly, trying to get the woman in his arms to relax.

She laughed, encapsulating the room in warmth again. They melted into each other, the tension evaporating. “I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable, Quinny.” Murmured softly into his shoulder.

Quinn hugged her tighter, trying to forge them together, “you could never make me uncomfortable,” he said as he placed his cheek atop her head. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” And as he said that to her, he knew it to be true. This love was different, quiet— almost sacred.

And if history's clear, the flames always end up in ashes

And what seemed like fate

Give it ten months and you'll be past it (you'll be past it)

He knew it had to move at some point. Every morning it confronted him, like a ghoul living in his sock drawer. Quinn reached for the intruder, thumb brushing against delicate blue velvet as he withdrew the small ring box from its hiding place. The man sighed as he flipped it open once again. The light reflecting off of the diamond and shining small, nebulous glimmers of light across his tired face.

A click as he closed the box, the sound of a sharp thump. The little blue box landed somewhere amongst the debris on your abandoned side of the closet. It had been nearly 10 months. Out of sight, out of mind.

That night you were talkin'

False prophets and profits

They make in the margins

Of poetry sonnets

Quinn watched, transfixed as you read aloud to him. His head sat heavily on her thighs, savoring the feeling of her hand touching his hair absentmindedly. The words nearly escaped him, too immersed in the way her sweet lips shaped the words. Nectar falling from her mouth as she kept the meter.

“I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want.

You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube... We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said-“

“Marry me.”

It was spoken on the breath of a sigh. Nearly inaudible. Still, the room seemed to lose some of its color.

“What?” You whispered, hand withdrawing from his hair, leaving an inexplicable dread lingering around his heart.

Quinn sat up, nose brushing hers. “I meant it.” He reached for her hand, shaking and limp in her lap. “Marry me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He breathed out as he looked into her eyes earnestly.

“I-“

“I know you’re scared. And I know you don’t want anyone to know about us.” The man said, placing her hand on his heart, cradling it gently. “But I don’t care! I would marry you right this second if I could.” He leaned his forehead against her temple, murmuring “just you and me, baby. No one has to know. I would marry you in secret, as long as it means you’re mine.” Quinn was rambling now, but he’d do anything to convince her. “I already have a ring and-“

His hand landed unceremoniously in his lap.

Before he could reach out, before he could even breathe, she slipped out of his grasp.

“I’m sorry.”

And Quinn felt like he would never breathe again, staring across the room at his sock drawer and the now open door to what was once their bedroom.

Robert Bly on my nightstand

Gifts from you, how ironic

Three drinks in, and Quinn was conquering his fears. There was 11 months of dust buildup on the slim book, still clinging to the paperback cover. He thumbed it open, nearly caving in and going back for another drink as he glimpsed the tail end of the note you had left for him underneath the title page.

“- hoping these poems will remind you of me when we’re apart.

Love you lots,

Yours-“

He flipped to another page, hoping to find something he hated enough that he could find the strength to finally throw this book out.

“Longing to find her in a phrase, and be close-“

Quinn closed the book.

Mistaken for strangers, the way it

Was, was

The moment he was dreading was here. You approached him after practice, quietly waiting for the rest of the team to file past. You toyed with your phone anxiously, “Is it alright if I grab you for a quick video?” She looked as tired as he felt these days. He just stood, gazing at her, responding with a slow nod. She smiled, relieved. Quinn had almost forgotten what it looked like in person. Still a such a sweet sight.

He leaned in slightly, irresistant to the gravity of your presence. As you opened your mouth to speak, lips quirked up into a private grin, a voice came from behind him.

One of the new girls on the social media team. She smiled as she approached. “I didn't realise you two were close! Guess it’s something to look forward to, huh?”

You forced a laugh saying, “Well, when you work with someone for two years, you get about as close as coworkers can get.”

Quinn’s spine straightened, in no mood for media duties now. He thought of the ring box, and all the photos he still had yet to delete. The stolen kisses in supply closets, the notes you left him in the margins of your favorite poetry books, highlighting secret code in between the stanzas

(“O love, where are you leading me now?”). The words of her favorite poem echoed in his head, “As close as coworkers can get”

He mumbled something about putting his gear away as he brushed past you, no longer recognizing the foreign way your shoulder bumped against his.

Do you miss us, us? (Us, us, us)

The best kind, well, sometimes

Do you miss us?

He stood, leaning against his counter, trying to decide the best way to respond to this text.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the cardboard box full of miscellaneous objects to donate, the creased cover of a poetry book peaking out.

He made his decision.

A blind date sounds great! Is she free Friday?

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sturnioz · 6 months ago

Note

shy!reader maybe one day after watching fratboy!chris roll a couple of joints asking if he could teach her how to roll one just for shits and giggles (obvs not so she can smoke cause we all know he won’t let her) and her nailing it the first time cause she’s got smaller fingers than him and he’s like “wait why the fuck are you good at that”

"can you teach me how to do that?" your voice barely rises above a whisper, soft and quiet, as you watch chris expertly roll a few joints beside you. he pauses licking the edge of the paper, and turns to meet your gaze, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"what? to roll?" he asks in disbelief. he twists the end of the joint, scoffing as he leans back against the sofa, the fabric creaking beneath him. "wh... why?"

"please?" you urge, your heart racing as you gently tug at his arm. "i just wanna do something... get bored watching you all the time..."

"get bored watchin' me," chris echoes, another scoff leaving his lips as he adjusts his posture, a smirk creeping onto his face. "ha.. 'kay. alright."

you expect him to completely ignore you, but to your surprise, his expression shifts slightly as he nods to himself, pushing his supplies towards you — his papers, a baggy of weed, and some filters.

you grin happily, excitement bubbling inside you at the thought of chris finally allowing you to do something like this. it feels surreal that he's giving in, but you don't want to waste any time fucking around. with eager hands, you reach for the supplies, your heart racing with anticipation.

following his mumbled instructions, you feel his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he watches you intently. his eyes flit to your hands, watching how you evenly distribute the weed across the length of the paper, and he hums softly in approval, making your heart soar at the subtle praise.

your tongue pokes out in concentration as you add the filter and roll the paper with your nimble fingers — it's a process you've watched chris do countless times before, and you rely on the mental image in your head, carefully twisting the end to secure everything inside, then proudly presenting the final result to him.

chris stares at the joint, perplexed. his chin digs into your shoulder a little harder as he blinks at your handywork, then reaches out to take it from your grasp, inspecting it closely with his eyebrows raised.

"how did... what the fuck, kid?" chris murmurs, surprise lacing his tone. "you... nah, why're you s'good at that? huh? someone else been teachin' you this shit?"

"no," you giggle, a rush of pride filling you, extremely pleased with yourself. "i just watch you all the time."

"its uh... its not bad, kid. you did... yeah," chris clears his throat, tongue prodding at his cheek as if he's struggling to find the right words to say after your reveal. he lays the joint down on the coffee table, lifting his chin off your shoulder to meet your gaze directly. "yeah... good job."

#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱

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daryltwdixon · 27 days ago

Text

Too Sweet

Joel Miller x Reader drabble

a drabble based on Too Sweet by Hozier that has been plaguing my mind for days waiting to be written

a/n: as Brittany Broski once said I'M GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE

The sound of Joel’s hammer echoed through the kitchen as he worked on the stubborn cabinet door you’d asked him to fix. It had been hanging crooked for weeks, the hinge warped and barely holding on. You hadn’t expected him to agree so easily when you brought it up—Joel didn’t strike you as the type to take kindly to requests. But here he was, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he drove nails into the wood with practiced precision.

You hovered nearby, pretending to busy yourself with wiping down the counter, organizing your fridge, anything to keep him in your eye line. You couldn't help the way your attention always found him. Watching him work wasn’t necessary, but it was nearly impossible not to. The way his shoulders moved under his worn flannel shirt, the furrow in his brow as he focused—and don't even get started on the low grunts when a piece of wood wasn't cooperating.

What you wouldn't do to hear those—

“That’ll hold for now,” Joel said, gesturing behind him to the cabinet.

You nodded, trying to shake the terrible explicit thoughts from your head, but your heart sank a little at the thought of him leaving, “Thanks. You… uh, want a drink? How do you like it?”

You bit your lip, trying to compose yourself at the freudian slip of an innuendo, hoping he wouldn't take notice of it.

Joel looked at you, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, “Whiskey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Neat.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous under his gaze. “Got it,” you said, turning away from him.

When you reached up to grab the bottle of amber liquid, stretching on your toes to grasp it and then getting a glass. As you unscrewed the bottle, your hands weren’t as steady as you’d have liked, but the weight of Joel’s gaze on your back made it hard to focus on something as simple as pouring a damn drink. The silence behind you wasn’t empty—it was thick, alive, crackling with tension.

When you faced him again, his eyes hadn’t moved. They tracked you like prey. Slow, deliberate, unflinching.

“You’ve been watchin’ me all day,” he said, his voice cutting through the charged silence.

Your breath hitched, and your grip tightened on the glass. “What? I—no, I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He straightened up, stepping toward you.

The space between you evaporated as he moved across the kitchen, like he had all the time in the world. His sheer size filled the room in a way that made your heart stutter, the broad lines of his shoulders and chest impossible to ignore as he stopped just shy of crowding you completely.

The counter dug into your lower back as you instinctively leaned away, but he didn’t stop. He reached out and braced one hand against the edge of the counter beside you, his forearm brushing against your side.

Joel loomed over you, the heat of him radiating through the small gap between your bodies. Your pulse raced in your throat, and it was impossible not to notice the sharp contrast between you—the way your head barely reached his shoulder, the way his arms flexed as he leaned in, every muscle taut like he was steeling himself from the thought of pouncing on you.

“You’re sweet,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “Too sweet for someone like me.”

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your cheek, see the faint scruff lining his jaw, sweet smell the mix of sweat, musk, and leather that clung to him.

“That’s not true,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s mouth quirked, humorless and dangerous. “Oh, darlin’, it is. You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” His other hand came to rest on the counter beside you, boxing you in completely, “You’re better off keepin’ your distance.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The roar of blood in your ears drowned out every rational thought, leaving only the crackling pull of him, so undeniable and irresistible. Heat crawled up the back of your neck and settled low in your stomach, urging you, begging you to close the distance that laid between you.

Your eyes flicked to his lips, to the scruff lining his jaw, the thought blooming unbidden: what would it feel like against your skin? Against your lips? The thought of his prickly jaw places you'd be thinking about later tonight when you were very much alone had your stomach set on fire.

Joel’s gaze didn’t waver, his dark eyes boring into yours like he could read every single thought you weren’t brave enough to say out loud. For a heart stopping moment, his eyes dragged down to your lips and back up again.

Then, just as you thought the tension might snap, Joel pushed off the counter and stepped back. The sudden absence of his body left you unmoored, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding as the cool air rushed to fill the space he’d left behind.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said, his tone light again. And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving you with a storm brewing in your chest and the taste of his words lingering on your tongue.

#Joel Miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller drabble #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fic #Joel miller imagine #Joel miller one shot #tlou fic #the last of us hbo #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us #the walking dead

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honeylullaby · 2 months ago

Text

“I can’t stand to see ya’ with someone else.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by one’s own heart @wobblybobbilyfleshybits 🩷 / Declan is wildly jealous to see you with somebody else, and he makes that very clear…

18+ FANFIC / Smut refs & gorgeously feral Declan 🥰 Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy! 🫶🏽

The Rose & Crown — Rutshire’s quaintly village pub — was exquisite. Crimson red carpets, the fireplace roaring divinely in the corner and the welcoming chatter of more-than-friendly locals bouncing from the walls. Nestled in the corner, accompanied by the landlord’s slobbering bulldog, you gulped eagerly from your pint of Guinness, desperate to coax yourself into drunkenness after an atrocious day at work. “Hello, darling.” A beguiling man with a mop of silver hair bounced over, throwing himself in the seat beside you. His enchanting smile sent shivers down your spine, and you allowed him to buy you another drink whilst whispering honeyed words into your ear.

The bell of the front door jingled as Declan O’Hara entered the pub, tight-lipped and adorned in beige, as usual. You had been casually sleeping with him for a few months now, and as so, you were thoroughly aware that he drank many evenings away here — away from prying, judgemental eyes. He had sat himself at the bar, ordering a tumbler of Bell’s finest and disinterestedly flicking through today’s edition of The Scorpion. The grey fox beside you, however, told you a particularly risqué joke, making you release a wondrous cackle. Sighing in agitation, Declan slowly rose from the bar and stumbled over to your table. “Hello. Didn’t see ya’ there.” He mumbled, gulping from his glass and shooting the man beside you a villainous stare. “Hello, Declan. Take a seat.” You peep, and pat the space beside you.

Begrudgingly obliging, Declan took a seat — unknowingly subjecting himself to lascivious flirting between you and your new admirer, an overwhelming compliment here, a soft stroke of your arm there. Each motion made by the man was met from an increasingly reproving stare from Declan. “One moment, doll. Must take this.” The man excused himself, pulling his ginormous telephone from his bag and making his way outside. “Did ya’ sit me here to make me an accessory or was there a reason?” Declan spat towards you, motioning towards the barman for his fourth whiskey. “What ever could you mean?” You question with a smirk.

“Well, I’m sat watchin’ this cunt leer over ya’. Disgusting.” He added, nodding towards the barman delivering him his next drink. “I think you should make that your last. You get rather nasty when you’re drunk.” You remark bitterly. An acerbic snicker pushed from his lips as he lit a cigarette, leaning towards you, his hot breath steaming over your neck. “Ya’ have no idea how nasty I can get.” The Irishman’s voice was devilishly husky — enough to make your thighs involuntarily squeeze together. “Oh yeah? How nasty are you going to get with me, Declan?” You tease, relocating your hand to his thigh and running it dangerously close to his bulge. As your new admirer made his way back to the increasingly passionate scene, Declan muttered towards you under his breath. “I can’t stand to see you with someone else.”

“Sorry about that. Just work.” The man beamed, as you and Declan parted your lustful gazes, as though you hadn’t made conversation at all. “Anyway, doll, what’s to say you come back with me and I show you a good time?” The silver-haired man questioned, pulling at your arm and staring at Declan pompously. That was enough. “Touch her, and it’ll be the last fuckin’ thing you do.” Declan snarled, pounding his fists against the table as he stood up. Overtly threatened by Declan’s warning, the man backed away and promptly made his exit.

“What the fuck was that?” You interrogated, raising arched eyebrows to the heavens — feigning annoyance but terribly turned on by his rage. “Ya’ deserve much fuckin’ better than that.” He growled, knocking back his whiskey like a shot and stubbing out his cigarette. “Well, I wouldn’t know now, would I?” You spit, rolling your eyes. “Ya’ just fuckin’ love to tease me, I know it,” He begins, leaning into you and speaking into your ear with a seductive, hushed tone, “But I’m gonna take ya’ home and show ya’ that ya’ belong to me.”

#rivals #rivals disney+#rivals disney #rivals hulu #rivals fanfic #rivals fanfiction #declan o’hara fanfiction #declan o’hara fanfic #declan o’hara x reader #declan o hara #declan o’hara #aidan turner

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livwritessometimes · 1 month ago

Note

Can you please do a part 2 to “a footnote will do (for me)” with Charles Leclerc?

Perhaps, something like this: She moves on with someone else (one date), and he sees them, gets jealous and chases her. Apologising and grovelling all the way till they make up?

I loved that fix but it was heartbreaking

If The World Was Ending

: Charles Leclerc x Reader

: If the world was ending, you'd come over, right?

: Part 1

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - Here you go! Hope this heals the heartbreak from part 1 :)

...

I was distracted And in traffic I didn't feel it When the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin' watchin' television

It's funny how life works—why is it that when you're in a rush, you find yourself stuck in endless traffic. Charles let out a sigh; he was exhausted. The past few months had not been the best for him. The season was finally over; he should have been out there relaxing but all Charles could think about was how they lost the constructor's championship. He knows it's not his fault—not entirely, at least—but he couldn't help letting his mind wander. Things had been good for a while; the constant hustle bustle had made his life better. The calm now left him with too much time on his hands to think. It had left him with time to think about his brother's engagement. He still remembers how happy he was the day he got the call from Enzo. It gave him time to think about Arthur—how he got to race with his little brother by his side. That memory brought a smile to Charles' face. It also gave him time to think about Alex; his Alex. Before he could think of anything else, Charles was brought back into reality by his phone ringing. It was her.

"Hey, I was just think-" Charles said before he got cut off by Alex.

"Are you okay?" She asked, voice a little panicky.

"What-ya of course, why?" He questioned, confused by her sudden panic.

"We just had an earthquake, did you not feel it?" She questioned.

"Oh...no not really. I'm stuck in traffic, i didn't feel much," Charles answered.

"Oh good! Alright, I'll see you soon, yeah?" She asked.

"Ya, I'll be there in 15, hopefully," Charles said before he hung up.

Setting his phone down, Charles looked out of the window once again, waiting for the traffic to clear up. As he waited, his mind went to one person—someone who had been on his mind for a while now. He knows he shouldn't think about her, he has a girlfriend and she has a boyfriend—or at least that's what he assumes based on what Arthur had said. Charles had no business thinking about Y/n. It was his fault they drifted apart. Had he not completely ignored Y/n after her confession, they would still be in touch like they used to be, instead of become strangers who only see each other now at big celebrations.

Finally free from the traffic, Charles made his way towards his house. It was a Friday, which got him thinking: Was she out drinking? He wondered if Y/n felt the earthquake. Or was she at home, chilling and watching television with her new boyfriend? As much as he did not want to admit, the thought of that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Which was weird, because Charles was clearly happy with Alex. Why would the though of Y/n being happy with someone else hurt his heart? Not wanting to think further about this, Charles finally got out of his car and headed towards his apartment, to his girlfriend and dog waiting for his arrival.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out

Life was different now for Y/n. She had different goals, and different priorities. It's funny how so much can change in the span of a few months. Y/n had moved to a different house, one that was closer to her best friend, Arthur. She liked this house a lot better than her last; good lighting, a great neighborhood, and living super close to your closest friend—what more could she ask for? However, the real reason why Y/n liked this house so much was that it was in a location far away from him. She wouldn't have to worry about bumping into him every time she'd make a grocery run or go to her favourite coffee shop. Things had been good. She hadn't thought about him in a long time. It's weird how quickly you can go from talking everyday to barely seeing each other at all these days. Y/n preferred it this way. It honestly felt like a year had passed since she'd last seen Charles' face in person. Of course she still saw him on TV, but it just wasn't the same. Y/n even started seeing someone, all thanks to Arthur. This guy was good and clearly into her. It felt nice to finally be wanted. After chasing something for so long with no result, it was refreshing to feel wanted. Y/n figured that if she gave this guy a chance, maybe that would be her ticket to forgetting about Charles. And so far, it had worked. Y/n finally felt like she could move past what had happened between her and Charles. She had finally figured out how to let him go.

I know, you know, we know, You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Y/n stood in the kitchen, helping out Arthur's girlfriend with the snacks. It had been Arthur's idea to host a game night after watching a couple of reels about college kids hosting annual game night. 'I'm starting a family tradition,' is what he'd said when he invited Y/n and her boyfriend to his house. Rolling her eyes at the memory, she looked at the man in question, laughing at something Y/n's boyfriend had said. Slowly, she trailed her eyes to the left towards, the older Leclerc, only to find him already looking at her. Y/n quickly turned her head and focused on what Jade was talking about. Even though she had moved on, seeing him still felt strange. Every time she looked at Charles, she saw the face of the man she had loved at one point in time. It was also the face of the man who had rejected her. But that's okay now. She had accepted that they weren't meant for each other, even if it was a hard pill to swallow.

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

Hours had passed, and the entire group was now sprawled in different corners of the living room. They had spent the last few hours playing a variety of games, which had led to several heated arguments between the Leclerc brothers. Who would have thought they could get so competitive over board games? The night slowly died down and Enzo was the first one to leave. Arthur had dragged Y/n's boyfriend into a different room to show him something she didn't care enough to pay attention to. Making her way outside, she could see Alex and Jade in the kitchen cleaning up the aftermath of such intense game night. As she stared outside, she felt a presence next to her, followed by a soft, 'Hey'. Turning slightly towards the sound, she found Charles standing next to her, staring at the sky. "Hey," she murmured, glancing back ahead. "It's been a while...," said Charles, his gaze fixed on her. "It has. How have you been?" Y/n asked, keeping her eyes ahead, avoiding eye contact. "I've been good, I think," Charles said, his voice a bit uncertain. "How have you been? I see you're dating someone new now," He added, a hint of bitterness laced in his tone. Turning to face him, Y/n said, "Yeah, I have. He's a good guy. In fact, Arthur was the one who introduced us." Charles felt betrayed. How could he not, his own brother was responsible for this. "How is Alex? Oh, and how can I forget about little Leo?" She added. Upon her question, Charles glanced towards the kitchen where Alex was laughing at something Jade had said. He should feel happy—he has a girlfriend who loves him; he should be over the moon. Yet, for some reason, his mind wandered back to the lady in front of him. He could see the sincerity in her eyes—it was the same as when she had first offered him a lift to Arthur's party. The moon cast a soft glow on her face, and it took everything in Charles to not reach out and caress her cheek. Y/n raised an eyebrow at Charles, waiting for him to answer her. "Oh, yeah, things have been good. They're good," Charles said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good," Y/n replied, watching as her boyfriend make his way into the living room. "Well, that's my cue. I should get going. It's—it's been nice catching up after such a long time," Y/n smiled at him as she walked into the living room towards her boyfriend. Charles stood there for a moment, watching her leave with her boyfriend. Glancing back at the sky, he muttered to himself, "Good...but not the same without you."

I tried to imagine Your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' The night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house And didn't make it past the kitchen

Y/n slowly made her way to the bathroom, taking off one earring at a time. She felt her boyfriend press a gentle kiss to her forehead before heading off to change his clothes. Staring at the mirror in front of her, she let out a sigh. Tonight was harder than Y/n had expected. Seeing him again shook the very foundation she had spent months building. It baffled her how Charles still held so much power over her. Talking to Charles after such a long time brought back so many memories, but one in particular stood out. She wasn't sure if it was the starry night that had reminded her of that day, or if simply being in Charles' presence had sparked that memory.

*flashback*

It was after a particularly rough Grand Prix that Y/n and Charles found themselves getting absolutely wasted. It was a quiet bar near Y/n's house, one that didn't have many visitors—especially considering it was 3 a.m. Slowly getting up, Y/n stumbled, losing her footing. She fully expected to smack the floor when a strong pair of arms broke her fall and steadied her. "It's okay, I've got you," Charles said as he led her out of the bar towards her house, not once letting go of her. It took them exactly 8 minutes to get the lock to Y/n's door. She remembers it because that's how long Charles kept on hugging her, leaning into her for 'moral support,' as he liked to call it. Slowly the two stumbled into her house. As they walked inside, Charles lost his footing and fell to the floor, pulling a drunk Y/n down with him. Worried, Charles quickly sat up, looking at Y/n to check if she was alright. His worry soon eased as the room was filled with Y/n's laughter. Seeing her laugh, Charles couldn't help but join in. He laid back down besides her, still smiling. "I love you Y/n/n," said Charles as he pulled her in for a hug. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n instantly sobered up when she heard him say those three words. There lay a drunk Charles, happily snuggling with what he assumed to be a drunk Y/n, forgetting about all the worries in the world and just being content lying there with her. Alternatively, there lay Y/n in the arms of the boy she realized she saw as much more than 'just a friend,' thinking if the world were to end tomorrow, she'd be happy to die like this—in his arms.

*present*

Finishing the last step of her nighttime routine, Y/n made her way to her bed, into the arms of her boyfriend. She knew it was wrong; she shouldn't think like this. But one thought lingered in her mind—It's not the same.

Ah. it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

The drive back home was a silent one for Charles and Alex. For the first time in a long time, Charles felt happy. Not once did he think about racing or losing the championship. Not once did the negative thoughts that had plagued his mind for months resurface. He'd like to think it was because of the game night, but no matter how much he wanted that to be true, he knew that wasn't the reason for this happiness. It made him wonder if he had made a mistake—getting together with Alex so quickly, adding Leo into the mix. It made him wonder what would have happened if he had given her a chance, if only he had waited to see how things might play out. Charles thought he had matured. He figured it had been months now, it wouldn't affect him as much. But he was wrong. Even now, after all this time, thinking about her, about them, still breaks his heart.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

Charles just couldn't fall asleep. No matter how hard he tried, he lay there, in his bed, wide awake. He looked to his side to find Alex passed out with Leo by her feet. As much as he hated to admit, he did not find the sight as comforting as he used to. Looking back at the ceiling, Charles could not bear to let his thoughts run wild for another second. Quickly, he got up and changed into his tracks. He figured a jog would help calm his mind down. And so, that's what he did: he grabbed his keys and made his way out of the house at 2 a.m. for a late-night run.

The second Charles stepped onto the street, he ran. He ran for as long as his feet could take him. After running for what felt like hours, Charles stopped by a park. He took a moment to look at his surroundings and realized he was far away from his neighborhood. Instead, he realized he was much closer to the place he had just come home from a few hours ago—he was near Arthur's neighborhood. Making his way inside the park, Charles spotted someone sitting on one of the benches. As he walked closer, he realized that it was the one person he wanted to get out of his mind. "Y/n?" said Charles in a confused tone. Looking up at the sound, Y/n came face to face with Charles. "Charles! What are you doing here?" She asked, confused by his sudden presence. "I could ask you the same," he paused to look at his watch before continuing, "That too, at 3 a.m.?" Not knowing what to say, Y/n scooted a little, inviting the boy to take a seat next to her. "I couldn't sleep," she said in a quiet voice. For a while, neither of them said anything. The two sat there in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had gone differently?" Charles questioned, breaking the silence. "Huh? Differently, how?" Y/n asked, confused about what the boy in front of her was getting at. Charles knows he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't help himself. In his mind, it was either now or never. "Do you ever wonder if things would have been different, had I—had we, um..." Charles hesitated. "Had we what, Charles?" Y/n asked, now turned, giving him her full attention. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Had we gotten together? Had I reacted differently to your confession? Do you think things would have been different then?" Stunned at his question, Y/n was taken aback. "I don't see the point in bringing this up now, Charles. It doesn't matter anyways," she said, slowly turned away from the boy. In an instant, Charles grabbed her hands, stopping her. "It matters to me, Y/n, please," he pleaded. "I don't know, Charles...I don't know, maybe?" Y/n said. Letting out a sigh, she continued, "Why now, though? Why now, when I have a boyfriend and you have a girlfriend...and a DOG, for fuck's sake." Y/n suddenly felt anger towards the boy. Why was he having these doubts all of a sudden? And why now, of all times? She had finally gotten used to living without constantly having him in the back of her mind. So why now? "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'm aware of how wrong all of this is? I tried to forget you. I tried really hard to forget every single thing about you, and for a while, it worked. I was happy; I was so happy with Alex, and then we got Leo. I felt complete...but it only lasted for a while. Every time I had a bad day, you were the first person I thought about calling. Every time I won a race or got a podium, your eyes were the ones I searched for as soon as I got up there. Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think I enjoyed breaking your heart back then? I hated myself for the way I reacted," Charles said, finally letting go of every single thing he had been holding onto for such a long time. "WELL THEN WHY DID YOU REACT THAT WAY?" Y/n said, losing her cool after Charles' outburst. "I—I don't know," he said, ashamed of the way he handled things. "I just assumed, if we became a couple, things wouldn't work out, because let's be honest I know my luck—they never do, and then we break up. So, I not only lose you, I also lose a bond that I held so close to my heart," he continued. Y/n was at a loss for words. It felt like a fever dream. All she wanted was for Charles to want her. And now that he did, she wasn't sure what to do. Somehow, amidst all this chaos, Y/n's mind drifted to Alex. She wondered if Alex was aware of this, If she had her doubts. She thought about how happy Alex looked earlier today. Snapping out of her thoughts, Y/n got up. "Charles...I'm sorry but we can't—I can't do this. Think about Alex. How can you do this to her? I have a boyfriend now, and for once, I don't have to hope that he feels the same way I do. For once, I don't have to doubt the feelings that we share—whether they're real or not. I'm sorry, but there will never be an 'us,'" Y/n said as she started to walk towards her apartment.

"You said 'feelings.' Does that mean you don't love him?" Charles questioned. Turning back to look at the boy, who was now standing as well, "What?" Y/n asked. "You just said 'the feelings you share,' and not love. Does that mean you don't love him? Is it because, deep down, you know, you still love me?" Charles questioned, taking a step closer. "I'm sorry, Charles," Y/n said as she walked away, leaving Charles all alone in the middle of the park.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you, know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

The next time Y/n heard about Charles was a few months later. She had decided to spend the day with Arthur and Jade. The trio had spent the majority of their day lounging and watching movies. As the day progressed, they slowly got comfortable on the couch and started to talk about a variety of things, with a glass of wine in hand. Somewhere in between, the conversation about Enzo and Charlotte's wedding came up. "Hey Y/n/n, do you have a date in mind?" Jade asked. Y/n had broken up with her boyfriend not long after that night in the park with Charles. Arthur gave Y/n a sad smile. He knew about Y/n's crush, and Charles' rejection. He also knew about that night in the park. "Umm...not really, I don't have anyone particular in mind," said Y/n with a little hesitation. "Ahh, you know what? why don't you go with Charles? I always thought you two would make a cute pair," said Jade as she got up to get some more snacks. Upon hearing this, Y/n shot Arthur a look. "What?" she asked. Taking a sip of his drink, Arthur said, "He broke up with her." He continued, "He broke up with her a while ago...A few weeks after the park incident." Y/n didn't know how to react. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to feel guilty over their breakup," said Arthur. A soft 'Oh' was all Y/n could mutter. "Just know it's not your fault. He chose to break up with her. This has nothing to do with you," said Arthur. Getting up to go get another bottle, he turned around and said, "I know things are complicated between the two of you, but for what it's worth, don't let this guilt stop you from going after what you want. That is, if that's what you still want." With that Arthur left Y/n alone with her thoughts.

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

Everything about tonight was perfect—the lights, the decoration, the location; it was all perfect. Y/n felt honored when Charlotte had asked her to be one of her bridesmaids. She still remembers how she could not stop crying and how it took both Enzo and Charlotte to calm her down. Standing in front of her was Enzo, a man Y/n considered to be her older brother, looking as handsome as ever. Locking eyes with her, Enzo smiled at Y/n. 'You've got this,' she mouthed to him. Diverting her eyes, Y/n made eye contact with him. Standing tall in an expensive suit was none other than Enzo's younger brother, Charles. The two had not spoken even once since that night—not when they arrived at the wedding location, not at the family dinner, and not even when they walked down the aisle together as the groomsman and bridesmaid. It was clear that Charles wanted to talk to her. He made many attempts to convey that. Y/n, however, wasn't ready to have that talk. Doing so would mean the two would have to come face-to-face with the fact that they unintentionally sabotaged their relationships for each other—something Y/n was not ready to accept.

The ceremony was beautiful. Y/n even shed a few tears at the couple's vow's. It was finally time for their reception. As everyone was making their way to reception venue, Y/n was pulled into the corner by someone. Before she could say anything, she heard "Shh, It's me," and then the owner of that voice came in view. "Charles," she said, although her voice came muffled under Charles' hand. Smiling at her, he said, "I wanted to talk to you, which I think you have noticed by now, considering you suddenly vanish the moment I make my way towards you." Removing his hand from over her mouth, Y/n said, "What do you want Charles?" "Isn't it obvious by now? I want you, Y/n. I know what I said in the park was stupid and selfish. I shouldn't have unloaded my feeling onto you like that. I know I should have figured things out for myself before I did anything. And I've learned it the hard way. I know I hurt a lot of people in the process, and I genuinely regret that. If I could go back in time and reverse things, I would. But you also have to know I have never been more sure about anything else in my life than I am about you since that night in the park. I love you, and I have loved you ever since I met you. I want to be the person you call after a long day, the one you think about every time something good happens in your life. Most of all, I want to be the one you think about, no matter what," said Charles, holding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Y/n let out a few tears she didn't know she had been holding in. "How are you so sure things will work out? How do you know we're not going to wake up in a year or two's time and realize how big of a mistake this was? And how things would have been better had we let them be just the way they were? How?" Y/n questioned Charles. "I don't, and I can't be sure that this will work out," said Charles. Taking a step forward, he held onto Y/n's hand before continuing, "But I know that you're worth the risk. I had to learn it the long way," he said with a smirk, upon which Y/n smacked his arm. "Charles!" she said in a tone of warning. "I'm sorry, mon amour, but you should know, if the world was going to end tomorrow, you'd be the only person I would want to spend the night with. No matter what happens I want you, Y/n. You're worth the risk," said Charles.

No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye

"Are you sure about this, Charles," said Y/n as she looked at him. "I'm more than sure, mon amour," said Charles, his eyes gleaming with nothing but sincerity and love. And so Y/n nodded her head. "Yes," she said as she looked at the boy kneeling in front of her. Jumping up in joy, Charles let out a scream, "She said yes!" All of a sudden, their friends and family came out from where they were hiding, all excited to congratulate the couple on their engagement. Y/n was pulled into an embrace by none other than her best friend, "You knew, didn't you?" she asked. "Of course I knew, who do you think helped him pick out that ring," said Arthur, still hugging her. "I'm happy for you," he said as he pulled away. "Me too," Y/n said smiling up at him.

As Y/n looked at Charles, she knew no matter her fears and doubts, she would never regret this decision—ever.

...

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flowery-mess · 24 days ago

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uh oh

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / alcohol / protected sex / friends with benefits / let me know if anything else should be taged!

Words: 3,7k

frat boy Noah masterlist

Author's note: I fell in love with frat boy Noah while writing this, so feel free to elaborate or send thots, I'll maybe make this a 'thing', maybe series? What do you think?

Inspired by this song:

feel your eyes watchin' me, so I'm movin' on him just so you can see, told you I was gonna get you right back, oh, you don't really like that? ✨

You and Noah met at sociology class you both had to attend in junior year at college. Your majors not similar at all, his being economics and finance and your neuropsychology. You never had the same classes until now, so he was just another one of pretty school boys for you. You never paid much attention to him as you were actually interested in topics your professor talked about in classes, but you couldn’t say the same about Noah. You caught his eye the first week of when he entered the big study room and you were the first one there, working on your neurology project with headphones on. When you noticed movement around you and lifted your head, Noah only gave you a small nod and sat few rows behind you. That was your first encounter.

Your second encounter was when you were at the opening party at a frat house. You liked going out, having fun time and drinks with your friends. You usually let them pick the place or party you’re going to be attending, so you didn’t have a clue where you’d end up that night. You had pre drinks at your shared dorm with your two best friends, picking outfits and doing each other’s makeup. You ended up wearing black leather skirt that ended just above your knees, basic black top and matching leather jacket over your shoulders. That was bold outfit for you, so you decided for some natural makeup look with red lips. You felt good that night, the alcohol in your system helping your confidence.

When you entered the frat house the party was already on, music on full volume and people all over the place. You found some of your classmates and had shots with them, then settled on the big red couch in the living room to play some stupid game that involved alcohol.

After while your friends were too occupied either with kissing boys or chugging vodka down their throats, so you went to find kitchen to have some water for a change.

“Wouldn’t think of you as a party girl.” you heard deep male voice behind you, but didn’t know if he was talking to you. When you looked around and saw only few younger boys chatting in the corner about god knows what, you turned around to see the pretty tatted boy looking at you.

“Why not?” you asked.

“You look like someone who spends their Friday night studying at home. You always have book in front of you at school.” Noah answered your question with a teasing smile.

“Well, that’s so I can have fun on a Friday night instead of reading books.” you crossed your arms over your chest, not knowing where this small talk will get you.

“Smart and funny, I like that.” he said, taking small steps towards you.

“So, you’re part of the fraternity then?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You look like someone who spends their Friday night partying and having one night stands.” you shot back.

“You’re almost right. I am in this fraternity, I like partying on Friday nights,” he slowly walked in your direction, making you walk backwards until your back hit the counter and he caged you in with his arms on your sides, “but I don’t do one night stands.”

You felt his breath on your cheek, as he leaned closer to your face.

“Oh, sorry for making assumptions then.” you said just a bit louder than whisper.

You didn’t do one night stands either, but you blamed alcohol that night for ending with Noah between your legs, his tongue deep inside your pussy and your fingers in his dark hair. You had sex with him in a room you later found out wasn’t even his, he lived in an apartment 10 minutes away from the campus. The sex was great and you actually enjoyed talking with him after he got you finish for the second time that night.

Since then you said “Hi” to each other at every sociology class and at every party you both were. Leaving those parties together also became regular thing that grew into friends with benefits type of thing. You agreed on casual sex, without dates and feelings. You sometimes ordered food or watched movie, but never in a romantic way. And you liked it that way.

Until Noah started flirting with other girls at parties. You weren’t jealous, because it was always you who was screaming his name later, but you didn’t like the uneasy feeling in your tummy everytime you saw a girl touch his bicep or him to lean down to the girls ear so she could hear what he was saying.

You liked what you two had and didn’t want to lose it. So you talked to him about it one night, which lead to an argument instead of sex and orgasms. He told you that it’s just harmless flirting and if you’re jealous that means you caught feelings for him and that he doesn’t want that. You tried to tell him it’s not like that, that you just don’t want to continue this thing between you if he wants to have sex with other girls and that you would understand if he would want to end it, but he didn’t listen. You didn’t talk to each other for three weeks and he made sure you saw every single one of his flirt attempts at parties.

So you decided to do the same tonight. You went for short black dress with deep V neck that made your boobs look amazing. The dress probably made the trick as you found yourself talking with a guy from the same fraternity Noah was part of. You were leaning against the wall in their living room as he hovered over you. You didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying, you were watching Noah with red haired girl at the couch. When your eyes met you saw something in Noah’s eyes that you haven’t seen there before. Jealousy? Anger? His eyes were dark and he was staring at you.

The boy who’s name you forgot like ten seconds after he told you, started touching your hips and leaning towards you too much for you liking, so you excused yourself and went for the bathroom.

“What the hell was that?” you heard Noah’s voice when you opened the bathroom door and he was leaning against the wall opposite you.

“Excuse me?” you raised your eyebrow at him.

“What kind of show was that supposed to be?” he was angry, you could hear it in his voice.

“A show? You mean the same show you’ve been doing the past three weeks? It’s not so nice from the other side, is it?”

He didn’t want to hear another word, so he pushed you back into the tiny bathroom.

I’m yours again when you walk away, you know if you leave, I ain't gonna stay, when I'm doin' good, you get me off track, and I guess I kinda like that. ✨

“Come to my place with me?” Noah said between kisses and lifted you so you sat next to the sink.

He was jealous, but wouldn’t admit it. But you felt it in the way he was kissing you, his tongue fighting for dominance and his hands in your hair, pulling at them every once in a while.

“Say you’re sorry Noah.” you said breathlessly, leaning back from him until your back touched the cold mirror behind you.

“Sorry for what?” he had your lipstick all over his lips and chin, he looked hot like that, marked.

“Noah.” you knew he knew what you were asking from him, but he was too proud to say it.

“Come to my place with me and let me show you how sorry I am?” he asked you, already kneeling in front of you. He knew what your weakness is, so how could you say no to him when he was already pulling your panties to the side.

you make me really, really good at makin' bad decisions, all my friends know where to look every time I go missin', seven texts and two missed calls, know I can't ignore 'em all, said that I'm gonna be sleepin' at mine, i lied. ✨

You knew you should have said no, but you missed him. You missed his touch, his hands all over your body, his mouth on your skin and how good he could make you feel.

After your argument three weeks ago, your friends told you that you should stop seeing him, that what he started doing wasn’t acceptable and that you should know your worth, but he was just so addictive. So when your friends saw you two leave, you felt ashamed and tried to avoid their stare. You knew that you’ll find missed calls and unread messages on your phone in the morning, but you didn’t care at that moment. You just wanted, no, needed to feel Noah’s skin on yours again. You craved him, the satisfaction he was able to give you.

uh oh, I couldn't help myself, i'm almost at your house again, again, uh oh, I'm one foot in the door, my clothes are on your floor again, again. i get a little drunk and it's all I want, tomorrow I'll be sick, but tonight I'm numb, uh oh, now we can just pretend, we won't do it again, again, again. ✨

The drive to Noah’s place was short, the taxi driver’s music loud enough for him not to hear all the dirty things Noah whispered in your ear.

“I hated Trevor’s hands on your body, only I can touch you.”

“I miss your mouth on my dick, you’re so good.”

“I’m gonna make you scream my name baby.”

He was selfish. He hated another man’s hands on you, yet he could touched dozen of other women. He knew he had you wrapped around his finger, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to be strong enough to not get in the taxi with him and go back to Trevor who actually looked interested in you and maybe would take you out on a proper date.

Instead you left with Noah, knowing how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna have a great sex, fall asleep in his arms, sneak out in the morning and then feel like shit. You’re gonna listen to your friends about how you’re just hurting yourself and wasting time with him, them making you promise it was the last time, only to break that promise at the next party.

roll your eyes like you do, shoulda known it's always the same with you, tryin' not to feel our connection, but, oh my god, it's kinda temptin' ✨

In the elevator you walked Noah back until his body hit the wall and went for his neck. Leaving lipstick all over his skin, licking and biting his sensitive spots. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before he closed them fully and left his mouth hanging open. Silent moans leaving his pink lips, until the elevator stopped at his floor.

you said, "Can we leave now?", i don't think we should, through the back door, that won't end good, how 'bout my place? shit, you know I would, then I'll follow you out, hope nobody looks. ✨

“Do you want a drink?” Noah asked you, really hoping your answer would be no so he could take you straight to his bed.

“Yes, wine is fine.” you said as you started taking off your coat, taking in the sight of familiar apartment you haven’t seen in weeks.

Noah took out two glasses and filled them with white wine, then handed one to you. You sipped on your drinks in quiet, you sitting at Noah’s kitchen counter and him standing next to the oven.

“Did you have sex with anyone in the last few weeks?” you managed to build the courage to ask him the question that was in the back of your mind for weeks.

“What?” he looked genuinely confused.

“You heard me.”

“No, the last time I had sex was with you.”

“Then why did you start flirting with all those girls in front of me, Noah?”

“It’s just for fun, you were the one I took home in the end.”

“It wasn’t fun for me.”

“That’s why you did the same with Trevor tonight?”

“And you didn’t like it, or did you?”

“No.”

“We said no to sleeping with other people, I just felt like you wanted to and you flirting with all those girls made me feel uncomfortable. That’s all.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again if we go back to our thing.” his apology seemed genuine, so you nodded your head.

“Okay, but you can tell me if you want to stop and date someone, I’ll be fine with that.” you finished your wine at the same time Noah did. He took the glass from your hand and put them both in the sink. When he returned, he came much closer to you and put his hands on your thighs.

“I don’t want to date anyone, I told you that.” he rubbed his nose along your jaw, then he gently kissed your neck and you tilted your head back to give him more access.

He made sure to suck on your sensitive spots, he desperately needed to hear your moans.

“Lay down.” he helped you lay down on the cold counter and then continued kissing you more. He went for your chest, kissing the top of your breaths that were close to spilling over the edge of your lacy bra.

He palmed your nipples through the fabric of your dress, smirking at the sound that came from your mouth.

Noah rolled your dress up to your waist and kissed your tummy until he reached the lacy panties you wore, matching your bra.

“Poor Trevor, bet he would love to see those too.” Noah teased you.

“Shut up Noah.” you lifted your hips to give him sign he should talk less and touch you more.

He took the hint and gladly slid the panties down your legs.

“Fuck I missed you.” he sighed at the view in front of him. You were laying down with legs spread open just for him. Your cheeks were pink and your chest was going up and down from the excitement.

Noah kneeled down so he’d face your core and put your legs over his shoulders so he could spread you open as much as he needed to.

He took his time, licking you from you entrance to your clit, tasting you like a starved man. His tongue explored you like it was for the first time, slowly and gently moving up and down.

“Oh Noah.” you let out a breathy moan only he could hear. He felt himself grow tighter in his pants, but he wanted to give you an apology before he’d fuck you senselessly.

He sucked on your clit, teasing your pussy with his long fingers. He spread you open with them and went to slowly fuck you with his tongue. His other hand made its way to your clit, collecting your wetness so he could gently rub small circles where you wanted it the most.

“Noah, I’m-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt the start of your orgasm in your lower tummy. Noah had to put more pressure on your hips to hold you down, but continued with his moves until he felt your legs shake and your breath stop for a second. You squeezed his head with your thighs and let out the sexiest sounds out of your mouth.

After he was sure he licked you clean, he took you in his arms and started walking in the direction of his bedroom.

He laid you down in his bed and connected your lips. You could taste yourself on his lips, that alone made you want him more.

You helped him out of his clothes until he was only in his underwear and you pushed him down so he was laying under you. You straddled his lap, enjoying the view for a moment. He was looking at you with eyes full of lust, his hair messily laying around his head. He was waiting for you next move, letting you take control for now.

You took your dress and bra off at the same time and Noah immediately went to touch your boobs. He squeezed them and started playing with your nipples. Your head fell back and your hips moved involuntary.

The wetness from your core already making wet spot on Noah’s underwear, but both of you couldn’t care less.

You shifted your weight to one of your legs and shimmied Noah’s underwear down his legs. His dick fell back against his stomach, hard and swollen, waiting for you to take him.

You wrapped your fingers around his length and he gripped your hips as an reaction. You stroked him few times, collecting the pre cum and enjoyed the state Noah was in. He had his eyes closed in a bliss, gripping your hips like his life depended on it.

“Fuck me, please.” he groaned, knowing he wouldn’t last long if you’d keep stroking him.

You reached into his drawer and took a condom out. You took your time putting it on, teasing Noah along the way.

You took Noah’s dick in your hand and collected your wetness with it, then gently slid down his whole length.

You both made unnatural sounds and you sat still for a moment, enjoying the fullness and stretch he was giving you.

When you started moving your hips, Noah reached for your right hand and intertwined your fingers, giving you his hand for balance. Your eyes were closed and mouth open, as you were riding his dick in slow motions.

“That’s it, god yes!” Noah encouraged you to keep going with his words, squeezing your fingers when it felt particularly good. “Touch yourself baby.” he told you, and you did as you were told.

You didn’t pay much attention to the word baby, as it was something he went for regularly. Instead you paid attention to your fingers touching your clit, feeling another orgasm closer and closer.

Noah felt you squeeze him and he knew you were close, he wanted you to have one more orgasm before he finished, so he encouraged you with his words. “Come on, cum on my dick. That’s it, you can let go.” as if it was the last thing you needed for actually letting go, the orgasm took over you and you fell to Noah’s chest.

He hold you, whispering gentle things in your ear as you tried to even your breath.

When he knew you were okay to continue, he started kissing your neck and gently lifted you from him and you felt him slide out of you, suddenly feeling empty. He switched your positions, you were now laying under him, ready for more.

“You good?” he asked you, wanting some kind of permission to continue.

“Mhm.” was all you could get out before attacking his lips with yours, pulling him down by his neck.

He lined himself at your entrance and slowly slid in. His head fell in the crook of your neck and you enjoyed feeling him inside you again.

His movements were slow at first, his hand slid around you throat and he put a bit of pressure on it, just like you liked it.

“You feel so good around my dick, fuck!” Noah managed to say between taking deep breaths. You felt so good and so loved at the moment. You knew there were no feelings, but the way Noah knew your body and where to touch you or what to say, that made you feel loved.

He went to kiss you, but instead you both left your mouth open and moaned into each other’s open lips as both of your orgasm started to build inside your bodies.

Noah’s rhythm became irregular and you felt his hand on your clit.

“Noah, fuck!” you breathed out when you felt the orgasm build inside you for the third time, more intensive than before.

You felt the Noah’s dick twitch inside you and you knew he was cuming, he grunted next to your ear in bliss.

Hearing him reach his high with his hand still on your clit pushed you over the edge and you came seconds after him.

He collapsed on top of you, staying inside you until his dick softened.

He moved you both so he was laying on his back and were laying on his chest, both of you still catching your breaths before you went to clean yourselves.

After you took shower and changed into Noah’s t-shirt, you laid in his bed waiting for him to finish washing up.

You had toothbrush, make up remover and underwear at his place. He didn’t mind, he also didn’t mind you staying the night and then leaving his place before he woke up.

You enjoyed falling asleep next to him, sometimes you would talk until 2AM about anything, sometimes you would watch movie and sometimes you would fall asleep straight away.

You watched him dry off his body with white towel through his mirror, wondering if you would go back to hooking up every weekend after tonight or if something is going to change. You knew your friends will try to talk some sense into you tomorrow, but for now you just wanted to pretend like there is no tomorrow.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h

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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian band #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian blurb #noah sebastian smut #frat boy Noah #Spotify

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allthemeniveloved · 3 months ago

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Little Rat

Summary: Arthur Morgan saves you from an uncomfortable encounter with Micah.

The fire crackled low in the center of camp, casting flickering shadows against the trees surrounding Clemens Point. Most of the gang had turned in for the night, save for a few stragglers nursing drinks by the embers. You were tidying up your things near your tent, the quiet hum of the crickets offering a small sense of peace—until you heard the unmistakable drawl.

“Well, look who’s all alone in the dark,” Micah Bell said, stepping into your line of sight with that irritating smirk plastered across his face. His eyes glinted in the dim light, and you instantly felt your guard go up.

“Micah,” you said tersely, keeping your tone neutral. “What do you want?”

He feigned offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Now, that’s no way to greet someone, is it? Just tryin’ to be sociable, sweetheart. Seems like you could use the company.”

You shot him a cold glare. “I don’t need anything, least of all from you.”

Micah chuckled low, ignoring your clear discomfort as he took another step closer, his presence pressing in on you. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. I think you and me, we could get along real well if you’d just stop actin’ so high and mighty. Ain’t nobody else around, anyway. What’s the harm?”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “Back off, Micah,” you warned, trying to keep your voice steady.

He didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out, his hand gripping your arm as he leaned in closer. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. I don’t bite.”

Before you could push him away, a deep voice growled from the shadows. “Touch her again, Micah, and you won’t have a hand left to use.”

Both of you turned toward the source of the voice, and there he was—Arthur Morgan, standing at the edge of the firelight. His hat was pulled low, his jaw set tight, and his hand rested casually on the butt of his pistol.

Micah straightened, sneering. “Well, if it ain’t Arthur Morgan,” he spat. “You always gotta stick your nose where it don’t belong cowpoke?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze locked on Micah with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried an unmistakable weight. “Ain’t no need to explain yourself, Micah. Just walk away.”

Micah raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I was only paying her a compliment, that’s all.”

“You keep your compliments - and yourself - far away from her, or you’ll be eating the dirt under my boots. Got it?”

Micah hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Arthur. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur’s hand moved slightly on his pistol, and that was enough to send Micah scowling back toward his tent with a muttered curse.

Once Micah disappeared into the darkness, Arthur turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, though your heart was still pounding. “I am now. Thank you.”

Arthur grunted, his hand falling away from his holster as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to get involved, but… couldn’t just stand there watchin’ him bother you like that.”

You offered a small, grateful smile. “I’m glad you did. He’s… persistent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, and he glanced toward where Micah had gone. “He tries it again, you let me know,” he said, his tone sharp with barely restrained anger. “I’ll make sure he don’t forget his place.”

There was something in his gaze when he looked at you—something fierce and protective, but also hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should let you see it. You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by how much safer you felt just standing near him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you said again, softer this time. “I mean it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged red beneath his scruffy beard. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he muttered, almost embarrassed. “Just… don’t like seein’ you get hurt, is all.”

As he started to walk away, you caught yourself staring after him, wondering why your heart felt a little lighter, even after what had just happened. Arthur, on the other hand, kept his back to you, his fists clenched as he cursed himself for not saying more—for not telling you the truth about why he couldn’t stand the thought of Micah or anyone else getting too close to you.

a/n: I’m feeling so unbelievably productive & creative this week and the thoughts are just flowing but I just know I’m going to crash this weekend or next week and not write again for another 7 years

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yourmamakira · 8 months ago

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"FIGHTING WORDS" Carl Grimes, she/her

Set in the Alexzandria Era after Carl lost his eye. His very protective girlfriend overheard the local kids talking about Carl behind his back. and needless to say, no one had anything to say about Carl ever again. [ANGST, to SLIGHT FLUFF]

Carl has been in a coma for weeks. His girlfriend had never left his side after the incident. Her depression had gotten so bad it took Daryal, Glenn and Rick to hold her down to force her to eat and drink water.

Her mood had deteriorated drastically, she was more angry, she was less active, she never smiled anymore and she didn't know who to blame for what happened to Carl. She knew it wasn't right to Blame others for the accident. but she had nearly lost the one thing keeping her going in this Hell that used to be a world, she had every right to be upset.

she sat in the armchair next to the bed Carl lay in peacefully, she slipped between sleep and alert wake. She didn't even let the nurse come into the room to check on Carl unless absolutely necessary, and when anyone else was in beside her and Carl, her hand stayed on her and Carl's Gun that slept in her holster.

her eyes shot open and her hand bolted to her gun as the door to their room swung open. In walked the one and only Daryl Dixon, and for once he was without his crossbow. he walked in with his usual gruff demeanor and closed the door behind him.

The girl took her hand off her guns and crossed her arms as she returned to watching the sleeping Carl.

Darryl came over and sat in the seat opposite of her. he crossed his arms before speaking.

"You need to go outside. He ain't wakin' up any sooner with you watchin' him like a hawk. He ain't goin' nowhere, and you don't have to go that far. Jus' needs to get outta this room."

You glared at him through your hooded eyes. but inevitably he was right. carl had been like this for weeks and every second you watched him it felt like your body was slipping farther into a black hole.

Daryal then spoke again, "You need to be in your best health for when he wakes up. you need ta' take care of em', not him take care of you. how you gon take care of him like this?"

he had you stumped with his words. he was right, how were you going to take care of Carl and you couldn't even take care of yourself?

you let out a sigh and began to get up, he followed suit but then stopped you by holding out his hand. you huffed while rolling your eyes and took your guns out of your holster. he didn't know about the knife in your boot thank goodness, but knowing him he probably did.

you passed him up with a glare while leaving the house and strolling out into the street you hadn't seen in weeks. There wasn't much to do here. Besides the few teens that roamed, but you mainly kept to yourself and Carl.

you never really talked much these days, nothing worth talking about. Many thought you were mute at first meeting you, but that narrative quickly went out the window whenever you got too upset. Memory's of all the times someone had pissed you off to bad and you cussing up a storm regardless the person.

you walked the streets passing by people and not saying a word. You came up to a small bench and decided to take a seat and just take in the fresh air, you had to admit, it did feel nice on your skin to feel the breeze and not that stuffy old room that felt more like a prison rather a room.

a few minutes had passed and you had begun to get up being done with your reminiscence before you spotted a group of teens headed your way.

You despised these inhabitants of Alexandria greatly, and their children were even more unbearable. You started past them before one of them decided to take it upon himself to cat-called you, despite you clearly being madly in love with Carl, these specific group just love to torment you.

"Hey, Miss Mute! How about I show you what a real man looks like in bed while your one eyed freak of a boyfriend's out!" He and his friends cackled like hyenas while shoving him around, as if what he said was the greatest thing in the world.

you slowly spun around and sneered, you decided to brush off his remark of the incident, knowing nothing good would come out of beating his ass, "Your tiny shrimp dick doesn't even come close to a real man. My one eyed freak of a boyfriend at that." he stopped laughing and his gooneys ooed like kindergarteners.

He tilted his head to the side as he stepped closer then he should have. "The fuck did you just say to me, bitch?" You stepped closer to him and you could feel his stank breath up your nose, it made you want to vomit on the spot. But you continued to talk your shit.

"I said, you have a big ass head, and a small as Dick. Your breath also smells like walker ass. need I say more?" Your head tilted to the side and your eyebrows furrowed.

his face contorted into one of anger, he scoffed then chuckled dryly as if he thought a funny thought in his fucked up head.

He raised his hand and tried to touch your hair, but you moved your face and roughly grabbed his arm putting it behind his back so he couldn't move. you then put pressure on his back as he cried out loudly in pain.

"you ever touch me again, and I will fucking kill you!"you yelled out aggressively. You were not in the mood to be fucked with.

He couldn't even respond with words as he just continued to cry like a baby for anyone that would dare to help him.

His friends all backed up out of fear of being next. They started yelling at you to let him go but you didn't listen and continued to nearly break his arm.

He yelled louder as your pressure increased. Your face hot with anger that he even dared to touch you after making a nasty comment about your boyfriend.

You then heard yells of a few adults calling you name but you still didn't let up.

Then out of no where two pairs of strong arms grabbed your arms and you thrashed in their hold.

The boy you had previously had in a hold jumped up to his feet and held his arm in pain, "you crazy bitch! That bullet should have Killed Your boyfriend!"

He yelled out and suddenly your thrashing stopped, you looked up at him with a dark look and his face went cold. He knew he had fucked up.

You harshly ripped your arms away from your holders and ran up to the boy with a flying fist, it knocked him on the ground and you kept on punching. His face become black and blue and Messy with blood, your knuckles ached but you didn't care.

It took a total of four adults to pry you away from the nearly unconscious boy, but by then you had already lost all cool.

You stopped struggling in their hold and spit on the boy you had just beat to a pulp.

Your breathing was irratic and it became very clear to everyone that you were extremely unstable. You caught your breath and spoke down darkly to the boy who cried out in pain. He spotted you stepping one step closer and backed up out of fear.

"If you, or anyone else is this god dam town, ever speak bad about Carl ever again. Your gonna wish your sorry asses became walkers after i'm through with you! Do you FUCKING HEAR ME??"

The boy nodded vigorously as more and more people came over to stare at you with fear.

You yanked your arms away from the men and everyone backed up and cleared you a path as you turned around to go back to you and Carl's room.

You made it up there and slammed the door and began pacing back and forth. You were so Pumped with adrenaline that you didn't even notice the empty bed where Carl laid before.

The door swung open and in came a seething Daryl, followed by a worried Glenn and a Very Concerned Maggie.

Daryl came over to stand infront of you and you mean mugged him. He gave you a harsh push and you feel backwards into a chair.

Maggie and Glenn both Yelled but their cries went Unheard by the both of you. You death gripped the arm rests of the chair you sat in as you glared up at the yelling Man that had became your father figure over the course of this apocalypse.

"I told your ass to take a walk! Not Pumble some kids face in! Now That kids gonna need Stitches that we don't have Just because you couldn't control your Anger over some Dam words! Now I heard what them kids said to you, what they said about Carl. But what if That dam wanna be president decided to Kick you out because you beat up some kid they thought was innocent?! You don't think before you Hit! And we can't have that type of stupidity in this world! Get your fuckin' act together! Or you're gonna be in some deep fuckin' shit."

He left off with those words and left behind a shaking and teary eyed child on the Chair. Your leg bounced rapidly as tears fell from your eyes but no sound came out.

You didn't know any other way to let out what you were feeling besides violence. It was your only option given that Carl wasn't in a good shape to calm you down like he usually would.

You were unknowingly left alone in the room and that left you with your thoughts. You stood up and began throwing, kicking and breaking everything and anything in the room that could be thrown kicked or broken.

You continued until another voice entered the room, another voice you hadn't heard in a long time.

"Y/n..?"

You spun around and anyone could tell just by looking at you that you were not okay.

Your eye bags as eye bags, your hair was widely unkept, your knuckles bled from throwing things, hitting things and beating the shit out of kids and unsuspecting walkers. You shook with every breath you let out, and your voice was raw from yelling into your pillow with Sobs you couldn't control.

Carl Slowly made his way into the room as he carefully walked to you like you were Fine China. He stopped right in front of you and then suddenly encased your form.

You stood there for a few seconds, asking yourself in your loud head 'was this real?'

But as you felt the heat off his skin, the soft melancholy beat of his heart. And his soft But ragged breaths. You knew your boyfriend was real.

You slowly encased his body and you couldn't stop the tears from falling down your face. You began sobbing, wetting his shirt like it was raining from the clouds.

Your loud sobs shook the house that you both occupied but You didn't care. Your throat became dryer and dryer and you sobs grew raspy as you clutched Carl Closer to your body.

You were a broken record falling apart without the other half that was the love of you life. Carl rubbed your back and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

You continued to sob until you couldn't anymore. Your legs grew tired as your body grew heavy, you hadn't slept in days. And it was evident on your face.

His big hands cupped your face and used the pads of his thumb to wipe away any stray tears from your eyes, your hurt and abused soul seethed through your eyes and he could see what you had been going through with just a glance at your tear stained face.

He kissed your tears away with his chapped lips and your eyes fluttered closed. Your breathing leveled out after crying for hours in his shoulder. He grabbed your hand and led you over to the bed.

He laid down in the spot he had been for weeks and you laid on top of him. You looked into eachothers eyes until you couldn't keep them open anymore.

The two of you fell asleep to the sounds of each others breathing.

You knew you would have to deal with the consequences of what you had done, but you could deal with them later.

Now? The two puzzles peices had finally clicked back together where they belonged, and as long as you had Carl. You didn't care what was next. As long as whatever it was, was beside him.

HIIII, this chapter is kinda sad, sadder then I usually write at least, and this had more reader then Carl so I'm sorry about that but I really hope you guys enjoyed this, and if you wanna see more of Mr grimes please request and I'll get back to you :3

#kira speaks #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x fem!reader #pls love this bcs it took me so long #twd #tw depressing stuff #twd carl #twd daryl #tw blood #tw depressing thoughts #tw bad thoughts

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7s3ven · 1 year ago

Note

okay I feel like you would be the perfect person to write this request! Obviously you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to :)it and idea for a Luke castellan x reader (and spoilers for the books/series if you haven’t read the books or know the plot!)

Is there anyway you’d be interesting in writing a Luke x reader where they’re a daughter of Poseidon fic where he betray the reader and like poisons them instead of percy but reader and Luke where in a relationship??? Idk mad woman by Taylor’s swift like opening lyrics give off that sort of vibe sorry if this makes no sense 😭

THE WAY I GASPED AND SHOUTED "THAT'S EVIL". Nahhh, poor Y/N. I feel so bad for the suffering I'm going to put her through...

( master list )

POISON AND TOXIN. luke (pjo)

IN WHICH... Luke commits the unthinkable and Y/N no longer wants any part in his life. Unfortunately for her, Luke isn’t ready to let her go.

"I'm takin' my time, takin' my time. 'Cause you took everything from me. Watchin' you climb, watchin' you climb over people like me."

Warnings : spoilers, details will differ (I haven’t read the books in ages), obsessive love, yandere! luke, kidnapping, angst, betrayal, toxic relationship, mentions of sex, manipulation, y/n + luke know they’re toxic but they can’t stay away from each other

—

The last few days without Percy had been uneventful to say the most. Y/N groaned as she slowly sat up, clutching her aching head. The pain was pounding against her skull, causing her to quietly scoff. She groggily reached for a bottle of pills beside her bed, taking one to relieve the pressure.

The harsh light from the sun seared into the room and she groaned, squinting her eyes to protect them.

“Another late night, Y/N?” Harmon, a boy from the Apollo cabin, called out as she exited her cabin to breathe in the morning air. He jogged over to a swaying Y/N.

“Yeah. It doesn’t feel right without Percy.” Y/N groaned, running a hand through her untidy hair. She probably looked like a mess right now but with all the thoughts rushing through her mind, she didn’t care.

It felt wrong without Percy. All those years alone had done some damage on her and it had been exciting to have someone new in her cabin, for a little while at least. While Percy occupied the bed in the corner of the dusty room, Y/N’s nightmares came to a temporary halt. She was happy for the time being, her dreams filled with pretty flowers and romantic settings instead of chilling monsters and bony hands threatening to drag her to the bottom of the ocean.

“How’s Luke?” Harmon questioned, causing Y/N to heave an annoyed sigh. She rolled her E/C sighed, scowling.

“As distant as ever.” She sneered. She lifted her head, making eye contact with the one person they were talking about. Y/N held strong eye contact with Luke before glancing back to Harmon, smiling at him. “Have you had breakfast yet?” She questioned, tilting her head to the side. “Do you know if there’s any food left?”

“There might be. You woke up pretty late.” Harmon grinned.

“I will see you later, then. I have to make myself look presentable and not like a raccoon that just crawled out of a garbage can.” Y/N laughed at her own joke as she waltzed back into her cabin, kicking the door closed. She hummed under her breath as she pulled the crop top she slept in off, replacing it with her bra and the bright orange shirt she hated so much.

She quietly yelped when her door creaked open, thinking it was someone else. She felt a little relieved when it was only Luke. He stood there in all his glory, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face that suggested he wasn't happy at all. "What was that?" He questioned, sitting down on Y/N's bed as she looked at him in confusion.

"Uh... what?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Luke scoffed at her perplexed face, not believing it for a second.

"You were flirting with that Apollo boy. You're my girlfriend, not his." Luke snapped, anger glazing over his usual kind eyes. Y/N was taken aback, staring at him with her red-tinted lips parted in surprise.

"I wasn't... what? Luke, I wasn't flirting with Harmon. He's my friend." Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she slid on a pair of pants. She could feel Luke's gaze watching her every move and wandering over her waist.

What had become of Luke? She was at camp before he even arrived and she was the one to show him around, introducing the boy to the perilous life of a demigod. Ever since that damned quest, he had been acting different. More closed-off, more secretive with someone he once shared everything with, and he let his temper get the best of him; always shouting at people and letting his anger flare up like he was Clarisse.

Annabeth could sense the change too.

"What's with you, Luke? You used to be fine with me talking to Harmon." Y/N took a careful step towards her boyfriend, not wanting to upset him even more.

"That was before he started staring at you like you were the only girl he could ever date." Luke jeered as he deeply frowned. Y/N smoothened out her messy bedsheets before taking a seat next to him.

She stared at him, not really knowing what to reply with. Her breath shuddered as she shrugged. "I guess I could... talk to him less?" She muttered, causing Luke's face to light up. He instantly smiled, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace.

"I love you." He whispered, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck. Y/N blinked a few times, thickly gulping.

"I... I love you too, Luke." His hands felt like blistering metal on her bare arms but she couldn't find the courage to pull away, in fear he'd hurt her or leave her. Luke had never hit her, thankfully, but his words sometimes pierced her soul and he left her crying under her sheets, wondering what she had done wrong.

"I'll see you after archery, alright?" Luke ended the hug.

Y/N stared at him in confusion. "But... I thought you were teaching the newbies archery and I'd be showing someone else around?" She spluttered.

"Nah. I changed your job. Newcomer's a boy and I don't want him to get any ideas." Luke grinned and Y/N couldn't say no to his charming face. He passionately kissed her, cupping her face in his large hands to pull her closer.

"I should get going, Luke." Y/N breathed but he tugged her back.

"You can afford to leave them for a few minutes." He whispered, dragging Y/N onto his lap. She couldn't stop her cheeks from flushing bright red despite his hands harshly digging into her skin and his grip being so tight that she couldn't squirm away, even if she wanted to. Luke had no interest in whatever the new kid was saying. He kept babbling on and eventually, Luke managed to tune out his voice. The pair ended up in the arena and the boy, whose name was Gil, nudged Luke.

"Who's that?" Gil questioned, pointing at Y/N. Luke clenched his jaw and harshly cleared his throat. He placed his hands on Gil's shoulders, squeezing him tighter than needed.

"Y/N L/N." He muttered. "Pretty little thing, ain't she? She's great with archery. May as well be Apollo's daughter with that skill." Gil didn't notice the dark look in Luke's eyes, too preoccupied with craning his neck to catch another longing glimpse of Y/N. Luke cleared his throat, "The tour's over. I trust you'll be able to find the Hermes cabin by yourself?"

Gil mindlessly nodded.

Luke walked over to Y/N, tapping her on the shoulder. He kissed her cheek, making sure Gil saw his not-so-subtle advances. "What was that for?" She asked as she turned to Luke. The young demigods groaned at the sight of a couple and Y/N quietly laughed, effortlessly shushing them.

"I think you've had enough practice for today. Come back tomorrow, same time." Y/N said to the children, ushering them away. Luke slung an arm around her shoulder as they walked side by side.

"You have to stop attracting attention from other guys." Luke uttered to break the peaceful silence.

"What?" Y/N lightly gasped, offended. She glowered at Luke, quietly scoffing. "Oh, so it's my fault now?"

Luke shrugged, pressing his lips into an annoyed thin line. "I'm just saying. You wear low-waisted pants and a shirt that's too small." Y/N should have punched him for that comment but she was sure that Luke could do a lot worse to her pretty face.

"My clothes are not an invitation." Y/N quickly snapped.

"When did you start disrespectfully talking back?"

"It's hardly disrespectful, Luke. I'm simply standing up for myself. I do not condone your jealous behavior and troublesome remarks." Y/N harshly poked his chest, almost angrily baring her teeth at him. "Talk to me when you regain your senses. It's not my damn fault that you feel so threatened by other boys that you start blaming me."

Luke ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched Y/N storm off. He bit the inside of his cheek before huffing in frustration. Y/N would forgive him for his harsh and cold words in no time, she always did. Especially when he'd sneak into her cabin at night with her permission and press her hips deep into her squeaky mattress.

Y/N went to lunch furious and still fuming. A part of her wanted to wear an over-sized shirt to please Luke while the other refused to back down. What gave him the right to dictate her life while he could do whatever he wanted simply because of his gender?

Y/N was even angrier to see Luke standing at the Aphrodite table, entertaining the giggling girls who he knew had a thing for him. She gripped her fork tightly and jumped when someone slid into the seat next to her.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Y/N recognised him as the Gil boy, or whatever his name was. She raised her eyebrows as her lips curled into a slight sneer.

“Do I… know you?” She asked, “Only Poseidon kids are allowed to sit here and until my brother is back, nobody but me should be here.”

Gil quickly stood up, his knees hitting the table. “Sorry. I didn’t realise. I’ll, uh, go back to the Hermes table. Sorry, again.” He ran off while Y/N sighed. She picked at her half-eaten food before deciding she was no longer hungry. It was a rash decision but as soon as she reached the wildly dancing fire, she threw her food and plate in. Her father wouldn’t be too pleased but he could live with it.

Luke’s sharp gaze followed Y/N as she left the cheerful atmosphere. He quietly chuckled and smirked. If there was one thing that he knew about Y/N, it was that she didn’t handle jealousy too well either.

He left the Aphrodite table without an excuse, not caring about the girls drunk with love. “Hey, Y/N, honey, did that Gil kid upset you? I understand that he’s a little annoying but I can talk to him if you want.” Luke clasped his hands around her wrist, forcing her to stop walking so quickly.

“It’s not his fault!” Y/N exclaimed, spinning around. Her eyes were red and the tears welling up in her eyes shone in the dim sun. “It’s yours, Luke! You treat me like I’m some… some girl who worships the ground you walk on! Well, I don’t! I have some self-respect left. And if you want to flirt with other girls then that’s fine by me. But make sure you break up with me first because I’m not putting up with any of your bullshit.”

Luke chuckled, “Harsh words, don’t you think?” He almost jumped when Y/N let out a scream.

“You never take me seriously! All you do is play around and then you get mad at me for factors I can’t control! Yet you always brush me off when I’m trying to resolve things. You isolate me from my friends so I’m easier to mess with! Well, are you done now? Have you had enough fun?!”

“I’m not manipulating you. You’re crazy to think that. I love you, Y/N.”

“No! That’s not true! That’s a lie!” Y/N pulled at the end of her hair, “You fell in love with the idea of me! You’re in love with your version of me that lives inside your head! And then you get mad at me because I make a mistake and your Y/N isn’t supposed to make mistakes!But I’m not like her, Luke! You have pushed me too far and when I finally break, suddenly I’m the crazy one?! You always call me crazy. So guess what, maybe I am insane!” Y/N heavily panted as tears spilled over her hot cheeks, cascading down and temporarily staining her shirt. She had always been a kind soul but there was one particular flaw Y/N hated; her habit of crying whenever she was mad.

“If you won’t end our relationship then I will. We’re over, Luke. I’ve had enough of your jealousy and if you can’t accept that I have guy friends then maybe you need to think twice before attacking me.” Y/N reached up, grasping the necklace she had made Luke that hung around his neck, and yanking it off.

Luke watched in despair as the colourful beads dropped one by one to the floor, rolling under the green blades of grass. “Are you crazy?” He muttered, looking up. “You can’t leave me… I’m all you have.” He clutched his shirt, balling up the fabric, and he took long strides towards Y/N. “I made you into who you are. I created you from nothing. Before me, you were only a girl half-decent at archery. Now, you’re a prodigy. You would’ve been lost without my guidance and you have the guts to break up with me?!”

Y/N didn’t flinch, even when Luke’s voice pierced her sensitive ears. “It’s like you said, Luke. I am crazy. Breakups happen so deal with it.” She threw the remaining beads and the leather string at him before walking away, most likely to stay in the cool comforts of her cabin until Annabeth and Percy returned.

Luke could barely contain his rage and he hurriedly kneeled down to collect the beads, or at least the ones he could find.

Each bead and charm seemed to bring back a different memory of them arguing or fighting over a pointless topic. Luke sighed as he leaned his head back, knowing he had made a mistake.

But if there was one thing Luke Castellan refused to do, it was give up. So he stared at Y/N all throughout dinner. And even when Y/N made it clear that the sight of him made her sick, he still knocked on her door at night.

“Y/N.” He called out, impatiently tapping his foot against the old wood. “I’m sorry. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m ready to talk everything out. I’m calm now.”

Those were the exact words he had uttered to Y/N last week, promising he would change but he never did. Y/N had learned her lesson from that, refusing to open the door and going as far as locking it.

“Y/N. You’re being unreasonable.” Luke grumbled as he desperately tried to open the door, barging into it with his shoulder. He heard Y/N laugh.

“That’s ironic considering you’re trying to break my door down.” She spoke over the hooting owls and buzzing cicadas. “You always promise you’ll change but you never do. Don’t you think it’s time to stop making empty promises?”

Luke could hear her voice waver and he felt a small pang of guilt, knowing he was the reason behind her agonising sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, not only to Y/N but to everybody he was about to hurt, even to his father who was the most wretched man in this world. He repeated his sentence, leaning his head against the door. It suddenly swung open and Luke almost crashed into Y/N whom was still gripping the door knob.

She quietly sighed, her gaze immediately spotting his mournful eyes and his lips pulled into a guiltily frown. Y/N hesitated before stepping aside.

“This is your last chance, Luke.” She mumbled but he knew she was lying. She loved him far too much to devoid herself of his charming face.

Luke smiled as he brushed past Y/N. She could never resist him, after all. In a way, Luke pitied her for being so forgiving and sick with love because she and Percy were in the most danger out of everybody, even if they couldn’t see it yet.

The day Percy returned was the day Luke decided to be a hopeless romantic. He took an unsuspecting Y/N into the woods, twirling her around a few times because she always liked dancing.

While Y/N was distracted by the babbling brook and dipping her hand in the cool water, Luke clasped his hands behind his back. He was thinking of what to do next, let Y/N to fend for herself or he could struggle to protect her.

But sacrificing so much for a mere girl seemed pointless, even if Luke was developing strong feelings for Y/N. He quickly clicked his fingers, catching Y/N’s attention. She glanced over her shoulder, her joyful smiling fading as she laid eyes on the huge pit scorpion.

She scrambled back while Luke watched her pathetic attempt at escaping.

“I wouldn’t.” He uttered, “Pit scorpions can jump fifteen feet and slice right through your clothes. You’ll be dead in sixty seconds. But, of course, you already knew that because you love reading about these creatures. That’s why you look so frightened.”

Y/N looked at Luke, searching for any kindness in his eyes to offer her mercy. There was none. His eyes were like a void, empty and dark and lacking any human emotions.

He looked nothing like her Luke who she had met on his first day of camp, scared, annoyed, and baffled at what had become of his dead friend Thalia.

“It’s a shame I have to end our relationship here. I was starting to enjoy your presence, but giving up all my hard work for you is hardly beneficial.”

“What?” Y/N spluttered, trying to kick the scorpion away. She only made it angrier and it clapped his claws at her, ignoring Luke altogether. The scorpion’s tail was raised in hostility and Y/N held back a loud shudder of fear, knowing Luke was thriving off her terror. “Luke… what are you talking about?”

He laughed as if she were an idiot. She felt like one for trusting him despite how much he hurt her. “You don’t get it, do you? I want revenge. On my father and on the gods who have forsaken their children! They don’t give a shit about us. They never did. To them, we’re just some nitwits who are stupid enough to suck up to them. I was the one who stole the bolt, Y/N. Not Hades. And I was the one who sent that hellhound after Percy.”

“Luke, I trusted you.” Y/N thickly gulped.

“A fatal mistake.”

“No. That’s our parents you’re talking about, Luke. And you wouldn’t try and kill Percy… would you? Not my brother. You know how much he means to me.” Y/N’s eyesight turned glassy as she furrowed her eyebrows.

It all made sense now. His sour mood and his bitter attitude. All those nights she spent crying over his glass sharp words. Y/N felt foolish for not noticing what he was doing, but she was far too preoccupied with saving her relationship with Luke at the time.

“What did you think I’d say to that? Join you?” Y/N huffed.

Luke’s eyes flickered to the large bug that was only getting more furious as the seconds ticked by. “Does a scorpion sting when fighting back?” He simply questioned.

Y/N’s hardened gaze bored into his soul as she answered. “They strike to kill… and you know I will too.”

Yes, Luke knew that. Y/N was an exceptional fighter with strategic moves rivalling Annabeth’s. Every carefully planned attack she dealt was like instant death. Luke knew if she had a weapon then she wouldn’t hesitate to land a blow. But he also knew she cared for him far too much to stab his chest. If he had a better weapon, would he do the same? Or spare her?

“It’s a shame you won’t join me… I know you won’t. You and your brother are too alike.” Luke let out a low hum, “I guess we’ve both changed. You used to be hungry for power. I remember you would train until the sunset with your bow and arrow, always wanting to be the best. You’d skip meals, even if you were starving, and I’d have to beg and cry for you to eat. Maybe if my father didn’t give me that quest then we would’ve been fine.”

Luke stared at Y/N for a moment before a grin broke across his face. He stepped over the furious scorpion, pressing a strong kiss to Y/N’s lips. It felt on acid on her skin, itchy and burning and painful.

“A part of me hopes you’ll survive this.” He whispered, “So you can live to see another day. I’ll create the perfect world for you… you’ll see. You’ll love me again even if I have to force the words down your throat.”

Something slipped into her pocket but Y/N’s mind was on the pit scorpion. She flinched as the it climbed up her shoe, snapping its pinchers again.

“Luke.” She breathed as he began to walk away. “Luke. Don’t leave me here! Luke!” She screeched. She would have continued screaming, even if her voice gave up and her vocal cords tore, if it meant she could spend one more day with the warm and loving Luke that she once knew.

The scorpion drove its tail into her leg and she shrieked in pain. She kicked the creature off and desperately searched around for a weapon. She found a small dagger in her pocket, realising that’s what Luke must’ve given to her.

Y/N sliced the scorpion, panting as the world become a confused hazed. She stabbed the creature over and over again until it was nothing but a gruesome corpse of a once terrifying bug.

Y/N limped towards the water but she stumbled, falling to her knees. The toxin was spreading through her blood quickly. She desperately reached out a hand for the creek water, knowing it could possibly heal her. Making it in time to camp would be impossible with her blurring eyesight and inability to walk properly. She’d have to drag her stung leg behind her.

Y/N clawed her way towards the water before her body gave in to the poison. Her limbs grew numb and they refused to move.

Y/N heard the loud noise of bushes rustling and Percy burst into the clearing, Annabeth and a few Apollo kids following close behind.

“Y/N!” He shouted, his voice deafened by the ringing in her ears. She felt dizzy and the world spun in slow-motion as the Apollo healers turned Y/N on her back. Percy kneeled beside her, holding her hand tightly.

“She’s been stung. We don’t have much time. Feed her the nectar.”

Black dots swarmed around in her vision. She could see Annabeth yelling at her but she heard no voices as she let her head loll to the side and she finally succumbed to sleep, not knowing if she would wake up again.

Y/N stirred as the harsh light peeked through the thin curtains of the infirmary. She lightly groaned, shifting around to get more comfortable. Her senses were slowly coming back and she could finally hear again.

“Y/N?” Percy was at her side in an instant. She smiled up at him.

“He really stole the bolt… didn’t he?” She whispered. Percy slowly nodded.

“Yeah…”

Luke’s betrayal would be hard to endure for both the Poseidon siblings and Annabeth. He was beloved by most of the camp and he threw it all away for one pitiful shot at glory.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know you loved him.” Percy’s grip on her hand tightened.

A small laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips. “I guess I did… but he didn’t love me back. Or maybe he did and I simply wasn’t enough…”

Luke’s love had ever been pure or innocent. There was always a catch to it. He was obsessive with her, constantly ensuring that no other guys talked to Y/N. At least, not the ones that posed a threat.

A part of Y/N would always miss Luke but she could feel relief wash over her body because she no longer had to endure his lashing-out anger and sadness anymore.

She had escaped his cruel clutches and until they met again, most likely on a battlefield with their swords pressed up against each other’s throats, she could live in peace.

However, happiness never lasted long for demigods. “Get some rest.” Percy uttered as he stepped out of the infirmity. It was late at night and the last Apollo kid had just finished her daily rounds at checking the patients.

Y/N quietly sighed as she leaned her head back, her eyelids fluttering closed. The floorboards creaked but she paid it no mind. All the cabins squeaked, even the Aphrodite one.

Y/N felt drowsy under the influence of the medicine she had been given and she fell asleep in no time. Her long awaited rest didn’t last for long, though, when she awoke with a loud gasp.

She was outside. In a shallow river. Her clothes stuck to her body and she spat out a mouthful of water. Y/N shivered, rubbing her arms as a sorry attempt to generate warmth.

From the shore, she heard a familiar laugh. It pierced her soul and Y/N stiffened, her breath trembling. Luke sat not even a meter away, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He saw her petrified face and it fuelled a sadistic need inside of him.

“I changed my mind, sweetheart.” Those words from him felt like poison to Y/N. “I got permission to keep you around as long as you don’t get into trouble.”

Luke inched forward and Y/N tilted away, trying to scramble rearward. Her back hit a large rock and she quivered, realising she was trapped between a boulder and Luke. Her former lover was approaching her quickly and she didn’t have time to react before he was kneeled in front of her, not caring how his clothes got soaked.

He gently grasped Y/N’s chin, an action that contrasted his aggressive approach back at camp. He tilted her head up so that she was forced to stare at him and sent her another sickeningly sweet smile.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” He whispered in her ear. His hands felt gross on her skin but her body refused to move. She knew she wouldn’t get far with her injured leg and weakened body. “Because I missed you terribly.”

His lips captured Y/N’s in a long kiss and for millisecond, she forgot all his wrongdoings. She almost melted before she came back to her senses.

As Luke pulled away, Y/N sank further into the river like it would save her from whatever callous and vicious act Luke was going to perform.

Her whole body shook, and not just from the cold, as she found herself cornered in Luke’s suffocating embrace once again after fighting so long to get out.

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