#so if anybody has even the slightest clue

[oleander-teacup]

ok here we go

hi autoimmune disorder tumblr, i think i should maybe be looking into talking to someone about these symptoms but idk if its me overreacting or not? anyway

- gets repeated infections (skin infections (i pick at my skin and usually have 3 or so at a time), pneumonia, LOTS OF PNEUMONIA)

- chronic fatigue, getting up makes me need a nap later, if i dont have 11 or more hours of sleep in a day im exhausted

- extreeeeme brain fog

- bad GI issues

- nausea from moving unless ive taken zofran and then its just lessened and manageable

- clothes moving on skin hurts when ill (my main tell for when im sick vs just very fatigued)

- chest will get very cold for periods of 30 minutes or so, during these episodes i will be very nauseated and unable to find the energy to do anything, afterwards i mostly sleep

- bodily tremors and tics i cant always control, especially when overtired. tremors will specifically be centered in my abdomen and i will be very sore when they are through

- history of anxiety and depression

i know this is sort of a big jumble of potential symptoms and bodily problems, but i have no idea whats wrong with me and im at my wits end trying to convince somebody to finally listen to me. i have an appointment with my GI specialist in 2 weeks and want to be able to coherently explain these symptoms as well as try to figure out whats wrong.

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 9. the end

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel leaves overnight for a scouting mission. When he returns, you finally confess your feelings for him.

Chapter Warnings: language, amnesia, slow burn, dry humping, some dead bodies 'n stuff, fluff, feelings, smut (18+ MDNI), piv unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft!joel, guns?

WC: 9.1K

Series Masterlist

A/N: Two things. One: I don't have the slightest clue how memory loss works and if what I am about to detail in this chapter is even plausible but if television has taught me anything, nothing is impossible only extremely rare. Two: this is the final chapter and it makes me very sad. I wish I could have thought of more storylines to drag this out but at the end of the day, I feel good about how it all came together and I can't thank quite literally hundreds of you enough for reading this each week. It's kind of insane. So, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Also, if anyone wants to toss some one-shot/sequel ideas my way, I am all ears. Much love.

Two Weeks Later

"Joel," you whispered, your head tilted back into the couch cushion while his mouth greedily nipped and sucked at your neck. His hips were grinding lightly against your center and you knew if you didn't stop soon, you would be in trouble. "I think we should slow down."

"Mhmm," he mumbled in agreement, reluctantly pulling his hand from underneath your shirt.

"You're lucky it's still cold enough for me to wear a scarf," you murmured into his hair. He sighed against your neck, finally dragging his mouth away and sat up on the couch while yet another movie went unwatched on the TV.

"Can't seem to get enough of you," he said with a grin, his arm stretching over the back of the sofa. You rolled your eyes dramatically but smiled, pushing yourself up and fixing your shirt before looking at the TV. "Brad Pitt's in this?"

Joel tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Think he's the main character," he told you, and you scowled at him but he could tell you weren't actually angry.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me every time we try to watch a damn movie, I would know that."

The past two weeks had been downright perfect. Joel couldn't be any happier. Now that things had changed between you, he craved your touch constantly. Part of him wondered if it was his way of trying to make up for lost time because you weren't wrong: he couldn't keep his hands off you. He had no desire to leave the house or see anybody. All he wanted was to stay holed up with you doing absolutely everything and nothing. He shuddered to think how crazy he would become when you were finally ready to take things further. Tommy will have to drag him by the collar from your bed for his patrol shifts.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, leaning into his side and tucking your legs underneath you, only half listening to the movie.

"Patrol," he answered while the tips of his ears burned red from embarrassment, like you caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. He was perfectly fine waiting as long as it took until you were ready, but it didn't stop him from fantasizing about it. And the fact that he already knew what you felt like, what you sounded like, what made you come undone, worked him up even more.

"How are you feeling about getting back out there?" you asked, tipping your head up to look at him. He didn't seem worried but it was hard to tell sometimes.

"Actually, there was somethin' I wanted to talk to you 'bout," he admitted. "And if you don't want me to do it, I won't. I put you through enough shit as it is-"

"Spit it out, Miller," you said, shifting out from under his arm.

"Now that the snow's melted, I wanna take a couple guys and scout the area for any trace of those raiders," he began, watching your face closely. "I won't go far, but..."

"But?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"But I would be gone overnight. Just one night," he assured you quickly when he saw your face.

"Wouldn't the others have already noticed anything out of the ordinary on patrol?" you asked as anxiety began to squeeze your throat. "I don't understand why you need to go out there."

"'Cause I only trust myself to make sure we're safe," he explained. "If somethin' happened to anyone 'cause I led these assholes to our doorstep, I'd never forgive myself. D'you understand?"

You chewed on your lip and glanced down at your lap as you weighed your options. On one hand, you understood where he was coming from. And if no one else on patrol or guard had yet to see or find anything strange, then Joel would most likely not find anything, either. But on the other hand, just simply leaving Jackson was a risk. And even if Joel didn't find any other raiders, he wouldn't mean he would be safe from whoever or whatever else was out there.

Joel pinched your chin and gently tugged your lip from between your teeth, making you snap out of it.

"Can I go with you?"

Joel's face softened. "No, baby. You don't even remember how to shoot a gun. I can't risk it."

Of course, he was right. "Who would you take?"

He smiled and dropped his hand. "Tommy. Neil. George. Couple others offered, too, but I'm not sure how many we wanna bring. Don't wanna stick out like a sore thumb with ten horses out in the middle of the woods."

You relaxed a bit knowing he would be going with some of Jackson's most seasoned patrolmen.

"Okay," you agreed softly. His face lit up and he leaned forward.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sighed, looking over at the TV as the credits began to roll. He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your eyes back onto him.

"Thank you," he whispered before pressing his lips firmly against yours, trying with all his might to pour every ounce of affection and adoration he had for you into the kiss. You giggled against his mouth as he tried to push you onto your back once again, but you playfully shoved his shoulder before breaking the kiss and scooting away.

"We told Ellie we'd meet her and Dina for dinner, remember?"

He groaned as if he were in physical pain and reached out for you but you quickly stood up, wagging a finger at him. He gazed up at you from the couch with his brown eyes all wide and gentle.

"I mean it, thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You blushed and bit your lip as you slowly walked backwards towards the stairs. "You can make it up to me one day."

Joel's gaze darkened and he dug his fingers into the couch cushion. "Just say the word, baby. Anytime. Anywhere."

You laughed and turned towards the steps. "Come on, we should get ready for dinner."

"In a minute," he said as you disappeared upstairs. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to will his raging hard on away before standing up and following you.

You inhaled deeply, your body heavy with sleep as you struggled to focus on Joel's voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm leavin'."

With a groan, you rolled over and reached out for him blindly, your eyes still not fully adjusted to the beam of light shining in from the hallway.

He smiled and grabbed your hands, wrapping them around his neck. He felt your fingers dig into the back of his neck and shoulders as you feebly attempted to pull him towards you.

You asked him to wake you up before he left for his scouting mission, so he did as you requested but you were so warm and soft and supple under his touch that he was finding it impossible to leave.

Maybe you planned it that way.

"I'll be back late tomorrow. I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your temple, taking an extra moment to savor it. When he pulled away, your fingers tightened around his neck and you lifted your chin, kissing him with an urgency he hadn't expected from your half-awake state.

"Come home to me, Joel," you mumbled, your eyes squinting at him through the darkness. He pulled an arm from around his neck and brought your knuckles to his lips.

"Promise."

It was so hard to leave but he kept reminding himself he was doing it to keep you safe. Regardless of what Tommy thought, something in his gut told him they hadn't seen the last of those raiders. He brought them into the mountains, and he was determined to be the one to finish it.

"I'm still surprised she let you do this," Tommy said a few hours into their travels. George was leading the group while he and Tommy brought up the rear. The forest was silent, save for the birds just beginning to wake in the branches above. After a long, painful winter, it was a relief to hear the first signs of spring.

"What'dya mean let me?" Joel scoffed, but when he locked eyes with Tommy, who was giving him a look that said he saw right through his bullshit, Joel grinned. "Yeah, alright, it took a little work but she understood."

Tommy nodded and went back to paying attention to their surroundings. They were officially in unguarded territory, the nearest patrol route now miles behind them. The trees had yet to fully bloom so it was still rather easy to see through the woods.

"I think you really freaked her out when you left," Tommy said, "she came runnin' to the house that mornin' in a panic. Thought she wouldn't let you leave her sight again after that."

Joel hummed and turned his head so his brother wouldn't see his smile. He didn't want to worry you, but every time he heard something like that, it reminded him how much you cared, even if you couldn't say it just yet.

"So, you two back to normal now or what?" Tommy pried. Joel shot him a look and he shrugged. "We got a long journey here. We can't talk to pass the time?"

"Yeah, mostly back to normal," Joel finally answered, shifting his weight in his saddle. He could already feel his lower back beginning to flare up. "Takin' things slow. Givin' her as much time as she needs."

Tommy nodded, reading between the lines. "Didn't look that slow the other night after dinner," he muttered under his breath, but Joel still heard him.

"She had a couple drinks, is all," he replied with a chuckle. He scratched his chin as he thought back to a few nights prior when you had draped your arms around his shoulders and your face buried against his neck for the better part of thirty minutes. It was late, all of the families had cleared out after dinner, leaving behind the adults to kick back and cut loose a bit. It reminded Joel of a time before the world went to hell. When he and Tommy would go to a bar on a Friday night, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes in the air while the patrons had to shout over a mediocre cover band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and at ease. He watched his brother and wife across the bar steal kisses around conversations with neighbors, grateful for a night out as Ellie had offered to babysit. He had you at his side, sipping whiskey and making a face before you switched to something else.

As the night dragged on, you got a little closer. Then your hand found his knee under the table and you tilted your head into his shoulder, quietly listening to him discuss the plan for the trip with George. He wrapped an arm around your waist but his focus was entirely on George, too concerned with the map he had spread out over the wooden table. George's wife finally came to collect him, telling him she was tired and he was too old to be trying to keep up with the younger men, shot for shot. She wasn't wrong by the way he stood up and stumbled a bit, leading him towards the door, leaving just the two of you at your table. Once you were alone, your arms snaked around his neck and you tugged him to your lips, your tongue greedily licking into his mouth, the heavy taste of whiskey and gin on your combined breath.

"You sure it was just the drinks? You don't think it had anythin' to do with Angie sittin' two tables over?"

Joel's face flushed and he cleared his throat. It shouldn't turn him on but he couldn't help it. He liked it when you were possessive over him.

"Didn't think it wise to ask," was all he said. Tommy chuckled.

The group made decent time. They had a grid in mind and they almost reached their desired destination by sundown. When morning came, the plan was they would make their way back towards Jackson and cover the northeast quadrant of the map.

As they set up camp for the night, deciding to forego a fire since the temperature was comfortable and they didn't want to risk giving away their location, Neil commented that they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary so far.

"Not that I mind coming out here, Joel," he followed up quickly, "always a good idea to take precautions and all that."

Joel nodded and focused on spreading out his sleeping bag. "I appreciate you all comin'. Not sure if I say it enough, but I'm grateful."

Neil and George exchanged surprised looks at the unexpected appreciation.

They got an early start the next morning, and as the sun rose higher in the sky and more ground was covered, Joel began to wonder if maybe they would make it back to Jackson sooner than he thought. He really hoped they would. Even if it was just one day, he missed you. He hated sleeping without you. He hated waking up and not finding you curled up against him with your head resting on his chest or his arms wrapped about your waist, face buried against the back of your neck.

He was glancing around the forest, wondering what you were doing right at that very moment when he spotted something orange in the distance. His heart rate picked up and he whistled, catching the group's attention. He pointed through the trees and they all silently slid down from their horses. Checking their weapons, they fanned out and slowly made their way towards the scrap of fabric. As they got closer, Joel could see it was a knit cap stuck in a bush, fluttering in the wind. None of the men saw any other signs of life, each of them silently communicating with hand signals they were taught years ago.

Tommy heard shuffling and he held up his hand, bringing the group to an immediate stop. From his angle, Joel could see that the bush with the knit cap was right outside the opening of a small cave. The way the trees had grown around the rocks, it was impossible to notice it from a distance.

The perfect hiding spot.

He exchanged worried looks with Tommy before they crept closer, his rifle gripped tightly in both hands, ready for anything. The shuffling got louder and clearer and it became apparent that the noise was coming from right within the mouth of the cave. Catching Tommy's eye, he made sure to show him he was putting his rifle away in favor of his hunting knife. He always preferred a silent takedown over wasting ammunition, but just in case it went sideways, Tommy would be ready to cover him.

Joel situated himself next to the mouth of the cave while the other men, spread out amongst the trees, hid and waited. He reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it about ten feet away to draw out whoever was hiding.

He didn't even need to see it to know what was waiting for him.

When the rock cracked against a tree trunk and he heard the telltale snarl of infected, he tightened his grip on his knife. The runner stumbled out of the cave with a shriek, jaw snapping angrily in the direction of the noise. Joel had run into his fair share of infected over the years. He knew the noise would have drawn the attention of any infected in the immediate vicinity, and when he only spotted one, he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

He took it down silently with a blade to the back of the head, then inspected the body. It looked fresh, the clothes mostly intact. The rest of the men joined him as they peered inside the cave, listening intently for any movement. When they heard none, they began to advance.

The cave wasn't very big but it was enough to house ten men. At least, that's the number of bodies they found, not a single trace of life left.

"Well, shit," Tommy muttered, kicking one of the mangled bodies with his boot. "Guess that hunch of yours was right."

It didn't exactly please Joel to know he was right, but at least it was the best possible scenario. The men were taken out by infected probably within the past week. He counted the bodies five times. Then recounted the backpacks and sleeping bags. Ten seemed to be the correct number. No one was missing, assuming the runner he had just killed was the only raider who had the misfortune of turning instead of dying right away.

They scavenged what they could from the dead bodies before trekking back to the horses.

"Keep your heads up. Don't mean there ain't anythin' else out here," Joel warned.

"The warmer weather must've thawed out some infected," Tommy mused next to him. Joel nodded.

"Probably should warn the others to keep their guard up the next few weeks," he replied. "Maybe add an extra body to the towers if we can."

Tommy nodded in agreement. The winters in the mountains were harsh but at least they saw a decrease in the undead.

"Now let's get the hell home," George said over his shoulder, the rest of the men mumbling in agreement. Joel ducked his chin to his chest to hide his relieved smile. Home.

To say you were happy to see him return was an understatement. It was closer to ten at night when you finally heard his heavy footsteps on the front porch.

"Told'ya I'd come back," he chuckled when you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

"I know," you mumbled into his shirt. His heart swelled in his chest and he closed his eyes, breathing deep the smell of your shampoo. You both had a lot of work to do, essentially starting over and building a relationship from the ground up, but it was moments like those that made him believe everything was going to work out.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah, just need a shower," he said, dropping his pack by the door and kicking off his boots.

"So I take it you didn't find anything?" you asked, trailing up the stairs behind him. He walked into your bedroom to grab a fresh set of boxers and sweatpants.

"Actually, we did," he began, and your heart plummeted. He saw the look on your face and quickly shook his head. "They were dead by the time we got there. 'Bout ten of 'em holed up in a cave. Infected got to 'em first."

"Oh, wow," you breathed, slowly sinking down onto the bed. "Well, at least you have peace of mind now, right?"

"Exactly," he said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom. "Be out in a minute."

You heard the water turn on and you glanced over at the red flannel of Joel's that you slept in the night before. Even though it was clean, it still smelled like him. You glanced at the closed bathroom door and bit your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you thought things over. The morning he left, you wished you had told him but you were too sleepy and you wanted it to be more meaningful. Then, when you woke up and his side of the bed was ice cold, you felt the dread begin to creep up your spine. What if something happened and you never told him how you felt?

Well, nothing happened. He was home now. Safe and sound. There was no reason not to tell him.

You heard the water turn off and you jumped up to grab his flannel and scurried out of the bedroom, across the hall to the other bathroom, shutting the door.

Joel emerged a few minutes later with his wet hair slicked back wearing just a pair of sweatpants, per usual. He tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and looked around. He noticed the closed door across the hall and assumed you were getting ready for bed so he slid between the sheets with a groan. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the mattress underneath him instead of the unforgiving forest floor before leaning over to grab his glasses and a book.

When you tiptoed back into the bedroom wearing only his flannel, he didn't notice at first. His focus was on the small print in front of him, blinking a few times and wondering if he needed stronger lenses when you cleared your throat. He glanced up and did a double take, his lips parting in shock when he saw his red flannel hugging your curves, the hem falling just below your ass.

You looked up at him and feigned surprise. "Oh, is this okay? I was cold-"

"Yes," he swallowed, immediately cutting you off, "it's okay."

You smiled and made a show of bending over to fix the sheets. Again, he swallowed tightly when he caught a glimpse of your black underwear and he felt his cock twitch. Before you turned around he made sure to be focused back on his book, although he was most definitely not absorbing any of the words on the page.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you peel back the sheets and with a sigh, you tucked yourself in. You glanced over at him, admiring his strong side profile and the way his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"I missed you," you whispered, and he dragged his eyes from his book to look at you.

"I missed you, too."

You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your chest where you purposely left two buttons undone so you exposed a little bit of cleavage.

"What are you reading?" you asked, and he laughed through his nose.

"I've got no fuckin' idea."

In a flash, his book was discarded and you were in his lap, your mouth hungrily devouring his as he carefully removed his glasses and tossed them to the side. He wrapped both arms around you and held you close to his bare chest, his tongue licking past your teeth eagerly.

"You look so fuckin' good in my clothes," he growled, sounding as if it pained him before biting at your jaw.

"I wore your shirts the whole time you were gone," you admitted, rolling your head back and grinding down on his hips. You bit your lip when you felt how hard he was already. "Almost the whole week. I slept in your bed and-"

"Fuck," Joel groaned, grabbing your face with both hands and feverishly plunged his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and grabbed his shoulders, the intensity behind the kiss growing too hot. You could feel yourself tumbling, free-falling into the abyss with the unspoken words sitting heavy on your tongue, hoping Joel would be there to catch you.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling away, but only a little. Your forehead still rested against his as you both panted for air.

"I know, I'm sorry-" he was about to apologize for taking things too far when you cut him off.

"Do you remember all those months ago when I asked how I fell in love with you?"

Joel nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what you said?"

He tilted his head back, lips parted as he gazed up at you, wondering why you were asking him those questions in that moment.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, "I said you're gonna have to wait to find out."

You bit your lip and with a shaky hand, you traced one of the wrinkles next to his eyes. "Well, I found out."

His chest stilled, breath caught in his throat as he processed your words. His eyes roamed over your face, hoping and praying he wasn't misunderstanding. When you saw him nervously swallow, you smiled.

"I love you, Joel."

His eyebrows pinched together and before you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, he pulled you down for another searing kiss. This time, he went slower. He savored every second, he memorized everything he possibly could about that moment because the way you made him feel hearing those words was unlike anything he ever experienced and he didn't want to take a single second for granted.

"I love you, too," he choked. He could feel you smile against his lips when he pressed his mouth against yours again. "Fuck, I love you so much," he mumbled, his hands falling to your hips, "I'd do anythin' for you."

Your mouth latched onto his throat and you dropped your hand between your bodies, your fingers lightly stroking him through his pants. And once again, you felt his muscles stiffen and freeze.

For a moment, the self-doubt crept in. What if he didn't want to? Was he too tired? Was he not ready? Then his hand covered your wrist and you watched as he slowly dragged your hand up and down, showing you what he liked. Encouraging you to continue. So you did.

His head tipped back against the headboard with a sigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, removing his hand and letting you take control. He wanted - no, needed - you to call the shots. You needed to take it as far as you wanted to take it.

When your fingers dipped below his waistband, he tensed.

When he finally felt your soft touch on his cock, he groaned.

It was better than he even remembered. His eyes were still closed as you worked him up and down, the arousal pooling between your legs the longer you spent just feeling him and not seeing him.

"I want you," you whispered in his ear, and his hips jolted as he whined against your shoulder. You wanted him.

When he opened his eyes, he looked absolutely wrecked. You could see that he was trying his best to hold back, trying his best to make sure you were comfortable, that you weren't feeling pressured, that you really wanted it.

But when you sweetly whispered please, Joel, he didn't hesitate. He flipped you onto your back and pulled hastily at the buttons of his flannel while he cemented his mouth against yours. Your hands drifted to his hair and back, pulling and scratching as you went while he finally flung open the shirt. He instantly latched his lips around your nipple, making you moan and arch your back underneath him.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your chest. "Tell me again."

You smiled and peered down at him. "I love you."

He breathed a sigh of relief, his exhale fanning over your skin, making your nipples tighten. His rough hands slid down your stomach, thick fingers splayed wide, trying to touch as much of you as possible at once.

You could hear your heartbeat thrumming steadily in your ears when he dipped his fingers below the elastic of your underwear, a deafening sound that made it hard to focus but when he slid a finger slowly through your arousal, your senses suddenly sharpened. The house could have been on fire but you never would have known because all you could focus on was him.

He dragged his open mouth across your chest, teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking out and tasting you as he went. His lips puckered and sucked at your skin as he pet gently at your entrance, making you squirm with need and tug impatiently at his hair. When he pulled his hand out of your underwear, you made a frustrated little noise that made him smile. He popped his finger into his mouth and you watched, struggling to breathe, as his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned like he had just slipped into a warm bath after a hard day.

"God, I missed that," he whispered, and the look on his face made you actually believe him.

"Joel..." you breathed, plucking feebly at the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Lemme just make you come on my mouth first," and before you could respond, he was shimmying down between your legs and tugging off your panties. When you glanced down and saw how good it looked with his head between your legs, you relaxed and leaned back. How could you argue with that view?

"Oh," you sighed when his tongue first slid through your folds. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, allowing your muscles to melt under his touch. His hands held your thighs open but he didn't need to bother. There was no possible way you would do anything to stop him. Not when he felt so good, taking his time and expertly lavishing your core with his tongue. And perhaps he was an expert. At least when it came to you, he had five years of experience to fall back on. He surely must have figured out what you liked in all that time.

Your breath was growing ragged and you could feel the heat creeping up your chest. He pressed the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees up towards your chest so he could devour every inch of you, eating messily at your cunt. You pulled your knees back and hooked your hands around each one, your thighs becoming too shaky to hold open with your own strength.

It was a combination of his lips wrapping around your clit and the deep groan that rumbled through his chest that made you come undone the first time. Instant relief flashed through your body and you released your knees, letting your legs fall limply onto the quilt while he eagerly cleaned you up with his tongue.

When he sensed it was too much, he began peppering kisses along your inner thighs, murmuring praise into your skin as he went. You opened your eyes and peered down at him, your breath getting caught in your throat at the sight. His mouth and beard were glistening with your slick, his own eyes remained shut as he mindlessly nipped and kissed your skin, but even from your angle you could see him rutting his hips into the mattress, looking for any amount of friction to relieve the ache.

You reached your arms out to him and he inched up but stopped at your stomach. He sighed and rested the side of his head against your belly, listening to your breath evening out as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist. It took you by surprise that he wasn't immediately jumping at the chance to chase his own release when it was clear just a moment before he was dying for it. You glanced down at him and smiled when you saw the look on his face, simply content with just holding and being close to you. Carding your fingers through his curls, you heard him hum before pressing a gentle kiss against your stomach.

It might have been that moment when you realized he was right. What you had was special and rare. You could feel it in your bones, the way a look or touch sent a jolt right through you. The way you felt drawn to him, even from the very first day of your accident, you could sense something in him. You had no idea at the time what it was, but you were beginning to understand now.

"Joel?" you whispered, worried he might have somehow fallen asleep. Then you felt it. The first hot teardrop hit your skin and your heart clenched. "C'mere," you said, tugging at his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he obeyed. And after his arms loosened and he unpeeled his wet face from your belly, you saw the anguish in his eyes. All watery and wide and guilt-ridden.

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, his voice breaking a bit as you cupped his jaw. "Never did and definitely don't now. Not after everything I've done. Don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone your love."

You shushed him and pressed your lips tenderly against his, your thumb wiping away his tears as they fell.

"Don't tell me who I can and cannot love," you said, taking his chin in your hand and giving it a firm shake, like you were punishing him. He chuckled thickly through the tears.

You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him slower, your tongue just barely dipping into his mouth. He groaned when you began to plant wet kisses along his jaw and you noticed with pride that his chest was rising and falling faster than usual while his hips ground into yours.

"Love you s'much," he almost sounded drunk, the feel of your mouth over his skin clouding his mind and mushing his words together.

"Yeah?" you asked before sucking a bruise where his jaw met his throat. "Then show me."

Joel kicked off his sweatpants and boxers with a grunt but when you went to remove his flannel from around your shoulders, he stopped you.

"Leave it on."

Your cheeks flared with heat at the way he looked at you and all you could do was nod and bite your lip.

It felt like time stood still when you first felt him enter you. Like nothing else in the world mattered outside of those four walls. He held your gaze and your fingers dug into his back, each of you savoring the stretch with your mouths hung open, the only sound was the occasional sharp little breath or gasp from one or both of you.

You could see it in his face again and you had a feeling you mirrored his look. It was too intense. Too overwhelming. So much had happened that led up to that moment: all the fear, sadness, laughter, arguments, long talks and shared traumas came crashing down at once. A tear slid down your cheek right when his hips came flush with yours and he leaned down to kiss it away.

"You okay?"

You nodded and wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"It's just a lot, y'know?" you sniffled, hoping he understood. And he did.

His eyes glistened and he smiled, his fingers brushing away a few stray pieces of hair from your face. "I know. We've come a long way."

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back more tears. Your fingertips traced his bottom lip, your eyes flickering around his face, taking in every little crease and dimple. "Kiss me."

He did as you asked, kissing you slow and deep, matching pace with his hips. Your fingers dug into his arms, holding onto him, keeping him close. His hand pushed his flannel back, exposing one of your shoulders while your head tilted back into the pillows, momentarily breaking away for air. You moaned softly when he began to grind his hips against you, providing your clit with some much needed stimulation while he dragged his mouth down the column of your throat and across your collarbone. When he sunk his teeth gently into your shoulder, he felt you clench around him and gasp.

How's that feel?

Do that again.

Tell me you love me.

I love you.

Those sweet, desperate whispers were shared, breathed into each other's mouths, every word dragged out, every touch deliberate and slow. Neither of you in the mood to rush a thing as your fingers tightly laced together next to your head.

His other hand skirted around your back and under his shirt, palm pressing against your spine, pulling you closer to him, if it was even possible. He flexed his hips and you groaned when the tip of his cock hit a spot that had your entire body buzzing.

"Right there," you whimpered into his neck, brows pinched together and stomach tightening as you concentrated on the fire being stoked deep within you. Every one of his powerful thrusts was adding fuel to the flames. Your skin was slick with sweat and you began to regret keeping his flannel on.

"I know, baby. I remember," he whispered, tightening his grip on you. "Fuck, y'feel so good, I can't-"

"Don't stop! Please, Joel, more," you begged, tears welling up and spilling down your cheeks the closer and closer he pushed you to the edge. Your thighs tensed around his waist and his lips kissed the tears away and when you came, crying his name into his skin, he soothed you. He told you how much he loved you, how much he missed being so close to you, reminded you he was right there, that he had you and everything was okay.

Moments later, you felt his body tremble and his hips stutter. In a haze, you loosened your legs from around his waist. His lips captured yours frantically, fast puffs of exhale fanning over your cheek as he got more and more lost in chasing his climax. Your shaking fingers reached up to get tangled in his hair, ensuring his mouth remained firmly planted against your lips, muffling his groans and garbled versions of your name and I love yous, swallowing everything down until he yanked his hips away, spilling himself all over your stomach.

You both broke the kiss and looked down between your bodies, watching as each weak thrust painted your skin with more and more of his release until he finally stilled and shuddered.

After he finally forced himself to stand, he cleaned you up and slipped back into bed, one of his legs sticking out from underneath the covers, still slightly panting for air. You curled into his side, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him, his nose getting buried in your hair as you listened to each other's breaths even out. You quietly told him about a wound you stitched up at work all by yourself the day before and he told you how proud he was of you. You listened to him tell you a little more about his trip, how relieved he felt now that he confirmed with his own eyes Jackson was safe. At least, for the time being.

The last thing you remembered was him telling you how much he hated sleeping on the ground and how much he missed you while his knuckles soothingly dragged over your stomach but all you could think about was the warm glow that radiated from your skin and the delicious soreness between your legs as you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, you heard birds singing outside your window. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Spring was coming. You always loved spring. Something about it made you hopeful and calm, and that morning was no exception.

You awoke still wrapped in his arms and his flannel, your cheek pressed against his bare chest, one of your legs slotted between his, enjoying the peace and quiet the morning brought.

"I thought you died," you admitted quietly once he woke, your fingertips tracing over the scar above his hip. "When you didn't come back that day, I was so worried. So scared my last words to you were something cruel and hurtful."

He hummed and said, "Oh darlin', I'm so sorry," then kissed the top of your head.

"Don't be. In a way, it helped me realize how much I care about you," you replied, lifting your chin from his chest to glance up at him. He always looked way too handsome in the morning. It was hardly fair. "Made me realize I couldn't live without you."

He grinned and rolled his shoulder, stretching out his sore muscles. "Well, if that's all it took, why didn't you say somethin' sooner?"

You giggled and looked back down at his scar, the smile slowly slipping from your face the longer you looked at the pale jagged edges marring his bronzed skin. "God, that day you didn't come back, though," you continued, your brow furrowed as you thought, "I had the worst pit in my stomach. Almost like I knew something was wrong, you know?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, letting you talk, completely at ease listening to your voice.

"It probably didn't help I had woken up that morning from the worst fucking nightmare."

"What nightmare?" he asked sleepily.

You chuckled when you thought about it.

"It's not really funny," you explained, rolling off of him and onto your back, pulling his flannel closed as you moved. "It had started out just like this, actually. It was morning, we were in bed and we were talking... about death?" you said the last part as if it were a question. "I was asking you if you believed in heaven and I told you I was afraid we were going to hell." His eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled his head to look at you, waiting for you to continue. You laughed again and shrugged. "I guess it felt like a premonition or something. Really freaked me out, it felt so real."

"What else?" he asked excitedly, sitting up. You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"What else do you remember? From the nightmare?"

"Oh," you said, pushing yourself up so you were also sitting. You stared at the wall blankly as you thought about it. "You told me we aren't bad people, and even though I told you we had done bad things, I believed you. Then..." you felt your cheeks flush and he sat forward eagerly.

"Then what?" he urged, and when you looked at him again, any trace of playfulness was gone.

"Then... it got a little dirty but I woke up before anything happened. But I do remember you were on top of me and you said-"

"This is heaven right here?" he finished for you, and you looked at him in surprise.

"Yes! How did-"

"That was no nightmare, honey. That happened," he told you, his voice rising. He thought his heart was going to explode, it was racing so fast.

"What?" you whispered, but Joel was already jumping out of bed and tugging on his boxers.

"C'mon, get up! We gotta take you to see Nick!"

"Wait," you said, buttoning up his flannel as he flew around the room, grabbing new clothes for you both. "Joel, this was a month ago, what will going to see Nick do?"

"I-I-I don't know! But we gotta tell him. Maybe there's somethin' we can do if we know you're capable of -"

"Joel, sit down," you said, cutting him off. He froze, having just tugged on a shirt but his jeans were still left unzipped and unbuttoned. You stared at him until he took the few steps towards the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll talk to Nick next time I'm at work, but I don't want to barge in there and take up his time. You know this is out of his area of expertise."

He looked disappointed but he knew you were right because he finally nodded in agreement and bit the inside of his cheek while he stared at the floor. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, drawing his attention back onto you.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," you said softly. "If my memories come back, then they come back. If they don't, they don't. All that matters is this... right?" you asked, inching closer to him and resting a hand on his thigh. He smiled and enveloped your hand in his.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, staring down at your conjoined hands for a moment. "You wanna go get some breakfast? Maybe talk 'bout it a bit more?"

"Sure," you replied, then leaned forward, kissing him tenderly before standing up. "I should probably shower, though. Last night got a little messy," you said, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. He smirked and watched your ass sway back and forth in his fucking clothes as you made your way to the bathroom. You turned around in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the frame as you looked at him expectantly from across the room. "Aren't you coming?"

All the blood rushed directly between his legs and just like that, his excitement for you recalling a memory was replaced by a very different kind of excitement.

"Hell, yes," he said, standing up and shucking off his shirt as he followed you into the bathroom. He grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his mouth against yours, kicking the door shut behind him.

Three Months Later

"Can't believe I'm the one teachin' you how to shoot," Joel muttered in disbelief as you walked back from the line of trees where he had hammered a paper target into one of the trunks. "You were always a better shot than me. Almost better than Tommy, and he was in the goddamn Army."

You laughed and shook your head, still finding it difficult to believe that you ever shot a gun before. From what you remember, you were always afraid of guns growing up.

"Maybe I'm a natural, then."

Enough time had passed and the weather had gotten warm enough where you decided it would be beneficial to re-learn how to shoot. You didn't plan on going back to patrol, but in the world you lived in, it was an important skill to have.

You sat down next to Joel on the fallen tree trunk in the middle of a small field about two miles away from Jackson. He picked up each one of his guns and inspected them, making sure they were clean so there wouldn't be much kickback.

"Have any dreams lately?"

You sighed and shook your head. "Just the one about Ellie, and that was over a month ago."

When you woke up one morning from a dream that felt all too real, you shook Joel awake to tell him about it. It was a simple dream, but it felt intense. You had dreamed Ellie sat you and Joel down at the kitchen table, and full of nerves, explained that she was seeing someone. Someone she cared about deeply. You seemed to catch on quicker than Joel because the conversation lead to where Ellie had to point blank explain to him that she was dating another girl. He seemed surprised but not overly shocked, and when he shrugged it off and still maintained that his only concern was her partner treating her right, her face broke out into a huge smile.

After he confirmed it was a memory, you agreed to see Nick. He didn't end up having much insight on what spurred your sudden recollection that day, just as you expected. But much to your surprise, Joel was perfectly calm. In fact, he made a point of thanking Nick and you even saw him smile at the other man.

And it wasn't just Nick you noticed his demeanor changing toward, either. When kids playing in the street bumped into him, he laughed and waved them off. When Jesse proposed to his girlfriend, Joel was one of the first in line to give him a hearty handshake and wished them well.

You weren't sure if his behavior changed because you were so revolted by it in the beginning, or if he was just happier in general, but you didn't complain.

"Alright, so which one d'you think we're gonna use from this distance?" he asked after he showed you his revolver and then his rifle, explaining the difference between each: how they handled, when to use them, when not to use them, and then finally, how to load and unload them.

You gave him a blank look. "The rifle, Joel. I'm not a complete idiot. I've seen movies."

He grinned and holstered his revolver.

"Good girl. Beauty and brains," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't start."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Don't start flirting with me. You'll distract me and I want to take this seriously."

"I ain't flirtin' with you."

"Yes, you are!"

He laughed heartily at your frustrated little pout. "Can you blame me? You're so goddamn cute."

"Joel..." you whined, and he held up both hands in defeat before picking up the rifle.

"Alright, alright. Lemme shoot off a few rounds and you watch my form, okay? Watch my shoulders and where my hands go."

"Okay."

You observed him as he took aim at the target, nearly hitting the bullseye but not quite.

"You wanna give it a shot?"

"Pun intended?"

He grinned and held out the rifle, so you grabbed it and sunk down to one knee, resting your elbows on the tree trunk as you tried to imitate his posture.

"Like this?"

"Mhm," he said, "now take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger nice 'n slow."

Doing as you were told, you inhaled and blinked a few times, making sure your vision was clear and your eye was on the prize. Pursing your lips, you slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger - only to miss hitting the target entirely.

"Shit," you grumbled, sitting back on your heels.

"You got spooked by the kickback," Joel said, "try again, but this time try not to flinch."

You shouldered the rifle and took aim, once again taking a deep breath and focusing on the little yellow circle in the middle of the target. When you fired off your second round, doing your best not to flinch, you clipped the edge of the paper, but you were no where near the center.

"Goddamnit!" you yelled angrily. Joel chuckled and crouched behind you.

"Here. Lemme help you."

He wrapped his arms around yours and pressed his chest against your back, his hands coming to rest on top of yours as he made some minuscule adjustments to your posture.

"Y'gotta be gentle, see?" he whispered in your ear. Your eyelids fluttered but you managed to nod. "Gotta be patient. Don't let her scare you. Think of her as an extension of you. Like another arm."

"Her?" you teased.

He chuckled, his breath puffing against the back of your neck. "Yeah. Her. I'm respectful and careful with all my girls."

"All?" you repeated, leaning into him a bit. "How many are there?"

"Oh, tons," he said, making you giggle. "But if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite."

"A favorite over a bunch of guns? I'm so flattered."

"Hey, now. Didn't you just say you wanted to take this seriously? C'mon, focus up," and you knew he was right so you straightened up and pressed your eye against the scope once again.

Joel stayed behind you, his hands on your shoulders to help stabilize your upper body as you squeezed off shot after shot. His advice helped a little, you were at least hitting the paper, but you weren't getting anywhere near his shots from earlier. He could see you were growing frustrated so when you ran out of bullets, he took the rifle and told you to take a break while he reloaded.

"It's okay, darlin'. It's gonna take a bit to get used to it."

You sighed and slumped forward on the tree trunk. "Yeah, I guess," you mumbled.

For the next twenty minutes, Joel coached you while you struggled to remember all his advice at once. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't flinch. Follow through. Breathe. When you pulled the last round into the chamber and took aim, you expected it to go like all the others so you stopped worrying about it and just pulled the trigger.

"Holy shit, you did it!" Joel exclaimed excitedly. You hadn't even bothered to look, so you quickly brought the scope back up to your face. When you saw the small little circle burning a hole through the paper, nearly dead center, you squealed and quickly placed the rifle against the tree so you could jump into Joel's arms. He wrapped his arms around your ribs and spun you around while you giggled into his neck.

"Told you," he said with a wide grin after he put you back down. You grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into you, crashing your lips together, taking him by surprise. He stumbled forward but wrapped a hand around the back of your neck just as you lost your own footing and fell onto the grass, dragging him down with you.

You laughed against his mouth, still peppering kisses all over his face. He braced both arms on either side of you, elbows digging into the warm grass, smile permanently stretching across his cheeks as he soaked up your affection.

When your laughter died down, you pulled away to gaze up at him, your fingers playing with the dark curls at the base of his neck. The sun was shining over the field and onto his tanned skin, making his sparkling brown eyes look like the color of gold. It took your breath away.

"You're so handsome," you whispered in awe, your fingers leaving his hair in favor of stroking the graying stubble dusting his cheeks. He blushed and shook his head, but before he could protest, you spoke again. "I love you so much, Joel. Sometimes it makes me sad to think we probably wouldn't have ever known each other if the world didn't end."

His eyes softened and he gave you a small smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I'll always find you. In every life, in every universe. You've got a piece of me," he tapped your chest lightly, "I don't make the rules."

You laughed and laced your fingers together with his. "Like fate?"

He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. I already told you, sweetheart. We're meant to be together."

You pulled him down for another kiss, this one more gentle. More loving. More intimate. For the hundredth time, you mentally berated yourself for wasting so much time after your accident when you could have been with him like this, being loved and adored and cherished all along. Instead, you both had been searching endlessly for some version of yourself that you weren't sure you would ever find again. But then you realized if you never did, that was okay. Because you got to fall in love with each other all over again, and how many people get to say that?

[barcaatthemoon]

a thousand miles || kyra cooney-cross x reader ||

kyra comforts you when the distance begins to feel like too much.

your heart ached the longer you were left to sit and think about the fact that you were all alone. those feelings of sadness festered inside of you, like they had been since you left london. both you and kyra had gone there for arsenal, but they hadn't resigned you. viv had been lucky in going to manchester, but you found yourself stranded across the pond playing in the nwsl.

you had comfort in jen being there, but you missed kyra. she truly was your better half in your mind. the two of you were menaces to the rest of the team, but here in california, none of your old antics were half as fun. jen was worried about you, but nobody had the slightest clue about how to help you.

"kyra, baby, are you busy?" you don't think that you had ever heard yourself sound so small and timid before. it was pitch black outside, and kyra wouldn't have been able to see a thing if it wasn't for the little lamp on your bedside table. on the other side of the screen, you saw kyra at the arsenal facilities.

"(y/n), are you okay?" the usual jovial tone that you were used to with kyra was gone. all of that had been quickly replaced by concern as she took in the state of you. there was no doubt in your mind that you looked like a hopelessly sad version of yourself.

"i hate it over here. it's always nights like this that i feel the loneliest, and they keep happening. i miss you. i want to come back to be with you," you cried. kyra stood up and walked away, most likely for some real privacy. you could see a couple of girls in the background, a few of whom looked like they wanted to say hi but decided against it when they saw how kyra was moving to be alone with you.

"aw baby, i'm sorry. i know that it's hard, and i miss you too, but it'll be okay. just talk to me for a little, okay? i'll stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep," kyra said. you felt bad about pulling her away from whatever she was doing, but you also knew that kyra wouldn't let you go back to wallowing by yourself. if anything, she'd call jen to come and stay with you for a few days.

"we aren't really doing well as a team, which sucks. i miss playing with everybody back at arsenal. my teammates here are great, but it's not the same thing. last week, i had to leave dinner early because i was about to start crying. everything is different, and i'm so scared that i won't find somewhere to makes me happy like i was," you admitted. kyra wasn't sure how to help you, but she was determined to try. this was a good first step, everything needed to be out in the open.

kyra knew that you'd bottle it up otherwise. that had always been your worst trait. you let things sit and fester until you broke down completely. the weight of the world didn't have to rest on your shoulders, that was what kyra had taught you. both of you had matured so much being together, and a part of her was afraid that you'd regress on your own.

"i know that you don't want to feel like you're bothering anybody, but talk to me when you feel like this. talk to your teammates, form bonds like we did at arsenal. well, not like ours specifically, but like how we made friends with everybody else." kyra could feel herself start to ramble a little. she noticed you smile a little as you caught it as well. "is your light keeping you up?"

"kind of," you admitted. kyra didn't even have to tell you to turn it off and set your phone on your pillow next to your head. kyra could hear your breathing slow down a bit, but she knew that you weren't asleep yet. "can i tell you something kind of lame?"

"i don't think anything you say is lame."

"you're the only one who has me letting my walls down. i feel so safe when i'm with you, kyra. i wish that i would have just went down a league instead of moving all the way over here. there's too much distance between us, and i miss you so much that it hurts," you told her. kyra cleared her throat as she felt a lump begin to form. she didn't want you to leave, but she couldn't be the reason that you sacrificed your career.

"i think that you did the right thing leaving. it was good for you, and when we get to visit each other, everything will be that much more special," kyra reasoned. it was hard to find a reason not to be upset or resentful, and kyra was proud of herself for figuring it out. things would be easier, you just needed to trust the process to get there.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: apologies

authors note: inspired by roman being roman on tonight's smackdown. it was a bit tricky to come up with a scenario to justify these people talking to roman like he's just anybody, so i had to keep some things vague.

words: 1.5k

warnings: none

The last thing Solana expected to walk into post grocery store trip was a shit show, but that’s exactly what she’s got.

The sound of arguing voices is impossible to ignore, all of them emanating from her husband’s office. Directing security to bring in the rest of the groceries and to leave them on the counter, she doesn’t hesitate to walk into Roman’s office, bypassing the knocking.

Sure enough, she’s met with her husband, his cousins and Sami Uso arguing down with each other. And not a single one of them seems to be listening to each other. They’re all just yelling and talking over each other, Roman, in a surprising twist, not being as loud as the other three.

But, he looks just as pissed. 

If not more.

Despite having no idea what the source of the argument is, it feels immaterial as she intrudes into the almost circle they’ve formed.

“Hey,” she says it too low the first time around, forcing her to raise her volume for the second round. “Hey!” As Jimmy and Sami move towards each other, as if they’re about to progress to something physical, Solana is prompted her to move even closer, her hands raised, separating them. “Stop it right now!” She switches to Spanish, a natural thing that seems to occur when she's upset.

The minute, however, that Roman becomes aware of her presence, he’s gently pulling her toward him, away from the other three. She ignores that, instead asking in English, “what is going on?”

It’s probably a silly question, as she’s almost certain that it’s business related, and Roman has always been tight-lipped regarding a lot of things concerning his work. But, it’s hard for her to ignore this when the tension is literally palpable. 

In another twist that she wasn’t expecting, Jey smacks his teeth, completely ignoring her question and directing his statement toward Roman. “Man, you trippin, Uce! You not trying to hear—”

“Keep fucking talking to me like that, Jey.” Roman sneers, Solana having to place her hand on his chest. More comfort to her than him, she’s sure. “I beat your ass once, I’ll do it fucking again."

“Listen, Roman, man—”

Jimmy scoffs,, moving closer to Sami, shoving him back. “Aye, wasn’t nobody even talking to you!”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue when the roles reversed where Jey seems more buddy buddy with Sami than her husband and Jimmy. Regardless, that’s not important right now.

“You guys aren’t accomplishing anything,” she cuts in, shaking her head. Where is Paul? This is definitely one of those moments where he needs to be the voice of reason. “Just stop—”

“I’m not listening to this shit,” Roman snaps, Solana looking back at him as he moves away, turning his back. “We’re doing it my way, and that’s fucking final.”

“What’s the point of having us around if you just always do shit your way and don’t even listen to us?” Jey calls after him. 

At that, Roman turns around, speaking from a place of visceral emotions. “Then fucking leave. I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you!”

Her eyes shut as she takes a deep breath. He doesn’t mean that. She knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t mean that. He’s just talking out of emotions. Not logic.

“Roman—” She calls after him, but he turns on his heel once again, slamming the door behind him.

Hand to her face, she refocuses on the men, directing, “just….just stay here. Let me talk to him.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Jey counters, looking just as done as the rest of the men. “Roman refuses to listen to anybody but his damn self, so let him deal with it by himself.”

Nothing about what her husband does should include him handling anything alone. “I’ll talk to him,” she repeats. “You guys stay here. D--don’t leave. Please.”

She’s not sure if they’ll listen to her, but she can’t focus on that right now. She’s instead walking out the office, trying to find her husband who she eventually locates in their backyard. Closing the door behind her, she watches how he paces back and forth, hands on his hips, facial expression hiding not an ounce of his anger. 

She’s careful in how she approaches him, waiting a minute to give him some space. But, she can only wait for so long. “Roman….”

“Since when the fuck do I answer to them?” It’s a rhetorical question. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to not respond.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant, baby…..”

“I’m the Tribal Chief!” He gestures to himself, again, anger toward the situation. Not her. “I make the plays. I call the shots.”

“Yes, Roman, but that—that doesn’t mean you can’t at least hear them out.” 

That interjection is what makes him stop pacing, makes him stop and look at her, really look at her. She sees the way his shoulders drop and watches how he diverts his gaze, apologizing, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t…..you shouldn’t be involved in this.”

Probably not, but it’s too late to not be. “I–I don’t like seeing you guys argue. You’re….you’re better than that, Ro.” Because he is. Because this petulant, petty-like behavior isn’t like Roman. He’s a hothead, but he’s not childish. “I don’t know what this is specifically about, and it’s none of my business, but I do think you should–should talk this out. That everyone should apologize to each other….including you.” 

At that, his eyes go wide. “Apologize?” He points to himself. “I should apologize to him?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Solana—”

“Roman,” she says it again, voice softening, lips pressed together for a second. “Please?”

It’s a tricky, manipulative thing. She’s learned that he can’t say no to her, and she uses that to sway him over. 

And once again, it’s worked. 

“Fine,” he relents, and she leans up to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” He only nods, still looking slightly irritated but walking back into the house. 

Solana finds herself overtly relieved to be able to play at least a small role in the path to reconciliation. It fills her with pride that she carries with her as she goes into the kitchen to start putting the groceries away as well as get started on dinner.

With the twins and Sami over, she’s certain that they’ll be staying ov—

“I’m sorry that I ever let you waste my time with this!”

Solana closes her eyes. Her husband has to be the most stubborn person to ever walk this earth. 

She closes the cabinet she was loading the canned goods in and moves towards the office, only for a flustered, irritated Roman to come stomping in said kitchen, rounding the island to stand in front of her. 

“I tried, Sol. I fucking tried, but this is fucking stupid—”

“Roman.” She reaches up to cup his cheeks, holding his face so he’s forced to meet her gentle gaze. “I love you, but you are the single most hard-headed person I’ve ever met.” He cuts his eyes, but it’s an innocent thing. No maliciousness. Or disagreement. Verbally, at least. “I need—I want you to actually try.”

“I did—”

“Roman.” A small smile falls on her face, knowing. She knows him well enough to know they have very different definitions of trying. “If you’re not going to do it for yourself, or maybe not even me….” Solana drops one hand from his face to grab his hand, easily guiding and placing it on the swell of her belly. “Do it for them.”

Solana sees it so clearly. The immediate shift in his mood, his disposition, even his stance. Feels the way he subtly rubs her bump, an almost soothing thing for him. Like he’s being reminded of the lives they created, the two tiny humans who they will raise together, bring up the right way. 

The exact opposite of what they received.

But part of it starts now, leading with the messages they want to send and lessons they want to instill. 

Roman gets that. It’s evident in the way he nods subtly. Eyes closing as he leans over and kisses her forehead. “Thank you.”

Her smile is small but warm as she gestures to the direction of his office. “Go make things right.”

He just gives her one nod before walking off, and something tells her, he'll come back this time with the relief of having found a solution.

Solana finds herself rubbing her stomach, speaking to her daughters who continue to grow and develop day by day. “Your daddy’s a good man.” She sighs, adding on an almost quietly. “We’re just going to have to help him from time to time.”

She’s answered with a swift kick, prompting a hearty laugh and deepened smile.

[camcorderx]

Hi! I’m wondering if you could do some headcanons with König and Soap separately with a male reader who is selectively mute. Thanks!

-✨ Anon

Yessss! I adore your request btw, need more male!reader stuff eh? new anon too ♡

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 || 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐜𝐬

▹ pairing: john "soap" mactavish x male!reader, könig x male!reader ▹ cw: fluff, unestablished/established relationship ▹ notes: i didn't know if you wanted romantic/platonic/reactions so i wrote a bit of both! lmk anon if you wanted a part 2 or smth ♡

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 "𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩" 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡

at first, he thinks your fucking with him.

do you not like him? did he say something to piss you off? maybe you just don't find his sarcastic wit charming?

he just can't understand why it seems like you don't respond to him.

but when he finds out the truth, its like a weight lifts off his chest

you do like him, you're just a guy who doesn't feel comfortable talking!

soap's always been good with people, talking to you is no different than conversing with 141 or pretty much anybody.

just this time he's doing like 98% of the yapping

he's a pretty understanding guy, you don't have to explain yourself pretty much at all

its one of those things i can see him working on, like just coming to talk to you everyday. see how your doing.

just when he starts seeing you open up even the slightest, it would push him to feel a sort of soft affection for you

loves making you laugh, and come on, he finds you funny too

probably wouldn't stop thinking about you during the day.

his brown eyes are always flickering over to you, sheepishly wondering what you're thinking when price describes a plan or gaz says something. . . every time he catches himself thinking about you he just shakes his head and laughs softly to himself.

yes, maybe a little 'adoration' is forming. . .

but god if you, the guy he's constantly wondering about, doesn't have him curious and wanting to worm his way a little further into your shell just a little bit each time.

maybe staring at your lips isn't just about wanting to hear a laugh from you anymore

when you finally reach out to him, giving his hand a squeeze in thanks for being. . . well being soap. his heart fucking does a flip in his chest and he has to act like the positive contact from you has zero effect on him.

𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

at first, i think you would catch his attention because the both of you are a bit on the 'quieter' side. like he see's a sort of silent kinship with you he never points out directly.

why you are so quiet he has no clue, and frankly doesn't want to ask you about it.

but he does stare a bit too much, like maybe he hopes you see a sort of similar bond in him too?

when he finally does ask, and understandably gets no response, he just sort of. . . watches you for a minute.

he see's your eyes fidgeting, and you working your hands in your lap, shifting a bit uncomfortably in your seat. like the words, the things you want to say or convey just can't come out the way you want. so they don't.

the pieces sort of click for him. if he doesn't quite get it right (that you're selectively mute) he at least understands the need for a comfortable silence.

obviously doesn't force you to say anything, hell, he can understand the sort of awkwardness of socializing with someone you just met or. . . or even after.

always makes sure you have what you need. he doesn't ask if you needed a spare blanket on a mission, just sort of hands it to you. or if you wanted the granola bar he was holding, he doesn't ask if you want it (he can sort of tell you do) and gives it to you whether you complain or not.

könig gets very good at reading you, he maybe stares a bit too much when you're not looking, but he can't help it if he MAY he a soft spot for you

brother's in denial that he carries any sort of 'affection' for you

but when you both sit together, he stiffens just a little in his seat, watching the subtle way your thigh touches his or the way your shoulder brushes against his. . .

when you fully lean onto his side- götter- he's so thankful he wears a mask to hide how fucking red his face is.

[apatheticlexicographer]

i think i finally understand the exact reasoning behind how both will and mike's sexualities are presented, and how those presentations flatter each other.

will is barely queercoded from a subtextual perspective because there's no need to queercode him. the writers verbally establish in season one episode one that people percieve this kid as gay, so you're immediately guided to see him through the same lens, at least subconsciously. people continue to refer to him as gay and he continues to "act" gay, and most of the audience is able to see this for what it is very easily without the need for heavy symbolism. will being gay is simply treated as a fact from the start by both the characters around him and the writers themselves, for better or for worse.

MIKE, on the other hand, is so heavily queercoded it's barely even funny. he's the one with the queer imagery, the blocking, the set design, the lighting. he's never explicitly referred to as queer, it isn't so much as suggested verbally, but the sheer amount of incredibly blatant subtextual material that surrounds him is insane. none of the characters within the show have the slightest clue that mike is gay. there's a good chance that mike himself doesn't know, or has only begun to realize very recently. even the writers do their damn best to make it appear like they themselves don't know. still, the fact remains that he is, it just isn't expressed in a way that the homophobic masses both within and outside the show are capable of picking up on. when he comes out it will be a shock to the characters and the majority heterosexual audience, but not to the queer people who pick up instinctually on the signalling. basically, you only know mike is gay if you have a genuinely functioning gaydar.

in this way they're so strongly representative of two very different gay experiences, both of which are important and both of which are treated respectfully by the writers, despite the setting.

will is the kid who never really gets the luxury of choosing whether to come out to people, because everybody has had him pegged from the start. even his own family: jonathan tells will he accepts him before will can even hint toward the topic himself. however as much as we're told that he "seems" gay to other people, all we are shown subtextually is a totally normal child who happens to have feelings for another boy. this is important because it subverts the trope of making "being gay" the "obviously gay" character's sole or core trait.

mike is the kid who people would never in a million years guess was queer. it's not just that he gets the luxury of choosing when to come out of the closet; he's so deep in it that he's drowning in winter coats. he's the "twist queer character," except he's not. his subtextual queercoding has been there beneath the surface for just as long as will has been textually referred to as queer on a surface level. this makes it clear that him being gay isn't some kind of last minute decision and the subtlety of his presentation wasn't an accident. if you don't knkw mike is gay now before it's revealed then you aren't supposed to.

they're foils like that. they're the archetypal queers, and i think it's kind of beautiful.

(and if anybody tries to argue that one expression of Queer Experience is more important than another then i'm coming for their kneecaps. having both experiences not only represented but thoroughly explored is so rare, although there are people all over the world who resonate with each.)

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

can you do yelan for prompt number 1? maybe like the reader is a very well known private detective and Yelan was aware of their skills and cases? ^^

“Why don’t you just quit and work for me instead?”

characters: Yelan x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I planned on posting this yesterday, but I didn't manage to finish it, so it's a nice coincidence than today is Yelan's birthday.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Yelan

Yanshang Teahouse. If anybody had told your past self how often you found yourself inside of it these past couple of months, you would have called them a liar, but as the people hiring you to investigate for them began paying more and your reputation steadily grew a lot of things changed for you.

And while it started out as a single visit, your curiosity about what made this place so special that people were ready to play a lot of Mora to get a table, eventually gaining the upper hand, only for you to meet a stranger that knew too much and seemed more than happy to provide you with helpful clues from time to time… As long as you payed the entrance fee for the Teahouse, of course.

“No. You’re cheating. These dice are weighted. I can smell it”, you tried your best not to show your despair too much as yet another round was won by your opponent, making your purse a little bit lighter once again. Only for you to be greeted with a smile that both seemed to confirm your suspicion while also making you question whether or not you were talking complete nonsense. The woman on the opposite side of the table not having to worry about anyone else hearing your accusation, seeing as there was no one but the two of you present..

“Are you sure that it’s treachery you’re smelling and not the tea you have been so awfully neglecting all this time?”, came the quip you should have expected from Yelan as she leaned slightly forwards, pointing towards the cup on your left, causing you to let out a long drawn out sigh before taking a sip.

“Anyway, I’ve heard you’re working on one of your little cases again”, she stated, finally revealing why she called you here at this hour of the day, the fact that she knew both slightly unsettling you while not coming as a surprise in the slightest. “And while I can’t tell you anything that would help you, I’ve heard that there’s someone who has quite a bit to say”, she continued.

“...Why are you helping me?”, you asked the question floating inside your mind for as long as the two of you knew each other. For someone simply operating a Teahouse, even if this luxurious, she seemed to know a lot, and while you knew what her answer would be if you asked how she knew all of this, having heard it countless of times before, it still didn’t explain why she’d tell you all of this, her weighted dice not exactly marking her down as someone driven by honesty and justice.

Before getting an answer however, you saw her signal towards the dice, causing the urge to let out yet another sigh to return in full force. “With how much money you leave here each time you visit, I might as well try and make it up to you every once in a while”, Yelan answered, causing this whole thing to feel even more fishy for you. But before you had time to voice any of your thoughts, the sound of a few dice being thrown interrupted you.

Both of you quickly took turns in rolling the dice, only for you to be the winner for once. But while some might have celebrated their rare win by buying something to drink with the money they had just won, you knew better than to siphon the money immediately back to the owner of the Teahouse. That, and you knew better than to believe you had somehow bested Yelan in a game of luck, knowing that there was rarely anything, if at all, that she let luck decide on.

“Hmm, seems like you’ve won.”

“Mhm, how surprising. That being said, you can put the weighted dice back now, no need to keep them in such a tight grasp”, you responded while staring at her other hand that remained conspicuously balled into a fist.

“Anyway”, you quickly changed the subject back to what was on your mind, “how do you really end up with all of this information, Miss ‘I simply like to listen in on customers’?”, you probed her once again, not expecting her answer to differ from the many other times you had asked before but being open to any surprises. 

Instead, you were greeted with silence. The person opposite of you staring you in the eyes as a mysterious smile made its way onto her face. 

“Why don’t you just quit and work for me instead? I’m sure a lot of your questions would get answered”

Yelan had long abandoned the idea of working with others, still not completely over the loss of her previous teammates. And while her skills had certainly improved since those days, her attitude about risking others did not…

But seeing the way you worked did make her curious. The few times she saw you get in trouble with a suspect, you managed to hold your ground remarkably well, while also knowing when to let others do the fighting. You were quick to pick up details, no matter how small they were, certainly making it so that you would be a huge help. Last but not least, you were seemingly starting to suspect something wasn’t like it seemed with her. And while there were certainly other ways she could make sure you kept your mouth shut, she had to admit that she preferred recruiting you in some way to the alternatives.

“I… don’t know. A detective working in a Teahouse? Don’t take me wrong, but I feel like that would be somewhat… unfitting”, you answered uncertain, nervously looking around as to make sure there was no personal that might take offense with what you were saying.

You know what? Maybe it was still some time until you figured out what exactly seemed fishy about her. But once you would, Yelan would know and ask again. If you turned out to be as reliable as she thought.

As the two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way towards the door, you stopped dead in your tracks once Yelan called out for you one last time, causing you to turn back towards her.

What you were greeted with was her presenting you with the fist she hid the dice in, only to open it and reveal it was empty all along, a satisfied smile on her face as she opened her mouth. 

“I never hid my dice. I switched them with yours.”

[kadeeesworld]

Surgeon! MC- you’re arrival and your first friends

Working 100 hours a week can take a toll on anybody and to most that much time sounds crazy but when you’re a surgeon it’s completely normal just another day in the office. It brings unwanted and unnecessary stress but what really stresses you out, being kidnapped and dragged into hell for an exchange program nobody consulted you for the one thing that bothers a surgeon most is not knowing and this is something you didn’t have the slightest clue about and now…you’re pissed.

“What is this place and what am I doing here.”

A tall red haired man speaks up a little taken back by your straightforward tone.

“We’ll firstly my name is Lord Diavolo the head of this little exchange program and the prince meant to bring peace between the three realms”

“The three realms?”

“The human world, the devildom and the celestial realm”

“And what does this have to do with me? And cant you find anybody else I’m kinda busy like super busy if you read that file you apparently used to stalk me with you would know that I’m a surgeon”

“Yes and a very important one at that it seems”

A blonde man speaks up now seeming to be reading the very file you were talking about.

“Dr.Mc a Neurosurgeon, one of the most recognized medical practitioners on your side of the globe.”

“That would be me, glad to know somebody did there homework and as much as I would like to chat will you all about my operations I have brain surgery in *you pull up the sleeve of your white lab coat and check your watch* 4 hours and I have to get back so if you could please”

You gesture to the open space behind you where you came out of a purple portal.

“Send me back”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that doctor”

A tall raven haired man speaks

“You’re essential to this exchange program you were chosen specifically and you’re already here so no, we can’t send you back”

Now you’re super pissed

“I was just in the middle of working a 18 hour shift, I’m running on two whole pots of coffee I haven’t slept in two days and I haven’t showered in three hell I haven’t even seen my house in close to a week so do not tell me what you can and cannot do because if I can do all that and stay standing you can open one of your freaky portals and send me back home.”

Everyone knows that Lucifer is not a man you should mess with, anger or question everyone but you, did you care? No as far as you were concerned it had nothing to do with you as you were soon to be gone.

Luckily Lucifer agreed with that just in different ways.

“Lord Diavolo what will you do”

A man with teal colored hair speaks up from beside him

“Mc I would like to offer you a deal, if I could ensure that all your surgeries for the next year will be taken care of without any consequence to you would you stay?”

All you could think about was a break, the ability to sleep in and not have to complain about patients or other surgeons no standing up for hours cutting people open.

“I guess a vacation wouldn’t kill me”

“If anything it might help with that little attitude of yours doctor”

“Oh yeah try being In my shoes for a week or two cutting people open”

“Oh darling I do more than cut people open”

He snarls at you you’re pretty sure you can see a vein in his forehead.

“Careful now…would want anything to burst”

“We are gonna be such good friends Dr.”

“Now that’s something I can agree on”

Weeks have passed and you feel like you’re cramming for med school all over again satan has been nice enough to create a study guide for you as long as you answer his 30,000 questions about you’re surgeries and really it’s a small price to pay to keep Lucifer off your ass about grades.

“You know I almost forgot to tell you”

“Tell me what”

“Diavolo had summoned you to the castle he wishes to speak with you it’s about the exchange program I’m guessing”

“I sure hope so I don’t think I can talk about my old surgeries anymore, you know I only agreed to stay here because I thought I wouldn’t

have to talk about cutting people open.”

“We’ll really, you didn’t have a choice in the matter but you agreeing made it easier for us”

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks up at you with a small smile of his face

“You might be my only friend Satan”

“I wouldn’t call myself your friend just yet you’ve got a little more to go before I call you friend”

“Someone’s prickly”

It’s about 2:30pm now not that you would really know because it’s always dark in the devildom. Satan walked you to the demon lords castle for your meeting.

“Have fun in there”

“Don’t I always”

You go to knock on the door but just before your hand reaches it, it opens and the teal haired man that stood beside Lord Diavolo is on the other side.

“Hello Mc welcome to the demon lords castle”

He spoke so proper a small smile on his face unwavering.

“Thanks Mr?”

“Barbatos is fine”

“Barbatos that’s a nice name”

“Thank you.”

He takes your coat and leads you to a table in the garden out back. As you approach the table Diavolo stands up.

“I thought a change of scenery might do us bath some good I hope you don’t mind”

“It’s fine, it’s nice out today”

“It is”

You weren’t wrong despite it being dark it was warm but not smothering almost perfect weather.

“So how have things been going I’ve been told by Lucifer that you’ve been studying with Satan and making great progress in your schoolwork scoring high as well might I add”

“I studied longer and harder for med school if anything this is a walk in the park although demonology is a bit different from what I’m used to anything I need or want to know is in a book and as long as I can read it I can understand it”

“Good to know I’ve chosen such a hard worker”

“And speaking of Lucifer the pompous ass what is his deal, does he always have a massive stick shoved up his ass”

Diavolo and Barbatos gives you a blank look and there is a beat of silence before Diavolo bursts into laughter.

You’re kinda taken back by this but keep a straight face nonetheless.

“Excuse me I’m so sorry please forgive me that was way out of line it just caught me off guard I wasn’t expecting that from you”

“Well it was a genuine question it’s like he doesn’t know what a break is or how to relax”

“That’s a bit hypocritical don’t you think”

“Maybe it is but that’s besides the point and besides you work just as hard as both of us”

He smiles and looks at you for a moment

“Tell me about it.”

“About what”

“Your job as a surgeon I’m interested and curious I’ve heard a few things here and there from Lucifer mostly Satan and it makes me think what’s it like for you being inside of peoples heads”

Diavolo was not unfamiliar with opening people up and screwing with there insides neither was Barbatos they were demons after all, but they couldn’t help being a little curious seeing as you save lives and they necessarily don’t.

“It’s like a drug”

Blank stare from Diavolo small smile from Barbatos and if you weren’t trained in expertly reading body language you’d think Barbatos enjoys this almost like he kinda agrees but you carry on.

“Being in there bright lights shinning down on you scalpel in your hand smoothly cutting through skin like a knife through hot butter,

Cut, remove, suture it’s like an unexplainable high makes you wonder why people even do drugs.”

You didn’t notice but you had the faintest smile on your face the other two men noticed though they made no comment

Diavolo eyes you for just a moment you could’ve missed it

“How interesting,tell me more”

You don’t know what it was but talking to him about your surgeries and talking to Satan felt completely different you liked this a little bit more.

“Of course Lord Diavolo, I would love too”

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch.4

Bedlam and Burglary

Previous: Ch.3 - Honeyed Words, Bitter Deeds ||Next: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil.

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: While Brynjolf attempts to discover who is behind the sale of Goldenglow Estate, Maven Black-Briar pays a visit to the Guild.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,056

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

--- --- ---

Despite their dwindling numbers, the Guild still had what Brynjolf considered to be a very capable group of core operatives…which made the fact that not a single person in the entire ratway was able to identify the mysterious symbol all the more frustrating. Even Delvin, who had worked with just about everybody who was anybody, didn’t have a clue. 

The only person more frustrated than he was by the lack of leads was Mercer. 

“Between everyone here we’ve run jobs across all of Tamriel!” he’d snarled. “Somebody has to know something! I want everyone working on this, no exceptions!”

Brynjolf couldn’t help but agree. 

He drafted letters to everyone he could think of who might have the slightest clue how to solve the mystery, and had Vipir and Cynric make up copies of the symbol to send along with them. He asked Thrynn and Niruin to spread the word to any ties they still had with their old crews, and Rune left for the College of Winterhold to talk to an expert on obscure symbols and languages that he’d had contact with in the past. Tonilia and Vekel promised to speak with their customers and contacts as well, and Dirge even took a copy to pass along to Maul on the off chance that he’d run across something in his dealings with the Black-Briars. 

And yet, despite everyone’s efforts across days of work, they were no closer to identifying the strange little symbol. Brynjolf was getting to the point where just looking at the damn thing made him grit his teeth, to say nothing of how Mercer was handling it. The Guildmaster had taken to pacing back and forth behind his desk and glaring daggers at anyone who disturbed him.

“I don’t like this, Brynjolf,” he kept saying. “Someone out there is playing us for fools, and I don’t like it one bit.” 

As usual, Brynjolf did his best to keep everyone in good spirits, but even his patience had its limits. 

“Please tell me you’ve heard something,” he said to Delvin as he walked into the Ragged Flagon, but the old man shook his head. 

“Sorry Bryn. I have heard something, but it ain’t something good.”

“The Brotherhood hasn’t ever seen it either,” Brynjolf guessed, and Delvin nodded. 

“Astrid said that even little Babette didn’t have a clue, and she’s been around for centuries.” 

“Dammit,” Brynjolf muttered, falling into a seat. “Whoever’s behind this is crafty, I’ll give them that.” 

“We may have to face it, Brynjolf,” said Delvin. “Nobody knows what that symbol means.”

“Don’t be so quick to give up, old friend,” Brynjolf said. “There’s still a lot of correspondence that has yet to be answered. Maybe nobody in Skyrim has heard of it, but our adversary could be from elsewhere in Tamriel. That reminds me, did you send a letter to your–”

“Look sharp,” Delvin interrupted, lowering his voice. “Look who just came in.” 

Brynjolf looked up, and immediately straightened in his chair. 

Maven Black-Briar herself was strolling down the walkway around the cistern, Maul trailing behind her like a guard dog. She breezed past Dirge without so much as a nod and stepped up to the bar. 

“Good evening, milady,” Vekel said, nodding respectfully. Maven was just about the only person who he didn’t treat with his usual snark. “What can I get for you?” 

“I’ll just have a cup of wine tonight,” she said. “I have business to discuss with Brynjolf.” 

She took her drink and sat at Brynjolf’s table, and he lifted his tankard to her. 

“Maven. To what do I owe to pleasure this fine evening?” 

“Thanks to the efforts of the operative you sent my way, I’m in prime position to take over Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun,” she said.  “I have to say, I was skeptical about her at first, but she definitely gets results.” 

“She’s one of the best we have.” 

Brynjolf had said it without thinking, as yet another part of his usual game of flattery and assurance that he played with Maven, but as he considered the words, he realized that there was an element to truth of them. The lass's somewhat odd behavior aside, she’d had nothing but success since starting with the Guild. The strain of bad luck that they’d all been experiencing seemed not to affect her, and now she’d even managed to impress Maven. 

“Perhaps,” Maven said. “At any rate, I wanted to speak with you and Mercer about Honningbrew.” 

“Mercer is out meeting a contact,” Brynjolf said apologetically. “But I’ll gladly relay any message you have for him.”

Maven nodded. 

“I don’t anticipate any issues in actually acquiring the meadery itself; Mallus has already been placed in charge by the local guard and sale of the property to me is a trivial matter. What concerns me is ensuring the same level of control over the production in Whiterun as I maintain here” 

“Is Mallus’s presence at the meadery not enough for that?” Brynjolf asked, and Maven scoffed. 

“Mallus is a capable worker and he knows his success is dependent on meeting my standards…for now. But how long until the distance between us gives him ideas about independence?” 

“So you want to employ the Guild to keep tabs on the meadery the way we do on Goldenglow.” 

“Precisely,” Maven said. “I’m not anticipating a need for high levels of interference in these early days–”

“But you want to be prepared,” Brynjolf finished for her, and a slow smile spread across her face. 

“Indeed. I trust you’ll be able to handle that?” 

“Well…” Brynjolf said carefully. “Our reputation in Whiterun isn’t what it used to be. It’ll be more difficult to operate there with the same impunity we enjoy here in Riften.” 

“I fail to see how that’s my problem. I’ll have my hands full enough establishing my own business presence in the hold without covering for you at the same time.”

“I did say difficult, not impossible,” Brynjolf pointed out. “We’ll make it happen.” 

Maven smirked. 

“You know, a week ago I may have assumed you to be merely grandstanding. But your Ariene assures me that what she found at Honningbrew will help restore your Guild’s strength, and since you claim she’s your best, I trust that she’s correct.”

Maven finished off her wine and got to her feet, and Brynjolf stood as well. 

“For now, a monthly report from one of your operatives to confirm that what Mallus is telling me is true should be sufficient for management of Black Briar Meadery West,” she said. “I’ll alert you if any further action is required.”

“Always a pleasure to have you visit us, Maven,” Brynjolf said with a smile, and Maven tutted. 

“Yes, I do so love my little excursions to the sewers. Maybe you could steal yourselves a better headquarters sometime. Or at least a servant to clean the place.” 

“And lose our roguish, underworld charm?” Brynjolf asked, chuckling. “I think not.” 

Maven rolled her eyes and turned without another word, snapping her fingers for Maul to follow her out of the cistern.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Delvin said when she was gone. “I haven’t seen her in that good a mood in quite awhile.” 

“Neither have I,” Brynjolf agreed, slumping back in his seat. “Ariene must’ve really impressed her. I wonder what she meant by the lass finding something that would help the Guild?” 

“Well,” said a new voice. “I don’t actually know how helpful it will be.”

Brynjolf turned with a start, just in time to see the woman in question entering the Flagon through the secret entrance. 

“You just love appearing without warning, don’t you lass?” Brynjolf asked, and Ariene shrugged, a small smile playing about her lips. 

“What’s the point of being able to sneak through rooms undetected if I don’t take any opportunities to eavesdrop?” 

“Word of advice, lass,” Brynjolf said as she took a seat at the table. “Those skills will serve you well when you’re out there in the world. But there’s no need to use subterfuge within the Guild itself. We have each other’s backs. If we can’t rely on each other, then there’s not much point in being part of a Guild at all, is there?” 

Ariene’s smile stayed locked in place, but it lost the playful ease it’d held a moment before.

“I suppose not,” she said. 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to speak, but Ariene plowed onwards.

“And speaking of the Guild, I did find something at Honningbrew. The same symbol from Goldenglow was involved. Whoever gave Sabjorn the funds he needed to take his competing mead to market as quickly as he did is the same person who bought the bee farm to cut Maven out of the picture.” 

Brynjolf frowned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. As much as he wanted to press the lass on her response to his advice, he knew when to take a hint. 

“That makes this beyond coincidence,” he said instead. “First Aringoth and now Sabjorn. Someone's trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.” 

“And there’s no way we can stay afloat without her influence?” Ariene asked, and Brynjolf shook his head. 

“Believe me, there are days when I wish we didn’t rely on her so heavily. But the fact is, her gold is pretty much the only thing keeping the city guard from storming this place and hauling us all off to Mistveil Keep’s dungeon.” 

“Then what can we do?” 

“We’re working on how to identify that symbol now,” Brynjolf said. “We’ve reached out to all our contacts, though there hasn’t been much luck yet. Besides that, we can continue working on restoring our reputation in other holds…pulling jobs so that people remember who we are.” 

“And it’d probably make sense to start in Whiterun, since Maven wants us to start operating there,” Ariene added. “Delvin!” she called over her shoulder. “Have any clients for a job in Whiterun?” 

“Nothing specific,” Delvin said. “Though pulling a bedlam job in the hold could be a step in the right direction. What about you Vex, do you have anything?” 

Vex looked up from where she was sitting in the corner, and grinned. 

“Do I have any jobs in Whiterun? Sure I do. I have a buyer looking for a specific jeweled flagon that’s been traced to a trader named Ysolda, and House Gray-Mane has been on my list of targets to sweep for months now. Lot of old relics in that manor.” 

“Ysolda’s place and House Gray-Mane…alright, I know where both of those are,” Ariene said. “And I know a few other spots that would make good targets for the bedlam job. I should be able to pull off all three jobs in one visit.” 

“Be careful lass,” Brynjolf cautioned. “We have some sway over the guard here in Riften thanks to the Black-Briars, but it’s much harder these days to get yourself out of a jam in the other holds. It might be more prudent to spread the jobs out over time, have different operatives go for different jobs. If you get caught pulling off a crime spree, your sentence is likely to be far harsher.” 

A quick smile flitted across Ariene’s face.

“Your concern is touching,” she said. Her tone was playful, but there was a hint of sincerity in her gaze as she met Brynjolf’s eyes. “I’ll be careful,” she continued. “But of all the things that I have to worry about in Whiterun? The guard is the least of my problems.” 

Brynjolf blinked, and filed that statement away with the rest of the rapidly growing questions he had about his newest Guildmate.

“Well then, as long as you don’t mind going back to Whiterun so soon, it sounds like we have a plan.”  

Vekel came up to their table and passed out a round of drinks, and Brynjolf lifted his up in a toast.

“To the Guild!” he declared. 

“May we show that bloody curse that we won’t be kept down by anything,” said Delvin. 

“And may we all make enough to retire in a palace,” Vex added. 

Ariene’s eyes flitted around the room, and she smiled again, wider this time. 

“May we all have each other’s backs,” she said, and Brynjolf grinned. 

“Aye, lass. I’ll drink to that.”

--- --- ---

Previous: Ch.3 - Honeyed Words, Bitter Deeds || Next: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil.

[rosiesramblings]

i started watching ted lasso and the brainrot is soooo sosososos bad and the lack of trent tk content (and ted lasso content in general) is criminal so do you (pretty please) have any hcs about mr trent crimm the independent?

I have a confession to make... I didn't really give a shit about trent crimm the independent until like a few weeks ago. But then a combination of his thing with colin and the celebration after the game in the last episode where he is so obviously unmasking around ted for the first time that I was like oh shit ok this character is now allowed to take up space in my brain.

So without further ado:

This man. I don't know how tall he actually is. But conceptually, in my head, he is an absolute beanpole

Obviously autistic (last ep made me go back and reevaluate every single trent scene in the show for clues) and when he's jumping around with ted and beard and freaking out about 'the Lasso way!!' it literally would be less obvious if he had a physical mask to take off lol

All that said, he has a strange relationship with touch

Most places, he's really sensitive to light touches, especially the back of his neck and his knees

Will go boneless and collapse if someone (ted) tickles under his arms

Beard thinks that's hilarious. Roy rolls his eyes but would rather trent be the victim that roy himself lol so he doesn't protest

Is a dad, and so he does have a bit of a ler side

He's terrifying like Beard in that he's a silent observer, and so he knows everyone's bad spots before he even tickles them

I think that he would hesitate to tickle the team because he is so conscious that his presence in the locker room is a privilege he doesn't want to abuse

When he does get comfortable enough to do so, it's mostly sneak attacks and acting innocent after a quick flurry of pokes

Colin is the exception in that he will absolutely wreck him with the slightest provocation

I hope you liked these anon! Anybody please feel free to add on or expand lol

[girl4music]

So I’m watching this ‘Person Of Interest’ show. I’m on episode 10. It’s not my kind of thing at all. Like action/crime stuff is just not my thing at all. But for some reason I can’t stop watching it. I don’t really know why either. I mean none of the leads are anybody I’m particularly interested in. All being old white men and all. The black/POC female detective is pretty cool but she’s not in it enough to for me to say it’s her why. I haven’t even gotten to Amy Acker’s first appearance yet. It’s her character and the other POC female character’s enemies-to-lovers relationship dynamic I started watching it for. But I’m not even anywhere near all that yet and I’m still quite enjoying what I’m watching anyway. I just don’t have the slightest clue why. Maybe it’s the good and tight thematic and narrative writing. The themes that are used in telling the episodic stories. Specifically an emphasis on what it means to do the right thing when it really matters.

I don’t know what it is but I’m glad I started watching it because this means when it comes to finally being introduced to the characters I wanted to watch this show for, I know I’m going to be even more invested in it because it’s one thing to have good and tight thematic and narrative writing in a show. It’s another to all have that with great compelling characters along with it. So when it comes time to meet Shoot, I hope that they continue with whatever it is that’s working for me now ‘cause I found that this was a bit of a problem with the last show I watched and finished. The WLW characters I was actually interested in watching the show for had the most screen-time in the last few seasons but the writing itself just really took a dive bomb and I realized that I just was not really into it anymore even with those characters in it so much. I hope this is not what happens with Shoot in this show. I hope that the writing itself can continue being as good and tight as it is now but with them being introduced and heavily involved in the narratives and themes because that’s when I REALLY love a TV show. Especially a show as long as ‘POI’ clearly is.

I’m actually really quite excited for Shoot if this is how good and tight the thematic and narrative writing already is. It’s not usual for me to like a TV show purely based on the writing of its narratives and themes alone. I’m honestly impressed this show has managed to get this reception from me. I guess it also just goes to show how much the writing itself matters in a TV show for someone like me because I can get really turned off even when I really like the characters if the writing is all wrong for them. There’s a few examples.

Season 7 of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ or what I mentioned above; the last show I watched and managed to finish. ‘Station 19’. When I feel like the writing itself has gone bad, the characterization can’t save it or save my interest in and attention to it. I might still watch it but my passion just disappears. So if a TV show can get me liking watching it before I’ve met the characterization I want to see… then that’s really impressive because I’m a really hard person to please because I have really high fucking standards.

Like I can’t just watch anything. Well, I can … but it doesn’t mean I’ll be passionate about watching it. It doesn’t mean I can write days and day worth of meta on it like Xena or Buffy or Charmed or Wynonna Earp. You know, shows that have characters that make up for any drops in consistent quality writing. Not at all.

No. Because my standards. My average standards…

It’s SEASON 5 of Buffy-level of quality show writing. And there’s not much on this Earth, even to this day, that can match up to a season of TV show writing to the level of Season 5 of Buffy. And anything I could mention that I would consider could is subjective. But ‘Person Of Interest’ Season 1 is really selling it. It is contending even without compelling characterization. I don’t know why or how. It’s just really working for me even though it’s not a genre of TV art/entertainment I would watch and I feel nothing for the lead characters.

So why is it working? Why is it selling it? It’s the good and tight thematic and narrative writing. It has to be. It can’t be anything else because there’s nothing else I’m interested in watching TV shows for except the character representation and development writing - which as I’ve already mentioned - I’m not there yet. So far this is just a TV show revolving around old white men. So it has to be the good and tight thematic and narrative writing episode to episode. It’s real quality. It’s the kind of writing that’s a needle in a haystack to find now because shows are so damn bloody rushed so there’s no time to take in an episode’s deep themes or morals or general written substance whatsoever. No, to find that - you’re looking at a cult classic show. You’re looking at content that’s intentionally written to be both thought-provoking and emotionally satisfying. And that’s WITHOUT the characterization involved.

[rebelpeas]

BAM QUESTIONS

✨ 🎶 🎯 🤲 🤡

HI QWERTY thanks for the questions! i skipped two that i have already answered (✨ and 🤡) this time bc im sleeby tonight 😴

🎶 - Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

i cannot write without music LOL i make playlists for my long wips and try to only listen to those songs while i’m working on the wip, so it’s a sort of “sit down and focus” soundtrack. for oneshots i tend to loop just one song the whole time i’m writing. lately, i’ve been listening to fold i by motherfolk and chinese satellite by phoebe bridger!

🎯 - Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

shoutout to the mine theory truthers of devil town! i think at least one person had guessed every reveal, twist, or plot point in devil town by the time we got to the end, with the one exception of (SPOILERS) wilbur being involved in quackity’s dad’s death in any capacity, or, like. anything about karl. i did not see anybody guess that, which was kind of funny and i suspect is probably part of the reason chapter eleven ended up being the most memorable scene in that fic.

also. you with a certain character in footnotes LMAO but you know this

🤲 - Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

this is less of a snippet and more of An Entire Scene because i couldn’t decide which part to grab and just got. all of it. but here is a 500 word chunk from act two of pds 70b for you! warnings ahead for discussions of unreality and death.

“I think I’m going to die in this car,” Wilbur tells Tommy, who is sprawled out across a blanket with one arm over his eyes. It’s just shy of noon; the sun beats down above them, shielded only by the overhang of the building they’ve stopped at for the day. The teenager raises the corner of his lip in the tired approximation of a grossed-out sneer.

“What?”

Wilbur thinks he was pretty obvious the first time. “I’m just gonna keep driving it around until it breaks. Then I’ll live out of it wherever it stops, and eventually I’ll die there. Gonna die in the car. Be buried in it. It’s my tomb, all decorated already and everything.”

This causes Tommy to lift his arm, blue eyes finding Wilbur’s with a scowl. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re fucking morbid?”

“I don’t know,” Wilbur says. “My memory’s bad. That’s insensitive.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy says without a bit of venom to it. He settles back down. “Stop talking about death and let me nap, would you?”

“Okay.” Wilbur puts his back against the wall. “What about you?”

Tommy heaves a sigh and Wilbur can hear the eyeroll that goes with it. “I’m never going to die, actually.”

“No,” Wilbur corrects. “What’ll you do when the car breaks?”

A silent pause hangs between them.

“Well,” Tomm starts, slowly. “I imagine it’ll still be a good while til that happens. Told you, Tubbo’s good with cars. A right mechanic. He’ll keep it moving, and we can go wherever. See who else we can find that’s still around. Oh, we could start a–what’s the word, for like, end of the world shit?”

“What?”

“A community,” Tommy says. “With survivors. We can start farms.”

“I don’t think plants have been growing.”

“What? Oh.” Tommy frowns. “Well, maybe they just need different conditions. We can figure it out.” And after a moment, “How haven’t plants been growing? That doesn’t make any sense. They haven’t died.”

Wilbur shrugs. “You ask the apocalypse how it all works. I haven’t the slightest clue.”

Tommy covers his face again. “I’ll ask tomorrow. Goodnight, Wilbur.”

Wilbur lets him sleep this time. After a few moments, Tommy’s breathing slows into something slow, heavy, and even. He’s a quiet sleeper, whether that’s in the passenger seat of Wilbur’s car or on a blanket in an empty hotel’s lobby, just by the doors where an occasional breeze blows through. The breeze is louder than Tommy’s breathing sometimes.

It startles Wilbur the first time he mixes up the wind for someone breathing. Then it gets stuck in his head. He keeps looking over, half-expecting for Tommy to be gone and to be alone again. Even after the night spent driving together, and the morning spent together scrounging for supplies and finding a cool enough place to sleep, Wilbur still doesn’t quite believe that Tommy is real.

Doesn’t quite believe he’s going to stay.

Tommy is some sort of ghost, he’s pretty sure. Something like a sketchbook high above a canyon, or a name written on a calendar, or a wallet sitting on his dashboard, only a little more tangible. A little louder, when he’s awake, and a little more insistent about it.

So Tommy is the last dredges of Wilbur’s sanity trying to survive, one last-ditch effort to wake himself up and get back into the car and start driving, again, and again, and again. Maybe he isn’t even alive. Maybe it’d worked, back at the canyon–maybe this is just the hallucinated last moments of Wilbur’s life, played through in vivid detail.

Maybe nothing’s real. Maybe trees never fall if no one is there to see it go. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Tommy is still asleep. One arm over his eyes; blonde hair spilled over maroon carpet. His chest continues to rise and fall. Real or otherwise.

Wilbur dozes off just behind him, and he dreams of something dark in between glittering lights and velvet fabric bundled up inside of his chest.

[1-800-scaryphone]

okay i've been wanting to discuss dad hcs for norm for a long time now (this may or may not be updated later):

D.IALTOWN VERSE:

norm never had children of his own in canon, and i'm carrying that over to my blog (despite how much i love changing canon).

his wife actually really wanted children, but norm was terrified of turning out like his dad and abandoning them (rightfully so, considering that wormhole... 😔)

ironically, norm would have made a great parent, though. he might have been a little more gung-ho about self-reliance and picking yourself up by your bootstraps than most parents, and he'd be the sort of dad to teach his kid to shoot a gun so they could protect themselves from "those commie bastards," but on the whole?? a great parent.

like, tucking his kid in every night and making sure they know they're loved?? that would've been him. he might not have been as scared of losing his family as he would be post-wormhole, but he WOULD want his existing family to know he's there and that he loves them.

which brings me to post-dialtown, because oh my god, i have two parenting scenarios for him and i love them to BITS.

norm would be either a godfather or a second father to gingi's kids (coughs in being shipping trash...). he doesn't understand gingi biology in the SLIGHTEST, but goddammit, he's gotta make sure those kids survive under gingi's care. after all, gingi doesn't even know how to take care of themself- how are they gonna take care of their childer??

norm is horrified and baffled by some of the shit he has to do to care for gingi's kids (feeding them centipedes, for example), but he does it anyway lmao.

one of gingi's babies calls him "daddy" for the first time and he starts tearing up lol

THAT'S NOT EVEN INCLUDING HOW HE REACTED WHEN GINGI NAMED ONE OF THEIR KIDS AFTER HIM, he was genuinely touched but refused to let it show lmao

AND THAT BRINGS ME TO HIM ADOPTING @feralreason 'S WILLIAM...

he cares william so much, that kid is practically his own flesh and blood (genuinely, i think a lot abt how they LOOK like they could be related ok)

he was really REALLY reluctant to play any parental role in william's life at first (despite gradually looking to him as a son), mostly because he has a track record for losing everything he cares about in tragic ways and losing a SON would be devastating

things have turned out okay so far!

he's constantly insecure about his parenting ability even though he's literally the best parental william has EVER had.

basically, norm would do anything for william, and he has no fucking clue that william would do the same (nor the extent of william's appreciation for him).

he's also pretty clueless about most of william's sordid history. he just knows henry was an abusive piece of shit, which was what finally got him to formally adopt william in the first place.

F.NAF / D.SAF CROSSOVER:

this is another one where norm adopts feralreason's william, but this time, william is a baby and has been spared his Henry Trauma(tm)

basically, a baby william ran from the orphanage and was probably gonna pick norm's pocket or smth when norm was actually NICE to him, and the rest is history

again- despite all of norm's reservations about becoming a father beforehand, william is just too precious (in every sense of the word) and is clearly in need of a family. norm has to take this kid in.

norm spoils william a bit more than he would any kid of his own- mostly because of his self-reliant ideals. william is an exception because he's already BEEN living that life. he hasn't had anybody until now, of course norm's gonna give him the best home life he can

F.NAF AU:

the one au where norm doesn't adopt dsilliam, only because dsilliam isn't there-

instead, he's a father to none other than cassidy (with her full name being "cassiopeia"). she gets her bloodlust and thirst for revenge from SOMEWHERE.

with norm still being so scared to have kids, he is incredibly careful to be there for his daughter and never leave her behind...this ultimately doesn't save her, though, and he blames himself BIG-TIME.

he also tried to teach her self-defense and wanted to teach her to shoot a gun before she died. his wife objected to the latter.

norm taught cassidy a good amount of skills and made sure she could take care of herself, though that didn't stop him from being a teensy bit overprotective....he cares ok??

GENERAL:

norm reads his kids bedtime stories and tucks them in every night.

this applies moreso to verses that aren't d.ialtown, but he tells his kids he loves them as much as he can.

if he was to sing his kids a lullaby at night, it would be this.

he loves sharing his fondness for the stars (former fondness, in the case of d.ialtown) with his kids, and makes sure to stargaze with them. he also educates them on constellations along the way. (in cassidy's case, he makes sure to tell her allll about the cassiopeia constellation.)

[yulin-pop]

Could you do the Lips sealed headcanons with Crowley, Crewel, Trein, Riddle, Lilia, Malleus, Floyd and Jade?

⤷ ✧ Keeping quiet

- order 35 | Headcanons | Riddle, Jade, Floyd, Lilia, Malleus, Crowley, Crewel, Trein

P.1 — VDC group+Neige

Gender neutral, platonic for the staff

Note: It’s fun writing interesting character traits. It’s one of my favorite types of things to write. Thank you for requesting!

Riddle Rosehearts

He never really noticed you never spoke, he assumed it was just being nervous but it became obvious that you don’t speak to anybody.

He wants you to use other forms of communication but gets confused with your gestures .

“Wait so, who broke one of the rules? Uhh tail… ears? Cross? No? Here just write it on a piece of paper.”

He wonders how you can go about everyday without speaking. But maybe he’s just sort of always yelling and got used it to it.

Jade Leech

He’s never encountered someone that never speaks. He’s met shy people but you’re not shy. You just don’t speak. He lets you communicate through gestures and notes.

He can tell what you want just by looking at you. He’s naturally good at reading people.

It seems like he doesn’t care but he’s intrigued. He wants to know why. Why won’t you speak? Are you nervous? He concludes it’s out of anxiousness. Which would be right on the money.

Floyd Leech

He’s just as you’d expect. He always has something to pick on no matter who it is. Of course for you, it’s because you don’t speak.

“Shrimpy, how come you never speak?” He said while leaning forward to get close to your face.

His pestering is never ending and it’s not like you can run or fight him. Your only options are to avoid him or deal with it.

“I’m gonna squeeze you!”

“Floyd, don’t do that to the prefect…” Azul commands. “Sorry about that.”

Lilia Vanrouge

He’s one of the more understanding people. He wants to ask why but decides to just observe you first. He gets your message through with gestures, expression, and notes.

You may or may not catch him just staring at you. His gaze is soft and even loving but its undoubtedly creepy no matter how sweet it is.

He can translate for you if no one understands. He actually understands you better than Ace.

He makes teasing jokes about you never speaking but it isn’t to pressure you into doing so. He’s curious but it doesn’t matter to him in the slightest.

Malleus Draconia

He knows that humans are social creatures which is why you’re such an intriguing specimen. He thinks you’re unique because of your behavior.

You’re average, that much is clear but he decides to regard you differently because of your lack of speech. He wants to observe you. But conversations with him are nothing fun. It’s awkward since you usually have others lead the conversation as you nod. While he barely even has conversations.

“You’re here another night? Hmm.”

“…”

“Why are you giving me that look?”

He’s bad with context clues so he can’t tell you’re being passive aggressive or not. He can tell when you’re happy or sad though.

You two don’t mix well under these circumstances but there’s still a possibility of getting closer.

Crowley

How troublesome! He doesn’t get you. You’re supposed to be happy and chatty but you’re just completely silent (and annoyed).

He originally believed you were just shy because of this new environment, understandable. But eventually he got the hint that it’s something that’s not gonna change.

He can’t have a prefect that doesn’t speak. He tries to council you. It’s often very uncomfortable sessions. But since he’s “so busy” He can no longer give you counciling.

He encourages you to use a notebook to communicate. Overall, he just wants you to enjoy life.

Divus Crewel

He doesn’t really go out of his way to check on his students. It probably took a two weeks before he even noticed. He thought you were quiet and he approved of that. It wasn’t until he caught you messing around with a friend, that’s when he had to have a discussion with you.

“STAY! You two. Now get over here.”

“Aww… We’re in for it now..” Grim whined.

When he went to scold you, he expected a “yes teacher.” But you only looked at him with a bothered expression.

“I expect an answer. Now what do we say?”

“Uhhh… One problem.” Grin spoke up to get his attention, “They don’t like speaking. Actually they don’t speak at all.”

You glared over at Grim at his wording. He felt a slight wave of a guilt but not enough to stop the scolding.

He doesn’t call on you for anything but he still expects you to pay attention and preform well in his class.

Mozus Trein

He would notice a lot sooner than Crewel. His class involves a lot of participation. For a while, you hadn’t been called on, it was mostly directed at Grim since he’s a chatterbox.

But the time has come when you were supposed to supposed to answer a question verbally.

“What year was the prototype of the ghost camera created, MC?”

“…”

“Professor… They don’t speak.”

He pulled you in after class and warned you your possibility of failing this class because of your lack of participation. But he found a solution. You can have Grim say it for you whenever you’re called on. Let’s hope that Grim is at least awake.

[sanisse]

Hands Up, Palms Out, I’m at Your Mercy Now | Elrond x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: This wasn’t a request. I’m working on those, but this has been banging around in my head since before starting this blog and I’ve been slowly chipping away at it. Elrond takes the reader’s virginity at her request. Non-established relationship. They get together at the end! :) 

Spice level: 🌶🌶🌶🌶 (pretty dang hot if I do say so myself).

Warnings/tags: first time, getting together, friends-to-lovers, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex, cuddling, fluff & romance

Word count: 5k WHOOPS 

READ & EASILY BOOKMARK ON AO3, IF YOU WANT

-

Your legs feel like jelly as you knock on the door to Elrond’s study. Part of you can’t believe you’re really asking this of him. The rest of you is screaming to get it out before you lose your nerve. 

He calls for you to come in. You step inside and shut the door behind you. His study is always so comforting, with its overstuffed reading chairs, the neatly-shelved rows of books, the golden sunlight streaming in through the high windows to glint off the mahogany bookcases. Elrond is at his desk working on some letters, wrapped in a velvet indigo robe, face pinched with concentration. He looks up from his paperwork and his expression softens. He sets down his quill. 

“I can come back later if you’re quite busy.” It rushes out of you before he can even greet you. 

“What is the matter? You’re shaking,” he says, getting to his feet. Of course he notices. He crosses the room to take your hands in his bigger warm ones. His voice is laced with concern. “What can I do to help?” 

“No— I—“ you bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look up at him. This could ruin everything but you can’t think of anyone else you’d rather do this with. “I just wanted to ask you something.” 

“Anything,” he says immediately. 

You don’t even know where to start. It’s building up inside your ribcage, filling your lungs. You can hear your own heartbeat. This really could ruin everything. He’s your best friend— he’s so good to you—

“I should go,” you say, too anxious to stand it. “This was a bad idea.” 

When you pull away, his grip tightens— not imperiously, only with the worry of a healer. “Will you sit and tell me what has you so anxious?”

“I don’t want to sit,” you say. You feel as if you’re about to combust. Sitting down won’t help. 

Elrond doesn’t say anything. He studies you. His gaze is as sharp as one of his scalpels. He’s patient, though, waiting to see what you’ll say. You try to swallow, to get the words out; you still haven’t the slightest clue of how to begin. 

“Elrond, I—“ it sticks in your throat and then turns into: “You know I haven’t…been with anyone?“ 

You glance up at him and see he’s frowning, and immediately you have to look away. For some stupid reason your mouth just won’t stop talking and you tumble into: “In bed. Sexually. I haven’t been with anybody sexually. I haven’t— I haven’t had sex.” 

You feel hot all over. Elrond’s still quiet. When you manage to meet his eyes, he looks perplexed. 

“And this…bothers you?” he says at last. He strokes the backs of your hands with the pads of his thumbs and gives them a squeeze. 

“No! I mean— well— yes. A little. I just—“ you don’t know how to say it. “I—I want to. I want to know what it’s like, I’ve just never— I’ve never found the right person—“ until now, “—someone I felt like I could trust. It just— feels like this big hurdle now and I’m tired of it and I— I want to.” 

He’s quiet again, watching you. You can’t read the expression on his face. 

You swallow again and break eye contact. “I just want my first time to…I want it to be with— with someone…like— I don’t know—“ You’re starting to tremble again. Elrond still hasn’t said anything. For once you wish he’d be less patient. You chew on your lip and finish in a small voice: “I want it to be with someone like you.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. Instinctively, you pull away from him, drowning for distance. 

The silence that stretches between you is awful and heavy. Elrond is the first to break it.

“Are you asking me to be your first?”

Just like you can’t read his face, you can’t read his voice either. Your eyes grow hot and your vision fogs and you wish you could just disappear. 

“I’m sorry— I know it’s— you’re my best friend and I don’t want to ruin that— I just— I know that you’d— you’d be so good. You’d be really gentle and I just— I feel so safe with you—“ your voice wobbles and then cracks. 

He closes the distance between you faster than could be believed. He’s right there, so solid and warm and radiating kindness and feebly you wonder if you haven’t completely ruined everything the two of you have. Elrond takes your face in his hands, coaxing you to look at him. When you do, his smile is soft for you, gray eyes shining. He leans down to kiss your forehead. 

“I am honored,” he murmurs. “Truly. I am honored that you trust me so.” 

Relief smacks you like a wall of water. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over. He makes a little displeased sound and rubs at them. 

“You haven’t ruined anything,” he promises. “Is this truly what you want? You have thought about it at length?” 

You nod, leaning into his touch. 

“Give me some time,” he says. “I will not say yes or no now, but rest assured that regardless— I still care for you deeply and nothing has changed.” 

Your mouth twists and you nod again. Elrond pulls you into a tight hug and holds you. When you bury your face in his shoulder and heave a shuddering breath, he rubs your back and holds you that much tighter. 

—

True to his word, nothing changes. The two of you still go for your long walk; you still read on the porch that sun-drenched afternoon; you still join him in the Hall of Fire with the rest of his house and sit at his table while Glorfindel teases him about his bad jokes and Lindir anxiously hovers from goblet to goblet, trying to be useful, until Elrond eventually begs him to sit down and eat something.

You go on one last walk together to watch the moon rise, then take the path back to the house arm-in-arm. When it comes time to part your separate ways, Elrond turns to face you, taking your hand. 

“I truly am honored,” he says at last. You brace yourself, ready for the ‘but’, and he goes on: “This is a precious gift: letting me share this with you. I accept.” 

It knocks all the air out of you. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock. “Truly?” 

One corner of his mouth turns up in a little half-smile. He dips his head. “Truly, dear one.” Then, his voice takes on a more serious note. “But there will be no Bonding. I will be closed to you, and you to me. I will not risk an accidental tethering.” 

You agree, shoving down the strange disappointment that rises in your chest. Of course this is how it must be. Elrond had no reason to want to Bond in that way. You’re friends. It was good to set a clear boundary. 

“When shall we do it, and where would you be most comfortable?” he asks. 

“My room?” You offer. And then you say, “Tomorrow? Or—if that’s— if that’s too soon—“ 

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “The choice is yours.”

“Tomorrow night?” you repeat. “I’m just— I’m worried that I’ll overthink if we put it off too long— but if you need more time or— or you’re busy—“ 

Elrond shakes his head. “I will make time. Tomorrow night, then. Very well.” 

You share a hug, then go your separate ways. 

—

Elrond is so calm at dinner the following day. You wish you could have half his composure. You hardly eat, completely unable to tell if the way your stomach twists is anxiety or anticipation. After dinner, the two of you go for your usual walk. In the quiet space between the rustling leaves overhead and the trilling crickets, Elrond softly asks:

“Are you still certain you want to do this?”

“Yes,” you say at once. “Yes. I am.” You’re perfectly aware of how your anxiety is radiating off of your body. 

He offers you his arm. “Shall we head back?” 

You give him a tentative smile and let him walk you to your room. 

The two of you slip in together— Elrond first, then you. When you shut the door and the latch clicks, your stomach ties into all sorts of knots again. You have no idea what to expect. 

Elrond, to your surprise, simply gathers you up into a tight hug, resting his cheek on the top of your head. Your breath hitches, then rushes out of you. He’s so warm and solid. He makes you feel so safe. His heartbeat ticks steadily away in your ear. When he pulls back at last to take your face in his hands, his expression is soft and full of affection. 

“Would you like to be kissed?” he asks. 

Your stomach flutters. “Yes.” 

Elrond dips down and captures your lips with his own. 

Somehow, this feels no different to any other touch you’ve shared. Elrond loves gently, deeply, generously. Every touch is infused with warmth. His kisses are no different. 

He kisses you just the once, then draws back to gaze into your eyes. There is a gravitas to his gaze which you have always admired. It draws you in. 

“We can stop at any time,” Elrond says, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Just tell me if you wish to.” 

You nod, then wet your lips and say nervously: “I— I don’t really know what I’m doing— I’m not going to be any good—“

Elrond interrupts, “I seek no benefit for myself. Let me take care of you.” 

You swallow and nod once. Elrond gravitates down again to brush his lips against yours. His breath ghosts over your mouth, warm and even. Your eyes flick up to his. He doesn’t press any further.

Tentatively, you stand on your toes to close the distance yourself, and kiss him. 

You feel him smile against your mouth. He kisses you back, sliding his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, cradling your head. Then, he leads you into a second kiss, this time a little more openmouthed, but still sweet. You can’t help the little sound that escapes you, so close to a whine that you blush and pull back to duck your head with a nervous, half-embarrassed laugh. 

“Sorry—”

He presses his fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head back towards his. His gray eyes are warm and bright and fond. “Do not be.” 

Elrond kisses you once more, just briefly and chastely, and then takes your hand and leads you to sit with him on your bed. 

There is a gravity to him that sucks you in. Despite your nerves, you still lean in for another kiss, resting one trembling hand on his thigh, wanting to be so much closer, but too shy to do much. You’ve done this before with others, gotten this far. Never farther. You don’t know how to get where you want to go, but he’s promised to guide you. You trust him. You trust him. You trust him.

Elrond’s mouth wanders: just the dry brush of his soft lips against your cheek, then he presses a kiss to your ear, then trails down to kiss your neck just at your thundering pulse. A delicious shiver slides up your spine. Your fingers on his thigh twitch and you curl them into a fist.

“You can touch me,” Elrond murmurs against your skin. 

“I don’t know how,” you whisper back, horribly shy.

Elrond pulls back and adjusts to sit cross-legged, then curls his fingers— confident but undemanding— around your hip and tugs, guiding you to straddle his lap. Your heart lurches and speeds. You settle. He coils one arm around your waist and tucks some of your hair behind your ear with his free hand. 

“Any way you like,” he tells you. 

You’re so close that you can feel the way his voice rumbles in his chest. The starlight filtering in from your window paints his face into chiseled lines of blue and silver. He hardly looks real. You reach up and graze your knuckles along the curve where the light splashes against his cheek. He leans into it, eyes slipping closed.

Feeling a little braver, you feather your fingers over his mouth, tracing the shape of it. His eyes open, dark and pitch-blue, somehow comforting despite the depth, and he kisses your fingertips. The way he looks at you makes your stomach flutter. You’ve thought about this, if you’re honest with yourself. You’ve seen what he looks like under his robes, seen him training with Glorfindel in the courtyard in nothing but a pair of leather trousers and boots— a creature carved from power, not quite an elf and not quite a maia and not quite a man— and yet somehow he is here, just at your fingertips. 

Without thinking, your hand wanders down to the clasp of his robe. 

You stop and look at him.

He’s still smiling.

He unclasps the pin with his free hand in one deft motion and leaves the rest for you. 

You curse the way your hands shake as you push the first button through its loop. Then the second, then the third. Elrond shows no resistance, only rubs circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb that drive you almost to distraction. 

The robe pools around his shoulders as you free it. You hesitate at the laces of his shirt. It’s then that it hits you:

This is really happening. 

You never thought you would ever get this close. Your tongue feels like its turned to sand in your mouth, you’re so nervous. Your stomach winds in knots. Fear is a spike of ice, skewering you from crown to root. I don’t want to mess this up— 

It’s Elrond who unlaces it, lets the robe fall to the bed, lets go of you long enough to tug his shirt over his head and cast it aside, then gently takes your hand and places it, palm first, to his heated skin.

You suck in a breath. 

Your eyes lock. He is still open and warm and fond. His heart pulses beneath your touch, steady and sure, just a little faster than you remember it ever being. 

He is built like a Vala.

It’s different. It’s so different being this close. So close you could press every inch of your body against every inch like his—- and you want to, Elbereth you want to.

Your head falls to his shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck, and you begin to map every shape. Every muscle. Every time you hear his breath hitch, your confidence grows. You map the sensitive places: the line of his breastbone, the way his stomach quivers and flexes when you drag all five fingers down the flat plane of it. 

“Are you learning me by heart?” he whispers.

“I already know you by heart,” you whisper back. 

But it’s different when you’re this close.

You lift your head in a burst of courage to kiss his neck, and you think you hear him whine.

“You can touch me,” you repeat his words back to him.

He does.

Just as in everything else: he is patient and self-assured, every touch infused with tender reverence. If he hesitates, its out of respect. Each time he does, you murmur your encouragement. He strokes your sides, your back, your neck, cups a breast and swipes his thumb over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. It makes you gasp and arch into him, hips tilting to his. Heat pools between your legs. He does it again, seeming to relish your reaction, and kisses your neck once more.

You want more. Your dress is an annoyance that you want out of right now. You unlace the ties of the front— though it makes your face heat— and let it slide down your shoulders, then take his face in both your hands and kiss him again.

Without thinking, you roll your body along the length of his, and he pours another breathy sound into your mouth that makes your mind empty. It feels so good. 

Through the fabric that’s left between you, you can feel he’s hard. 

He also feels big. 

Anxiety ices your spine again. You pause, blushing furiously, and drop your head into the crook of his neck once more.

Elrond senses it— he always does— and cards his hand through your hair, soothing his thumb over your temple. He’s so safe. He makes you feel so safe. You know he won’t hurt you.

Your body aches for his. You don’t know how to ask for more. 

Gently, he asks: “Do you want to keep going?” 

“Yes,” you hiss out. 

You can swear you feel him smile. He strokes the curve of your spine and asks, “Do you think you would rather be on the bottom, or the top? The top may be easier— for your own pace.” 

He’s probably right. But the thought makes you even more anxious. “I–I’d rather you take the lead. Please?” 

He hums something in the back of his throat and rucks your skirt up, tentatively at first, giving you a chance to stop him. You only whine and tilt your hips toward his touch, so he drags the crook of his finger up, up, up, and then brushes your core.

It makes you jerk. More out of the surprise of it than anything else. You’ve touched yourself. It’s a completely different thing for someone else to do it. Let alone for that someone else to be Elrond. 

Your goosebumps are back. He slides the tip of his forefinger along your slit, gathering up the wetness that’s begun to leak out of you, and then begins to rub the faintest, barely-there circles on your clit. 

“You’re wet,” he observes softly in a tone that sounds halfway between relief and approval.

You whimper and turn to bury your face in his neck. He’s hardly touching you but the heat spreading through your body is unlike anything you’ve ever been able to build for yourself. His fingers are so long and clever and you can’t help but think of him pushing them inside of you, filling you up, fucking you on them—

—you moan and immediately flush red. 

Elrond doesn’t seem to mind in the least, only pressing just a bit harder, rubbing just a bit faster, and it’s so, so good. 

You come embarrassingly fast with a little sharp, surprised yelp. Elrond strokes you through it, holding you flush against his chest as you grip onto his shoulder just for something to hold onto. 

The moan that rumbles out of him is deep and pleased, and if you thought he felt big beneath you before, he certainly feels big and rock hard now. 

You’re still panting as he winds his fingers through your hair again, scritching your scalp, soothing your spine, before unlacing your dress the rest of the way, letting the fabric fall loose. 

You had expected to feel…exposed. Vulnerable. You’ve never been naked in front of someone like this. You don’t. There is nothing lewd in the way Elrond looks at you. His expression is one of admiration. If you shiver, it is only because of the cold of the room.

He gently lowers you to your back, grabbing a pillow to tuck under your head, and then trails open mouthed kisses down, down, down between your legs.

And if you thought his fingers felt good…

You have to cover your mouth to stifle another cry when he licks one, long flat stripe over your core, and begins to tease your still-sensitive clit with little kitten licks. Elrond reaches up to pull your hand away and hold it, giving it a squeeze. Your eyes slip shut as he wrings another high-pitched cry out of you.

Your hips jerk when he dips his tongue inside your wet heat and fucks you on it. And when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, you fly apart again— and this time, you scream.

Elrond moans again, gently licking you until you’re so sensitive that you’re pulling away from him. He crawls up your body and kisses you, and you taste salt, and him, and yourself. 

“Good,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Good girl.” 

You aren’t prepared for the way that makes you melt. 

He reaches down and presses his finger inside of you, then easily adds a second. It pulls a ragged moan out of you. 

“Please,” you find yourself saying. “Please, Elrond.” 

His hand stills. The lack of stimulation makes you want to cry. He’s made you come twice and still you’re aching, burning all over for him, throbbing between your legs, canting up onto his fingers. 

“You’re ready,” he says softly. “Do you want me inside you?” 

“Yes,” you sob out. “Please. I want nothing else— please Elrond—” 

“Hush.” It’s gentle and reassuring. He kisses your cheek and withdraws, feathering your wetness over your thigh. “I promised I would take care of you.”

He sits back on his heels and unlaces his trousers, then shucks himself out of them. His cock springs out: magnificent, long, thick, flushed red at the head and leaking. He is— he is huge. And he’s beautiful— every inch of him is beautiful. Impulsively, you reach over to tentatively wrap your fingers around him.

He hisses. He’s hot and pulsing and stiff in your hand. Heavy. You’ve never held a cock like this, never held a cock at all. You give him one curious, almost open-handed pump, then your eyes flick up to meet his.

His eyes are darker than you remember.

Still kind.

He settles over you again, resting on his elbows and cradling your head. You spread your legs to accommodate him without thinking.

When the tip of his cock touches your folds, that’s when it sets in. It’s blunt and big and you logically know, biologically that it will fit, but you panic and clench anyway. 

At once, you shiver and blush and stammer out an apology. “I want this—” you try to reassure him. Almost like you’re trying to convince yourself, because you do, you do. You’re so horribly turned on— “I’m sorry— I’m sorry— I’m just so nervous—”

“Don’t fret.” Elrond dips to kiss your forehead. Its warm and firm and full of affection. “You are perfect. I am in no rush.” 

“Is it going to hurt?” It comes out of you in a rush. You trust him. He still feels so safe— but so many people always say that the first time hurts— and he’s so big. 

“It shouldn’t,” he says at once, holding your face, soothing the pad of his thumb over the muscles that’ve tensed in your face. “If it does, I want you to tell me.”

You nod. He kisses your forehead again. Your nose. Your mouth. You let out a long, shuddering breath. He slips his hand between your bodies and begins to stroke you again, and your spine relaxes. 

“I am right here,” he reassures. “I have you, dear one.”

“Elrond,” it slips out of you in a sigh. You trust him. 

He drags his hips only a little at first, just rubbing the head of his cock between your folds until he’s wet with your slick. Only when he’s content that you’re finally relaxed does he press the tip inside.

It breaches you with a little pop that makes you gasp. 

Elrond pauses, hovering. Studies your face.

“Does it hurt?” he asks to be sure.

“No,” you breathe. You reach up to drape an arm around his shoulders. Elrond sinks a little deeper and all the air leaves your lungs. It doesn’t hurt— it just feels… “You feel so good. M—more?” 

Elrond pulls out, then slides a little deeper, still rubbing gentle circles on your clit that leave your head light and every nerve in your body singing. That is how he does it: in slow, shallow thrusts, deeper and deeper until he’s fully seated inside of you and you’re so fucking full that you can’t think. 

His head falls to the pillow and he groans in your ear as your body clenches around him, getting used to the sensation. You’re gasping, panting, digging your nails into his shoulder so hard that you’re worried that you might be drawing blood. 

Then, Elrond rolls his hips. 

Pure pleasure sparks behind your eyes. It’s so much. You gasp and clutch at him. He stills, stroking your hair, kissing the side of your head.

“I have you,” he reminds you. 

“More,” you beg. 

He smiles against your skin and obliges. 

This is going to ruin you, you think inanely as he pulls out and sinks back inside, splitting you open. You have always loved him. Now you know what it feels like to be with him, and nobody else is ever going to compare with this.

You can’t bring yourself to care. Not now. Not while he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and your body sucks at him, trying to pull him deeper still.

He builds his pace. Never demanding, never hard. The slide is a slow-building fire that saws up your spine, coiling around it. You can feel the blood rushing in your ears, hear the way he praises you—

“You’re doing so well,” he hisses out, voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good wrapped around me like this. So good. I love the sounds you make. Love to hear you. Love the way you clench around me just. like. that.” It’s punctuated with three, deep thrusts that make you shake. You’ve never felt so utterly consumed. You can’t think about anything else except Elrond, Elrond, Elrond. He feels so perfect inside of you, like you were made for this.

Your hand joins his at your clit. The pleasure winds again, crashing over you in wave after mounting, cresting wave. You’re so close— surging up to a cliff bigger than any you’ve ever fallen off before. 

“Come,” you find yourself panting in his ear. “Please, Elrond. Come for me. I want to feel you come inside me—” 

He makes a surprised, choked noise in the back of his throat. His hips stutter, then speed. He hits a spot inside of you that wrenches a cry out of you, that makes your vision spark and split. Then, he bursts.

You tip over the cliff with him and soar with an utterly wrecked noise, grabbing on to any piece of him that you can just to hold on to something solid. Elrond cradles you and fucks you right through it, and vaguely you register that he’s saying: “Good— beautiful. Good girl, just like that—”

He sounds just as overwhelmed as you feel.

Eventually, his pace slows and stills. You collapse together. He lies next to you and draws you up to his chest. You’re still floating, high off the hormones and adrenaline coursing through your body. Every single inch of you is trembling. 

He draws circles on your shoulder and murmurs soothing noises in the back of his throat. Kisses the top of your head, then each cheek. It’s then that you realize that your face is wet. You don’t remember starting to cry.

“Thank you,” you manage. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, shivering like a wet branch. “Thank you, Elrond.” 

He pushes some of your sweat-slicked hair behind your ear. “No, thank you, melda. You were—” his voice seems to crack. His lips brush against your forehead and he slips out of you, softening. “You were utterly magnificent.” 

As your body cools, a hollow space begins to grow between your ribs. 

He didn’t bond with you. That was the agreement, of course. But this only solidifies it: you have to go back to being friends. You don’t want to.

You love him.

Tears fill your eyes again. Frustrated with yourself, you try to rub them away, but they just won’t stop welling up.

Elrond makes a displeased sort of noise and dries them for you. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” you say. Your mouth twists. “No— I’m so—” your voice catches on happy. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

You curl up, turning to face him despite your better judgement, and bury your face in his chest again. You just want to be close to him.

The shock in his voice is obvious when he asks: “Whatever for?” 

“I—” can you say it? “I— I only— I just—” I love you. I am in love with you. This is a horrible idea, now that it’s happened. Because I won’t ever be able to stop thinking about you. 

You pull back to look up at him. His face is etched with concern. You can hardly bear it. Immediately, you break eye contact and look away.

“I only wish that…” you trail off. “I’m sorry. I know that you— that you don’t— I just…I really like you, and I know that I shouldn’t. I don’t have any right to you. I just wish that this…” you run your hands along his chest. “That this could be us. All the time. I’m sorry— I didn’t realize— I didn’t realize that I was in love with you until…”

He sucks in a sharp breath. You freeze.

“Will you look at me?” he asks softly.

You do. His eyes are filled with so much love that you can hardly breathe.

“I am in love with you too,” Elrond says.

He stare at him in dumb shock, unable to believe that you heard him correctly.

A shy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You can’t remember seeing him ever look shy. He rests his head on the crook of his elbow and reaches over to stroke your cheek. 

“The boundary about bonding was for me. I did not want to accidentally… impose myself—”

“It’s not an imposition,” you say at once. “You could never be an imposition.”

His smile softens. “I do love you, if you will have me.”

Your breath catches. Quietly, in the silence that stretches between the two of you, you ask: “Do you want to be kissed?”

Elrond’s features soften, and he answers: “Yes.”

-

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Grounded (Thunk!) - Chapter 4 Preview (Bradley Bradshaw x f! Reader)

A/N: GUYS! Thank you so much for the patience! After a much needed break and vacation, I’m back and I’m going to be trying and getting out as much writing as I can before the end of the summer. It means the absolute world to me that people are still clicking on my profile and checking out my writing. Here’s a little preview of Buttercup with her new friend ;)

 I’m planning on spoiling you guys with some much needed tension relief in the next chapter but that’s all I can reveal for now ;))))

Love you all!

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

As you keep your head down, you quickly shuffle to the exit and because God has his favourites and it’s definitely not you, you bump into what you swear is a fucking mountain or something.  

“Woah miss, you okay there?” the voice says as they hold your shoulder to steady you.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

“Ken?!” You whisper-shout.  

Sure enough, Jake Seresin was standing in front of you in all his 6’0ft. tall glory. With a Stetson hat on and a button up white shirt rolled up to show his impressive forearms, you notice this is the first time you’ve seen him in civilian clothes instead of his usual standard military uniform.

His brows furrow, but it leaves his features as quickly as it came on. “Hey,” he draws out the word “you’re Bradshaw’s girl.” He remarks, the concern on his face, slowly etching into that familiar smirk. His crystal blue eyes leave your face and they notice the collection of people peering at your direction. “You uh- murder someone ma’am?”

You don’t know if it’s reflex or some survival mechanism, but before you know it you go into pure panic mode and you’re slowly pushing against Ken’s chest, taking him outside with you, down the street, way past where the café’s patrons could continue staring at you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You snap out of your little panic haze and realize what you just did.

Are you nuts?! Did you really just do that?!

You jump away from his chest like it’s made of fire. “I’m so sor-“

Your apologetic voice fades out.

Ken doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, he looks amused, his smirk turning into a fully fledged smile that shows off his pearly whites.

Who is this man’s dentist, because he’s doing a stellar job living up to his title.

“No worries.” He brushes the whole thing off like what you did was a completely normal thing to do. “What happened in there?”

You quickly try to think of an excuse, but none comes to mind. “I was just- I reacted a bit poorly to something and I had a bit of an outburst is all. Don’t worry about it.” Cringing, you glance back behind you. “I can probably never show my face there ever again due to sheer public embarrassment though.”

Jake chuckles. If Bradley’s laugh is like honey, this man’s laugh is like dark chocolate. “Well that’s a damn shame, their black coffee is grade A fuel.”

You grimace. “I have no clue how anybody can drink something as wretched as black coffee.”

He deflects your statement and continues to do what Hangman does best you suppose. He gets under your skin. “What made you react so strongly anyway? Don’t tell me it was because the coffee was too strong.” The sarcastic pity on his face makes you the slightest bit irritated and you walk past him, rolling your eyes.

To your dismay, he starts to follow you.

“You lose another pool game?”

“Stop following me.”

“That Rooster bothering you?”

You pause your steps and turn your glare to his bright expression. His smile widens even more.

“My god, he is.”