#the eps feel very different from the others
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the-catmans-offical-2 · 10 hours ago
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The offical art when it comes to Ed and Wrath are few and far between. However, there's some things I've noticed and would like to share!
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Wrath, as a human, would have blue eyes - while this is something we pretty much already knew just by watching eps 28 through 30, if you look at Ed's eye color then you'll realize that they're very close to being inverses of each other!
Also Wrath is cool colors (Blues and greens, blacks and purples) whereas Ed is warm colors (Yellows and reds, whites and oranges). I think that's another contrast or inverse between them to show who they are as characters - with Wrath being a homunculus he is colder colors like the tones of a dead body or just generally not something alive, while Ed has warmer colors like a living human would.
There's more differences between them! Wrath's iris shape is (in the picture and originally) more circular than Ed's - who's is more ovular. Wrath also has slightly larger eyes than Ed, giving him a bit of more childlike appearance though his facial shape keeps him appearing as though he is of similar age to Ed. (I remember reading somewhere once, and please correct me if I am wrong but I personally believe this greatly, that Wrath was made with the goal kept in mind that he'd be an opponent to Ed of similar age and similar in other ways as well.) Wrath also has sharp teeth whilst Ed has dull flat ones - oddly enough Wrath's ears are pointed slightly and Ed's ears are rounded, furthermore giving the visual feel that Wrath isn't human. He must appear rather uncanny to Edward or to any human - same with the homunculi in general - because he looks human but with subtle things that make him... Off.
Wrath is all smilely too, whereas Ed looks more serious or weary; Showing off Wrath's inital innocence (which stays there throughout the series until he was betrayed by Dante and Envy, and I will fight anyone on that) and Ed's lingering distrust for Wrath. Fun fact, in CoS he seems to trust Wrath more even though the two never see each other again. Oh, they're gonna be the end of me. ED FUCKING ACTED LIKE HE KNEW WHAT WRATH WOULD WANT, which leads me to believe they had a talk or just SOMETHING during ep 51 that was cut out.
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I have no idea what this image is from so please let me know if anyone knows! I've been curious for a while.
Anyway, Wrath:) He's poking out from behind Ed, and there's more things to point out between them!
Wrath is wearing dark clothes whereas Ed's wearing light ones. Like usual, Wrath's hair is down and messy while Ed's is up and neat. This is the offical art that made me realize that Ed has longer, thinner eyebrows than Wrath - who has thicker ones!
Also Wrath seems to be staring directly at Ed, but I personally can't read his expression as anything? Maybe curiosity? I'm not good with reading facial expressions lmao.
I only added this one bc WRATH LOOKS SO SILLY WHO THE FUCK PUT HIM IN A LIL SUIT??? HOW THE FUCK DID SOMEONE PUT HIM IN A SUIT???
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I'm looking for a clearer image for this so I may update this post at some point to put the clearer one there if I find it!
Anyway so Wrath and Edward are standing back to back. They have a slight height difference with Wrath as the shorter of the two (I bet Ed is very happy/j)
Ed's expression is more angry or solem while Wrath's is a grin - but both can be said to look angry I'd think.
They both have a hand on their hip (Ed's in his pocket but Wrath doesn't have pockets, L) and the opposite arm resting more languidly at their side. They're both standing straight, Ed's head is tilted slightly downward while Wrath's is tilted up - no one else is shown standing back to back. Only Wrath any Ed. Al is there, standing beside Ed, but Gluttony is standing with his side to Alphonse, and Lust is more off to the side and facing the others rather than with her back to anyone. I think it is to further show that Ed and Wrath are such parallels (and Lust is standing a little to the side, possibly showing how she isn't really obeying anyone but herself - showing how she betrayed Dante and went to help Ed get Al back in exchange for becoming human again; But we know how that played out..)
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I'm not really gonna talk about these here, as one of them is simply a scene redraw, and they're more Izumi focused if you look at them - with Izumi appearing somber while Ed looks weary or even fearful, and Wrath is just.. Being a kid. Running and flipping, and then in the redraw fighting Ed and Al.
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The same could be said about these!! They aren't really interacting - in the first image Wrath is asleep at a table with the other homunculi, and in the second he does appear to be staring at Ed; But again Ed isn't focused on him.
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Probably some of the ONLY FUCKING COS OFFICAL ART I HAVE FOUND with Wrath in it. Wrath and Ed are facing opposite of each other. No one, other than Wrath in the image, is fully facing at a side profile - which at first I thought represented how he had died, but Alfons is there and so is Eckhart.
Ed looks wistful, not angry but not happy. Sad perhaps, which is what he seems to be a lot in CoS. But Wrath, he looks down right angry. Yelling maybe? His mouth is opened wide and showing his sharp teeth, his visable eyebrow furrowed, he looks dirty and tired. Clearly this is during his fight with Gluttony. I love that they're seperated by the margin, representing the Gate kinda - Armestrian characters on one side, 'our world' characters on the other.
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Again, this isn't really Ed and Wrath in particular. But I want you all to really look at Wrath. He's licking his Ed arm. In a similar fashion Dante does to Lyra's arm after possessing her body, and basically asking Hoenhiem to.. Yk, fuck. While I definitely don't think Wrath is doing it out of sexual desire or reason (that is a child, that is a child, that is a child), I do believe he's doing it to mimick or copy Dante. Wrath could've seen that she liked Hoenhiem, which is putting it lightly but for the sake of the sake I'll just say she liked him, and then copied her by licking said limb out of liking Ed or desiring (non-sexually) his body/limbs. To become human.
Also jfc Envy is buff, go back to being a twink you loser.
Uhh I dunno, I just rambled a lil. Maybe I'll make another post with this? Maybe not, but this is what you get for now!! Use my ask box if you have any questions! :)
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villainvillain · 1 year ago
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oop ALREADY seeing cold takes that are just "i thought the finale was good so if you didnt you are clearly just watching the show wrong and you missed the point of everything ever" like ok can we just accept that the world is more nuanced than that and doesnt always revolve around ur thoughts and opinions
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months ago
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While you were fighting in the war, I was falling in a pit.
[First] Prev <–-> Next
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babe-heffron · 6 days ago
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interesting thing about randlemartin to me is that they are literally with each other from the beginning of the war to the end of the war. which i think sets them apart from a lot of other ships since one's not a replacement or a transfer. they're in the same platoon and rise up the ranks to become sergeants together in that platoon, they're right in the thick of it beside each other the whole time. it's very compelling to me because i feel like it puts this familiarity and maturity i guess to the relationship early on that's built on even more as the war goes.
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knbposting · 1 month ago
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guys you know how i feel about himuro yes? well. listen to this. i ask my beloved boyfriend "who is your fav character in knb?" as we're watching it, and he says "oh i think aomine" and i celebrated the successful inauguration of another member to the Best Stupid Idiot Fanclub, only for my bf to then say "actually no, maybe it's kagami's brother" and i detached myself from his arms then slid across the couch to sit cross legged by myself. wrong answer ! wrong answer
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amelikos · 5 months ago
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Thinking about how similar Friede and Liko's brands of growing strong are (ie, being strong enough to protect the people they love).
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porto-rosso · 6 months ago
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brother where is the charles appreciation
#so dark out here#umm dead boy detectives review here we go! first two episodes were definitely the worst of the series. both are kinda weirdly paced and#the exposition is done poorly in places. overall from episode 3 onwards it gets much much better with pacing and show dont tell#do not understand for the life of me why they made crystal palace american#kassius nelson (<- crystals actress) was very good in places and kinda ehhh in others and im 90% the issue for most of the latter moments#was just that her american accent is not great. sorry they did that to you queen#dialogue was a bit dodge sometimes as well#stuff i liked now! the plot felt quite solid and i really enjoyed the monster of the week approach i think thats the perfect way to#do a dbd adaptation. was a bit annoyed they immediately went to america but port townsend was an interesting setting and all the#supernatural elements/characters fit in nicely#major props cos i feel like the show mostly pulled off the emotionally charged moments without getting corny and the dialogue was generally#good in those moments#particularly charles/crystals heart to heart in ep. 3 and like the entirety of episode 7 (<- ep 7 was brilliant)#overall very fun watch and i feel that the more irritating typical YA show garb was at least a bit offset by them being willing to get#quite dark in places#bit sad people are mostly posting about edwin becos charles was my favourite. has been entertaining watching americans scramble around#the cultural differences in the show#shaking my inbox like a maraca. if anyone wants to talk at me abt the show i will love you forever#.log
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bumblingbabooshka · 1 year ago
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-Remembers how T’Pring looked as she watched Spock & Chapel vanish into the bathroom together after seeing them kiss on the bridge (which she knew was for a mission and didn’t hold against them but perhaps she could sense something there since they do have feelings for one another), maybe attempting to calm herself and her suspicions as she’s left alone again (and later finds she’s been left out entirely this whole time) and how she doesn’t know that Spock almost told Chapel he loved her then and there, with T’Pring in the other room waiting, and how Amanda and Sevet both think she could have more confidence in herself and how T’Pring thought that she and Spock were in this together (her holding his hand, subtly letting him know to pour slower so the tea flowers would bloom correctly, a whispered ‘well done’, the ritual is over mother) and how mere hours after she expresses to Spock how she feels: Like he doesn’t trust her, like he doesn’t care to include her in his life, how she’s trying her best to show him that she will accept him wholly, how she wants to be his partner instead of an adversary or an obstacle, after all this he’s found Chapel within the hour and is kissing her.-
#I've seen people say 'it's not technically cheating because-' and once you've hit 'technically' in MY opinion it's pretty much cheating#'taking a break' isn't synonymous with being able to kiss/have sex with other people - that's something that needs to be discussed#in my opinion...BUT ALSO. Even STILL. Not even a goddamn DAY went by.#T'PRING!!!!!! SAVE MY GIRL T'PRING!!!#Can you imagine hearing your fiancee who you ostensibly like tell you (very vulnerably - especially for a Vulcan: I didn't mind this bc I#personally assume that Vulcan partners WOULD discuss and talk through feelings though probably with a different goal than humans)#that she feels hurt that you seem to not want to include her in your life and that she feels you should take a break#and then IMMEDIATELY going to find the girl you have a crush on to tell her that you and your fiancee are taking a break and that you feel#bad about it and then IMMEDIATELY after that you're KISSING her??????#didn't feel TOO bad about it then huh!#Anyway I'm not earnestly like incensed I'm tv angry on T'Pring's behalf - love the drama bc I'm experiencing SNW from a very particular POV#I will only be angry if they make T'Pring into the bad guy somehow (like if the NARRATIVE says this is correct)#also off topic but I personally think star trek has had enough 'Vulcan culture is bad and restrictive' episodes/talking points - Enough.#Find some joy and peace through connection to an alien culture PLEASE.#I get it humans are great humans are so much freer and happier than Vulcans humans rule - Enough.#-turns to camera with a smile- anywaaaay I watched the episode once and I couldn't rewatch it for this post so <3#if any of this is wrong just chalk it up to bad memory <3#snw spoilers#idk how long an ep has to be out for that to apply#also just so everyone knows - I /do/ think it's stupid that Spock forgets how to act Vulcan when he turns fully human#but I also just expected it since star trek writers LOVE bioessentialism#I have NO doubt that if Spock turned Klingon he'd suddenly start talking about honor and being rowdy despite those things being#learned and cultural v_v#I SAY ALL THIS...and I DID like the episode! I'm complicated <3#<- just likes episodes with fun hijinks as their thesis and also T'Pring is there
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botseeksbot · 1 year ago
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#images that are for me and lucy#i need the women to be more relevant . i need my woman back and not written out like shit .#thoughts ->#i think she should straight up just be osi still/again (maybe temporarily quit for a bit)#assigned during s4 bc fuck hatred#she wants the boys to have a more normal life -> D is drawn to that -> thats what begins the divide between the boys not whatever s7 was#<- not to say they wouldnt get along during then its just when they start being less together#and i think that would allow more stuff w H + R especially seeing how much H values TV + his dad's approval in general#god theres just so much lacking w H + R in general like their dynamic is so tossed aside its just jokes and uncaring#like the hospital talk in s7 could have been something but it wasnt . i just really like H's relationship w his dad#theres just so much potential w it thats not there#B should have the same rivalry he had s SgtH except better this time and not just for one ep#i think they should be at each others throats whenever they see each other bc they have such different expectations from the boys#and the family in general#very much tries to be a mother figure to the boys which H rejects (like how he started w SgtH) and D has complicated feelings abt it#i think she goes back and forth abt hating R because she hates that their clones but is happy theyre alive but hates that theyre trapped#in the life they have and wants to try to make it more normal#but they would start going on adventures again (which freaks B out) because god damn . i miss their adventures#which ik isnt 'normal' but i think she would also have a different view on 'normal' being osi#basically i need my woman back . bring her back . for me#i think her being around would also push the want for finding their 'real' mom more than like . the reasoning in the movie or whatever#actually im gonna toot my own horn . her presence would just make things work better irt family dynamic stuff#vs whatever the hell happened in s4 and s7 .#anyway . bring her back . im about to rewrite so much stuff for the ladies but god damn she is my woman#<- already did NF . now its her time#my art#okay good bye i wrote a novel
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dykedivorce · 1 year ago
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if any other bitch in konoha had been gay apart from sasuke none of this would have happened to my son naruto.
#pussy from the turbotron edgelord 3000 and his whole life went up in flame. NOT worth it#no but fr it's insane how he bamboozled every fan into thinking he was so interesting and cool and badass when .#at the point im at in shippuden hes by far the least interesting of the main characters. one track mind (vengeance) and no depth beyond that#like the other characters rn : sakura coming in to her own ; finding her path and her strength + sharing a connection so deep with naruto#over their common loss that they both just Know although they absolutely cant talk about it#yamato: the only survivor of orochimaru's monstrous experiments on children; kakashi's stand in thats so different from kakashi#it makes you wonder what it would have been like with him as their teacher from the start;#a mystery thats clearly trying his best but whose mission truly is A Lot#SAI: A BRAINWASHED SPY A PAWN FOR A SECRET ORGANISATION WHO CLINGS TO HIS HUMANITY NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES HES BEEN PUNISHED FOR IT#WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH NARUTO FOR MAKING HIM REALIZE HOW DEEP THINGS COULD BE FELT AND HOW DEEP RELATIONSHIPS COULD RUN#WHO HAS BEEN DRAWING A BOOK FOR HIS DEAD BROTHER FOR YEARS EVEN IF HE'S FORGOTTEN WHAT HIS BROTHER LOOKS LIKE#WHO DECIDED TO SPARE SASUKE BECAUSE HE'S LOVED. WHO JUST WANTS TO LEARN HOW TO LIVE A HUMAN LIFE.#MOST AUTISTIC CODED CHARACTER OF ALL TIMES HAS NEVER SUCCESSFULLY MASKED A DAY IN HIS LIFE.#sasuke: sasuke#anyway. im not touching on naruto because i could be here for days#BUT while sasuke on his own so far is very whatever. the narusasu dynamic is truly one for the ages#bc i just saw the ep where sasuke manages to see kyuubi inside naruto and wooshes him away and it's very like.#oh so hes literally seeing naruto's demons and banishing them even as hes telling naruto they dont matter to each other anymore.#oh ok cool cool cool cool this feels normal and not something to obsess over#jesus christ why am i typing all this. who here cares#naruto thoughts
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unmanageably · 7 months ago
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klay’s response to draymond’s habit of getting ejected lol… something i will never get over lol sorry it’s just. draymond tried to make a joke about it but you can also tell it clearly meant a lot to him— whatever klay’s answer was going to be. to really understand klay’s stance/how it affects klay personally.
and klay answered with so much gentleness AND firmness; it’s so interesting the way klay expresses his thoughts in general but specifically his answer to draymond’s question.. it was like there were no right words to properly express his emotions but at the same time he articulated his response so well and with SO much sincerity. “when you’re not out there a piece of us is gone… you’re the heartbeat of this team… we need you we love you.”
and going along with the whole theme of nostalgia that was apparent in this podcast, where klay says after going through so much together— the three of them— climbing up the mountain, reaching the top, and falling down to their lowest, climbing up again, and fighting to stay in the mix, you can tell it means so so much to klay to go through all of this: his whole career, with the two by his side. how he feels anything is possible with them by his side. how many times this year has he said as long as he has steph and draymond by his side he will always believe in this team and what they can do?
so interesting how people never seem to understand klay and say they have no idea how he really feels when he has always been open to the things that matter to him most.. 🥹
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elphabasthropp · 1 year ago
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was just having a casual thought abt how both swanfire and jamieclaire have their big reunion (or for sf their second big reunion) in the 6th ep of the 3rd season as i do from time to time and then accidentally started thinking abt the similarities/parallels of those separations and reunions and now im spiraling send help
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thatgirlwhokeepsreading · 2 years ago
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Fine. Taking my autistic-with-shitty-parents ass and watching Bluey. Maybe I will cuddle Dotty while I do so for the full experience. I feel like you sick bastards just want to see me cry
#i have already watched one episode AGES ago#it was the one with Auslan in it#so like I know I like it lmao#it me#also I have had glancing interactions in industry with the woman who plays the mum??#(this is the theatre industry for those of you playing at home)#(I think this is the case in other countries too but it’s SUPER common for actors in AUs to spend half their year doing TV half theatre)#*Aus that should be as in Australia#and uhhh she’s very short and that’s basically her normal acting voice she’s using#(I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it was her)#*short is maybe not the main thing she’s Petite I always felt like I could snap her in half lol#**but I absolutely couldn’t she used to do ballet and she’s all muscle from what I can tell#like I don’t have any particularly strong feelings apart from me suddenly violently being like Melanie????#what are YOU doing at the devil’s sacrament (acting in a tv show meanwhile I’m consuming a tv show)#i did watch her die in this one production I inexplicably ended up with like four different tickets to#bc different things I was involved with kept giving me free ones lol#but she didn’t get to talk a heap in that one (lol) so my brain will probably stop focusing on it being her voice after a few eps#OH FUCK WAIT#OH SHIT SHE ORGINATED THE ROLE OF MY MAIN CHARACTER IN THE WORKSHOPS FOR MY PLAY#(the one I co-wrote lol)#ID FULLY FORGOTTEN THAT#update!! i checked my emails and yep she actually played Marie in the first and second reading
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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months ago
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Beneath a Dragon's Gaze
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Summary: With Madame Sylvi indisposed on the evening Prince Aemond comes to visit, he requests someone different | Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: sex work, smut, hair pulling, biting, titty sucking, darkish Aemond
A/N: saw ep 3 and felt silly 😁 not proofread an inch
“The Prince has asked for you.”
She could not help the wide-eyed look and the familiar flipping of her stomach, now feeling entirely different with the words that had come from her fellow woman’s lips. The Prince. Well, it could have meant either of them only weeks before, but no longer. They frequented this establishment quite often, as an upper-class brothel, with only the finest whores and service, it was only natural, and they had the coin to pay for it.
Suddenly, she felt quite cold in the sheer dress she had chosen that evening, doing very little to conceal the flesh that hid beneath, her nipples having formed peaks against the satin. What could she possibly say to that? There was no possibility of refusing. 
“Very well,” she responded, knowing it was not her place to question. There was no question as to which now, it was most certainly the very same who frequented for the warm embrace and soothing voice of Madame Sylvi, who spent hours in her company and paid her a hefty price for it. For secrecy. But she knew just as well that the only reason Aemond had requested her instead, was because on this night, his usual appointment was indisposed. 
Her heart raced as she slalomed through the scantily clad crowd, each step bringing her closer to the corner where the prince awaited. The halls were dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls, alongside those of curved figures, twisted with pleasure. She could hear the muted sounds of such from the other rooms, but they did little to quell the nervousness that gripped her.
When she reached the curtain, she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The Prince. Aemond Targaryen. Known for his fierce demeanour and sharp intellect, he was not a man to be trifled with. Yet, beneath that cold exterior, she had heard whispers of a man burdened by the weight of his family.
Sliding the curtain across, met with the Prince, eyepatch already discarded and down only to his breeches, sat with cup in hand on the plush settee, his lone eye raising to her as she dipped for a curtsy. She felt her throat close at the sight of the sapphire, somewhat mirroring what was happening between her thighs.
"Madame Sylvi sends her apologies, my prince. She is unable to attend to you this evening."
Aemond's gaze lingered on her for a moment, and she felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny. "I did not call for Sylvi tonight," he said finally, his tone giving nothing away. "I called for you."
Her lips parted to question. But she dare not let the words free. She was not one to ask about his intentions, a mere whore.
“Undress.”
The Prince’s eye never wavered as he watched, flesh revealed as she bared herself to him. He stood as if uncurling himself, finishing what was left in his cup before moving his hands to unlace his breeches, his head gesturing to the settee.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
His commanding tone made those flutters awaken once more. She had been employed at this establishment for so long, of course being naked and bared to an abundance of men was second nature. But there was something about the way he wanted her, the way it seemed not spurred by desire of any kind, but a need, like air, that ignited her nerves that she had not felt since her first few days in this line of work.
Still, bare arsed and exposed to a Prince, was a different matter entirely.
She felt his presence behind her, knowing he was naked as his thighs brushed against hers. He nudged her knees apart and pushed gently on her spine, encouraging her to arch her back. Though she could not see his face, the rippled design of the copper in front of her reflected enough for her to sense the detachment in his actions. So, she remained silent.
Prince Aemond guided himself to her centre, barely wet, and pushed his cockhead inside. He had barely breached her when his hands gripped the flesh of her buttocks, watching intently as his cock slowly slid deeper into her cunt, being swallowed by her body. She closed her eyes, the lack of preparation making the act more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but she hoped that with time, her arousal would ease the discomfort.
As Prince Aemond continued to push himself inside her, she focused on her breathing, trying to relax her body and ease the discomfort. The room was silent except for their breaths, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. Each inch he gained felt like a stretch, a challenge to her body's readiness, but she bit her lip, determined to endure.
His hands, firm on her buttocks, began to knead her flesh, his grip alternating between gentle caresses and possessive squeezes. The friction built steadily, her body slowly acclimating to his presence. The initial pain started to fade, replaced by a growing warmth and the stirrings of pleasure.
Aemond moved with a deliberate pace, his thrusts measured and controlled. He seemed intent on watching every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside her, his breathing heavy and laboured. She could feel his intensity, the way he held back his own urges to maintain that slow, torturous rhythm.
Despite the initial discomfort, her arousal began to build. Her body responded to his movements, her inner walls slickening and accommodating his length with increasing ease. Soft moans escaped her lips, unbidden but honest, as pleasure began to mix with the remnants of pain.
Aemond's hands slid from her buttocks to her hips, pulling her back against him with each thrust. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting spots inside her that sent jolts of pleasure through her body. Her fingers clenched the sheets beneath her, seeking some anchor as the sensations intensified.
He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice husky and edged with restraint. "Do you feel how you take me in?"
"Yes, my prince," she gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "I feel it."
Aemond's pace quickened slightly, his control slipping as his own desire took precedence. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic, primal music that spoke of need and release. Her moans grew louder, her body arching and pushing to meet his thrusts, seeking the pleasure that now consumed her.
With a sudden, possessive grip, Aemond's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. His lips found her skin, teeth grazing lightly before he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, her body responding with an involuntary clench around his cock.
He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. "Take me, all of me," he whispered, his voice filled with approval and satisfaction. 
She surrendered to the sensations, her body melting into his as pleasure overwhelmed her. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word from Aemond drove her closer to the edge. The discomfort was a distant memory now, replaced by a wave of ecstasy that built with each passing second. His movements so erratic, his stones clapped against her womanhood with every harsh push, slapping against her bud in a steady, unyielding rhythm.
The sensation pushed her over the edge, her own climax washing over her in a powerful, all-consuming wave. She cried out, her body convulsing around him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Finally, with a deep, guttural moan, Aemond drove himself to the hilt inside her once more, his body shuddering and then withdrawing quickly as he found his release and coated her buttocks and thighs with his pearly spend.
They stayed like that for a moment, both catching their breath, their bodies still joined. Slowly, Aemond released his grip on her hair and hips, his hands soothing over the marks he'd left. He pulled out of her velvety walls gently, leaving her feeling both spent and fulfilled.
She expected him to leave, to gather his clothes and slip away into the night, as most men often do with a flick of their coin into her lap. But instead, Aemond surprised her. He curled into her body, his head resting against her chest. His lips found her breast, mouthing at her skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their earlier encounter. His hand moved to her other breast, caressing it with a gentle, almost reverent touch.
She looked down at him, her fingers threading through his silver, moonlit hair. He seemed to take more pleasure in this simple intimacy than she did, as if seeking comfort rather than mere satisfaction. His eyes were closed, his breathing steadying as he continued to nuzzle her chest.
"I hate it," he murmured after a long silence, his voice muffled against her skin.
She blinked, unsure of his meaning. "Hate what, my prince?"
Aemond shifted slightly, his hand stilling on her breast. "Sometimes, I think Madame Sylvi just says anything to appease me. She tells me what she thinks I want to hear, not what she truly believes."
There was a bitterness in his tone that caught her off guard. "Why do you think that?" she asked softly, her thumb stroking the back of his neck.
Aemond's grip on her breast tightened slightly, and she felt a shiver of unease. His lips brushed against her nipple, then his teeth grazed it, sending a jolt through her body. "Because it's easier for her," he said, his voice lower, more dangerous. "Because I'm a prince, and she fears offending me."
She gasped softly at the sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain reminding her of the precarious balance between comfort and control. "But you deserve honesty, my prince," she managed to say, her voice trembling.
He bit down a little harder, enough to make her wince. "Do I?" he asked, his tone a warning. "Or do I deserve the truth, no matter how it feels?"
Her heart raced, the threat in his words unmistakable. "The truth, my prince," she whispered, trying to maintain her composure. "Always the truth."
Aemond's teeth released her nipple, his tongue soothing the sting. He looked up at her, his eye fierce and unyielding. The sapphire lodged in the other piercing and dark. 
"Good," he said, his voice a soft growl. "Because I have no patience for lies, no matter how pretty they are."
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heartzfromel · 11 days ago
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Rio x fem!reader (fluff and/or hurt comfort plz)
not good enough || rio vidal x fem!reader
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summary; you meet your love again after one hundred years
warnings; agatha all along ep 7 spoilers, canon character death, reader has a small injury, kissing, pining, reader and rio are both kinda idiots, rio and reader are both touchy w each other, main story set after first witches road trial, rio and agatha are not romantically involved
rio vidal had been the only constant friend you’d had in your whole life, but your situation was quite complicated. you were a centuries old witch and, whist technically she was too, she was also death personified, meaning she had a lot of work to do. your friend wasn’t around much, leaving you alone a lot. sometimes you wouldn’t see her for sixty or seventy years at a time. this time, it had been a lot longer than that. that fact tended to leave a pit in your stomach, especially considering your last interaction.
1924
you were sitting in your cabin, your best friend lying next to you, the pair of you giggling into the night, until you were both facing each other. it was very clear that the energy had shifted from lighthearted fun, to something else entirely. in all honesty, it sort of made you feel uneasy, but then again everything rio ever did brought up that feeling. it made most people withdraw from her company, but it only intrigued you more.
currently, her eyes were fixed on yours. you held her gaze. it was clear she was fighting with herself internally to keep her eyes off of your lips, but after a few moments of tension-filled silence, she gave in, her eyes darting to your cherry red lips for only a split second, before you licked them and her eyes darted back up to meet yours once again. it was now that you had realised the position that you had been laying in, your hand lazily on her waist whilst hers rested on top wearily. you moved your hand up, with an uncertain energy, as if one wrong move would ruin what was happening. you moved your hand up to her neck, rubbing it gently, and then up to her face as you caressed it gently. her hand has moved more confidently on to your waist, as she squeezed it lightly. you had hoped she hadn’t caught your breath hitch, but the ghost of a smirk on her face told you that she absolutely had. you could feel her breath, hot and shaky on your face. your hand moved to play with her hair, and with a final burst of confidence, you leaned in to kiss her. just as your lips met hers, you were apart again. she moved her hands from you quickly and jolted to sit up in bed. you looked at her again, but the expression on her face was not one you were familiar with.
“rio, i’m sorry-“ you began. what had you just done?
“i have to go.” she whispered, and just like that it was almost as if she were never there.
2026
it was today that your lovely acquaintance, agatha harkness, had decided to make herself your problem as she practically forced you down the witches road. you didn’t really know why you’d shown up, considering the last time you walked the road together she almost you you slashed into a million pieces, but you went along anyway. when you arrived at her extremely un-agatha like house, you were met with a ragtag group of witches and one random lady that you were sure that the rest of the coven had also noticed. unfortunately the woman had passed away during your first trial, and you were left angrier at agatha than you were before, because she could’ve got you all killed by not drinking that wine. you were ready to force it down her throat at one point.
one of the witches, a tall woman dressed head to toe in pink, had suggested summoning a green witch to the road, since they didn’t actually have one. none of you seemed against the idea, and so that’s exactly what you did. had you known what was going to happen mere moments later, you’d have an entirely different opinion.
agatha’s coven all stood still anticipating the arrival of the new green witch, you were a bit less interested, just wanting to leave, and so were not fully paying attention until a single hand shot up from under the ground. a hand that, embarrassingly, you still recognised. the pit that formed in your stomach was one you’d never felt, and it got so much worse when her full figure came into view. she hadn’t aged a day, well she had, she’s aged over a hundred years, but she still looked exactly the same as she did that night in the cabin. as she introduced herself, you hid yourself from view behind the lady dressed in pink, jen, who you’d decided was the only tolerable one here, but it was no use. she had seen you.
“y/n…” she smirked. this earned looks from the whole coven, considering her dramatic entrance.
“i have to go.”
you felt ill as you turned your heel and walked swiftly in the other direction. “maybe this is my trial?” you thought hopefully, praying that you’d turn around and the coven would all be dressed in hideous outfits that the road had picked out for them, but no, when you turned around, you were met by the hypnotic gaze of rio.
“y/n…” she began, “been a while.”
“don’t.” you snapped, “don’t even try.”
“what’s the problem?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“what’s the problem? rio its been over a hundred years.” you spat, malice dripping from your tone. she seemed to enjoy it.
“i’ve been… busy.” she replied playfully.
you didn’t respond.
carefully, she waded over to you, placing a hand on your lower back and using the other to grab your face to look at her.
not breaking eye contact, she brought her hand down to your collarbone, dragging her fingertips along a gash that you’d received from broken glass in the trial. you shuddered at the coldness of her touch. it brought you back to that night, because the only time you’d ever felt her heat up, was when your hand was on her face in the cabin.
her eyes met yours once again and she smiled gently, the same smile she’d smiled all those years ago, before leaning into you.
“rio.” you mumbled, stopping her. you looked up at her with conflicted eyes.
“come on,” she whispered, “look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing for me.”
“well clearly that’s not the case, rio, is it?” you spat, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill.
“so what’s the problem?” she asked, both hands now on your face.
“you shut me down the last time, remember?” you spoke, trying your best to drill into her head what she had done to you. “and then you think if you show up here a hundred years later and give me a kiss it’s all gonna be okay?”
“do you know why i left that night?” she whispered, dragging a cold hand into your hair, your eyes threatening to close at her action.
“oh, please, lady death, enlighten me! why did you leave me for a hundred years?” you asked, sarcasm lacing your tone. you caught her slight demeanor change at the use of her title, but it faded quickly.
“i was scared.”
and you couldn’t help but let yourself laugh humourlessly in her face.
“of what, rio, tell me what you were so scared of.”
“that i was’t good enough for you.” she replied, talking to the floor.
“don’t, you’ll set me off again.” wiping tears of laughter from your flushed cheeks.
she didn’t say anything.
“oh.” was all you could muster, “you’re serious?”
she could only nod.
subconsciously your hands wrapped around her waist, before they traveled up to her face.
“well you’re wrong.” you whispered, as she leaned into your touch.
“am i?” she asked, being more serious than you’d ever saw her.
“please, trust me, you’re the only one good enough for me, rio.” you replied, eyes never leaving hers.
“is that right?” she smirked, her confident demeanour reappearing.
“would i have said it if it wasn’t?” you smiled.
“so are you gonna let me kiss you now, or…” rio smirked, one hand grabbing at your waist, the other fidgeting with a strand of your hair.
“come here, you idiot.” you giggled, as you pulled her closer to you, and she grabbed your face to close the gap between you. kissing rio was a difficult feeling to describe, the best way you could would be to say that it’d be the same feeling you’d experience if you set foot in antarctica with no jacket, but it didn’t bother you, as long as you could do this again.
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mothandpidgeon · 6 months ago
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Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)
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Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!
pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: E 18+MDNI
summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.
contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.
wc: 9k
a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.
Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young
You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 
You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 
Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 
Her words still ring in your ears. 
“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”
“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 
“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 
You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.
So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 
But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 
“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 
“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 
“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 
She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 
“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”
It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 
You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 
You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 
It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 
“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 
That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 
“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 
Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”
“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”
You both laugh. 
“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 
You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 
“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 
“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”
Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.
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You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 
At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 
Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 
“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 
She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 
Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 
“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 
A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 
“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 
You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 
Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 
“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  
“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 
You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 
“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 
Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 
The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 
Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 
You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  
“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 
You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 
What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 
You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.
“Help me,” he rasps. 
He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 
But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 
As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 
Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 
Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 
When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 
Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 
With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 
This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 
“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 
Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 
For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 
“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.
There’s a thud and then quiet. 
You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 
Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 
Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 
“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 
“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 
“But she’s hurt!”
She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 
Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 
“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”
You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 
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You wait for a long time. 
As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 
You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 
Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 
For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 
No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 
He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 
But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 
The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 
You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 
You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 
They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 
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He left you to die but you just go on living.  
It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 
You’re on your own. 
A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.
At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 
On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 
You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.
Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 
When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 
It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 
You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 
You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 
By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 
They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 
It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  
Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 
You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 
Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 
It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 
You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 
Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 
He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 
“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 
“That really you?” he asks. 
Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  
You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 
“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”
He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 
“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 
And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 
He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.
It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 
He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 
“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 
He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 
You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 
“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 
You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 
“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 
There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 
At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 
You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 
“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 
“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 
It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 
But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 
“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 
“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 
“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 
Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 
“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 
You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 
You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 
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The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 
Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 
It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 
“You okay?” Ellie asks. 
She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 
He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 
“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 
It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 
“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 
She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 
Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 
Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 
He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 
The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 
So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 
“Want some company?” you ask. 
He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 
Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 
“Surprised you remember,” he says. 
“My best friend’s birthday?”
He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”
“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 
You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 
You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 
You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 
“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 
“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 
“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 
“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 
He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 
“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”
Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.
“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.
Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.
“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”
“Shit,” Joel says. 
“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”
“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”
You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 
“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 
A thick knot forms in his throat. 
There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 
He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 
The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 
“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”
You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 
It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 
The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 
“How’d…”
“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”
You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 
“You sure?” he asks. 
You nod. “I know where to find it.”
He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 
“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 
“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 
You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 
You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 
“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 
He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 
“How’s she look?” you ask. 
He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 
You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 
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You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.
Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?
The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 
Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 
He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 
Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 
He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 
Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.
“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 
You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  
You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”
“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 
He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 
“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 
He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 
You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  
You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 
You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 
It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 
“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.
“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 
It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 
“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 
He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 
You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 
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That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.
He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   
He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 
And then you kissed him. 
Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 
You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 
The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 
That’s when he heard it. 
It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 
She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 
He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 
If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 
He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 
Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 
“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 
Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 
“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 
“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  
“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”
“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 
“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 
“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 
“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 
“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.
This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 
But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  
When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   
The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 
Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 
He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 
“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 
“Stay,” you murmur. 
He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 
But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  
He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 
Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 
When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 
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You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 
It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  
After a while, though, it happens. 
Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 
He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 
You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 
The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 
You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 
You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 
It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 
You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 
You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 
You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 
When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 
You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 
Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 
Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 
Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 
You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 
You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 
Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.
Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 
But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.
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You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 
It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  
Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 
You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 
“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 
He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 
Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 
You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 
Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 
In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 
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