#the last parts of her letter too; 'everything i gave you i'm taking back. i will not sacrifice my children to your anger'

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xiv)

THE FINAL INTEGRATION—All the fragments unify into something new.

a/n: Last chapter :) :( I'm so emotional, this is awful but so spectacular - it's all coming together and it's finally over! I was sobbing so hard, tearing up, choking up - I had this idea in my head for so long, now seeing it executed... I can't believe it. Epilogue left to wrap this baby up 🌻

word count: 18,000+ (woo, mama, she's a big one)

What is home?

See, it really depends on the person you ask. To a reader, it might be a stack of books, their broken spines and the soft hum of imagination. To a child, it might be the warmth of their parents’ voice at bedtime.

Now, if you asked Joel Miller what home is, he would tell you that it is the nicest word out there. You can build a house anywhere, but a home? He was too much of a pragmatist to be poignant, but he knows exactly what it feels like to lose it, and how rare it is to find it again. And when you have lived as long as him, you know: when you find it, you do everything you can to deserve that goddamn feeling. Even if you're not sure you ever will.

Home wasn’t where Joel laid his head. It wasn’t the decorated walls and soaring ceilings of the big, white house—not in any way that mattered. Home was the physical structure where Leela could shut her eyes and not flinch when he draped his arm across her waist. Home was a second mug set out beside his, even if he was the first one up. Home was where Maya’s laughter could rise—unburdened, unguarded—without the shadow of the world chasing it down.

Home wasn’t just where they were. It was where they lived.

And still—the non-allusive home list never stopped creeping in.

A squeaky hinge on the front gate. Chipped paint on the eaves. One of the rain barrels had a slow leak, a dark stain bleeding against the siding. The back steps needed resealing before the frost set in, or Leela would lose her footing come winter.

And Maya’s bed.

It would not have been an issue if not for his little troublemaker who had figured out how to climb out of her crib a few months ago—nearly gave him a heart attack when he found her downstairs in the kitchen at two in the morning, knuckle deep in a bottle of jam, no pants on. He kept telling Leela he’d replace the crib with a real bed soon, but every time he tried, he’d end up just standing in the doorway, watching her sleep from over the rails, unable to bring himself to take it down.

Her new bed was upstairs in his workshop, still raw in places, still missing the final polish on the edges. Pinewood. Sturdy as shit. He’d hand-picked the planks while running two towns over, carrying them back on his shoulders.

He’d started carving it a year ago, just after the thaw. A simple design—square legs, clean lines, not much ornament. But on the arch of the headboard, he’d carved her name. Each letter was in cursive, meticulous grooves. M-A-Y-A. He’d traced them with his thumb afterwards, wondering how many years it would take before she outgrew it. If she knew that he'd been there, right next to her mother, when they named her.

It sat in his space. Joel’s space.

The workshop on the third storey, tucked into the far end of the house, where the bare rafters angled low and the windows stretched wide across the back wall. This was his bastion—no one else’s—just as much a part of him as Leela was. And she had established it so.

Not a man cave or a den, as much as Tommy taunted. A room that didn’t ask for much or pretend to be anything other than what it was: wood, dust, light, and Joel.

Sunlight filtered through the high, slanted windows in shifting moods—at times too sharp, at others perfectly subdued. Mornings arrived in a flood of amber, gilding the furniture and suspending dust motes in a celestial dance. By evening, it softened into burnished streaks that stretched across the floorboards. Joel often found himself staring, transfixed on those fading lines longer than he meant to.

The walls were bare but for a few scattered tools and a calendar frozen decades ago. Beneath the windows, a long wooden workbench ran the length of the room—its surface worn smooth in places, splintered in others. It was always cluttered: wood shavings, clamps, loose nails, a steel square, and a dented tin of wood glue with its lid stuck askew. A tiny, abandoned, poorly-carved figurine that Maya had insisted was a three-eyed alien sat among the disarray like a forgotten thought.

No matter how often he swept, a fine layer of sawdust clung to everything. Along the back wall, shelves sagged under half-used varnish cans, loose screws, folded rags, and off to the side sat a chair he’d reupholstered himself—too stiff for most, but just right for him.

No one came up here unless he said so. And even then, they tread lightly. Leela called it his “thinking room,” and aptly so. Some days, Joel sat there just to let his mind run amok. Other days, he came up simply to fall apart—quiet, alone, unburdened by the need to explain himself.

And in one of the little drawers—right-hand side, third down—was the ring.

It hadn’t started out that way. He’d found it all the way back in Vegas, of all places. The thing had been broken straight through the band, warped like someone’d tried to twist it off in anger. No gem. Just the ghost of where one used to sit. It looked like the kind of ring that once meant everything to someone—and then didn’t.

He’d picked it up anyway. A part of him hoped it could still mean something, given the right hands.

It took him all of five straight months once he started working on the ring, in holes and corners.

He wasn’t a jeweller. Wasn’t even an artist, not unless bullheadedness counted as talent. But he had tools, he had time, and he had a piece of oak. From the big, old tree out front—the one that’d stood through too many winters and dropped leaves in slow gold spirals every fall. Maya’s favourite playground, Leela’s greatest shade.

He’d carved the wood into a thin inlay, cradled around the repaired band like a second spine, dark against the soft gleam of restored gold, the colour of desert dusk. Filled the rupture in the metal with painstaking heat, forged the shape again, slow and exact, hammered it soft where it had gone brittle. He’d even filed the edges smooth and dared a small flourish on the oak—enamelled, rose-shaped ridges, intricate wreaths. Elegant in its own rough way.

It wasn’t flashy. No lofty gems. Only a touch of a woodworker’s pride.

If he thought about it, the ring was them—Leela, the soft blush of gold once broken now cautiously welded, gleaming with grace; Joel, the deep-grained oak that held it in a reinforced circle, weathered and stubborn the way old trees are.

And it had been ready for months now. All polished. Finished, and just sitting there.

He’d rolled it between his fingers a dozen times since, thumb brushing over the seam he’d sanded down by hand, almost invisible now unless you knew where to look—at the workbench, on the porch, tucked in his coat pocket on those quiet walks back from patrol. Always waiting for the moment that felt like it mattered enough. The right breath, the right light, the right words.

He didn’t hear the stairs creak one afternoon—Leela moved like a ghost when she wanted to—but he heard her voice, breathless and distracted.

“Joel, I—”

He startled, just enough to curse himself for it, then push the ring under an oil-stained rag. She stepped into the doorway a second later, her silhouette backlit by afternoon sun.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him, head tilted, brow drawn.

“Sorry, did I interrupt you?” she asked, tone softened. “I should get a door fixed here soon.”

He nodded inanely, then shook his head. Swallowed. “Yeah. No. Nah, no need. Was just—workin’.”

She glanced at the bench, then back to him, a sceptical brow arching. “Alright, um. I need your hands for a sec. The tomato trellis is sagging, and baby girl swears there’s a spider the size of her face in there.”

Joel stood, brushing sawdust from his jeans. “Tell her that the spider’s paid the rent. It stays.”

Leela didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. She turned to go.

He opened his mouth, reaching for the rag. “Honey—”

She stopped. Looked over her shoulder. Skin dewy from the heat, a little furrow between her eyes, and the light shimmered on her cheekbones and the line of her throat, where sweat had caught the sun, and she looked jewelled for a second.

And just like that—he had lost his nerve. He could’ve said it then. Could’ve pulled the ring from the shadows, could’ve made a joke about it being too stupid or too late or whatever the hell it was. He had nothing prepared. Mundane and marred by spider eviction.

So instead, Joel nudged the ring farther back beneath the rag.

“Be right there,” he muttered around his throat closing up, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the peg.

Alas, that right, light-bulb moment never quite came. Nothing ever felt big enough. Not after everything they’d already lived through. Not when the days already felt borrowed.

They had a daughter. A big house. Nights spent curled together like old trees grown toward the same sun. There wasn’t anything missing, and the people in Jackson already talked like it was done.

“Joel’s folks.”

“Joel’s girl.”

And his least favourite, “The Miller baby.”

Everyone saw them for what they were.

Still, it gnawed at him. He wanted something more than knowing. More than the comfort of habit. He wanted something in fact. Tactile. Seen. A thing that didn’t live only in gestures or glances or the way she said hi, Joel, after a long day.

He wanted to see that ring glint on her finger when she brushed the hair from Maya’s face. He wanted to feel its cool shape against his callused palm when she reached for him in the night.

On this hot afternoon—Joel sat back against the trunk of a sycamore tree just off the ridge trail, elbows on his knees, the ring between his fingers. Spinning it slow, like maybe—if he looked at it long enough—it would just tell him what to do. Like the answer might rise out of the metal, plain as daylight, if he just waited quiet and still.

The trail below was quiet, sun hammering down through the branches, the grass around them dry and crackling in the breeze. They’d cleared the area an hour ago, but Tommy had gone ahead to check the northern bend. Joel thought he had time.

He didn’t hear the bastard come back until boots crunched right behind him. Same little shit behaviour, couldn't give him a moment of peace.

Joel flinched a little—just in his eyes—then quickly pocketed the ring, like he was sixteen again and got caught smoking. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Tommy let out a low whistle, stepping up beside him with a shit-eating grin. “Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?”

He shot him a sideways glance. “You people gotta stop sneakin’ up on me. I used to be foolproof at this shit.”

Tommy chuckled. “You’re slippin’, old man. Maybe it’s time you quit patrol.”

“I’ll show you slippin’ if you open that big hole again.”

That made him laugh harder. “You gettin’ jumped this easy? Can’t have Jackson’s best gunslinger losin’ his edge over a tiny ring.”

“Maybe I just got too much on my mind,” he mumbled.

“That ain’t a bad thing anymore, brother.”

Tommy crouched beside Joel with the easy, infuriating grace of someone who hadn’t just hiked ten miles in the heat. Pulled his canteen off his belt, took a long sip.

“So, how long have you been haulin’ that thing around?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. A while.”

Tommy sighed, shaking his head. “About goddamn time, is all.”

Joel didn’t say anything to that. Just stared forward at the empty hills. Chin resting in his hand now. Thumb stroking his lip like he could erase the expression off his own damn face.

Tommy, then said, quieter, more to the trees than to his brother, “I get it, y’know. I’m glad you want this for yourself.”

Joel didn’t respond, but it landed.

Of all the people left in the world, Tommy was the only one who could say that and mean it. Because Tommy had seen him through everything.

Before the fall. After it. In the thick of the fire and fury, when Joel had become someone hard and horrific and capable of things they didn’t talk about anymore. And now that he’d found a new purpose in the quiet hum of Jackson, in the child’s head resting on his shoulder, in the sound of her laugh.

His little brother had been there for all of it. He’d seen Joel break, and survive, and soften.

“What’d you—” Joel started, then stopped. Took a long breath, like the words weren’t shaped right in his mouth. “What’d you do for Maria?”

Tommy blinked, not expecting the question. “What d’you mean?”

Joel looked out across the clearing, squinting into the sun-glared trees like the answer might be hiding out there, just waiting to be found. “Just—when you asked her. To... marry you.”

Tommy took another sip, then leaned back beside him, stretching his legs out in the dust. Let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Not much. I just asked her.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “That it?”

“That’s it.”

“You didn’t—plan nothin’?”

Tommy gave a lazy shrug. “Figured she already knew I was an idiot. Didn’t need to prove it with the whole song and dance.”

Joel huffed a short laugh, but there wasn’t much humour in it. More like steam escaping. His thumb worked across the ridges of the ring again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Tommy didn’t help one bit. It just made him feel like he was doing it wrong. Maybe other men just asked and it worked out, and he was the only fool who needed to rehearse a thousand different versions of a sentence he still couldn’t quite say.

Joel swallowed hard. “S’pose I don’t ask it right,” he muttered.

Tommy crossed his arms, exasperated. “There ain’t a right way, Joel.”

And he looked at Joel then—not as the little brother, not as the man who used to pull him out of bar fights, or drag him back from the edge, or talk him off a bad decision—but as the man who’d walked with him through hell and come out the other side.

“You’ve already done the hardest shit a man can do. You made it out,” Tommy said.

He clapped a hand once on Joel’s shoulder. “So if you’re waitin’ for a sign, maybe just… stop. 'Cause she’s right there. And you already know.”

Yet, Joel kept the ring close.

Tucked it into different pockets depending on the day—his coat, the small drawer by the bed, the inner lining of his backpack when he was out for patrol. Some nights, it lived beneath his pillow. Not because he thought she’d find it, but because he liked knowing it was near. A secret between him and the future he didn’t quite believe he deserved. Like it might vibrate or shine if the right moment came.

There’d been a handful of almosts. Moments where he’d come so close he could taste the words in the back of his throat. All the permutations of a few simple words.

Please marry me. Leela, marry me. I wanna marry you, Leela.

But he’d say it how he meant it.

I want you. All the way. Every day of the week. Even when you don’t talk for three of them. Even when your brain goes fuzzy and you make me feel like I’m missing a decimal point. I still want you until I'm a dead man.

Like that time he caught her humming to Maya in the bathtub—laughing, sleeves rolled, her knees on the tile, playfully creating a shark fin out of foam and Maya's curls. Joel had stood in the hallway, just out of sight, the scent of soap and warm water drifting through the air.

Or all those nights they’d danced, slow and off-beat in the living room, barefoot on warm floorboards, Leela swaying with him while Percy Sledge rasped on about love that wouldn’t let go. She’d never once asked what he was thinking during those dances, but sometimes—especially when her forehead rested just under his chin—he thought maybe she knew.

Look, the thing is, Joel Miller didn’t ask easy. He’d loved and lost and paid for both. And though time had softened the sharper edges of his grief, it hadn’t erased it. He was a man rebuilt from wreckage—stronger in some places, brittle in others—and he’d learned the hard way not to reach too fast for anything that felt too good.

What if she said no when he popped the question?

Or worse—what if she said yes, and somewhere down the line, looked at him with that distance he’d seen in too many eyes, that what did I do kind of sorrow?

Because one night, not long ago, they’d sat on the porch together—full of warmth, of breath, of small giggles, of a peace they didn’t speak of because naming it might break the spell. The sky had been that deep western blue, just shy of dusk, the kind of shade that made shadows stretch like sleepy children. Crickets were starting up in the brush. The wind wound through Leela’s hair like an old friend.

And she’d looked at him.

Not smiling or blinking. As if she saw right through the walls, he still hadn’t realised he kept. And then she said, while the silence waited for her—soft, certain:

“You make me feel like I survived on purpose, Joel.”

The words had struck something so deep in him he hadn’t known how to hold them. Like she’d laid a gift in his lap, tender, bone-deep, and all he could do was nod. His fingers had curled into the armrest until his knuckles went white, trying to ground himself in something. Because Christ, that was a thing to be told.

Not I love you. Not I need you. That would have been a letdown.

I lived—and now I know why.

He could’ve asked her then. The ring was sitting in that drawer by the bed, tucked inside a flannel shirt he never wore. It would’ve taken less than a minute. Less than a breath. Just a few words.

But he didn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to. He’d been carrying that want around like a second heart, beating hard every time she laughed, every time she leaned into his side, every time she held their baby girl.

No—he didn’t ask because he was still Joel.

Still, that man who had learned the hard way what it cost to love something more than the world could bear. Still a man who sometimes woke up half-expecting it to all be gone. Who held joy like it might break in his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Tommy cleared his throat, suckered him back to the trail ahead, like he was winding up for something. They rode single file through the narrow trail, the horses steady beneath them, and Jackson wasn’t far now—maybe another hour if they didn’t stop.

“Tell you what,” Tommy started, giving his reins a lazy flick. “This weekend—dinner with the whole family. I’ll get the grill goin’, and I will personally make sure Ellie shows. No bullshit excuses. You ask Leela then.”

Joel shot him a look. “In front of everyone?”

Tommy shrugged, unbothered. “Nah, we’ll be watchin’ from a respectful distance. You need your emotional support system, big guy. And you take Leela aside. Do the damn thing. Then you take her home and make sweet love to your new wife.”

Joel huffed through his nose. “Jesus, Tommy. The hell is wrong with you?”

“What? She’ll say yes, ya wuss. Everybody and their mother knows it. It ain’t that deep.”

“Don’t need an audience,” Joel said, shaking his head, but Tommy wasn’t done.

“You think I’m missin’ the moment my pain-in-the-ass brother tries to get down on one knee?” He chuckled. “Not a chance. That’s goin’ in the family vault. Right next to the time you fell off the roof fixin’ the antenna. Sixteen-year-old dumbfuck.”

Joel grunted. “That wasn’t my goddamn fault. Wind kicked up, and you were rushing me.”

“Uh-huh. Just like it’ll be the wind’s fault if you chicken out again.”

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the storm of thoughts in his head.

He could see it too clearly—the glass slipping from his fingers, the moment crumbling like dust in his mouth. Maybe he said the wrong thing. Maybe he said too much. Maybe the look on her face turned uncertain, and the silence stretched too long. Maybe she didn’t say anything at all.

He gripped the saddle horn a little tighter. The ring was still in his coat pocket. Same place it’d been for a while now.

Tommy kept talking, not helping one goddamn bit. “You overthink everything, man. Always have.”

Joel muttered, “And you never think at all.”

Tommy just laughed, like he didn’t mind being told the truth.

Although lately... lately, something had shifted. Joel clocked it the minute it arrived.

Because he wasn’t just a man grieving anymore. He was something almost foreign to him. Something he hadn’t dared to be since before the world turned to ash and bone.

He was hopeful. Making rings, planning a proposal, a whole, nice family around him. Was that the difference this time around?

Because love, for a man like Joel Miller, was never gonna be fireworks or proposals in fields of flowers. He didn’t know how to make speeches. He didn’t trust perfect moments. The world had taught him too well how things fall apart.

To him, love didn’t promise safety. If anything, it made the fall steeper. And Joel had spent too long learning how to stand back up. Because needing meant breaking, needing meant pain.

They were about forty minutes out from the gate when the bend in the trail opened up near the creek, and Joel saw movement—two figures just off the path, half in shadow, half in gold-streaked midday screening through the trees. A man stood tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, one arm raised in a friendly wave that felt just a little too staged. The woman beside him leaned against the trunk of a skinny spruce, arms folded, gaze fixed in that way that wasn’t bored or wary—just watchful.

Tommy slowed first, fingers brushing his holster in that smooth, practised way. Not drawing, not just yet. Joel mirrored him a beat later, easing the reins back, quietly. First, he just took them in.

The man was definitely ex-military or something close to it; that kind of posture didn’t just come from ranch work. He looked fit, shoulders squared, like he knew how to take a punch and stay on his feet. The woman wasn’t slack either, built like an ox—tall, maybe five-ten, and there was tension in her arms and stance, like she could bolt or strike and hadn’t decided which she preferred.

Joel didn’t like it one bit. Too calm. Too tidy. Too alert for two stragglers lost in the woods.

“Afternoon,” the man called as they approached. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Tommy replied, his own tone casual but clipped. “You folks alright?”

“We’re fine,” the man said. “Just passing through. Got turned around near the pass.”

That instantly made Joel narrow his eyes. Nobody got turned around near that pass without being real damn unlucky—or real damn curious.

“Where you two headed?” Joel asked, making certain.

The man glanced sideways at the woman, then looked back. An obvious signal. Bunch of seedy pricks, that was for sure. “Nowhere in particular. Heard there’s a settlement not too far. Jackson City, right?”

There it was. Joel clocked it right then. Subtle, but unmistakable. They were looking for names.

Tommy nodded slowly. “That’s right.”

“You two from there?”

The air changed. Just a little. Just enough so Joel could feel Tommy hesitate—briefly, maybe half a second—but long enough for Joel to notice. Long enough for someone else to notice, too.

“Yeah,” Joel said, cutting in, voice even. “Been there a while.”

The woman spoke then. First time. She hadn’t moved a muscle. She was calm. Almost too even. “Have you had any Fireflies come through these parts?” A pause. “Anyone looking to settle down sometime ago?”

It was the way she said it—like it didn’t matter. Like she was asking about the weather. But her eyes were fixed, like she was listening for the snap of a tripwire in the grass.

Joel didn’t blink.

She hadn’t asked if either of them had come through. She was hunting for a breadcrumb, not the whole damn loaf.

He knew the shape of that question. He’d used it before—back when he was tracking people. Back when it was his job to find folks who didn’t want to be found. And that man beside her—he was quiet now, but his gaze was doing the same work. Sweeping over Joel and Tommy like he was looking for something to snag on. A familiar gait. A voice. A scar.

Joel kept his tone neutral. “Not for a long time, ma'am,” he said. “Pretty quiet around these parts. Nothin’ but raiders.”

But he felt the tension rise up the back of his neck, slow drips, like water rising in a well.

Then the man asked, just a touch too casually, “Place like Jackson—y’all must get travellers every now and then. Guess it’s good if someone’s lookin’ to start over.”

Start over. Joel heard it like a gun cocking under a table.

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even suspicious—on paper. But it was the way it layered—soft probes, neutral phrases, no names. They were trying to walk backwards into a truth without triggering the alarm. No doubt coached themselves: Don’t ask about him. Not directly. Feel it out first.

And Joel felt it, a nail pressed into his back.

He didn’t show a damn thing. But in his head, the alarm bells had already started to ring.

“What about anyone coming through from Salt Lake City?” she asked, sounding frustrated now. “A couple of years back, maybe more. They settle down here?”

It was almost nothing. Just a question. Said easily. No lean on it. Yet, it was a wire snapping tight across his chest.

Salt Lake City.

He didn’t show it. Not in his shoulders, not in his eyes. But inside, something went still. Like the silence right before a storm tears the sky open.

Salt Lake was a name no one mentioned unless they were pulling at his thread.

And the way she said it? It wasn’t vague curiosity. It wasn’t nonchalant. It was placed—premeditated, rehearsed even. She was watching him, not for the answer, but for the reaction.

Joel kept his eyes level, gave a short shrug like he had to think about it. “No one comes to mind. Quite far from here, ain’t it?”

“Lookin' for someone in particular?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.” Again, no names, nothing.

But his pulse had already picked up, pounding hot blood behind his ribs.

Tommy shifted slightly in his saddle. Joel could feel his brother’s confusion—he didn’t know what the hell Salt Lake City meant to them, but he sure as shit knew what it meant to Joel.

The man—whatever the fuck he went by—glanced at the woman, but didn’t press. Joel could see it now—the way they stood, the way they spoke. They weren’t wandering. They were hunting. Controlled. Like folks who’d trained themselves to look normal.

Verifying intel. About what happened out west. About Salt Lake.

And Joel knew. Right then, as clear as if they’d drawn on him. They didn’t come out here by chance. They came looking for a man who disappeared off the face of the earth. A man who walked out of a hospital in Salt Lake, left a trail of gunpowder and bullet smoke, with a young girl covered in blood and never looked back.

They were looking for Joel fucking Miller.

“You got names?” he asked.

Joel didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was a crack. And cracks split wide under pressure.

“James,” he said, tapping his chest. “That’s Steve.”

He didn’t look at Tommy—just heard the dry scoff behind him, the faint shift of saddle leather. That was Tommy’s protest. Wordless, but understood. But he didn’t correct or call him out. Good.

Joel kept his eyes on the two.

“You two got names?” he asked, playing the game, keeping the rhythm casual.

The man smiled, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, as if he had passed some test. “Manny,” he said. Nodded to the woman. “That’s Nora.”

Manny. Nora. Manny. Nora. Fucking lies. There it was—another detail that settled wrong in his gut. The names came too quickly. No pause, no glance between them to coordinate.

Four names now, none real, sitting in the air, rounds chambered with unspent bullets.

Joel didn’t say anything, but in his head, the pieces were already falling into place. They weren't just passing through. They were hunting. They were scouts, and he was the goddamn map.

“You folks wanna head down to Jackson?” Tommy offered, leaning into his saddle, tone just a hair too smooth. “Restock, rest up? Diner’s got stew on most nights, and we can have rooms ready in no time.”

It was a test. Joel knew it. Tommy was trying to see what they’d do with an invitation. A wide, open front door.

Manny smiled again—polite, just the right amount. “Thank you, but we’ll keep moving. We don’t want to impose.”

Joel held his gaze a second longer, then gave a slow nod. “Suit yourselves.”

They stepped off the trail, just enough to let the horses through. Joel guided his mount past, hand close to the rifle slung by his leg, every muscle tense and humming. He didn’t look back, not until the trees had swallowed them up behind.

They were almost out of earshot when the call came again.

“Hey!”

Joel’s horse shifted under him, hooves scraping rock. He didn’t need to look—he already felt Tommy tense beside him.

They both turned.

Manny and Nora stood in the trail, maybe thirty paces back. Manny raised a hand, easy and nonthreatening. “Just a quick question.”

Tommy didn’t move much. Just unhooked the clasp over his sidearm, fingers resting lightly on the grip. “Go on.”

“You two know of any other settlements out here?” Manny asked. “West of here, maybe north? Somewhere people might’ve passed through?”

There it was again—smooth, specific. Not where they could go. Where others might’ve gone.

Joel didn’t say a word. Just stared ahead, a warning drum in his chest.

Tommy scratched at his jaw, then gave a half-smile. “Closest is a fishing camp up near Dubois. Might be one out near Tensleep. Little place tucked in the hills. Ain’t much—some cabins, old lodge, maybe a dozen folks running traps and brewing shine. They don’t take in newcomers unless someone vouches. Real closed off.”

Joel flicked a glance toward his brother. Tensleep was real—barely a dot on the map. He’d passed through it once, a long time ago. Nothing there but dead wood and wind through the hills. No lodge. No cabins. No community.

Smart. Close enough to sound real. Far enough from Jackson to send them the wrong way. Tiring enough to consider that their deadass lead has dried up.

Manny nodded like he was tucking the information into a mental drawer. “Good to know.”

Joel watched him just a second longer. Nora hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, watching Tommy, scrutinising Joel.

“Appreciate the help,” Manny added, with that same rehearsed smile.

Tommy only nodded. “Safe travels.”

Then they turned, Joel clicked his tongue once, and the horse moved.

This time, they didn’t stop them again.

They didn’t speak until the pines closed behind them and the sound of the other pair’s footsteps had faded into the brush.

Tommy blew out a breath. “Think they bought it?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He could feel the sweat down his spine, cold despite the sun.

“They didn’t call us on it,” he muttered. “That’s good enough.”

Tommy didn’t say a word after that—quite out of character for someone that mouthy—not until Jackson’s gates behind them clanked shut with a low metallic groan, sealing off the woods. The sound echoed for a moment, final and hollow, a lid being pressed down on something they weren’t meant to carry back in with them.

But they did. They always did.

By the time Joel made it back home, sleep had passed him over like he wasn’t even on the goddamn map. And he didn’t chase it. Just sat there for a while, elbows on his knees, the front door creaking behind him when the sky bruised into twilight. The house was waiting for him. Warm. Safe. That was the part he couldn’t get over—how safe it all felt every day.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to losing all of it.

He hadn’t meant to see Manny’s face again. Or Nora’s. Or that unmistakable Firefly snarl of purpose, coming at him through the woods like a storm he’d outrun for too long. Their shadows had clawed him back to Salt Lake, to Ellie, to the screaming silence of that hallway. The rifle. The red on the walls.

Tommy had found him after. Looked at Joel the way men do when they see the edge and know you’ve gone over it once already.

Just said, “You’re off rotation.”

That was it. No talk, no vote, no lecture on reliability or protocol. Just a quiet, unmovable order. It stung coming from his little brother.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Tommy added, after a long beat. “Don’t push it. Focus on your family.”

So now Joel had to step in and say it. To tell Leela that he was too known around the continent for his grim, bloody decisions with that reluctant honesty that made his skin crawl.

He didn’t know what she’d say. He didn’t know what he wanted her to say.

He thought about it, while killing time in the barn and fixing his gear. He imagined how he might tell her. Started the sentence in his head so many times he could feel the shape of it in his throat.

Leela, there’s somethin’ you oughta know. I need to tell you what really happened with Ellie, a long time ago.

But every time, the words stuck, died on the back of his tongue. How do you tell the person you love that you killed a good future for their daughter? That you made yourself the villain in someone else's story, just so you could keep hold of one small, precious thing? How would you justify being a murderer for the sake of love?

So he didn’t say it. Figured she didn’t need that truth. Figured she already carried enough.

Still, it had to start somewhere.

Leela was at the stove when he stepped in, as quietly as he could to not alert Maya, while the home was awash with the low sizzle of onions and a spice beneath it—cumin, maybe, or fenugreek. Her sleeves were rolled, her thick braid twisted into that lazy knot, and her back was to him. She didn’t look up when he came in, just stretched a cute little smile.

“You’re late,” she noticed. “Maya waited for you all evening.”

A breezy “sorry,” was all he could respond with.

“Just fed her some leftover porridge from breakfast and put her down to bed a while ago. She might still be up.”

He stood there for a long moment, watching the way her wrist moved as she stirred.

“Darlin’, I... gotta tell you somethin’,” he started, letting his pack idle by the foyer shelves. He took off his boots, letting the warmth of the floorboards seep right into his soles.

Leela's head tilted, the way it always did when she was listening closely. But she kept stirring. “Mhm?”

He cleared his throat. Looked at the floor. “Tommy’s takin’ me off patrol.”

That made her pause. Not startled—more like she’d seen it coming before he had. She turned the flame low, let the wooden spoon rest on the lip of the pan, and finally looked over her shoulder.

Not relief, exactly—understanding. Maybe even… agreement. He couldn’t stand it.

“This ain’t how I meant to tell you,” Joel went on. “Was gonna bring it up myself, but…” He trailed off. Couldn’t say their names. Couldn’t say why Tommy had made the call. “Might be time for the young blood to take over.”

In all truth, he was starting to think maybe it was time to hang it up for good. The rifle. The shifts. The long, bone-cold rides out past the gates. Let someone younger take the reins. Let them chase shadows and walk barricade lines. He’d done more than enough of that; survival hadn't allowed for subtlety back then, but it did now.

And lately, the idea of going back to contracting—roofs, plumbing, clean, quiet work that didn’t come with blood—had started to settle into him naturally. Not a fallback, but a choice.

Leela dried her hands on a dish towel and turned to face him fully. Her eyes didn’t press, but they saw him, and that was worse in a way.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You’re home. That’s what matters.”

He felt a slow sprout of hope inside his chest, not sudden like a jolt, but gradual—like thaw. The ice that splits over a moving lake underneath. He didn’t know what to do with that grace. He didn’t feel like he’d earned it.

“I’ll pull my weight here,” he muttered, turning to the sink, letting the cold water run over his arms, washing off trail dust and dried sweat. Then leaned forward, splashed some over his face, rubbed a hand through his hair, combed the damp back with his fingers until he felt a little less like a scarecrow. He exhaled. It felt good. Real good.

He shook his head, letting the cold droplets run into his shirt. “Look, I’ll find other ways. I just—I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m quittin’ ‘cause I’m soft, or not up to it. I can still take shifts whenever—”

“Joel,” she halted.

“Baby,” he triumphed, hands on his hips.

“You didn’t make a mistake coming home. And it’d be nice to have you around more.”

With that, she turned back to the stove. Joel stood there, fists clenched, heart hollowed out and full at the same time.

He scratched the back of his neck. “You sure you can handle me hovering over your shoulder all day?”

Then she looked over at him again, a feeble smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Doing it right now. Besides, I’ve survived worse.”

And Joel, for all his doubts, for all the old narratives his bones still apprised him—about battles, about failure, about who he used to be—felt valuable. Not because he could shoot straight or hold a line—but because he was him. Because Leela knew all of him, and still chose to make space. He didn't have to be a fighter anymore just to matter to his family.

He was allowed to want. Allowed to want his home, his girls. He wanted to hear Maya’s footsteps in the morning and not worry if he’d be there to tuck her in at night. With Sarah, he never had the chance. He was always working, too busy hauling drywall, always chasing another job, always just a little too late to recitals, always thinking there’d be time later.

There hadn’t been.

Now with Leela—he didn’t always know how to help her. Didn’t have the right words, but understood what was happening behind those quiet eyes of hers. He just wanted to be close. To make sure she ate. Slept. Smiled. That she knew she wasn’t alone.

And then there was goddamn Ellie. She acted like she didn’t need anybody, that she had plans, that she didn’t need Joel, but he knew better. She was still just a kid herself, scratching eighteen, discovering herself, growing up too fast. And he didn’t want her to feel like she was being shuffled off while he built his own little world alongside hers.

He’d hold space for all of it. For her. For Maya. For Leela. And maybe, finally, for himself.

Joel let out a soft huff of air—half a laugh, half disbelief. That crooked smile of hers had a way of taking the fight out of him. Or maybe it just reminded him there wasn’t anything to fight.

“You just want someone to lift the heavy gizmos for you, huh?” he joked.

“That too.” She tipped her shoulder. “But also—some of the tools need rewiring. You’re good with your hands.”

“You bet your sweet bippy.”

He reached for a dish towel, wiped the water from his face, and wandered closer. He rested his hip against the counter, eyes tracking her movements as she spooned something from the skillet into a bowl.

“Been workin’ all day?” he asked, nodding toward the food. It was really late for her to be cooking.

She pouted in chagrin. “Barely got through my chore chart. I was in the basement all afternoon after I sent Maya off with Ellie. Worked on restringing the washing line later. It... got away from me.”

This was the cost of loving a woman smarter than god and twice as stubborn, who carried the future of goddamn science on her shoulders. Who kept Jackson humming with electricity and heat, who might—if she could finish what she started—be the reason a new generation didn’t grow up thinking math was an ancient language. This was the fallout of her last meltdown, or the one before that—one of plenty.

But, especially then, was when his big white house started to feel lived-in again. That was the best part—how the space had changed, like the tide coming back. It was slow at first, but now he saw signs of her everywhere again. Her workspace was bleeding into the house.

Her notebooks started showing up again, sprawled across the arm of the couch. Inexplicably brewed, half-drunk mugs left behind, always lukewarm tea, some with faint lip prints near the rim. Grocery lists scribbled and torn off on the backs of old lecture notes. A growing pile of crumpled paper by the trash can, evidence she’d missed it more often than not. Tiny equations in the margins of Maya’s drawings. A chalkboard in the kitchen was covered in half-finished thoughts and flowery chore charts.

That was Leela, always halfway between burnout and brilliance. A human fault line. He loved every inch of that chaos. It made the house feel like her again.

But not everything came easily.

There were gaps in her knowledge—biology, for one. The molecular, microscopic stuff. Things that didn’t bend to logic the way numbers did. She’d grown up with numbers, not cell cultures. She could program a solar grid blindfolded, but had to reread the same medical journal six times before she could make sense of it or until the print blurred.

Sometimes he’d find her like that. On the floor, back against the wall. Legs folded under her like she’d meant to sit for a minute and never got up. Notebooks fanned around her like feathers, papers scattered. Eyes all red, hands fisted in her sleeves, breaths shallow. Holding too much. Trying not to break under the duress.

Joel had learned the drill by now: don’t interfere. Don’t prod or touch. Let it ride. Let her burn out on her own terms.

He never asked. He just sat down beside her. Shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. Letting her remember the world was still turning. Letting her breathe in the silence until she found her own way back.

And eventually she did. She always did. She’d have a bruised whisper for him, sometimes. “It’s too much.”

Too much pressure for one young woman. Too many pieces looking to be fixed. Too many people hoping she could save this town.

And he’d shrug. Look off, scratch his chin. “So?”

It wasn’t her responsibility. It never was. She’d done enough. Hell, more than enough. The rest was for others to carry. She just had to do what she could. Then stop.

But she never did. And he was done asking her to stop.

“You need to cool it. I told you I'd do the washing line for you,” Joel pointed out. But no, housework was Leela pacing herself. It wasn’t for him or for Maya, not entirely. She was trying to make sure she didn’t collapse before the real work was done.

She chuckled. “My hero. I've done this only my entire life.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, but his eyes were on her hands—how precise she was, the small lift of her wrist when she plated, the way she pressed the back of a spoon to flatten the top like it mattered. Like, care still had a place in the world.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring until she turned and held out a spoonful for him to try.

Joel blinked. “What is it?”

“Just try it.”

He leaned in and let her feed it to him, lips brushing the edge of the spoon. Warm, sharp with lemon and sumac, soft from lentils cooked down until they barely held shape. He groaned low in his throat, more surprise than anything. “Daggum, girl.”

She gave a tiny nod, lips pursed in mock approval. “You’re still trainable.”

He swallowed. “Still don’t know shit about fuck, darlin’. Just know it tastes good.”

She set the spoon aside and moved to grab the second bowl, and that’s when her eyes caught on his stomach. She paused, just a beat. Let her fingers hover, then rest lightly above the line of his hipbone.

Joel stiffened—reflex, not rejection. He felt the rampant impulse to shift, to suck in, to grumble at her to get it over with, but he didn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that.

He'd put on some weight lately—nothing great, but enough to notice. Enough to feel the change when he bent to tie his boots, and his belt dug in more than it used to. It wasn’t muscle. It was a carefully crafted softness. Around his middle. In his face, in the lighter eyes. Just under the skin, the healthy colour there.

He hadn’t been gaunt per se, this outbreak had made him its robust, powerful mirror—and hell, he'd been starving more years than not—but Jackson, and her, changed that. Her cooking, especially. She fed him like he was worth feeding. Making sure he ate, he relaxed, went to bed with that deep, restful sigh from a full stomach. All those portions of spiced rice, those heavenly lamb koftas. Flatbreads brushed with oil, saffron and sumac. Warm lentil soup with lemon and garlic, pulled fresh from the garden. Things he’d never even heard of before her, let alone tasted. Now he craved them like he craved her.

“Guess I’ve been eatin’ good this year. Too much of your fattening love,” he muttered first, stroking the top of his abdomen.

Leela looked up at him then, eyes shining. “You’ve been healing,” she said simply, fingers smoothing over the soft curve at his core. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

Joel’s throat worked. She didn’t say it like it was a weakness. Like softness was something to hide, ageing into something better. He really was the luckiest son of a bitch in this damnable world, wasn't he?

“C'mere,” he murmured, a hand crowning her throat to bring her closer.

He leaned down, kissed her—with his lips first, then deeper when she didn’t pull away, one hand slipping behind her neck to draw her in. Her lips were warm, familiar, and tasted faintly of lemon and the rosemary steam curling from the pot behind her.

She was humming into his mouth, her fingers sliding up under the hem of his shirt, when he decided: fuck it all.

Joel pulled back just long enough to mutter, “Screw it.”

He dropped everything then, turned the stove off with a practised flick and dropped the dishtowel somewhere behind him. Food was already made—a late dinner would do just fine. Maya was napping like a log, world on pause.

He'd picked Leela up, right there in the kitchen—arms under her thighs, holding her up and close, chest to chest.

“Joel, shower first! You smell!” she giggled.

“Shh-ssh, shower later,” he whispered against her jaw, “gonna make my girl feel like a queen first.”

And with her still in his arms—bare skin pressed to bare skin, hearts pounding in sync—he laid her back over the cool, accommodating marble of the counter, somewhere between the herb bundles. It caught the curve of her spine perfectly. She gasped at the contact, at the contrast, and he just grinned. Shifted her gently, until she was right where he wanted her.

He hefted himself over the counter without ceremony, grunting, his flannel landing on the sink, jeans halfway down, knocking aside shit to the floor with a crashes neither of them cared about nor did dozy Maya upstairs. All he knew was her, laid out like a fever dream beneath him. Dark braid fanned out. Her warm skin. Her open mouth. Her legs parted for him like instinct.

She was familiarised with him already. She knew it all by now, welcomed him to her. It wasn’t graceful, but it was real. Raw. Desperate. Fucking ridiculous, but fun as hell.

Mouth brushing her ear, he muttered, “We really fuckin’ on the kitchen counter. Right between baby girl’s rosemary and the salt jar.”

She let out a startled laugh as she tried to bury her face in his shoulder. “Joel—no.”

“What, you shy?” he teased, grinding into her just enough to make her gasp. “Gotta say, mama… if this is how you season your food, Daddy’s been eatin’ way too polite.”

“Stop it,” she whispered, flustered and grinning, hiding her face now with both hands.

He kissed her temple, grinning like the bastard he was. “Nothin’ to be shy about. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted in this kitchen.”

So when their bodies came together—sweaty, slick, trembling with restraint they no longer had—it wasn’t just about want. It was about possession. About claiming. About making each other feel real in a world that kept trying to strip that away.

“You with me, sweetheart?” Something he asked without fail until she gave him a fervent, eager nod.

She gasped when he slid two testing fingers inside her, already dripping, aching for a part of him. And right on schedule, “So fuckin’ ready for me,” he muttered, and it surprised him every time, never stopped being a miracle.

He lined himself up, ran the head of his cock through the slick heat of her, once, twice, slow, and her legs twitched around his hips.

Then he thrust in. Hard, deep, all the way, bottoming out with a groan that scraped right out of his chest.

“There’s my girl,” he hissed, staying buried inside her, forehead dropping to hers, both of them shaking, just for a moment, to feel her. To let her feel him. “How the hell do you keep gettin’ better every time?”

She couldn’t answer—just held him there, her fingers clawed at his back, dragging through sweat, through the grooves of muscle and old scar tissue, her walls fluttering around him like she was already close.

He pulled back slowly, savouring the drag, that acclimated part of her, then drove in again—hard enough to rock her against the countertop, make her moan. A prayer, a curse, a benediction.

Her legs locked around him. Her heels dug into his back, urging him deeper, faster. He caught her mouth. Licked into her like he was starved. One hand on her throat—not choking, just having, feeling her pulse thrash hard against his palm. The other slid down between them, thumb finding her clit, circling, rubbing, watching her come undone with every rough snap of his hips.

She was reclaiming something—piece by piece, touch by touch—and he was just lucky enough to witness it. To be the one she trusted with that fight.

And every time she took him—deliberately, slowly, selfishly—it damn near unmade him.

She could be shy about it, yes. Whisper soft little requests into the crook of his neck. Or she could be bold, back arched, and mouth falling open as she rode him like she meant to ruin him. Either way, she kept him guessing, kept him alive in ways he hadn’t known he’d gone numb.

Some nights, she touched him like she was trying to memorise him. Ran her hand down his chest, scratching at his scruff, in her own personal worship. Kissed the inside of his wrist. Bit the tendon in his neck, just because she liked the way he twitched.

Other mornings, half-asleep, arms slack on her, and soft with warmth, she pulled him close, guided him under her nightdress with nothing more than a sigh and a roll of her hips—just to let him come inside her slowly, just for the way it made her feel full throughout the day. Safe. His.

“More—please—more, Joel,” Leela huffed again when he pumped deep—but there was no laughter, no hesitation this time.

Joel lost it. His rhythm went savage, body slamming into hers with full weight, countertop rattling, her cries going high and sharp and needy as she clung to him.

“You ask so fuckin’ sweet,” he gritted out, driving into her again.

Look, people could say it was too much sex for a man like him. Too much hunger. Too much need. That he ought to slow down before his real age caught up with him.

But they didn’t know. Didn’t know what it meant to be dying for most of your goddamn life. To go decades without an ounce of softness. Without safety. Without something—or someone—you could lose yourself in without fear.

Here he was, only making up for the lost years. The dead years. The years when nothing felt like this.

And when grabbed her ass, pulled her in so he could thrust harder—when she wrapped her legs tighter him, dragged him close with that soft little whimper in her throat—they crashed together like it was the last time, like every second mattered.

When it hit—when he finally let go—it gutted him. Buried himself as deep as she’d take him, spilled with a roar that tore right from his chest, raw, guttural, desperate. Like every last decade he’d gone without this—without her—was pouring out of him all at once.

Like it was the only way he knew how to say I’m yours.

A vow. A promise made skin to skin, breath to breath. It was two people burning at the end of the world, holding on to each other like the flames hadn’t already taken everything else.

Time was always running out.

So they met it head-on—bodies breaking and blooming with every gasp, thrust, and whisper of each other’s name—repeatedly, again and again.

X

“Every shot you don’t take is a miss,” Maria had told him about tonight. Yeah, well. Plenty of shots aren’t worth taking either.

Joel adjusted the collar of the coudroy shirt he’d picked out—was wearing, really, because picking something out would’ve meant making a damn decision about his appearance, which had not—fancier than anything he’d worn in months, lifted from one of Dr. Reed’s abandoned closets as if it still had a mortgage on it. Stiff at the shoulders, rich at the cuffs. He couldn’t tell if it made him look handsome or like a fool playing dress-up in another man’s memories.

He eyed himself in the mirror like the man in there might blink first. Brushed his hand along the line of his jaw, then down to the traitorous little paunch he still wasn’t used to. The salt in his beard looked defiant tonight. That slicked-back hair, too. He tugged down the front of the shirt, opened another button. Still didn’t feel right. He looked like a cleaned-up version of a man who’d already done the worst thing in his life.

Proposal. Christ, this was torture.

He hadn’t had a whiskey in over a year. Not a drop. But standing here trying to figure out how to ask the biggest question of his whole damn life, relapse was starting to look more appealing than letting those few little words tumble out of his mouth.

Why was it so fucking hard? Leela was not expecting anything. He could leave the ring in his pocket and say it another time. He could practically hear Tommy’s voice needling him: What, you gonna keep waiting ‘til Maya’s thirty?

He swallowed, straightened again. Tonight was the night. No more stalling. No more waiting for a better moment. He was doing this. Now or never.

Tommy’s place. Backyard barbecue. Beer, burgers, laughter. Nothing dramatic, they had done this hundreds of times. Yet, the thought of doing it in front of his folks—Tommy, Maria, Ellie—made his stomach twist up like barbed wire.

And he still hadn’t found the words. He wasn’t good with those. Never had been.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Get it together,” he told himself. He's been through worse than this.

A voice broke up his spiralling thoughts—her voice, warm and strong from downstairs. Thank fuck. “Joel! I’m sending Maya upstairs—can you please get her dressed?”

He cleared his throat, found his voice. “Yeah, I got her.” Then, in a lazy drawl, trying to joke his way back into his skin: “Hey, you wearin’ them strappy things tonight?”

Her laugh was distant, teasing. “You mean the dress? Do you want me to?”

He scratched at his neck, already hot under the collar. “…Yes.”

She didn’t answer. Or maybe she did, but he couldn’t hear it—because at that moment, there was a thunder of small feet on the stairs.

Maya burst through the door like a firework, in nothing but her nappy. Nearly three years old, a goddamn menace nowadays, but a whole comet made of giggles and sharp elbows. Today, her tangled curls were up in a complicated, tidy, intricate braid—Leela’s handiwork. A little crown on her head.

Joel barely had time to brace himself before Maya launched into his legs like she shot out of a cannon.

“Whoa—there you are. Pretty girl,” he muttered, scooping her up. She curled into him instinctively, her head finding the crook of his shoulder. At some point—maybe the moment she realised her body could launch wherever her mind went—she’d stopped asking. Now, she treated him like part of the furniture. Just another chair in the house with a heartbeat.

He could still carry her easy, but she was getting heavier. Her legs dangled lower than they used to. Her arms didn’t quite reach around his neck anymore.

“Mama did your hair so nice,” he murmured, brushing a hand over the braid, dropping a kiss there.

“’S too tight,” she whined, digging a finger into the base of her skull.

He smiled. “Yeah, well. That’s the price of royalty.”

She shoved the dress at him—an old button-down of his, faded soft, its sleeves trimmed, buttons reinforced and stitched with a little patch of flowers near the hem. Leela had turned it into a dress a year ago, when Maya decided “twirling” was essential to her identity.

“This one, wed colour,” she told him, grinning.

It hit him sometimes—out of nowhere—that she wouldn’t always fit like this, curled up against him, smelling faintly of powder and sun-warmed cotton. That one day she’d stop climbing all over him like her own tree. One day, she’d want space. Secrets. Doors closed. But right now she still thought he hung the damn moon. And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

“Alright, let’s wrangle you into this thing,” he mumbled.

Joel knelt, helping her step into it, his big, calloused hands fumbling a little on the buttons.

But noticed her attention wasn’t on him. She was turning something over in her hands, eyes focused, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration. Probably a rock. Or a bottle cap. She was always collecting junk, fidgeting with things, just like her mother.

She launched into a half-babbled story about how she went to the park with Ellie today, and one of the kids had a big dog. And that his mama had caught him a fish from the creek.

“I wanna catch one, too,” Maya declared as he tightened the bow at her shoulders. “Can we go, Daddy? I want to keep my fish. And my turtles, my starfish... ah, my seahorse!”

“We’ll see,” Joel said, which was his favourite way to buy time when she got ideas.

What got him most wasn’t just what she said—but how she said it. Like it was nothing. Ordinary. Familiar. Not some big, scary thing she had to steel herself for.

But Joel remembered what it was like at the start—how she used to cling to Leela’s leg like ivy, her little body practically welded to her mother’s side. She’d hide her face in the fabric of Leela’s coat whenever someone new walked by. Wouldn’t set foot off the porch unless one of them was holding her hand the whole way. Wouldn’t even speak above a whisper if someone other than their folks were listening. Too quiet for a child.

And then Ellie showed up, with all the subtlety of a stampede and twice the stubbornness. Who didn’t care how shy Maya was, didn’t give up when she clammed up or bawled. Who dragged her into games of tag, taught her to throw rocks in the creek, and chased her down laughing until Maya forgot to be afraid. Ellie had a way of making the world feel like a place worth running around in.

And little by little, Maya started to believe it.

Now the park wasn’t just a place they passed on the way to the market. It was a real thing. Somewhere she looked forward to—asked for. Fit it into her days like brushing her teeth or untangling her curls.

Joel knew that kind of change didn’t just happen. It took time. It took patience. Weeks of gentle coaxing, trial runs, of walking beside her until she was ready to go a little further on her own. Of letting her come home early, face buried in Leela’s neck, when the noise or the crowd got too loud. Leela called it building the muscle. Joel figured that was just her way of saying it’s okay to start small.

Now here Maya was, chattering about creek fish and some boy with a dog like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, rough hand cupping the back of it, just for a moment. “You’re gettin’ real brave, baby girl.”

Maya gave a toothy grin to the shiny thing in her palms. Joel didn’t think much of it until she tried to stick whatever was in her hand right into her mouth.

“Hey—hey. No.” He reached, pried it from her death grip. “C’mere. What’d I say about eatin’ crap off the floor—”

And then he stopped.

The ring. Shit.

He turned it over in his fingers, heart sinking straight through his boots. The damn thing must’ve fallen out of his pocket. He’d checked it this morning. Hell, he always checked it. Before breakfast, after lunch, after pissing—like some kind of nervous tic.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, voice sharper than he meant.

Maya blinked up at him, unbothered. “Stairs.” Then, proudly, she chirped, “It’s mine now.”

Joel pressed a hand to his eyes. Of course. Of course, she’d find it. Three years old, couldn’t find her socks even if they were taped to her, but put one shiny object in her line of sight and she turned into goddamn Gollum.

“It’s not yours.” He sounded a little too sharp. When her lip started to tremble, he softened. “Hey. Listen to me. This is somethin’ real important, baby, okay?”

She gasped, appalled. “Gimme my ring!”

He was already regretting everything.

It was like every ounce of careful planning had crumbled with the shake of her little fist. Joel stared down at the ring, its band smudged now, Maya’s fingerprints across the enamel on the wood. He wiped it on his sleeve, heart hammering. Was that a sign? A warning? Or just toddler chaos in action?

Maya folded her arms and jutted her lip like she meant to put a hex on him. “Finders keepers.”

“Not with this one. It ain’t yours.” He sighed, trying to sound calm. “You can not tell Mama, alright?”

“Why not?” she asked, poking at his knee.

“’Cause it’s...” He hesitated—ambushed by her honesty, her curiosity. “Her big surprise tonight. Secret... surprise?” he offered at last.

“Ohh.” Her eyes lit up. She leaned forward and tapped a finger to her lips, “Shh-ssh. I won’t tell. Sec-wet.”

Joel’s laugh was small, startled. “Yeah, sec-wet.” He nodded, a hand brushing a few stray curls back from her face. “Thanks, baby girl.”

Then he did what any man in his position would—slid the ring deep into his front pocket to stop it from jumping out and start broadcasting itself. No damn chances. Not with a three-year-old wild card.

He decided, then and there, to keep Maya close through the rest of the night. The walk to Tommy’s place, the goddamn bathroom. No unnecessary interactions with Leela—not until the moment was right. Not until her attention was somewhere else.

Later on, Tommy made that easier than expected—plucking Maya into his arms and guiding her over to the spitting grill, holding her high like a little gymnast, her hand wrapped around the spatula with exaggerated seriousness as she helped him flip patties. She loved it. The flames licked too close, and when a gust of smoke blew toward her, she made a silly face and laughed like it was a game. Took it as a challenge. His girl, through and through.

Joel kept back, one boot on the deck rail, nursing a sweating beer he barely tasted, a thumb rubbing the label raw. He couldn’t stop watching her—Leela.

That wasn’t new. It had become muscle memory by now, the way his eyes found her across any room, any field, any porch. He watched for signs. All of it. Who she was talking to. If she was smiling because she meant it or because it was easier. If she was cold, if she needed a drink, if she looked away too long at nothing.

Tonight it wasn’t just instinct. It was that in a few short hours—hell, maybe less—she might say yes. She might become his wife.

Dr. Leela Miller. The words were absurd in his mouth.

He’d bagged a scientist, for Christ’s sake. Mind like an iron trap. Thinking in shapes and theories he didn’t have words for.

She solved things. He broke them. And yet—here they were.

He used to imagine himself ending up with someone… simpler. Maybe an older woman who let him take care of her, who liked country music and didn’t ask too many hard questions. A woman who liked the same things as him. Not someone who would outthink a room full of men in lab coats and look like that doing it.

But that was before he learned that love didn’t mean soft edges and easy silences. Sometimes it meant hard-earned peace.

And now, here he was. A battered old man, and this was the woman sharing her years with him—her best ones, if he was being honest. Years she could’ve spent anywhere, with anyone.

Just look at her. Look at his girl.

She wore that sundress tonight—the pale, crocheted fabric light against her bronze skin, clinging to her like water, delicate straps kissing her shoulders. The open back dipped low, exposing the twin ridges of her long spine and the elegant stretch of her neck in a way that should be outlawed. Her half-undone braid hung long and heavy, swaying like a dark pendulum with every movement—tick, tock, tick, tock—a countdown to the moment he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to reach.

He dragged his eyes away, tried to focus on anything else, then back again.

Those fucking legs of hers were endless. Bare to past mid-thigh, strong, and gleaming like summer itself, with whatever coconut oil she'd bartered from Maria for and insisted on using even when they were rationing rice.

The way her jaw angled when she tilted her head to listen to Maria—the gentle bow of her lips, parted in a small smile that didn’t always reach her eyes—Jesus. Jesus Christ. How the hell was she real?

How the hell did he come home to her? Some days, he still waited to wake up alone. One blink, and it was over. As if all this—her, Maya, this chance at a future—was some long con his own mind had pulled to survive.

No, this was real. And soon enough, people would see a ring on her hand and know. That woman? She was spoken for by a man like him.

And maybe they’d stare. Maybe they’d wonder what she was doing with him—what deal she’d made, what kindness she was repaying.

But he’d know better because she chose him. Had chosen him again and again, in a hundred small, quiet ways. Every worn, angry, aching part of him.

His throat went dry again when he thought of words. He still could not find a goddamn syllable, at least not until she was looking at him—not distracted, not tired, not halfway out of a conversation with someone else.

Then—

“Cheese, put the cheese, uncle!”

The spell shattered like glass underfoot. Joel blinked, pulled back to earth, and turned toward the grill. His little girl, sitting on Tommy’s hip, had latched onto his arm like a baby sloth, legs swinging, tiny fists tangled in his beard.

“Ow—Jesus, the paws on you, squirt,” Tommy grunted, trying to balance a spatula in one hand and fend her off with the other. “Ay, I gave you a bunch!”

“I want more!” she howled. “Put—put more!”

“You want more, ask your precious daddy to make you some,” Tommy shot back, far too smug for a grown man battling a toddler over shredded cheddar.

“Auntie, look!” Maya screeched, throwing a dramatic finger at his chest. “He’s bein’ mean again!”

Maria appeared with the timing of a saint—or a fed-up bartender—marching up the porch with a sloshy beer in one hand and a look of long-suffering amusement on her face. “Baby, why do you keep picking fights with her?”

Tommy raised both hands in surrender. “She starts it.”

Ellie barked out a laugh from the porch swing, legs kicked up, looking like summer mischief incarnate. “C’mere, you gremlin,” she called, arms outstretched.

Maya didn’t hesitate. She launched off Tommy’s side with alarming speed, limbs flailing, landing square on Ellie’s back with a triumphant giggle.

Joel winced. “Christ,” he muttered. “No fear, that one.”

“Ellie, cheese,” Maya stage-whispered to her.

Ellie gave a soft grunt as she straightened up, hands under Maya’s knees. “Yep. She’s gonna run this town by the time she’s six,” she said over her shoulder, carrying the kid like it was second nature.

As she passed Joel, she leaned in just enough to talk low, real casual-like, but he caught the glint in her eye.

“So,” she murmured, “I heard you’re breeding doves and shit for tonight.”

Joel didn’t have the breath to joke back. Just stiffened a little.

Ellie nudged his elbow with her shoulder. “Gonna propose, or you gonna wuss out and die of a heart attack before dessert?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage. “Got anything else against my ticker?”

Ellie glanced down at Maya, who was busy combing her fingers through Ellie's ponytail. “You’re probably out here thinkin’ you’re too busted up or whatever,” she said. “Just gotta ask, man.”

She turned to go, but not before tossing a last look over her shoulder. “Besides, the kid’s already calling you Dad. Might as well make it official.”

He stayed there a moment longer after Ellie disappeared inside, her words still hanging in the air like a bell just rung. You just gotta ask. Simple, as though anything about Leela ever had been.

He rubbed a thumb over the callus on his palm, eyes finding her the way they always did—unconsciously, inevitably.

She was alone now, standing at the edge of the porch where the string lights flickered like dying fireflies. Her gaze was caught—intent—by the glow that shimmered off the wires. Always watching. Always had to fix things, even if no one asked her to. Her fingers moved with quiet purpose, already unspooling one loose bulb like it had wronged her.

He knew that particular bulb had been out since the last storm. Had seen it a dozen times and let it be. But not her, she didn’t let broken things lie.

Low-hung string lights, the ones Maria had put up last winter when the dark came too early. Maya loved them—called them stars you could reach. They weren’t one bit of magic. But in Jackson, they were close enough. And in that moment, with Leela outlined in gold and dusk, they might as well have been divine.

The porch had emptied. The grill snuffed out, and the rest of them had moved inside. He watched Tommy amble past with a tray of half-charred patties, grin wide like he already knew what was about to happen. He caught Joel’s eye on the way past, gave him a wiseass grin, and a smug clap to the shoulder before disappearing through the screen door.

Joel stood for a beat longer. Then moved, no decision, only motion. How a lodestone drags metal, or the moon controls the tides.

He bent down beside the cooler, fished around till his knuckles hit glass, pulled a bottle free and popped the cap open with his canines—a barbaric, stupid little trick that always got a rise out of her.

“Can’t stay put for a second, can you?” he said as he offered her the bottle.

She glanced his way, half-distracted, fingers still curled around the base of a bulb. “Just a loose wire,” she murmured. “Ruins the whole thing.”

One last twist, and it sparked back to life, scattering warm shadows over her face. It caught in her eyes, lit the curve of her cheek. For a heartbeat, she seemed as if she were holding the blazing sun in her hands—and Joel felt, with a stiff certainty, that’s exactly what she was in his life. A bright, beautiful, terrifying thing that left everywhere else in the dusk.

“We oughta put some of these up at our place,” he said, like it was just a passing thought.

She hoisted herself onto the porch rail, all effortless and bare legs, taking a swig from the bottle before resting it on her thigh. He moved instinctively—his palm hovering behind her lower back as her safety net, just in case.

She looked at him then, that gaze that never missed a damn thing. A slantwise smile crept onto her lips, and she laughed softly, buzzing low against the rim of the bottle.

Joel’s brows ticked down. “What?”

“You look so much more human when you’re nervous. Less of a hardass,” she said, with a sweet fondness in her voice.

Joel gave a huff of a laugh and looked down at his boots. “Thought I was hidin’ that pretty well.”

“Not since you quit patrol.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, half a smile on his lips, and took a slow swig from his beer, the fizz settling behind his teeth. “’Mfine, baby. Couldn’t’ve come at a better time.”

She squinted at him, like she was weighing him against the truth—some private scale only she could read. She didn’t call him on it, only let it sit.

“Be honest. What do you want to do, Joel?” Her voice was gentle, not accusing. “I’m not asking you to get out of the house and kill those things, am I? You did enough of that for ten lives.”

Those words landed like a fist to the ribs, and he puffed out the discomfort. “I told you I’ll find somethin’. Not in a rush.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, matter-of-fact. “You could just… stay. Be here. Grow old. Get fat and lazy. Let me take care of everything else.”

Joel raised a brow, baring an amused smile. “Would you do that too?”

There was a pause. She didn’t smile this time. Her eyes tracked toward the window where the curtains billowed, letting a sliver of warm lamplight spill out onto the porch. Inside, he could hear Maya’s voice, high and bright like wind chimes.

“If L.A. didn’t happen,” she said slowly, “I might’ve. I would've let myself slow down.”

Joel caught the flicker in her voice. “But now,” she continued, eyes still on the window, “I have commitments. I have a future to protect.”

Joel followed her gaze. Maya’s silhouette spun behind the curtain, arms in the air like she was catching invisible snow.

That was the thing about Leela. She didn’t speak in dreams or wishes—she spoke in tethers. In roots. And he felt it again—that old ache, that rising tide of don’t fuck this up.

Joel watched the way her fingers fussed with the bottle. Spinning it. Wiping away condensation. Giving her hands something to do when her mouth wanted to say more than she could bear.

“Leela,” he muttered, leaning in just enough to study the shadows on her face. “What’s really on your mind?”

She rolled her lips inward, like she was biting back a smile—or a secret. Then she laid her hand flat across her forehead and gave a careless, little laugh.

“Oh, no, don’t ask me that. I’ll upset you,” she moaned.

“You could never, not ever,” he said without hesitation. And he truly meant it. If she opened her mouth and told him she was leaving him in the morning, it’d level him—but he’d still mean it.

She released her bitten lip, a scroll unravelling. And that’s when he saw it—that softening in her eyes, the complicacy that would eventually land between them.

“I know about the ring, Joel.”

His deaf ear must've definitely failed him then. Just to confirm—“What?”

She chuckled. “The ring. Was it not for me?”

Everything in him deflated: his nerves, his strength, his words. All in a slow exhale when that pinched valve inside him gave way. Like the last little bit of breath he’d been holding onto leaked right out of him.

He blinked once, then rubbed at the back of his neck like it might dislodge whatever came next. Then he sank down beside her on the porch rail, knees wide, boots scuffing the planks, elbows on thighs, eyes fixed on the space between his boots.

“How long’ve you known?” he mumbled.

The words came out unintentionally rough-edged. He wasn’t angry. It was all the thoughts in his head—Be gentle. Or don’t. But please, not this way.

Because what he wanted—what he feared—wasn’t just that she knew. It was how she knew, and why she hadn’t said anything 'til now. Because that was the part he couldn’t bear—if she'd seen the ring and walked past it. If she’d picked it up in her hand, held it, felt all his time and love, and thought no.

And still didn’t tell him. The ache of the answer already there—quiet, and kindly given, but still: no.

“A few hours,” she eventually confessed. “Found it on the stairs, then I left it there. Figured you’d come back for it.”

He let out a soft, pained sound—almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Jesus. I really am slippin’.”

“It’s a beautiful ring. I know you made it, I could tell,” she offered gently, like it was something he could still be proud of.

He didn’t answer right away, only managed a quiet nod. He fished into his pocket and pulled the ring out, the wood warm from his body heat, cradling it in his palm, more than some whittled promise. It looked small there, the gold catching against his callused thumb. A simple circle of carved oak, ringed with gold. Made by hand, with time, for her.

Leela didn’t reach for it, but she was studying it—and him—from a place he couldn’t follow.

She smiled, half-lidded. “And after everything I said about marriage being obsolete. Symbolism that doesn’t serve us anymore.”

She wasn’t trying to hurt him. He knew that. That was just her—clear-eyed, clinical, stripped of sentiment when it got in the way of understanding. Like solving a math problem. Reduce it. Isolate the variable. Eliminate the excess.

The only thing was—this wasn’t excess. Not to him.

“Never said you didn’t want a ring,” he muttered, unconvinced.

She let out a soft breath of honest laughter. “No, I did not.”

He didn’t look at her. Just placed the ring carefully on the porch rail beside her thigh. His hands gripped the wood like he was bracing for the unexpected, maybe—impact, rejection, he didn’t know.

He frankly didn’t know if she’d pick it up, or walk away from it. Didn’t even know what her silence meant. All he knew was he’d laid it out now. Given it air. And it hurt like hell not to know if it’d be received.

He cleared his throat. “Baby…” His voice scratched at the edge of the words. “I ain’t got nothin’ prepared for you. No speech. No kneelin’, none of that.”

Her smile twitched again. “Joel—”

“No,” he said, quietly insistent. “Lemme get through it.”

She nodded once, solemn.

His gaze drifted past her, toward the window—lit amber from inside, the soft blur of voices and laughter filtering through the glass. Maya’s silhouette flitted across the frame, trailing something sparkly Ellie had tied around her wrist. Maria was leaning against the table, wine in hand, grinning at something Tommy was saying. Sometimes, he didn't know what to do with that kind of softness.

“I spent a long time thinkin’ I’d die alone,” Joel began. “Figured maybe that’s what I earned. For all the shit I’ve done to survive, everyone I let down. I made peace with it. Thought that was it.”

His fingers twitched where they curled around the railing.

“Then you came along,” he said, voice thickening. “And I didn’t know what to do with you. Still don’t, most days. You’re smart, and stubborn, and so damn strong it scares the hell outta me. I watch you with our baby girl, and I think… this is it. This is what the world was supposed to be. What it could have been if things had gone right, and... I saved her.”

He didn’t mean to say it. The words just dropped, like gravity had been holding them in and finally gave out. He blinked hard, the weight of it settling into his chest.

For a breath, he wasn’t on the porch anymore. He was somewhere else—long ago, yet too close. Sarah’s tinny laughter echoing down a hallway, that sunshine voice teasing him over scorched eggs or his taste in music. That drowsy, unfiltered way she used to mumble “You’re such a big softie, Dad” when she caught him watching her sleep after a late night.

He wondered, not for the first time, what she might have said if she could see him now. If she’d even see him past the anger, his bloodied hands, and consider him her father. If she’d appreciate Leela as much as him. If she’d love Maya and Ellie as her own.

He drew in a slow, uneven breath and turned his head, finally looking at Leela—she wasn’t smiling anymore. Just holding still, eyes glinting in the string lights, her hand suspended halfway between her knee and the porch rail like she didn’t trust herself to move.

And in that moment, Joel didn’t see two separate lives. Just one long, brutal road that had somehow led him here, across from a big, white house, and to this family, to her.

“I don’t have much left to offer,” he said. “Just myself. My hands. My time. Whatever years I’ve got left.”

He flicked his eyes down to the ring, then back to her.

“But they’re all yours, Leela, if you want ’em.”

Silence stretched—long, weighted, adoring—demanding nothing but holding everything inside it. The cicadas hummed low in the distance. Wind brushed against the porch screens.

And Joel waited; not like a man expecting yes or no, but like someone who’d finally unshouldered a burden he’d been carrying for miles.

And then—Leela reached for it. A decision she had made before her mind caught up, she picked up where he had left it, and nestled it in her palms, how a nest held a baby bird. Joel watched her thumb stroking over the smooth gold, the uneven grain of the oak, his own hands hanging useless by his sides.

And watched her fingers close around it, gentle as ever.

Then—quietly, with a voice that cracked and held at once—she spoke. “I never thought I’d have anyone to myself. Not where it was safe to want it.”

Her eyes lifted to search his—slow, cautious. And Joel let her look at all of it. The lines, the cracks, the history. The ugly things. The beautiful ones, too, even if he still didn’t know how to hold those proper. If she still wanted him afterwards.

Her gaze softened. “And if that’s what this ring means,” she murmured, barely more than breath, “then…”

She reached again—this time for him.

Her hand slid over his, careful not to drop the ring. She pressed her fingers to his, fitting them into the grooves of his knuckles, as though they were shaped for her.

“Then yes,” she said. “I want it all.”

Joel blinked once, slow, like maybe he’d misheard her. Like the years of grief and failure and blood had finally caught up and were playing tricks on his ears.

That word—yes—cracked him, like a floodgate giving way. Quiet, massive, unstoppable. She was saying yes to all of it.

All the worries he’d carried—how she'd flinch from the shadows of his past, how he’d never be clean enough, soft enough, good enough for her—all of it seemed ridiculous now. Foolish and small compared to the weight of her looking at him like that, like she knew him and still chose him.

He made a sound—half-gasp, half-sob—and his hand moved before he could stop it. Twitched under hers, then closed around it instinctively, like his body had been waiting for this—her—for decades.

His chest roared with nerves, but his fingers were gentle, almost trembling, as he eased the ring onto her ring finger where it would sit for another fifty years. It was nestled askew, a little too big.

“I’ll solder it later,” she said quickly, like it didn’t matter, like she was afraid he’d apologise for it.

How the hell did he get this lucky? He didn’t say a damn thing, didn’t trust his voice not to break.

Instead, Joel's hands went to her waist—and before she could say another word, he lifted her clean off the porch railing.

He laughed, a sound so old it almost startled him. It came from deep in his gut, hopeful and breathless, broken through with joy he didn’t recognise as his own at first.

Leela let out a startled little sound, her arms catching naturally around his neck. Her forehead bumped his as he spun her in a rough circle, boots scraping on the wood, the wind catching the stray wisps of hair around her cheeks.

“Put me down!” she whispered, half-laughing against his throat. “You’re gonna throw your back out.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, still laughing.

When he set her down again, his hands didn’t move far. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t ask for permission, just leaned in and kissed every piece of her he could find. Her warm cheek. Her closed eyes, lashes damp. The corner of her mouth. Her hairline. Her jaw. Her temple. The shell of her ear.

He didn’t have the words to tell her what this meant. That he hadn’t believed he’d ever get this again—not after everything, not after Sarah, not after all the ruin he carried around like second skin.

“Leela,” he murmured, his voice roughened with more than just emotion—like it hurt to speak and feel so much all at once. He cupped the back of her head, foreheads pressed, and he stayed there, breathing her in.

“Leela Miller,” she corrected.

His brow lifted, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite the lump still stuck in his throat. “That right?” he rasped, gravel and wonder all tangled up. “Ain’t too late to run, y’know.”

Leela didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t get too far.”

Joel snickered, mock-considering. “I’d give you a head start. Maybe five steps.”

She hummed, eyes half-lidded, still nestled close. “Ruined it.”

“Then c'mere and fix it,” he muttered, already leaning in; the only thing left in the world was the shape of her mouth and the promise of home in her breath.

But a sharp tap-tap-tap rattled the porch window before he could catch her mouth.

They both jerked, startled.

Four faces pressed against the glass like in a stage play, barely obscured by the parted curtain. Tommy was grinning like a lunatic, one arm flung around Maria’s shoulders. Maria had her hand to her heart, visibly misty-eyed. Ellie had both fists pumped in victory, mouthing something like “Holy shit!” through the pane. And dead centre, propped up in Maria’s arms, was Maya—head tilted, brows furrowed in that serious, confused little way of hers as she squinted at the adults with the kind of scrutiny only a toddler could manage.

Tommy whooped so loud that Joel was sure someone two streets down heard it. “Fina-fuckin’-ally!”

Leela giggled—a rare, bubbling sound—and clapped a hand over her mouth like she could catch it before it escaped. She held up her left hand, fingers splayed, flashing the ring like it might answer Maya’s question.

Her eyes widened, then came her muffled squeal, “Daddy sec-wet!”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something inaudible that might have been “Oh, Christ,” but he didn’t look away.

The door flew open, and the whole damn crew poured out.

Boots scuffed hard against wood, and then it was a mess of limbs and hollering. Joel barely had time to register the blur of motion before he was hit from both sides—Tommy barreling into him, and Ellie launching herself at Leela like a skinny linebacker.

“You fucking said yes!” Ellie hollered, clinging to Leela, nearly raising her off the floor. Joel caught a flash of her grinning face as she hooted again, and Leela staggered a little but didn’t stop laughing.

“Look at you,” Tommy barked, dragging Joel into a half-headlock, knuckles grinding affectionately into his scalp. “Didn’t think you had the stones, jackass.”

Joel grunted, wind knocked out of him, but he didn’t push him off. Couldn’t, not when his chest was a mess of noise and heartbeat and something terrifyingly close to joy. So he shook his head, still stunned.

Tommy finally let him go with a slap to his back, and he was still catching his breath when he looked up—

Leela stood a few feet away, partly circled by Maria and Ellie now, Maya cradled between them, his baby girl’s tiny face peeking out over her mother’s shoulder.

What Joel saw was his Leela, everything else out of focus. At the lines of the porch light carved into her cheekbones. At the worn braid that lay across her collarbone. At the place on her throat where her pulse ticked, constant as a metronome.

Someone—maybe Tommy—muttered something about champagne. Ellie snorted and called back, “You think we got champagne? Shit, we’ve got apple cider. Or my moonshine if you wanna blackout during the toast.”

Joel huffed a low breath of a laugh. That sounded more like home.

And what he truthfully felt wasn’t clarity or certainty. He didn’t believe in that shit anymore, not like he used to. This was...

Conviction.

This woman—this stunning woman—was the one who’d shown him there was a future left to want. Who didn’t fix him, because that was never hers to do.

And in a world where most things broke and stayed broken—she was the thing that held.

He stood there a long beat, surrounded by all the noise, the cider being passed around in mismatched mugs, Maya's delighted squeal of wanting some, Ellie already climbing up on the porch rail like she was gearing up for a ridiculous toast, one neither of them would forget—or forgive her for.

But all Joel could fucking do was stare at his wife.

Her dark eyes found his in the chaos, and she smiled, quiet and knowing, like she already understood every word he hadn’t said out loud.

He took a reflexive step toward her—then another—cutting through his folks, without a word, because words would’ve only cheapened it.

She didn’t flinch when he reached his place. She shifted Maya a little higher against her chest and tilted her face toward him, as if to say—Come home, Joel.

So touched her hand first—just a brush of fingers, his open door. Then his palm slid around her neck, callused thumb resting beneath her jaw. Maya blinked up at him, wide-eyed, her curls scattered against Leela’s collar like tiny question marks. Joel reached out again, this time to her back, a whisper of contact. Leela moved just enough, granting him space to hold his daughter.

And this was it.

This was the future now, and he was stepping through the doors—finally, entirely—with his eyes wide open.

X

That same night, Joel found himself dismantling Maya’s crib, the act itself deserving of his utmost reverence.

“What’s Daddy doing?” Leela whispered from the hallway.

“Fixin’,” Maya whispered back.

He didn’t rush. Each screw he loosened felt like the end of a chapter. His palms moved with care—thumb smoothing over the worn wood rail, the one Maya used to chew when she was teething. The teeth marks were still there. Tiny, crescent-shaped reminders. Part of him wanted to leave them. Another part knew he had to start the ball rolling.

The house was quiet—unnaturally so, after all those toasts to forever, the laughter, the clink of mugs—and Maya padded after him like a duckling, barefoot, two fingers picking at her lips in her nervous rut, and her eyes, big and brown like her mama’s, tracked his every move. If she blinked, she would miss something important.

And of course, Joel could see it plain as day, his baby girl was overwhelmed. Way past her bedtime, belly full of Tommy's generously cheese-ed burgers, everyone hugging her mama like they were old friends, slapping his back with words like “Congratulations!” as if she was supposed to know what that spell meant. And now, her room, her safe space, the one thing that never changed, was being taken apart right in front of her?

“She doesn’t get it,” he murmured under his breath as he passed her, ruffling her curls. “I got you, baby girl.”

Hell, Joel wasn’t sure he could wrap his head around it either. One minute, she was a newborn, featherlight, curled along his forearm, breathing those tiny sighs against his neck. Now she was watching him take apart her whole world.

But he kept working. Pulled on his gloves, toolbelt slung low on his hips, and still wearing the button-up he hadn’t changed out of since dinner, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sweat blooming at the collar. He could’ve waited until morning and let her sleep one more night in the old crib, surrounded by what she knew. But the accomplishment about it—about today—made him press on, and made him want her to have this now. Maybe it was pride, or guilt, or the quiet ache of her having called out to him many times tonight, meaning it like a promise.

Like giving Leela that ring. Or Ellie with that guitar.

Maya deserved her own piece of the day to call her own. A gesture that said: You’re growing up, sweetheart. I see it. I’m here with you.

He dragged the new bed down from his shop, careful not to wake the house. There was absolutely no room for mistakes once he laid out the parts, sorted the screws, set every board down with care. Checked angles twice. Rugged pinewood he’d shaped himself—soft edges, low frame, solid enough to last and hold all the dreams a little girl might grow into.

She stood at the doorway the whole time, little feet planted like she was standing guard, or maybe waiting for permission to step into the future.

“I help, Daddy. See, I do,” she chirped once, already tugging a scrap of sandpaper off the floor.

He let out a soft breath, smiling despite himself. “Not this time, busybee.” Scooped her up, set her gently by the door again. “Don’t want you hurtin’ your pretty fingers.”

Twice more she tried, wandered off, then circled back. Grunting, dragging a bed slat like it weighed a hundred pounds. Each time, Joel had to stop what he was doing and guide her back with a kiss to her temple, even though all he wanted was to let her stay near.

The third time, Leela’s arms wrapped around her from behind, lifting her up.

“C’mon, Maya,” she murmured, voice soft against the crown of Maya’s curls. “Let’s go take a bath.”

Maya whined in protest, feet kicking in midair.

Joel caught her eye and winked. “Go on now. Let Mama fuss over you.”

She pouted, but she went along with Leela.

And then it was just him again.

Alone in the soft hush of the nursery, tightening every last screw with the same hands that once knew only how to break things, pull triggers and crush windpipes. Now they smoothed edges, lined up joints flush, and held things together instead of tearing them apart.

Was that not the point of raising a daughter? To rewrite your story in the margins of hers, not by erasing the past, but by refusing to pass it on.

He sanded off the splinters, double-checked every bolt, all of it a punctuation mark in an unfinished story. Hauled in the mattress from one of the empty, unused guest rooms, a little too big, but she would grow into it. He laid the blankets, pink and green to match her walls, corners tucked, one pillow fluffed and centred. Her favourite starry blanket, spread just so—faded navy with constellations stitched in silver thread.

It wasn’t just a bed for his daughter.

It was a beginning. A place for burrowing, for burying your face after a hard day. For whispered secrets beneath the covers and flashlight adventures. For hiding under when the world felt too loud. For outgrowing, eventually—but not yet. A place where Maya's big dreams could sprawl.

He stood back when it was done, undid his toolbelt and wiped the sweat from his brow. Finally over.

Then came the gallop of footsteps. A shrill squeal that yanked a smile on Joel's face. That fast Maya rhythm of joy in motion.

She came soaring down the hall, freshly pajamaed, her whole little body warm from the bath, curls still dripping. She barreled into the doorway, saw it—and stopped cold.

For half a heartbeat, she just stood there, eyes wide, blinking like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Then she launched herself forward, airborne for a good second.

“So biiiig!” she shrieked, arms flung out like she was leaping into the stars themselves. Her little body landed belly-first on the bed, and she kicked her legs so hard the blanket wrinkled under her.

Joel crouched beside her, a grin pulled helplessly across his face. “Like it?”

She giggled—natural, full-bellied joy—rolled over till only her eyes peeked above the blanket, dark and gleaming.

Behind him, soft footsteps trudged forward. He felt Leela before she touched him, slid an arm across his back, and her palm found the place between his shoulder blades that always ached after a long day. Now he could feel the new depression of the ring.

They stood side by side in the doorframe, married now in name and blood and every hard-won mile between.

Joel cleared his throat to tell her, “I didn’t want her feelin’ left out. What with the ring, and the fuss, and all that attention on us.” He glanced at Leela, eyes crinkling. “She’s part of this, too.”

Leela smiled. “Such a good dad.”

Joel shook his head, his heart almost leaping ahead of his body. “Tryin’ every day.”

She turned his hand over and pressed a kiss to the scarred knuckles, and he let her.

“Are you happy?” she asked, eyes suddenly worlds deep.

He did not overthink a thing. He simply nodded and pulled her close by the waist, his hand curling around the dip of her hip.

“Yeah. Piece of cake.”

Not at the least. It wasn’t the building—that part came easy, muscle memory, comfort. No, the hard part was what it implied. The bed, the dreams woven on her blanket, the way her legs already stretched longer than he remembered.

She was growing up. And there’d come a day—not too far off, but someday—when she wouldn’t need him crouched beside her like this. She wouldn’t ask or even think to.

“Daddy.”

Maya, wrapped up tight, her blanket pulled to her nose, was peeking over the edge of the pillow. She beckoned him close with one small finger.

He knelt and leaned in, brows raised, the stiffness in his knees forgotten. “What?”

She cupped her hand to his ear like she was telling a secret meant only for him.

“Stay next to me.”

He hung his head, a laugh escaping his chest. Wrecked, helpless. Then laid a kiss against her forehead. “How’m I supposed to say no to that?”

Leela did not need any other words out there. She only breathed out a sigh, pushed one last kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “Honeymoon in your Maranello later?”

“Be right there, Mrs Miller.”

She smiled—soft, crooked—and twisted her fingers briefly through his, letting them linger just a second longer than needed before she slipped away, the door shunting close behind her.

Soon, Joel kicked off his boots with a grunt, untucking his shirt, one hand steadying himself against the bed frame like an old man—because that’s what he was now, wasn’t he?—and eased himself down onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh.

Maya giggled immediately.

She climbed over him, a tangle of knees and elbows and warm limbs, and flopped herself down right on his chest. Her head landed just over his heart, curls still damp from her bath, smelling like soap and sleeptime.

“Oof,” Joel grunted, eyes squeezed shut. “Watch them knees, darlin’. Too sharp.”

“You’re loud,” she said, poking his chest once with a tiny finger.

Joel cracked one eye open. “Yeah? What’s loud?”

She poked him again, right over his heartbeat. “This. It’s tryna come out.”

He chuckled, his hand instinctively resting on her back, palm spanning nearly the whole width of her.

Joel blinked, amused. “Is it sayin’ your name?”

“No, sayin’ d-duh, d-duh, d-duh.”

She didn’t quite understand. But maybe she did, in her own way—some simple, three-year-old truth that needed no translation.

“I catch it, Daddy,” she whispered, a promise.

He snorted softly, overwhelmed. “You gonna catch my heart?”

She nodded, solemn. “Mhm. If it falls out. I’ll keep it in my pocket. Fix it for you.”

He smiled through it, blinking past the sting in his eyes. “Don’t think even you could fix that busted old thing.”

“I can!” she insisted, frowning, her brow furrowed in that stubborn, Leela-like way. She believed it—with all the might in her small body.

He swallowed. “If you say so.”

Undeterred, she snuggled in tighter. “An’ if it really won’t start,” she added, mumbling into his shirt, “I’ll just build a shiny new one.”

Mama’s girl—whichever way he looked at it. Joel's breath hitched in his throat; his little girl had no idea what she was doing to him. The way she said it—so certain, like love alone could will a heart back to life.

“Doesn’t work that way, baby,” he murmured, threaded with old grief or maybe it was just love. At this point, he wasn’t sure there was a difference. “Hearts… they don’t come back.”

“Aw, man,” she moaned, clearly displeased with the rules of the universe. But he could feel those fast, tiny gears in her head moving—the way her body stilled, how her breath slowed, how her fingers moved slowly over the fabric of his shirt, like she was tracing the beat beneath it.

Then, gently, he spoke into her hair, the words coming slowly, like they were carved in a place deep inside him.

“You listen to me now, baby girl.”

She was quiet a moment longer, as though something in her knew this wasn’t just a bedtime talk. “Mhm?”

“This world’s gonna ask a lot of you someday,” he went on, rough-edged. “More than it ought to. And I won’t always be here to help you or Mama through it.”

His words weren’t just for her. They were for himself, for Leela, for everything he couldn’t put back the way it was. He knew he wouldn’t always be around—not forever. The thought clawed at him with indelible talons, but it didn’t scare him like it used to. Not if Maya was the one left holding what mattered.

“And Mama…” His voice drifted, caught for a second. His hand cradled her head. “Mama’s got this big, loud heart that feels everything. She feels things real deep, even when she doesn’t say so. So I need you to help me, alright?”

She stirred, just a little, but kept her cheek pressed close to him. “Okay. I help you.”

He kissed her curls. “I need you to look after Mama’s heart. Help her stay soft.”

She blinked up at him, big eyes all confused. “But I’m little.”

��I know,” Joel smiled gently, brushing her hair back. “That’s what makes you special. You see things big people miss.”

Maya thought about that for a second, humming, her nose scrunching. “Like… when she hugs me ‘cause she’s sad?”

Joel let out a soft laugh. “Exactly like that.”

Maya’s little palm slid up his chest and curled into his shirt, right over his heart, like she was trying to hold it still.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You guard it, baby. You be the one who sees her.”

He didn’t say the rest—not out loud. That death was inevitable. That the years would pass, fast and unkind. That he’d already wasted too many of them learning too late how to love this hard. But maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t missed his chance to leave behind what mattered.

Not if Maya remembered. Not if she held it—his heart, Leela’s, the thread between them all—with her fierce little hands.

Soft and sacred, his promise spoke one of her own.

“I will,” Maya murmured. “I see. I see you and Mama. I... take care.”

And it wasn’t just a bare sentence—it was unassailable. It was hers, his daughter's. The way she said it, Joel knew she meant it the way only a child can: with her whole self.

Joel closed his eyes, his arms wrapping fully around her now, one hand spread protectively over her back as though he could shield her from everything—even time. That instinct—the one that had been knotted for years, held in a fist so tight it forgot how to let go—finally eased.

Whatever else came next—whatever stretch he had left, however his story ended—this moment was the limit.

And before long, he let his heart rest.

X

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“”

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Wouldn't it be nice

Part two

Summary: Three life changing years later you run into Harry Castillo on your first day of work.

Pairing: Harry Castillo x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: vacation romance, unplanned pregnancy, death of parents, Harry is a family man, sister and brother dynamics, moving across country, reunions (sort of)

A/N: I still have no real clue where I'm going with this and how long this will be so... enjoy the ride?

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Main Masterlist // Harry Castillo Masterlist // Wouldn’t it be nice Masterlist

Three years later

Moving across the country was not how you envisioned spending your Christmas break, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. 

Everything had… kind of been a mess ever since you learned you were pregnant. 

You lost your job and your apartment, had to move in back with your parents. Your father got really sick, dying just days before you gave birth to your daughter Emily. 

And just when you thought things were getting better, just before Emily’s first birthday, you were woken up in the middle of the night by a police officer, telling you that your mother had an accident at work which she didn’t survive. 

That night was one of the very few nights you googled him. 

Harry Castillo. 

To say you were surprised at what you found out about him the first time you typed the letters of his name into google, days after finding out you were pregnant, was an understatement. 

The man who stole chocolate bars out of your minibar was a billionaire?

You fell in kind of a hole, reading a lot about him and his work. About him becoming the youngest self made millionaire back in the day. About the charities he supported. About the nasty divorce he went through years ago. Apparently ever since then Harry was New York’s most eligible bachelor Number one and every single female who was seen with him had been marked down as his new romance. 

You called his office. 

Once. 

The number having made its way into your phone for some reason. 

You didn’t reach him, of course. 

A very nice but strict secretary told you that you had to make an appointment and when you couldn’t tell her why you needed one, you were brushed off pretty quickly. 

You couldn’t tell a stranger that the man you had spend six days fucking in every way possible on your dream vacation turned out to be her boss and the father of your unborn child. 

So, you moved on from that. 

You parents had told you more than once to seek out an attorney to get child support. You could have needed the money, keeping yourself afloat with random jobs while applying to local schools in hopes to finally put your degree to some good use. 

So yeah, the last years had been hard, but you would never change a thing because it gave you Emily. 

She was the light of your life, always making you smile even when she spread mashed potatoes over her whole face and into her dark brown curls, big brown eyes looking up at you with mischief. 

She looked so much like her father it wasn’t even funny. 

You wanted to give her everything and more so when you actually got invited for an interview at one of the fanciest private elementary schools in New York City (you might have had a glass of wine too much after having a little pity party for yourself on you birthday that made you apply) you took that as a sign. 

Now you had actually moved to New York City, the school providing you with a little apartment that was more than enough for you and Emily. 

You would take over the first grade at the school, one teacher leaving for an extended maternity leave the school was providing. 

„Mommy is gonna pick you up right here,“ you knelt in front of Emily who looked a little unsure. She never had been at a daycare before and you had spent the last week easing her into it. 

„Promise?“ She asked and your heart broke a little before you nodded, wrapping her into your arms. 

Moments like these made you wish you could be a stay at home mom. 

You wanted nothing more than to spend your time with your daughter, but life had other plans. 

„I love you bug,“ you whispered, kissing her cheek. 

„Love you, mommy!“ She said before she turned around, taking the hand of Miss Clarins, who was working at the daycare and kind of became Emily’s favourite person in the last couple of days. 

„Good luck on your first day!“ The woman said and you sighed, torn but excited to start this new chapter. The good thing was that the daycare was in the same building than the school. You’d never be too far away from her.

„Thank you!“ You smiled, watching your daughter walk into the big room before you took a deep breath and walked towards the teachers lounge. 

„Uncle Harry?“

Harry blinked up, having been sorting through his emails on the phone as the car slowly moved through the city. 

„Yes, Daniel?“ Harry put his phone away, giving his whole attention to his nephew. 

„Can we go have ice cream?“ He asked and Harry chuckled. 

„No baby, you can’t have ice cream. It’s not even 9 am and it’s freezing outside!“ Harry’s sister Sarah scolded. The boy frowned, sitting between the two adults as the car slowly approached the school. 

„Can we have ice cream later?“ Daniel asked hopefully. Sarah have Harry a look to which he only grinned. 

„Tell you what, you be on your best behaviour for your new teacher today and I’ll pick you up after school to get ice cream from that place we found the last time we went to the park,“ Harry promised and Daniel’s eye got huge. 

„Please, Please, Pleasseeee?“ He nodded hopefully, first at Harry, then at his mother. 

„I thought you had a meeting this afternoon,“ she frowned and Harry smirked. 

„Not if you take it,“ he winked and Sarah rolled her eyes, looking between Daniel and Harry who both began to pout, the longer she didn’t say anything. 

„Fine!“ She finally said and Harry put his arm around Daniel’s shoulder just as the car stopped in front of the school. 

„Have a great day, buddy,“ he said and Daniel squeezed him while Sarah already opened the door to step out. 

„You too, Uncle Harry!“ The boy said before he climbed out of the car, waving at him as Sarah walked him into the school. 

He watched after them for a moment, wondering what in the world his (now ex) brother in law was thinking when he just threw his family away. Shaking his head to himself he got his phone out, scrolling through the emails that were already piling up for him. 

Once the contract with the French was finally signed, things would hopefully calm down. 

Maybe he could even take a vacation, his mind immediately wandering to the last time he had something similar to a vacation. 

He hadn’t planned to stay on the island. He had gotten the deal and he wanted to have a drink before making the call to prepare the jet so he could fly back home. 

But then he had seen you. 

It might sound dumb, but it felt like the world just stopped for a moment when he first saw you, your smile wide as you talked to the man working behind the bar. 

You were beautiful. 

And you changed his plans the moment his lips found yours for the first time that very same evening. 

He had cancelled his whole planned week back home, his sister asking him if he was okay before he told her that he had met someone and wanted to spend more time with you. 

It was unlike Harry to one, go on a vacation and two, be interested enough in someone to neglect his work. Even before his ugly divorce almost ten years ago he was a workaholic, something that was a blessing and a curse. 

It was what made him a billionaire at the age of forty two. But it also made him lonely. 

He should have known that you were too good to be true, having waited for you to contact him for an entire month before he decided to move on. 

Sure, if he had wanted he could have probably found you, he had his ways. 

But maybe it was better this way. 

A lovely memory of a week full of passion and, at least for him, love. 

He jumped when the car door flew open and his sister got into the car with a long sigh. 

„So you ditch work for my son now?“ She asked, the car already moving towards the skyscraper that held his company. 

„Do you want to spend all afternoon handling Daniel on the sugar rush I just promised to him?“ He asked, cocking his eyebrow. 

„You make a valid point,“ she mused, before letting her head fall down against his shoulder. 

„I’m glad he has you,“ she said quietly and Harry kissed the side of her head. Her divorce had been equally as dirty as his, maybe even more because a child had been involved. Her ex made her life a living hell until Harry stepped in and…. Not exactly threatened but…. Very pointedly reminded him that he could ruin his life in every possible way if he didn’t stop ruining his sisters life. 

Family was above everything for him, and his ex brother in law had been fucking with his family too much. He hadn’t seen the man in two years, not since he signed the divorce papers and fucked off to somewhere in Europe. 

Both him and his sister enjoyed the quiet in the car before it stopped in front of a tall building. Them carpooling to work had become a regular occurrence since Daniel started school. 

„See you at dinner?“ Sarah asked and Harry nodded, helping her out of the car. They might work in the same company, but they did not see each other much. 

His sister was all he had left of his family. Younger by almost ten years he was fiercely protective over her and everyone knew it. 

The board member who challenged her seat at the table three years after she had started working at his company had been so pissed for Harry voting him out, he still once in a while gave a shitty interview when he needed some more money. 

Sarah and him parted ways once the elevator door opened and Harry was immediately welcomed by his personal assistant Lou who was walking him through his day. 

„Sarah is gonna take the meeting with the French. I promised ice cream to a little boy,“ Harry said as the walked through the door of his sleek office. It overlooked central park and if he looked closely enough he could see the building his penthouse was in on the other side of it. 

„I’ll let them know. I think that’s all. Luxor replied to your proposition, but I haven’t had the chance to read through it yet,“ Lou said and Harry nodded before he sat down at his desk. 

„I’ll take a look. If you don’t hear any glass shattering they agreed,“ Harry joked and Lou rolled his eyes. He liked the young man, loved that he did not take any bullshit from anyone and especially him.

„Oh before I forget, the delivery of the marble for your kitchen renovation has been pushed back again. I will call there and ask what the hold up is, once it’s not the middle of the night in Italy,“ Lou said and Harry sighed. 

„Should just have taken the damn stone that was available,“ he mumbled, a little annoyed. 

He had let his interior designer talk him into some (probably) overpriced marble for his kitchen countertops and island that had been delayed four times already. Everything was finished except for the marble. And while yes, he knew whining about his 16 million dollar penthouse being a construction site was whining on a level most people would bully him for, but he was still annoyed. 

„Do me a favour and just tell the interior designer to pick some available fucking stone if they postpone again? I really wanna be able to use my own kitchen after nine months!“ He said and Lou nodded. 

„I’ll let you know,“ he said before he closed the door behind him and let Harry alone in his office. 

He reached for the cup of coffee that had already been placed on his desk, taking a sip as his laptop powered up. 

Five hours before he gets to leave. 

All in all, your first full day teaching at the new school had gone very well. 

Miss Cooper, who was heavily pregnant and would leave at the end of this week, had taken you into the classroom and you had spend and hour answering every single question the kids had. 

Of course you having your own horse that was now living its best life on a ranch outside of your hometown (your father’s best friend had taken it in for you) was the one topic that was most interesting. 

During lunch break you went into the daycare to pick up Emily, wanting to have lunch with her. 

She told you about all the friends she had already made, clumsily stumbling over her own words when she forgot to take a breath. You were glad she was settling in so well. 

As promised you were waiting for her outside of the daycare once your class was finished for the day, Miss Cooper telling you she would take over seeing the kids out. You decided to join her instead, Emily settled against your hip. She was very tired.  

The school ground was filled with parents and children alike, all waiting to go home after a long day of learning. Emily’s head was leaning against your shoulder as you watched over the chaos. 

„There is a list with who is authorised to pick up the kids. I think you’ll have down the faces of the people who usually come to pick up down quickly. If someone else is picking a child up, the person in the morning usually lets us know. Like today, Daniel is not getting picked up by his mother, but by his uncle,“ she ran a finger down her list. 

„Here he is. Harry Castillo,“ Miss Cooper said and you swore you could feel your heart stop for a small moment, before it picked up again. 

„Oh I remember him. Super nice and super attractive,“ she whispered for only you to hear and you smiled a little. 

„Don’t let your husband hear that,“ you tried to joke, making her chuckle. She rubbed her hand over her belly and sighed. 

„Is a baby in there?“ Emily chose to ask in that moment, pointing towards her and you both laughed. 

„Indeed there is. A little baby boy that will hopefully come out sooner than later,“ she joked, with a fond smile. 

„Cool,“ was all Emily said and you rolled your eyes a little, kissing her head. 

„Daniel! Your uncle is here!“ Miss Cooper called over her shoulder and little footsteps were quickly approaching from behind. You pulled Emily closer, turned your back towards the front where he must be approaching. 

It couldn’t be him, right?

There probably were a million Harry Castillo’s out there. 

„Miss Cooper!“ You heard a voice behind you and you closed your eyes for a moment, your shoulders tensing because you knew that voice. 

„Mister Castillo. I heard there will be ice cream today?“ Miss Cooper made small talk while you still had your back towards them, seemingly keeping an eye on the children. 

„We are also gonna search for a birthday gift for his mom,“ he explained. 

„That sounds like a perfect plan,“ Miss Cooper said before she met your eyes. 

„This is the lovely woman who is gonna replace me when I go on maternity leave at the end of the week,“ she added your name and you took a deep breath before you finally turned around, lips pressed into a tight smile. 

His lips parted the moment his eyes found yours and he whispered your name. 

He was still as handsome as you remembered, a little more grey in his hair than before maybe. 

He blinked at you, then his focus slipped to Emily who was about to fall asleep in your arms. The girl who looked so much like him. 

„Uncle Harry!“ Daniel’s voice interrupted this reunion, crashing into Harry’s side who shook his head for a moment before he picked Daniel up with a groan and a wide smile. 

„Hey there buddy! You ready for ice cream?“

„For lunch?“ Daniel gasped and Harry winked at him with a nod. 

„Where is your coat?“ Miss Cooper asked and Daniel’s eye became big. 

„Inside,“ he whispered and Harry put him down. 

„Come on, I’m going in with you. Need to go to the restroom for the fiftieth time today,“ she joked, before walking away and into the building with Daniel. 

Which left you alone with him. 

When you finally looked at him again, he was already looking at you. He looked confused. Happy? Shocked? 

„You never called,“ he said quietly and you released a long breath. 

You shook your head. 

„How….“ He looked at Emily again who was now fast asleep in your arms. 

„How old is she?“ He croaked. 

„She’s turning three in four months,“ you whispered and you saw the moment he did the math, his lips parting, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

„And you never called?“ He whispered, eyes watering. 

„What we had? I didn’t want to… I didn’t think it would be the same. We didn’t know each other. Not really. I wanted it… to stay a beautiful memory. It’s why I threw your number away before I even reached the airport,“ you tried to explain. 

You looked away from him and over the by now almost empty schoolyard.

„And when I found out that I was pregnant? It was too late,“ you added quietly. 

„You are right. It was a beautiful memory,“ he said and you looked up at him. You heard the door behind you open. 

„But maybe now you’ll give me chance to make more of those memories?“ He asked and you gulped. 

„We can go!“ Daniel, wearing his coat now, impatiently took Harry’s hand who laughed. 

„I’ll see you tomorrow,“ Harry said, taking one last look at you and at Emily before he turned away, letting Daniel pull him towards the street. 

When they were gone, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, your mind running wild. 

He was here.

Harry was here

In a city of over 8 million people you ran into him on your first day at work. 

And he knew about you and Emily now. 

Kissing her head you slowly turned around to walk into the building to get your bags. 

A part of you was scared what a man with as much money and power could do now that he knew he had a child. 

But the bigger part of you, the one that never admitted even to yourself that you fell in love with Harry on that island, was holding on to the hope that maybe all of this was faith. 

And the start of something beautiful. 

[jakeswifez]

THE COLLAR | s.jaeyun

୨୧ -› when sunghoon's little sister will meet her virtual best friend after 10 years, but everything goes wrong.

୨୧ -› brother's best friend!jake x best friend's sister!reader]

Warning -› possessive brother's best friend, lies, "enemies" for lovers, death threats, obscenity, loss of virginity, oral sex (both), horseback riding, semi!public sex, in the pool...

It was just another day at school, as I was Sunghoon's sister I had to deliver letters to him and his friends, because the girls in my class didn't have the courage.

"- y/n, could you give this letter to Jake, I can't stay around him for long." Of course, I'm not going to lie to myself, I have a crush on SimJaeyun, I've felt this since I was 8 years old when my brother took him home to play video games

"'- I'll give it to you yuna, you can leave it to me" I gave her a genuine smile because I wouldn't get mad at her because of that, because in everyone's mind Jake and I are enemies who talk out of obligation because of my brother, no I can deny it, I think Jake hates me, I don't know...he looks at me strange, so I have to pretend that I hate him, even though it's the opposite.

I got up immediately because the bell rang, I took the letter and left my room heading towards the lockers. From afar I see my brother and his friends and I go to him, immediately handing the letter to Jake.

"-wow, Park y/n handing me letters, this is new, don't be jealous, sunghoon" he said laughing ironically at my brother, I rolled my eyes at his stupid idea

"- I'm sorry jaeyun, but even dead I wouldn't write a letter to you, instead I would much rather write to Jay" I said with venom on my lips, I can't deny it, Park Jay was very attractive I had a crush on him in teaching medium, but nothing that would last.

He soon made a strange face as he turned away, saying something that I couldn't hear very well, but who cares, it won't change anything in my life. I turned to sunghoon saying that I was going to meet chaewon, leaving there heading towards the field I felt the back of my neck burning, but who cares, right?

"- y/nn, come here" I heard chaewon screaming for me so I went to the place and sat down with her

"- well, do you have any news about wonbin? I heard that he will come here to see you, I'm very excited, finally we will meet" she said, jumping excitedly, as she was always curious to know who the mysterious boy was who sent me messages all the time.

"- yes, I'm excited too, I've been waiting for this for ten years, but he's coming next week, because he has a football game at his school" I said looking at Chaewon because it seemed like she was happy for me , I always told her that he helped me in the best moments of my life, in the ups and downs, those that I never managed to talk about with my brother or my parents.

"- it won't take that long then, but did you finally hear the news?" she said excitedly, I always wonder where all this excitement comes from, but I think it's part of her personality

"- I didn't know, why?" I asked myself curiously, because nothing ever happens at this school.

"- jay is having a party at his house after the game, you're going to come with me, right? you know I don't like going alone" oh no, she looked at me with those puppy dog eyes, idiot, she knows that's my point weak

"- I wouldn't go if you weren't, but how are you going to do what" I said in defeat because those eyes always win me over

"- THANK GOD, after years you're going to a party with me" she said exaggeratedly because she knows very well that I just didn't go to the other one because I had injured my ankle.

"- I'll see you at the game then y/n, I'll meet you at 1 o'clock in the afternoon??" I wave slightly and go straight to my brother's car to wait for him, as he always talks too much with Jake.

After 5 minutes I see him and Jake coming towards us in the car, as Jake is coming along I already know he will sleep at home, as always, 1 day before the game he stays at home, I think this is useless, but what can I do?

I got in the car without saying anything because I didn't want to include myself in their conversation, but sunghoon asks me a question

"- y/n, are you going to the game tomorrow?" he asked looking in the rearview mirror with a questioning look.

"- yes I will, I will go with chaewon she asked me to go" I immediately heard some giggles

"- I thought you were going to be talking to your little friend y/n, news" Jaeyun said between nasal laughs

"- yes, I wanted to, but he also has a game to play, you're not the only one Jaeyun" I said, picking up my things as I had already arrived home, getting out of the car I heard a bit of my brother's conversation

"- jake don't do that man, you know she gets angry easily, seeing you do that doesn't even seem like it...." I only heard half-heartedly because I closed the door seconds later, entering my room and sitting on my dresser to take off my makeup, until I heard a notification coming from my cell phone.

• wonbin sent you a message.

I immediately had a smile on my face, as I hadn't spoken to him since early in the morning.

*- hi dear, how are you??

I immediately replied

*-hi wonbin, I'm fine and you? So, are you looking forward to tomorrow's game?

*-Well I can't deny it, I'm really looking forward to the game, but I know I'll do well

*- convinced, you see, but I'm going to sleep, I'm exhausted, tomorrow I'm going to my brother's game too, I'm already feeling a headache

*- you're right, I need to sleep too, my trainer wants me to be there at 10 am, honestly I'm lazy, but what can I do, good luck to your brother tomorrow, good night kitten

*- good night

After I sent my last message to wonbin I heard a knock on the door, I looked up and saw someone unexpected

Sim jaeyun

"- what are you doing here jaeyun, go to my brother's room" I said getting ready for bed, I heard laughter near me and I immediately turned back.

"- calm down kitten, don't be like that, I was just going to ask you a question" he said placing his hand on my cheek lightly running his thumb over my skin.

"- then speak quickly, I'm dying of sleep" he looked at me and then asked

"- are you going to Jay's party?" the question was unexpected, I almost couldn't pay attention because his hand on my face was giving me goosebumps

the sexual tension just building in the air, making me nervous

"- yes I will, why?" With a touch of confidence I managed to answer him, but soon I felt him approaching my face, heading towards my ear

"- good to know, I'll see you there, kitten" then he walked away and went straight to my brother's room, I was stunned by what happened seconds ago, why is he acting like this

I immediately lay down and thought [Sim jaeyun is very strange] I thought to myself before falling asleep

First thing in the morning, I was woken up by several messages from wonbin

• 9+ wonbin messages

I opened it immediately to find out what happened

*- good morning sleepyhead *- I received that necklace you sent me *- is it a star? *- you are the best girl *- does she have a pair??

I was confused because the necklace would arrive after 5 days, as I sent it yesterday morning, I thought it was strange.

*- Good Morning *- has it arrived yet?? wow that was literally quick I thought it would arrive in 3-5 days, but I'm glad you liked it *- and yes, it's a pair lol, yours is a star and mine is a moon, because you are the brightest star I've ever seen

*- eww, very cliche

*- WONBIN!!!

*- calm down, I'm joking, kitten lol, my trainer is calling me, I'm going, bye *- calm down, I'm joking, kitten lol, my trainer is calling me, I'm going, bye

I turned off my cell phone and went straight to the shower because in a little while I was going to meet chaewon

wearing a white skirt with my brother's team shirt, I put on light makeup because I would have to go back to get ready for the party together with chaewon, I put on my sneakers and went to the living room to wait for her

I soon heard a knock on the door, I grabbed my things and opened the door.

"- y/n in heaven, you look amazing as always, ready to go girl??" she said with coke in hand, then handing me one

"- of course" he said with a smile on his face before leaving

Arriving at the field, it was literally full, but there is always a corner reserved for me at the front, after asking people for permission I soon sat down to watch the game

nothing interesting happened during the game, until jaeyun scores a bicycle goal and celebrates with that beautiful smile of his that makes my knees go weak

"- wow girl, close your mouth or mosquitoes don't come in" she said mocking me, I straightened my posture looking at her

"- stop talking nonsense chaewon" she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the game

the game ended 3x1 for us I was happy for my brother, seeing him smile like that makes me feel happy for him, but soon I changed the direction of my eyes to Jake, he looked so handsome with that smile and shining eyes, but I soon diverted my attention with chaewon asking me to get ice cream before we packed up

I sat in the store chair and soon an attendant with feline eyes came to assist us

"- hello, have you already chosen your preferences??" he said with a smile on his face showing his dimples on his cheeks

"- oh, yes, I would like flaky ice cream and you y/n?" She said looking in my direction catching my attention

"- um, I would like strawberry ice cream please!" I said nervously because I thought he was really cute.

"'- ok! would you like anything else?" He looked in my direction and I immediately spoke

"- could I know your name?? sorry if you feel uncomfortable" I said embarrassed

"- oh okay, my name is jungwon, and yours, miss?"

"- my name is y/n, nice to meet you"

"- the pleasure is all mine y/n, I'll prepare your orders and be right back" he said going directly to the counter

I then looked towards chaewon seeing the mischievous smile on her face

"- shut up chaewon" I said

"- but I didn't say anything" she said between smiles

after a few minutes you saw jugwon returning to your table with your orders, he placed the orders on the table and then gave you a wink

you felt your heart skip a beat, and your face turned red

"- you fall in love very quickly y/n" you whispered shut up to her and started to enjoy your ice cream

"- oh, y/n, he left you a note" she pointed to the note next to her bowl and you immediately took it

"XX XXXXX-XXXX" call me ❤️

You got home, took a shower and went to change, I did my makeup, not too strong but not too soft, soon I heard Chaewon come back from the shower

"- hey y/n, did you send a message to jungwon??" she said

"- I'll send it now, I'm just going to apply some lip gloss" I did and then added his number to my phone

*-hii, it's me y/n!

Surprisingly he responded very quickly

*-hii y/n, how are you?

*-I'm fine, what are you doing??

*-I'm getting ready for my friend Jay's party, and you?

*- what a coincidence!! I'll be there too lol

*-that's good, I'll see you there then

*- ok, bye

*- see you soon, princess

"- chaewon from heaven, jungwon is also going to the party!!"

"- that's great!! Just don't get too excited maybe your brother won't like it very much"

"you can leave it" I told her putting on my short black dress, showing too much skin and wearing my heels

Arriving at the crowded party, we were immediately greeted by the jay

"-y/n, you came, you wonderful"He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing

"- you too park" you said putting your arms around him

"- ok ok, let's go y/n, we have to get our drinks"

"meet me later?" Jay asks in my ear, I nod slightly and he smiles sideways

I went towards the kitchen with Chaewon to get the drinks, we took them and went to look for my brother

Then I see him and I go towards him, and he looks to the side and sees me, He looked at my clothes not very happy

"why did you come with that outfit y/n" he said looking into my eyes but I didn't care and went to greet the people

After a while, I got a little drunk, but I was still conscious, I went to the dance floor and started dancing, after a while I felt someone's hand on my hip

"you look beautiful y/n" I hear a familiar voice in my ear, I look over my shoulder and see Jungwon

"so you came jungwon" I said touching his chest

"but of course, I was giving up but you said you would come" he said dancing with you

you started to dance rubbing against her, and soon you heard a moan in your ear

"holy shit y/n, you dance really well" you looked at him and looked at the bulge in his pants and then pulled him to a distant place

"the kitten was excited?? I'll help you with that" you immediately pulled him in for a kiss, asking for passage with your tongue which he accepted with open arms, he squeezed your waist pulling you closer so you could feel his bulge

You soon got on your knees and massaged him over his pants and he soon moaned slyly

pulling down his pants along with his boxer shorts his dick jumped almost hitting his face, you spat on your hand and started caressing him

"please y/n, I need you" he said slyly, as much as you want him you won't lose your virginity in the bathroom, so you decided to use your mouth

You stuck your tongue out and put him in, he soon let out a moan, accelerating his pace, his legs began to tremble with so much pleasure, he pulled the back of your head closer to his pelvis making you choke.

"I'm coming y/n...I'm coming" he said, letting out a loud and sly moan, you sped up and gave him a blowjob, which made him release his orgasm deep in his throat, moaning loudly

You took him out of your mouth, and he fixed his pants and then pulled you in for a kiss.

"you did so good for me princess, do you want me to reward you?"

"no need jungwon, I appreciate it but my brother is already going to look for me, will I see you around?"

"definitely" he left a peck on your lips and walked away

you went to the kitchen to drink some water, and soon you heard a laugh, You turned back and soon saw Jake

"what a beautiful performance you did with that boy, I didn't know you were like that, kitten "he said with a teasing smile on his face

"I hope you keep your mouth shut" you looked at him and noticed something shiny on his neck, it looked like....no..it couldn't be, before he said something you questioned

"jaeyun, what necklace is that around your neck?" you said calmly, you looked at his wide eyes and you already knew the answer.

jake was wonbin

" so does that mean you lied to me the whole time? I trusted you " you tremble

"y/n no, it's not that, it's just" you immediately interrupted him

"that's what!!! fuck jake, you literally impersonated someone I don't even know now!! you fooled me for 10 years!! do you understand that?!" You said with anger in your eyes.

"the reason is because I'm fucking in love with you!! I've been in love with you since I was a child!! I literally had to put up with you being with these useless boys for years!! now I had to witness you giving that son of a bitch a blowjob" he He came closer pinning you to the wall making you look at him scared.

“you belong to me y/n, you always belonged to me!!” He said grabbing your wrist pulling you to the guest room, entering the room he soon threw you on the bed and locked the door

"Now I'm going to show you, kitten, who you belong to" he said hovering over you, kissing you roughly

"fuck I've been waiting for this for years kitten, I love you so much, if I see you with him I'll kill him, do you understand?!" He didn't hear any response and slapped your ass, soon hearing a moan coming from you.

"with words princess"

"yes, I understand...jake, I belong only to you"

Satisfied with your answer, he takes off your shirt and then helps you take off yours, then bends down to kiss your neck, leaving several marks on it.

Ele abriu seu sutiã e começou a chupar seu mamilo, recebendo vários gemidos seus.

He kissed my breasts going to my belly, while he kissed my belly he pulled down my panties

"how beautiful you are, kitten, how did you hide this from me, hmm" he put my legs on his shoulder and I started kissing my clitoris, starting to suck it, moving his tongue down to my entrance

"so good..hm" I said between moans, as he accelerated his tongue at my entrance making me feel that knot in my belly

"are you close kitten?" sucking my clit more fiercely making me moan loudly

"I'm close jaeyun, ah" my orgasm arrived making a mess on his beautiful face, he licked everything and got up to give me a kiss

"you have amazing taste kitten, I could stay there for hours" placing me underneath him while he placed his dick at my entrance

"hm, jake...I'm a virgin" I said immediately for fear of hurting, he looked at me with wide eyes

"so I'm going to be your first time?..I'm going to make sure this is your first time with me and forever" he said with possessiveness in his voice

He wrapped my legs around his hips, and caressed my hips

"I'm going to take it easy at first, okay, just don't tense up, otherwise it won't hurt more" he placed his dick at my entrance again and started to penetrate, I felt discomfort at first and a burning sensation but I didn't want to stop

"you're so tight..." he moaned after his cock was inside me, he waited a few minutes for me to get used to it

"can you move, please" he shook his hips calmly, but then he started accelerating

"do you think that boy's dick would satisfy like mine? huh, kitten?" he spoke rudely while looking at me, speeding up even more, until he made me feel him in my womb

"no... no jake.." I said moaning slyly as the pleasure was overwhelming, he placed his hand below my navel and squeezed

"you feel that, it's my dick buried deep inside you" I looked at my belly as I saw his dick hitting my skin, I fell with my head back moaning loudly as my second orgasm was approaching

"your pussy is so good kitten, it was made for me" he moaned loudly as he accelerated his pace, making us feel enchanting pleasure "I'm close y/n, I'm coming, I'm going to bury my children deep in your pussy so you can get pregnant with me so no other man can look at you, only me" after he said that I spilled on top of him, my juices running down his my pussy to my legs, meanwhile Jake was perceiving his high, still making me moan with the overstimulation

"I'm coming...calm down...I'm coming" I felt his cock twitch inside me as he moaned slyly on top of me

He fell next to me and pulled me into his chest, stroking my hair, I felt so loved at that moment.

"you did so well for me kitten, I love you" he got up and went to the bathroom getting a wet towel to clean me up

After cleaning me, he told me to change because my brother was going to look for me, I put my dress back on and started to fix my hair.

At the moment Jake was putting on his shirt because that was the last piece of clothing he was missing, the door opened, and who was there?

park sunghoon...my brother

"oh sorry..." he looked at my face then at jake immediately his eyes went dark

"What the fuck!!" it's me and jaeyun are dead now.

part 2??

[frotees-corner]

Thursday bangers | 4-24

Tagged by @jenn2d2, so you know who to blame ;) I'm in the process of writing another part right now and I just finished two artworks back-to-back, so you get a snippet of a WIP instead.

The prompt:

A hundred days have made me older, since the last time that I saw your pretty face - Three Doors Down

(Incidentally, I really like 3 Doors Down) Pieces (WIP, Snippet):

Five days after she disappeared, he gave up. There was a limit to how long a person could survive without food and water, and Rook was no ancient, immortal quasi-god. She was just one fragile mortal woman who didn’t know when to stop.

But now she must have, and he would never see her again.

Wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

There was a void in his chest, pulling at his seams, unraveling him bit by bit.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up in front of her door. Maybe Spite had brought him here, hoping she would be there when he opened it, like she had been every other time his human was being foolish.

But she was gone.

He opened the door anyway, feet moving of their own accord to take him deeper inside. The deep sea vista taking up most of the wall on the opposite side of the room held no terror anymore, he realized with a start. It couldn’t hurt him anymore.

His eyes fell on the little crow figurine with the gemstone eyes he’d gifted her, her little rook, positioned to watch over her sleep.

There were scrolls and carvings on the wall, mementos scattered over every surface of the room, little trinkets she had collected to remind her of what she’d seen and done. Evidence that she had been here, that she had lived beyond the boundaries set for her at birth.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the back of her couch, remembering the first time she had asked him to stay, the way she had curled up in his arms, happy and warm and safe.

There was a sound inside his heart, like the whine of a frozen lake being struck, brittle surface beginning to fracture.

And then he stepped around it, sitting down as he felt his legs beginning to give, and saw the letter on the little meditation table.

For Lucanis, it said in her lively script, letters pushed together and trying to break free as if scrawled down in a hurry. His fingers were shaking when he reached for it, carefully pulling a folded piece of paper from the slightly smudged envelope.

Lucanis,

maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe we will just beat the impossible odds again, and I’ll be able to tell you to your face.

But in case we don’t, in case something happens to me and I can’t, here are some things I need to tell you.

I love you.

I got the impression that you didn’t want to hear it earlier, but I do, and you deserve to know. So, I love you. You are loved. You deserve to be loved.

You are kind, and funny, and caring, and you deserve good things in your life. Like friends, real ones, not the kind that’s just looking for an opportunity to stab you in the back. You deserve to want things for yourself, things that make you happy, things that have nothing to do with your job.

I was honored to be one of these, for a little while.

And I don’t care if you’ve spent most of your life dealing out death, you deserve to live, too.

For yourself, and for the people who care for you. Even for Spite (hi buddy, please keep Lucanis from throwing himself off a cliff for me?).

Maybe tell your grandmother where she can shove it the next time she tries to push you into something you didn’t agree to.

I love you.

Ceres Mercar

He realized he was crying when the first heave drops hit the paper. By the time he finished her hastily written letter, he was shaking, bone-wracking sobs tearing through his chest, and he had to put her letter down lest he crumbled it.

He had known. Known that she had wanted to tell him, earlier, before everything went wrong, but he had panicked, again, had stopped her from saying it because he’d been afraid, and now he would never be able to say it back.

I love you, too.

He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to stem the flood, but it was no use. There had been so much loss in his life. His parents, most of his family, Caterina (but she came back), Illario (but he’s not really gone), his home (but she saved that, didn’t she?), himself.

All of them he had survived, but right now, he felt like he was breaking, shattering into a million pieces.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

If you're taking requests, I love Drayton (favorite Dragon boy) and as a Fairy trainer, I'm super curious what the romantic (and friend) dynamics would be with him. So, I guess I'm asking for Drayton x Fairy reader content? 😅🩷

This gives me opposites attract vibes. The sweet Fairy type dynamic compared to Drayton being Drayton is a vibe I can get behind!

Pixie Wings | Drayton x Reader (Fairy specialist)

Pokémon Scarlett and Violet Indigo Disk DLC Spoilers ahead!

After growing up together traveling the unnova region side by side; when Drayton moved away to blueberry academy, he felt a small part of him was left behind. But fate seemed to have other ideas when a familiar face shows up to brighten his day.

Warnings: Lots of fluff with a little bit of Lacey hate

SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for The Indigo Disk Ending

Why is Alcremie so cute? Like look at that lil guy, lil buddy so happy to be here 💗

Today was the day, the day you would travel to the blueberry academy. The school upon the sea! For the longest time, you had spent all of your time inside a stupid office building of a school. So when one of your closest friends and yourself both received letters of enrolment to the school; the stars aligned again! Though that didn’t stop the waves of nerves rushing over you. Seems you weren’t the only one feeling them, either.

Sitting on the plane, the nerves settled deeper and deeper in your gut as the mixture of excitement and dread flooded your every thought. Questions rolling around like the ocean tide below you, covering your mind like a cloud does the sun.

“What's got you so quiet?” A voice piped up from your side, “Nerves getting the better of you?”

With a deep sigh, you scrunch your noise, fingers placed on the bridge of it. “Sorry, sorry, I just keep thinking about everything that's going to happen when we arrive. I've never gone to a place like this. Sylveon was acting up all morning too, she isn’t much of a flying fan.”

“I get that, Mimikyu is the same, I can feel his ball shaking in my pocket.” A laugh escaped the both of you as the small talk wafted the clouds away from your mind. “I know you are going to be fine! You're the best damn fairy type trainer I know, and I know a lot of them! I went to a prep school for two years. You don’t get more fairy type than a blonde teen obsessed with make up.”

“That is very true.” The smile on your lips grew bigger as you leaned back into the plane seat, looking out the window to see your destination below. “I wish I could tell Drayton about this…”

“I know…”

Time went by quickly. Upon arriving at the school, a fellow Fairy type user gave you a tour of the building and the terrarium to boot. Teaching you all about the BB League and the other clubs around the school. A nice bonding session as well with your mutual feelings on fairy type Pokémon. She was nice, her outfit was cute too, though there was something you didn't quite get along with about Lacey. “And that about sums it up! To recap, the terrarium is split into four sections, the savannah biome is where the school entrance is! If you are a battler, the BB league is located inside to the right of the stairs. The elite four bases are spread out throughout the terrarium. Be careful when you go for the dragon trial, he, um, tends to get a little full of himself. Nothing new though. Just be advised to not fuel his ego any more than it already is.”

“Will do, thank you again for this. We look forward to seeing you at the trials!” You pipe up, disregarding the comment she made about her ‘friend’. With a small wave, Lacey spun on her heel and headed off for the coastal biome.

“Well, that was something.” Your friend piped up, trying not to laugh about how awkward that last part was. “Considering she calls everyone in the BB league club her friend, the way she speaks about the Dragon elite four members says otherwise. I mean she didn’t even use his name? How can we go off of toothpaste for a name?”

“I don’t know, but I'm sure we’ll meet him. Who knows, maybe it's a sibling rivalry sort of thing between them. Kinda felt like it to me.” You question, attempting to come up with any reason she may have been particularly pokey about one member and not the rest.

The sound of a poke ball stopped your conversation dead in its tracks. Your Archaludon had decided he was bored with the conversation and wanted attention now. Sylveon may have been your first Pokémon, but Archaludon held a special place in your heart; being the only reminder of Drayton you had. It was his Duraladon after all, a parting gift he gave you. It may not have been a fairy type, but that didn’t stop you from putting a fairy tera on it. Just for argument's sake.

Sitting down on a random rock, you quietly feed Archaludon a poffin, keeping him entertained whilst your friend rummages through her bag, finally zipping it back up once she was happy with whatever she did. “Well, I'm a head inside. Lacey describing the science club got me all giddy. Joltik agrees with me.” A small chirp followed your friend's voice as her tiny joltik popped out from her hood. How you didn’t notice it this whole time is beyond you. With a silent wave, you watch her walk into the distance. You weren’t alone for long though

“Two new students in one day and no one told me!?” A voice chimed up from along the beach. A boy, taller than others you had seen during the tour. His hair was spiked up at the front in one big swoop, kind of like, toothpaste. Just like Lacey had said. Though you could only see the back of him. From his outfit, he definitely fits the bill of dragon trainer. 

That's when it hit you. Something about that hair seemed so familiar to you, and it hit you like a tauros. “Do my eyes deceive me!? Drayton? Drayton!! I can’t believe it!”

His neck snapped so fast, it was a surprise he didn’t give himself whiplash. The sound of your voice being music to his ears. Seems his feet began moving on their own; he didn’t even register he was moving till he was already hugging you tighter than a mousehold. “How are you here? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that!” You respond, wrapping your arms around him tighter, still trying to comprehend the fact he really was there with you. “You moved to the other side of Unova!”

Drayton’s laugh coated your ears, causing your already beaming smile to brighten even more. “Well I didn’t say exactly where, probably should have mentioned the ocean school part huh.”

“Yeah, I've missed you so much, Drayton. Things just haven't been the same without your lively presence.” He had no response to that, only a simple hum as he moved away from you, his hands on your shoulders, a smile on his face. 

That's when your entire team all decided to join Archaludon outside. Sylveon comes out first, running around Drayton’s legs, her blue coat fluffing up with every pass she makes. Your Archaludon was already watching the scene, if it had a tail it would be wagging. The sight of his old trainer and his current trainer looking so happy made the bridge happier than a yamper. Vanilla Alcremi came out not long after Sylveon, doing a little happy dance alongside your Hattereen. Silently your white florges admired the situation, being the newest of the team she simply watched, enjoying the reunion that was unfolding.

“Seems you were not the only one who missed me!” Drayton chuckled, running his hand along Archaludon’s side.

“Would seem that way. When Lacey described you earlier, you were not the person I pictured.” You admitted thinking back to what Lacey said.

Drayton smiled and pulled you into his side to allow the Archaludon to nuzzle into him, his arm around your shoulder. “Ah don’t pay Lacey any mind, she isn’t too fond of my fighting style, she thinks my attitude is unprofessional. Her words, not mine.”

“Well I think your fighting style is great, even if I can beat you no problem.” A cocky grin painted on your face, teasing him.

“Oh is that so!? How about we put that to the test, then?” Drayton offered his signature smirk appearing

[lana-writes]

Parting Words

A Solas x F!Lavellan fanfic

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: general audiences

Tags/Warnings: just pure Trespasser angst

A/N: I had to process all that somehow. I'm sorry in advance you guys😭

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Character Letters (Etsy)

Never had a kiss hurt more than it could ever soothe. Even the erratic pulse of the anchor could not distract her from this heartrending touch he offered her. A final goodbye, he intended, and she felt that intent, but to allow it to be true was something she could not accept. Var lath vir suledin, she had said. She wanted to beg him to stay but the agony of it, the shock, even now left her struggling to form the words. In later years, she’d wonder if a part of her knew it wouldn’t matter what she said.

But here, now, jumbled pleas begging him to stay, to reconsider, to let her follow him, crowded her mind, finding their only escape in her eyes, the desperate grip of her hand in his, and the wretched press of his lips to hers. I wish it could, vhenan, he had said. How could he believe that? After everything that’s happened? The fact that she begged to join him should have meant something. If he understood the depth of her love, despite everything she had learned, how could he not understand that she would die for this just as he would? If he must walk the din’an shiral, she would walk with him. Whether for her people or for him, it didn’t matter. She would and he knew it. He had to. 

Instead of a place at his side or even just his love or the promise that he would return to her one day, he offered nothing but knowledge, a warning, and one last kiss, as if that could ever touch the pain she felt as she reached for him again and he rejected her one final time. He took her breath and her heart from her as his touch disappeared and she watched him step away. 

“I will never forget you.” 

She felt herself drift with him as he walked to the eluvian, his back to her. The flare of the anchor ripped through her again and she cried out. The pain jolted from the mark through to her head, even to her heart and deep into her chest. It would have brought her to her knees were she not already there and it brought her lower still, her right hand falling first to catch her, but when the flare stopped, she felt more than the pain lift from her. A weight gone. Her balance was suddenly uneven as she noticed the absence of her arm. Scars healed by his magic were already visible where the remainder of her limb ended. Finally, she gasped for breath as she pushed herself upright again. 

The eluvian was dark and her heart stopped.

“No!” She leapt forward, a single hand bracing the ground as she stumbled to her feet. Stopping before the great mirror, she stared at it. There must be a key, a phrase, a spell, but there was no way of knowing what it was. He was gone. Again. Her hand drifted forward to touch it. Her fingertips met the cool glass first then her whole palm as she let her head lean forward too. There was nothing left in her now. 

He’d made her feel empty before. That night in Crestwood, she laid out her heart to him, promising him that she wouldn’t give up on him even when he told her that she truly should, but this was different. Now, she believed she had not known emptiness before this. Before, she had hope that he would return. She had a purpose with the Inquisition. She had another soul that she loved and wanted to see safe and happy more than any other in this world. He had held her and seen her as no one ever had. He loved her. He called her a rare and marvelous spirit, the like of which he’d never encountered in this world, and now, he had decided that was over and he would take the rest of the world with him. 

Her tears caught up to her as her knees gave out once more and she drifted down to the ground, hand sliding along the glass. She could not have heard her companions approach when she let out a long, whining groan and with it opened the floodgates. Her open palm turned to a fist as she sobbed. She pounded it once, then again harder as she let out a wailing sob. 

“Althima,” a voice tried to break through the noise in her head. A gentle hand followed by another met her back but she didn’t react. It wasn’t until the hands tried to guide her away from the eluvian that she turned to see Dorian’s face twisted in pity. She resisted his urging at first but with so little in her, she couldn’t fight him. Instead, she let him take her into his arms. 

“That’s right,” he muttered to her, “I have you.” He doesn’t know what else to say so he holds her as tight as he can. They all wanted to know what happened and she knew they were waiting for her to be ready. She owed them the truth of it after all they’d given to get here, after all they’d sacrificed to aid her. She tried to steady her breathing enough to speak. It took a few minutes of anxious silence but she managed finally.

“He was here,” she breathed out softly. “And I— He— He lied. He lied.” 

“So he was working for Fen’harel?” Dorian asked. 

“No,” she shook her head. “No, he– He is– ” 

Dorian stared at her, then looked over at Bull and Cole, brows furrowed as he understood. They all did. “It was him. It was him all along,” she breathed between sobs as she tried to steady herself enough to speak clearly. “All along.” 

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked. 

“The Viddasala— she was right,” she gasped. “The Breach, the orb, Skyhold,” she paused, “the Veil. They’re his.”

“He’s Fen’harel.” To hear it again felt like a nail through her, pinning her to the earth, and she didn’t have the strength to remove it. “Then he’s lied to us all,” Dorian said. She felt a sob punch through her again. 

“Oh, my dear,” he whispered, holding her a little tighter.

“He took–” she cried, “–the anchor.” Straightening herself, she revealed her arm and what remained. “It was his– his magic all along.” She spoke as if pleading with them to understand though there was no need to, but it was all so strange and none of it had truly set it. She wished it was a nightmare, that she was plagued by some demon in her dreams hellbent on manifesting her worst fears, but not even her worst fears could have conjured this. It had been right there with her for so long and she hadn’t seen any of it before it stared her in the face. Had he drawn her and the Qunari through all those safe houses and temples and the library with the intent of showing her who he was? How much of it was planned and how much of it was real? Had it all been planned by him? Her discovery of his plotting. The Inquisition. The Breach. The love they shared? No. The rest perhaps but not that. She could accept the rest but not that. She breathed deep and slow until her body stilled. 

“I feel like such a fool.” 

“No,” Dorian replied quickly, “If you’re a fool, then we all are. He lied to all of us. And frankly my friend, his cruelty doesn’t deserve any more of your tears.” Tears burned her eyes again, and just as they were beginning to dry.

“But I loved him,” she whispered, eyes pleading with him to understand. “I truly loved him, Dorian.”

“I know.” He had tears in his own eyes. 

“And what’s worse—” She smiled through the pain of it all even as it tried to choke her again. “ — is that I love him still.” Sobs like laughter rolled through her as her hand gripped Dorian’s arm. “I would have followed him. I tried–” She tried to calm herself and control her breathing.

“Why did he leave?” Dorian asked. “Did he say?” Althima stilled and her eyes slowly climbed up to meet Dorian’s. Her wide eyed stare scared him, more than he already was. 

“He means to tear down the Veil.” 

“What?” Bull interjected. He and Cole were almost forgotten a few yards behind Dorian. 

“It’s his fault,” she said, leaning over to see them over Dorian’s shoulder, “everything that happened to my people, to the elves. It’s his fault and he wants to fix it.” 

“Fix it? It’s not a broken vase, it’s the Veil!” Dorian said. 

“What about demons? The Blight?” Bull added. 

“Or the other gods he imprisoned?” Dorian said. 

“I know,” she shook her head. “I don’t know how he plans to do it, only that many will die if he does.” 

“We have to stop him,” Dorian said. 

“I don’t know where he went,” she said, “and he controls the eluvians now. There’s no telling where he is or what exactly he’s planning.” Althima leaned against Dorian as she pushed herself to her feet. “We need to go back.”

“Maker,” Dorian muttered as he stood. “We can’t tell everyone about this. They’re angry enough with the Inquisition as it is, but if they knew this Fen’harel was manipulating us the entire time…”

“The Inquisition is already done for,” Althima said, wiping a hand across her cheeks. Her familiar confidence and resolve returned to her as her final tears dried or were wiped away. “Solas was right about that too. It’s gotten too big and too powerful and we have too many enemies. We only found the Qunari plot in time because his own spies led us to them. I know what I have to do.” She stood as straight and tall as she could. Her sleeve hung limply to her left and her right hand balled into a fist once again, no longer weak and pitiful but determined and indignant.

“You sure about this, boss?” Bull asked. 

“No,” she said, “but I won’t see all that we’ve built be corrupted. I’ll find him some other way.” 

“And you’ll stop him?” Dorian asked, skeptical. She faltered momentarily. The anger in her friends’ faces made the truth of her conversation with Solas too terrifying to share. If there was a more peaceful way to tear down the Veil, she would support it. She would follow him wherever he led. She wanted to. She tried to, but now– She couldn’t expect a human or a Qunari to understand all that fueled that desire.  

“I’ll try.” 

“You’ll try?” Dorian said. She stared up at him, her expression hard and resolute.

“I will do everything I can to stop the death that he would unleash.” It seemed to satisfy him and he nodded. 

“Then we should get back. Leliana and your advisors will need to know about this,” he said. 

“Will you give me a moment?” she asked as they began to move back towards the other eluvian. The men stopped. “I’ll meet you at the other eluvian but I just need a minute. Please.” Bull nodded and kept walking. Dorian’s eyes lingered on her a little longer but he too continued. Cole remained, unmoving as he stared at her. She watched him. You know, she thought, you know all of it. 

“Not all of it,” he said once the others were out of ear shot. “He let me see the edges, his pain, the hurt, but never the heart. He locked me out too, as he did to you.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath. She would not cry again so soon. “He loves you still. And he did not lie, not today, and never about that. You know it to be true but you don’t trust yourself now.”

“How can I,” she asked, “after everything he told me?”

“You know you better than anyone and you know him better than most. You know he spoke truth.” She wasn’t sure how much she could trust her own memories but perhaps she could trust Cole. 

“Thank you.”  But I meant it when I said I wanted a moment alone, she thought, and without a word, he followed the others. Turning, she gazed upon the eluvian again. It was still dark, little more than a large mirror now. She thought of the god she’d been warned of in folktales and their histories. The only god left in this world. Lord of Tricksters. Dread Wolf. His name was a curse. Even the mention of him was to invite danger. And now she knew the truth. She’d met the great adversary in her people’s history and she’d lived to tell the tale, except it wasn’t one that she was inclined to tell. She’d given him her heart and invited him to her bed. She’d dreamed of futures with him, each possibility more ephemeral than the next, but no less desirable. They’d laughed and spoke of love and politics and spirits and demons and saving the world. Now, he left to destroy it but still she hoped, however foolishly, that he could change, if she could find him. 

“You can’t hear me,” she spoke clearly and directly to the mirror. “I know that, but I wish you would.” She stepped forward and let her hand rest on the glass again, flat and gentle. There was anger in her but no malice. “Let this be my offering to the great Fen’harel. Ara dirthsal ma.” My promise to you. “Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan.” Nothing is certain but the love we share. “Dar’eth. Sule tael tasalal.” Go safely. Until we meet again.

She would find him again and make him hear her, even if it killed them both. 

Check out my other works on my masterlist or check them out on AO3

[spidybaby]

Stressed

Summary: When he's stressed and worried about work, that's the only thing on his mind.

Warnings: angst because I'm a sucker for it 😤

A/N: So I'm inspired, and you already know I love angst, I breathe angst, I eat angst. (Okay, I'm done exaggerating), but lemme know how you are? Are you drinking water? Hope you're fine 💐❤️

Since Kylian sent that letter to the higher-ups of PSG about not wanting to stay until 2025, everything is drama.

The french tabloids, for some reason, want him to look bad, want him to look like this ungrateful man.

He's experiencing too much pressure, Sergio leaving, Lionel leaving, possibly Verrati leaving. It was a mess. The whole teams is.

Especially now that this dumb reporter, her name is Sam, she's all over him about the whole side of him about the leaving, the selling, the quitting of Galtier. He's done with her, with the other reporters, with the ultras hating him for even breathing.

"Don't worry, Kyky, everything's going to be fine." Sergio pat his back, Kylian was one of the first ones to know about his retirement of the club. "Don't let that chick got to you."

"I just want her away from me." He drinks too fast for what he's used to. "Can't she cover something else?"

"Look, hermano." Ney says, he had to deal with the same reporter a few months before. "Just tell her something completely different from what she's asking, and she'll leave."

He knows she just wants to write something before anyone else, something that comes from his own, not for speculation. "Lie to her."

He scuff, it's not that easy to be away from her when she's also part of the PSG press people. She has access to everywhere. That makes him uncomfortable.

"Mira Kylian." Leo says. He's not new to this whole press drama. "Just don't mind her, ignore her, saying you have to be somewhere." He smiles, nodding to his advice.

Leo and Sergio are the ones he trusts with this media hate. They're goats, and they come from a long road. He can't deny that even Neymar is an expert. But he's been there for his own stupid mind, even tho he denied it.

He followed the advice Leo gave him, always ignoring her, saying the usual bonjour or a revoir. Nothing else.

That made her mad. She even asked Galtier for his number, not caring about writing him. That took him to the limit. He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

"Don't stress, mon amour." You say kissing his cheek. You're massaging him, wanting to help him relax. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. It's only you and me."

You tried everything for him to relax, you didn't know the whole story. He never told you about this reporter. So you only think it's because of the whole letter drama.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Bonjour, Kylian." Sam says, looking at him. She's blocking the door of the lockers. "Can we talk." She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm busy." He tries to pass her, but she's not moving, and the last thing he wants is touching her or making any type of contact. "Please move."

"Just five minutes." She says, begging him. "And I'll leave you alone forever."

"I prefer you to leave me alone now." His voice is this deep tone. He's done with her games. "Get out of the way." He ask nicely.

"Four minutes." She begged again.

"Sam, out of the way."

"Three."

He breathes deeply, and he's losing his temper. "I'll say it only one more time, and believe me, that I hate repeating myself." He grabs her arm, not hard but the right amount of pressure to move her gently. "I'm busy." He's mad. His whole day is ruined, thanks to her.

He enters his car, asking the driver to take him home. He's supposed to go to his mother's house, but he's too mad for that.

He arrived home funding. His train bag is now on the floor, you're home early, and you notice the noise, thinking maybe he fell.

"Are you okay?" You ask from your bedroom. Maybe he's hurt. "Ky? Amour?" You talk louder this time.

After a few minutes, you hear the footsteps on the stairs. A very agitated Kylian enters the room. "Hi, handsome." You say, opening your arms to him.

"Remember how you said you can take the stress out of me?" He sais breathless, you nod smiling. "Do it."

You throw the covers away from you. Ready to attack your boyfriend with kisses and attention. Your lips feel heavy on his own. He's tense. You can feel him.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere, hes uncomfortable by the fact that he has Sam on the back of his head, tunning after him, basically harrassi him.

There's no other reason for him to focus on anything other than you. The way your lips feel on his neck, the way your hands are touching the right places, the way you're making him feel good.

His hips are moving to a very fast pace. He's not one to take his frustration on you, but the way you're moaning his name and how your nails are scratching his back is making him lose control.

He doesn't know how, but it happens. He can't take her name out of his mind, now even when you're taking him so well.

When he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow, and he attacks the exposed side of your neck. He's leaving red marks, marking you as his. The groan that's escaping his lips are pornographyc.

You could feel nothing but him, the weight of his body over yours, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips and on his forehead, making the hair close to your neck to stick to it.

What's making the entire situation so much worse is the fact that no matter how much he tries, he can't stop thinking about her. Not in a sexual way, but angrily wanting her to go away, to leave his mind alone.

His hand is griping your waist so hard. He knows he'll leave a mark. Moans coming out of his mouth. “Fuck, you feel so good.” he goes faster, knowing by the sounds you're making that you're close.

"Sam-" that's when he stops. His whole body stop. He doesn't know why he's saying her name. His eyes are open in a panic.

"Get off," you say out of breath. Your heart is beating as fast as if it's going off your body. "Get off of me."

You push his shoulders for him to get off of you. He pulled out and tried to explain. "Y/n, please, I didn't mean to do that."

Your mind is lost, one moment you're under him, holding him closer, kissing him and enjoying him.

And now you're pushing him away, not wanting him to touch you. You grab the covers of the bed. You wrap it around your body before running to the bathroom.

"Amour, please." He tries to grab your arms. "Amour." He almost catch you, but he's not fast enough.

The next thing he knows is you slamming the door in his face. He can hear the way you're breathing and how you sob. The sound is making his heart hurt.

"I promise I wasn't-" he can't even think of an excuse. He's fucked up, he's hearing the way you're crying and can't think of how to solve it. "Listen, she's a reporter that has been harassing me. She's always on me, and I".

You open the door, interrupting his explanation. You're standing there, tears running down your face, blanket around your body, eyes sad.

"Mon amour." He doesn't know if he can touch you. He doesn't want to make you more uncomfortable than what you already are. "I promise it's not what you think."

You pass him, walking to the room to get your clothes, dressing yourself again, hurried to get away from him.

"Please don't go." He says, hand grabbing your arm. "Please, let me explain." He feels like crying, not wanting to let go.

"Not now." You get off his hold. "I can't do this. Please get away from me." You push him lightly.

"Don't go, I'll go, but you don't have to go." He dresses himself, not wanting you to leave. "I'm fucking sorry." Your back is facing him. You can't look at him in the eyes.

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The past week, you were running away from Kylian, leaving extra early for work and returning while he was still training.

For him, it was hard not being able to speak with you. But you needed time, and he's willing to let you have it. Even if that hurt him in the process.

For you, it's been weird. You can't wrap your mind around the fact of what's going on. For you, it hurts that he didn't trust you enough to talk to you about what's happening, and the other part of you is your ego being hurt by him naming another girls name.

You were sure with a talk and being honest, you both can make up. You trusted him when he says he has never been with her, but you also needed to know the whole story.

The sound of keys jiggling is the way you know he's home. When he walks he sees you sitting on the couch.

He's tired, everyone is hating on him for the stupid tabloids, and he can't even find comfort in your arms because he hurt you without intended to.

"Can we talk?" He swears the sound of your voice is magical. He missed it. He missed you. He nods and takes a seat next to you. "Who's Sam?"

He didn't hesitate to detail the whole thing. The things his playmates advised him. "Kylian, why didn't you report her to the management?" You're mad, not with him but with her for being such a bitch and harass him about a stupid football news.

"Because I thought she was going to leave me alone." He yells, frustrated. "I can't do this anymore."

You hug him, caressing his back and him cry his frustration. His not crying about her. He's crying about the news, about the hate, about the media not leaving him alone.

"I'm here, don't cry." You kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you before."

"It's not you, I'm the one who made the mistake of letting her abuse her power." He let you dry his tears. "I'm so done."

"It's not your fault. Don't say that." You kiss his cheeks. "You're fine now, I'm not letting her or anyone hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable." You hugged him. Promising you'll never let him feel that way again.

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 5❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: You're getting closer, closer, closer and closer... and noticed. Word Count: 3,2k Taglist:@aoi-targaryen @budugu @flostvs1508 ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova’s Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 4 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 6 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Something funny?" his question pulls you out of the letter. You glance at him briefly, slowly fold the letter, and put it in your pocket, still smiling.

"Nothing special. Can we return to further discussion?" you ask as he sits down in front of you and places two glasses of kvass on the table.

You didn't talk about… that night. Or previous events. There was a consensual silence between you regarding those events. A silence that was anything but peaceful. It was more like before the storm. But you both chose to ignore it. You had more important things on your mind.

"There is no need. I've already told you. Tracker and some of our people are going to haunt the stag until we won't get the bones. End of discussion."

"But it's Christmas. Is this stag that important? You don't have to send after this poor animal almost 30 of our people." you try to convince him, but he only rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Y/N. I appreciate your opinion, but no one and nothing will change my mind. Not you, not Alina, not Zoya, not any women, do you understand?"

"Why didn't you mention Ivan or Fedyor, or any men?" you ask, crossing your arms, now as irritated as he was just a few seconds ago.

"Because they know too well to try to oppose me."

"Oppose you?" you huff, glaring at him defiantly. "With all due respect, you don't know what it's like when someone REALLY tries to oppose you. At least not in the last month." you see him take a breath to say something, but one look from him at you makes him change his mind and shake his head. He takes the glass and drinks it before deciding to answer you.

"Can we... can we just go back to read those reports and finally write the orders to units? Please." he asks. You sigh and take your pen in hand, continuing to write down on the paper, in a more logical way, notes containing some of your plans.

"If you insist." you mumble over the paper.

"No whining?" he asks in shock and you bite your lip to avoid saying something rude.

"No." you say, shaking your head and reaching for a glass of kvass.

"And you're not offended?"

"Since when do you care?" you snap at him, annoyed. Not only did he stupidly stick to his opinion, but he also made you look like an offensive brat.

"Y/N." he says it calmly, and you raise your gaze to him. He didn't seem like he was doing it maliciously, more like he was making sure everything was okay. Which only added to your irritation. You close your eyes and sigh before answering him.

"No. I'm not."

"Your tone of voice is telling me something entirely different." you narrow your eyes at him and he just shrugs his arms.

"Should I smile at you sweetly to make you sure about that?" you ask teasingly, and he nods, leaving you surprised.

"Yes, please." he says, wanting to see you smiling at him at all costs. He missed this view. You both had a lot on your minds lately, and dark circles under your eyes were starting to appear under your eyes as well as under his own. And he despised them terribly. He smiles, though, feeling a strange warmth dissipate in his chest as you giggle in amusement and give him a mischievous smile. "That's better." he mumbles, shifting his gaze to the papers.

He can't feel like this. He shouldn't want... you. Not after what he went through last time.

And after that night, where he almost gave in to his desires, he promised himself that you wouldn't be his second Luda. You'll end up better than her. He won't let anything happen to you because of him.

"You know... I got something for you." you say, snapping him from his thoughts.

"For me? On what occasion?" he asks, surprised, shifting in his chair. He dropped the papers on the desk and focused his attention on you as you nervously stroked the edges of the report, straightening the corners.

"When I was a child, we used to draw lots a few weeks before Christmas to choose a family member to give a gift to. You know, a small present before the big one. And since I spent half of December fighting for my life with a fever and swimming in frozen rivers, I didn't have time to give it to you earlier."

"Why did you..."

"We drew lots for whom we would buy a gift." you interrupt him before he has a chance to ask you a question. "Me, Fedyor, Alina, Mal, Zoya, even Ivan, and the rest. I had Mal, but since you decided to send him to hell knows where, I figured I might as well give you something."

"Whatever bribe you want to give me, tracker and others don't come back without a stag." he says, crossing his arms. You giggle softly at that.

"I'm fully aware, donkey."

"You're treading on thin ice." he says menacingly, but he can't help but tilt his lips upward slightly in kind of a small smile.

"It's good that you're close; maybe you'll save me again. Come on. Just open it. I promise, I didn't ask David to put any explosives in there." he rolls his eyes but takes the box from you that you left under his desk. He turns the small box over in his hand and shakes it gently, assessing the size and heaviness of the gift. "Are you really expecting a terrorist attack? From me?"

"You stabbed me with a letter opener."

"That was ages ago!" you shout, offended and blushing. "Besides, how was I supposed to know you'd just walk into the war room and stand behind me?!"

"Who normally throws a letter opener behind them?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He slowly begins to unwrap the box.

"It was from my grandparents. You know how we get along. Besides, I've apologised to you a thousand times."

"And apparently my mental health has been damaged, and now I can't trust you around with any weapon or mistery presents." he teases; you whine at this, and he starts laughing. You smile at the sound and shake your head.

Suddenly, he stops laughing. He holds on to his breath as he carefully examines your gift. It's not a big thing. A simple, black pendant. What is more important is its content, which he stares at in amazement.

"I... I know you don't believe in any saints or stuff like that, but... I noticed that every time we're in the chapel for some kind of celebration, you stare at the stained glass window of Sankta Ursula of the Waves. I found it in some flea markets while we were searching for a stag. I immediately thought of you."

"I…" he has no idea what to say. He didn't know you were watching him so carefully. That you actually care. But now… you didn't even know what it meant to him. Especially since the pendant you gave him and the portrait of Sankt were an exact representation of his sister. Not like that terrible stained glass window. "Thank you." he whispers shakily, because it's all he can do.

You took away his words. More than once. He should get used to this. I want to get used to it. But he can't. He won't risk losing you for a few moments... a few moments that are a young boy's dream.

"Anytime. May I?"

He nods. You stand behind him and take the necklace from him. You roll up the collar of his kefta so you can fasten it around his neck.

Your fingers brush against the skin of his neck, and he has to bite his lip (almost to the point of bleeding) to keep from letting out any embarrassment moan at the small touch.

He despised himself. His mother would mock him so much for weakness and vulnerability like this... but all he could do was sit quietly and appreciate your every little touch.

"Do you like it?" you whisper softly, still standing behind him. Your hands on his arms burn him, despite the thick layers of clothes he's wearing.

"I love it." he answers faster than he can think. He knows you can feel his heart beating wildly. He feels himself turning even redder.

"I'm glad you like it, Aleksander."

He feels blood on his mouth as he bites his bottom lip, hearing you whisper in his ear his real name. He was alternately regretful and glad that you knew it. In moments like this... he wasn't sure which feeling prevailed. Suddenly, he realises that he is gripping the arm of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are white.

Where was the fucking control he had spent years practicing when he needed it most? Where are the walls he painstakingly built around his stupid heart?

One heartrender was enough for all his composure to go to hell. And the worst thing was that, deep in his heart, he wanted to lose himself in you.

He stands up from his chair and turns towards you, looking down at you, trying to intimidate you as his shadows dance around you. But you just came closer. He holds his breath and tries to take a step back, but realises there's no escape as he slams his hips against the desk.

"Y/N."

"Aleksander."

You exchange whispers between the two of you, staring deeply into each other's eyes.

The sudden outburst makes you both shiver. Aleksander automatically grabs your arm and pulls you behind him, covering you as he listens.

"Stay here." he whispers as he takes a step towards the window.

You grab his elbow tightly and stop him. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. You shake your head, staring at him defiantly. He rolls his eyes and grabs your waist, tightening his grip as you both walk carefully towards the balcony.

You see smoke rising from the Durasts' workshop.

"Damn it, 5th time in this year." Aleksander curses under his breath, and he releases his grip on your waist.

"They're working on transportation through the fold, be gentle with them."

He sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. The tiredness becomes clearer on his face as he realises that he's going to have a long night ahead of him.

"I'll try my best. Go to bed, milaya. One of us should be rested." before he knows what he's actually doing, he walks up to you and kisses your forehead.

You stand frozen, feeling his lips on your skin, your heart racing at his gesture more than from adrenaline at the sudden outburst. And then he walks away quickly, leaving you alone.

You can't help but smirk as you watch him disappear into the shadows.

Aleksander is pissed. Nor. He is furious. Mad. Not because of the outburst that happened last night, but because he found out that you were getting more and more letters.

And he managed to intercept one. It was from Mal fucking Ortsev. The tracker you so desperately wanted back at the palace for stupid Christmas.

Everything made sense. Every kind gesture you made this month. And now he was storming through the halls of the Little Palace, straight to the kitchen where the guards had told him you would be, holding an unopened letter from your lover in your hand. A lover who, he will make sure, will never see the gates of Os Alta again.

He storms into the kitchen, and you almost manage to cool his anger when he sees you in an apron, baking some cake. You were singing something under your breath, probably one of those annoying songs that were played in every corner of Ravka.

And he almost melted, fascinated by the sight of you so... calm. A strange fantasy played in his head. You and him together, cooking something for the damn Christmas, decorating the house. He never had a real Christmas. Baghra wasn't sentimental enough to celebrate it, and she taught him the same, but with you... he would do all those stupid things.

Seeing you in this homey atmosphere almost took him off his warpath. Almost.

Until he remembered the letter he was holding and imagined the tracker doing all those things with you. He slammed the door loudly and waited for your reaction.

You screamed, spilling some of the flour you were holding onto the floor. You looked at him, and you were ready to yell at him for scaring you when you saw the look on his face.

"What happened?" you ask, brushing your hair off your forehead and getting flour all over it in the process.

In any other circumstances, he would have laughed; he would have been completely enchanted by your state. But now he was seeing red, imagining every single love letter that you could have written to that damn tracker.

"All these gifts, sweet words—all of it was for your tracker, right? You don't know this boy, you don't know what he is like, and yet you try to undermine my authority and change my decision just for some orphan from Keramzin! What does he have, huh?! What has blinded you, MY SECOND-IN-COMMAND, that you so desperately want this rash fool, who only gets into trouble because of his own stupidity?! Is he really worth risking my wrath?!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"THIS!" he slams his hand with the letter on the table between you. He glares at you furiously as you look at him with an equally defiant attitude. You take the letter and look at it in disbelief and anger.

"Do you monitor my correspondence?!"

"I should have done this ages ago! At least you wouldn't make a fool of me! You can say goodbye to your lovely tacker; I'll make sure he never again sets his foot in Os Alta."

"SERIOUSLY?! Look at me carefully, because I'll only say this once: MAL AND I ARE NOT TOGETHER!"

"Of course." he laughs mockingly and is about to leave the kitchen. You run to him and grab his arm tightly, forcing the letter into his hands.

"Read it." you say it coldly and firmly as you control yourself enough not to scream at him in anger.

"What?" he asks dazedly at your command, looking between your furious eyes and the letter you're pushing into his hands with all your might.

"Do you want to blame me for something? Go right ahead. Read. Prove yourself right." he takes the letter from you.

Jealousy and rage were still present in him, as well as a hint of sadness and hurt. That's what it was. Proof that all of this, every kind gesture, smile, look, touch, kiss—well, not a real one—was intended to bring you closer to another man. A man whose insides he would feed to volcras.

"Here you go." he opens the letter and clears his throat dramatically as he begins to read. "Dear Y/N. Thank you for your help. Alina was overjoyed with her gift. I don't know how to thank you. I'd love to be there for her, but I'm glad that at least you can take care of my beloved while I look for some damn stag…" he falls silent while reading, looking for something more in the letter he has in his hands. He blushes with embarrassment, realising the mistake he has made.

"See?" you ask him and gently cup his cheek with your hand, forcing him to look at you.

"But... the other letters..." he whispers, confused.

"I exchanged them with my brother."

There is a long silence between you as he digests all the information and realises the mistake he has made. He turns even redder at the rashness of his actions. He, who boasted of his patience and the fact that he was never wrong. The slightest suspicion that your heart belonged to someone else was enough to make him want to spill some blood and commit murder. And not yours, but that damn tracker's.

"Oh... the youngest one I guess?" he asks, trying to camouflage his earlier behavior. Or at least forget about it for a moment and let his heart slow down to a normal rhythm. He already humiliated himself enough in front of you.

"Yes." you confirm, a stupid smile on your lips. He swallows, nervous.

"Umm... that's lovely."

"He asked me if I'm coming home for Christams." you tell him, and he holds his breath for a moment, looking at you in anticipation. You don't say anything further. So he clears his throat and prepares to ask the question.

"Are you?"

"No. I'm staying in the Little Palace this year." for some strange reason, these few words bring him more joy than anything else in his several hundred years of life.

"Taht's... that's good. That's good to hear." he nods, unable to look you in the eye. You lick your lips, shifting your gaze towards the kitchen for a moment.

"Do you want to join me?"

"I beg you pardon?" he asks, confused. You nodded towards the bowls and cake you were baking before he came in and… jumped to the wrong conclusions. "I haven't… I haven't cooked for a while." he admits shyly. And you smile fondly as you see him so… ordinary for the first time. Humanly.

"Well, it's the best time to do it again, don't you think?" you ask and are about to pull him towards the table and the ingredients you prepared to make a cake when you feel the urge to look up. And you see mistletoe.

He also looks up and freezes at what he sees. A shiver of excitement and anxiety runs through his body. It was late at night. No one in their right mind would come here. No one would interrupt you.

He unconsciously leans towards you. He slowly lifts his hand and brushes your hair away from your face, gently brushing the flour from your forehead with his thumb. You giggle softly.

You cup his cheeks with your hands, and Aleksander sees in slow motion how you pull him towards you. Your lips get closer... but instead of moving to his lips, you place a tender kiss on his cheek.

His beard tickles you a little, and he can't help but feel deprived and tricked when your warm lips are limited to just caressing his cheek. He almost growls, exasperated, when, as quickly as you cling to him, you pull away.

"Put an apron on. We don't want to have your black kefta covered in flour." you say and go back to the table. You smile evilly. He didn't deserve a kiss after his little act today, but next time...

You squeal as he grabs you from behind and dumps a bag of flour over your head.

"ALEKSANDER!" you shout, and he laughs loudly, not caring at all that anyone might have heard his name. He tries to get away from you when you throw eggs at him.

When you are laughing and throwing everything at each other, you don't notice that the kitchen door is slowly and silently closing. And someone's footsteps echo through the corridors of the Little Palace.

[deuxcherise]

Collar Crimes: Red Letter

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, yandere OC, yandere male, Eris being Eris, gender neutral reader, reader has some personality in this one, comfort, fluff, angst (?), mentions violence (eye plucking), flashback scene, may include annoying use of "my" a lot, includes a picture of a simple sponge cake (because why not? You'll see~)

A/n: So I happened to come across those Chad skits from SNL (yeah, I know I'm late to the party) and I was also thinking of how Eris met the reader. So this is kind of a prequel to Weasel In, I guess? I highly suggest reading Part 1 before this, but do as you like. Enjoy~

Masterlist | Part 0 (you're here!), Part 1, Part 2

There were many times in your life when you almost regretted taking this 9-to-5 customer service job.

Briiing! Briiing! Tch.

“Hello~ This is Lychee speaking~” you sing into the phone. “How may I sweeten up your day today? Or is there something on your mind today that you'd like to share with me, my dear?” 

Shlick. Shlick. Shlick.

You hear a growling male voice on the line groan, “Oh god, keep talking–”

You immediately hang up.

Briiing! Briiing! Tch.

Professionalism, be damned. Yeah no. You definitely regret taking this job. How did you even get this job anyway? Well, however you got it, unfortunately, it just pays too well for you to just up and quit now.

“Hello~ This is Lychee speaking~ How may I sweeten up your day today? Or is there something on your mind today that you'd like to share with me, my dear?”

Then again, being an anonymous voice on the other side of the line is far better than your last job, where you had to wait tables for the mafioso in a very, very scandalously short waitress outfit. You were quite popular because of your unintentional moe gap where you would say some of the cringiest lines in history in a cutesy voice while wearing the stiffest expression. It wasn’t on purpose, the facial muscles on your face just don’t work the way most people’s do.

There are times you think about staff, especially Remy,  the most buffest and nicest chef you have ever met. As much as you wanted to stay with them at the time, you were sure that sooner or later you'd be kidnapped by one of those criminals if you continued to work there.

…..

Well, you technically did get kidnapped, which proved your point. That’s a story for another time.

Back to the point, when you left that job, left everyone and everything behind, you made sure you left without a single trace. You had to. The slightest crumb left behind could have created a scent trail all the way back to you, and you would have been left with only one way out…

You shake your head and body, ridding yourself of those kinds of thoughts. It’s time to re-focus on maintaining your character for your next caller.

Briiing! Briiing! Tch.

“Hiiii~ Cherry, Cherry here! How are youuuu~?”

“Salutations, this is Blueberry, sweetheart~ And you?

Although your face lacks the ability to show emotion, internally you smile at the voices of your coworkers, who must endure the same cringiness of stating their work names aloud. When else would one be able to call themselves fruit names?

… Well, you suppose Cherry would, since that is her actual name. How she hasn’t been kidnapped by any of her callers in this godforsaken city is gosh darn miracle in your book.

Your company, Fruity Friends, was created by some previously closeted man, who felt people needed someone—a complete stranger—to share intimate details of their love lives with, without the fear of being outed. Apparently, it was an idea that conjured up during his break at work when he once sat in the restroom stall and spoke to a floating voice who gave him advice to confess to his long-time highschool crush turned coworker. He found out who the voice belonged to, but lo and behold, he ended up getting married to his long-time crush, and thus, with the amount of money and influence he possessed, the company was born.

A noble endeavor, no doubt, but, in your opinion, he might've failed to account for the… inappropriate individuals who you feel should’ve gone into proper therapy instead of taking advantage of a nice-sounding voice. Seriously, the lengths these hooligans go through just to harass other people… Then again, these are often the very people who pay your bills, so who are you to complain?

You hang up the phone with a satisfied sigh, having finished another long call. You had given them the advice to make a list and check it twice before going ahead with their big proposal to their lover. You interlace your fingers and stretch your arms out in front of you. Time to take a—

Briiing! Briiing! Tch.

“Hello~ This is Lychee speaking~ How may I sweeten up your day today? Or is there something on your mind today that you'd like to share with me, my dear?”

“A-ah… um… h-hi there… I'm… Eris… um…”

If you weren’t a professional, you would have squealed out loud. The rowdy ones are common, but the quiet and meek ones are so adorable! Some of your most loyal clientele had started out as nervous wrecks, which means you have quite a few scripted lines to choose from. Although this one chose the most basic package, according to the call line, you always bring your best.

“Hello Eris~ What a lovely name. A pleasure to meet you! How are you?”

You hear him mumbling to himself on the line before he comes back. “Um… is this… really… uh… confidential?”

Ah… Sometimes, they turn out to be one of those perverted bastards like the one earlier. This one sounds too cute, it would be such a shame…

“Why yes, of course, my dear Eris! Everything you say here is completely safe with me. And if you don't believe me, then believe in the contract that had brought us together. There is nothing you say that can be taken as evidence! Rest assured, you are safe here with me, here at Fruity Friends.”

You hear him gasp. “O-oh…okay… Um… I-I'm… your dear Eris?”

Aww, how cute! You hope this customer becomes one of your loyal clientele. Still keeping up your cutesy persona, you answer, “Why yes. And I am your Lychee~”

“O-oh… M'kay… my Lychee…”

You pause, quickly mute the phone for a moment, and squeal to your heart’s content for just a second, before unmuting the phone.

From then on, Eris would return and call for you every single day for months, except for the weekends. Calls could only last about an hour, as per the package deal, since that was the company policy to accommodate multiple customers per day— unless they were willing to pay for the package multiple times. 

On the following Mondays, he'd call in to check up on you and pout about how much he missed you and wished you could talk to you all day every day. And you, in your persona, would reply that you wished you could talk to him all day as well.

It did occur to you how Eris somehow had the funds to completely take up your entire work time. And even stranger is how so far your manager hasn’t complained at all… Well, you’re making your rent on time so it doesn’t matter, right?

Besides, you quite enjoy your conversations with Eris. Once he became more comfortable, he started asking about all kinds of topics, ranging from philosophical takes such as:

“Which is better to eat first first? Steak or salad?”

“Depeeeends! I heard Americans usually eat salads before steaks and the French eat steak before salad. So it's up to you, really, ya know?”

“I see! … Hey, do you think graham crackers are cookies or crackers? I think they are crackers, but what does my Lychee think?”

To things that happened to him recently:

“LyCheeEeeEe!” he whines on the other side of the phone, voice clearly indicating he's been crying. “My LycheEee.”

You play along. “WhaAaaAt, my dear ErIsssSss?”

“T-there…” he sniffs. “There was-was this guy…”

“Awww, noo! What did this mean guy do, my dear Eris? Tell your Lychee.”

You start noticing recently that it seems once a week, Eris would encounter some mean dude who'd insult him and then he'd come to you for comfort. How he always ends up in such situations is beyond you.

And he's always… always does something about it a week later.

“My LycheEeeE.”

“YeeSsss, my dear Erisss?

“You know that one guy… you know the one I told you last week who I keep meeting in the subway, the one who kept saying I keep looking at him funny and kept shoving me?”

“Yeaaaah?”

“I finally ripped his eyeballs out!” he says, almost shrieking from excitement. “So he can't tell who's looking at him wrong or right anymore! Isn't that great??”

Your mouth falls open in shock, only to close it and consider the next words that should come out. Due to the confidentiality clause, unfortunately, whatever a customer says is not liable to use as evidence. Even if it means allowing… crimes like these to continue.

“That's greeaaaat!“ you answer, your throat tight. “You feel better now, don't you, my dear Eris?”

“I do, I do! Hehe~”

Such a troubling life, he has. Even if there is a person you could talk to, you'd never admit that sometimes… sometimes listening to him makes you feel better about your uneventful life, only having to worry about keeping your job, keeping a roof over your head, and keeping your belly full.

Besides, what's there to worry about? Your identity is unknown and your persona is too friendly to get on anyone's nerves.

-----

[Some time later…]

Briiing! Briiing! Tch.

“Hello~ This is Lychee speaking~ How may I sweeten up your day today? Or is there something on your mind today that you'd like to share with me, my dear?”

“LYchEeeeE! My LyCheeEee.”

Oh, his feelings got hurt again. What is it this time?” “YeeEeesss, my dear Eris? What's wrong? Tell your Lychee.”

You listen to him bawl his eyes, cooing and offer your sympathies, like a mother to a child.

“M-my best friend… he said…  he said…”

Oh, his best friend. Eris has never revealed his friend's name, but based on the description he gives you, sometimes you wonder why someone sweet and innocent— albeit a little violent— like Eris was friends with someone like that…

“Aww, no! Was he being a meanie again? What did he say?”

“He said… that I should get a life and stop talking to you.”

You feel your heart drop. “R-really? He said that?”

Ah… well. It isn't the first time a customer has left you, or rather left Lychee due to personal reasons.

Lychee is a cute person, someone who likes to hang out with their friends, who likes to party all day and all night, who likes to share the most scandalous gossip from their supposed life. Lychee is someone who wants everyone to like them and to help people get through difficult times…

But in the end, Lychee isn't a real person. Lychee couldn't leave their job to hang out with friends. Lychee couldn't attend parties and weddings. Lychee couldn't fall in love. Lychee was just a faceless voice who only spoke once you paid the price, and even then only for an hour or two out of the entire day.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about all of that. Who has time to party and hang out with friends and share other people's business when you have no safety net to fall back on if you were ever to go jobless? Forget about reputation, you were already used to people making assumptions based on your stoic appearance.

That being said, it wasn't like it didn't hurt when your customers got on with their lives. It was just… inevitable, and you had long since accepted that. Perhaps, this was a sign that it was time for Lychee's Eris to move on. He's spent over thousands of dollars just to speak to you over several hours per day over a span of four months already, single handedly paying your entire rent. As a fellow human who has to work their ass off in order to live, you can't bear to become the reason he goes broke.

“Yeah… but I don't want to! I love talking to you, my Lychee! And you love talking to me too, right? So I don't see why he’s telling me to have a life. I am living! Ugh, stupid…”

You mull over all kinds of lines but in the end, you whisper, “... Maybe, he's right.”

….. 

“What?”

“Listen, Eris-”

“Your Eris. I'm your dear Eris. Right? Right?”

His voice sounds sharp and metallic… you've ‘slipped’ up a few times, and he'd always softly correct you with his usual whiny voice. Not like this.

You cough, getting back into character. “Yesss, you’re absolutely right! My dear Eris. Sorry~ LiSteeEeen. As much as I love talking to you, I think that you're spending way too much money on me! I feel flattered and all, but I’m scared you're going to go bankrupt at some point!”

Silence on the phone… until you hear him cackle loudly like you had just told him the funniest joke ever. Moments later you hear him again. “Aha… ah… Is that what you were worried about, my Lychee? Aww, you're the best~ That's why I… But don't worRrrRry~ As the eldest son in my family, I inherited everything after my parents died. Enough to last me years to the point I don’t even need to work. Money isn't an issue at all, my Lychee.”

A bitter taste on your tongue. “Bas-” You clear your throat, the curse word almost slipped from under your persona. “Bestieee, even if money isn't the issue, your mental health must be taking a toll with all those troublemakers you have to deal with a lot. Other than your best friend and of course me, your Lychee, do you ever talk to anyone else?”

“... Why should I? I only need you, don't I? Also, I'm not your ‘bestieee’, I'm your Eris.”

“R-Right, my dear Eris~ I'm just saying. One day you'll want to… you know? Hug someone, hold hands, kiss, or even just… be next to someone. In person. We both know, I can’t do that for you. Don't you want a more… authentic relationship or friendship with someone? Besides your best friend. Besides me.”

A pause. “... Is this part of your character?”

You blink. “What do you mean, my dear Eris? What character?”

“... Huh… Come to think of it… I’ve never thought about it before, but Lychee’s not your real name, right?”

Your voice gets caught in your throat. “... Ehhh? But it is! I wouldn't lie to you, my dear Eris.”

Another pause. “… This line is confidential, right?”

“Mmhm! Always have been!”

“Then what’s your real name?”

Your free hand wraps around the cloth of your pants as you hold the phone against your ear. “I… My dear Eris, I told you. It’s Lychee. Your Lychee!”

You hear him sigh, before he suddenly hangs up. You look at your phone, very confused and worried. He has never hung up on you just like that before. Did he just… leave?

After several weeks of no calls from him, you figure he finally did leave. Fortunately, there are always new callers on the line along with some really loyal customers who've been patiently waiting for you to pay them some attention. While it bothers you, at the same time, it sort of relieves you. He must be finally living his life now, instead of spending it all on you.

…..

It’s a shame though… He was such a charming fellow, so open with his emotions and sweet with his words. It was… different from your other customers. Somehow.

Once you finish your 9-5 job for the day, you bid your coworkers goodbye, drag yourself out of the office to the bus stop, wait for the bus, get on the bus, wait until your stop, get off your stop, drag yourself home, enter your home, lock your door, and collapse on your couch, still in your work uniform. Same as usual. Why your company felt it was necessary to have a uniform when your job only requires your voice is beyond you.

You close your eyes and let yourself be whisked away to dreamland… 

.

.

.

.

.

Shick shick shick shick!

You wake up at 3AM, according to a glance at your clock, to the odd sound of… whisking? You slowly sit up, get off the couch, walk to the source of the noise, and find a handsome young man standing in the kitchen, whisking away at some white fluff in a bowl.

You rub your eyes and blink several times, wondering if you’re still asleep. What the heck am I looking at?

The man stops whisking and looks at you. He smiles bashfully. “My Lychee-”

WOW! Has it really happened? You’ve finally reached the point you’ve overworked your mind and body to exhaustion! And now you’re either hallucinating things at 3AM or you’re in the middle of a nightmare! There’s only one person in the world who calls you that and there is no way in hell Eris would be in your kitchen at 3AM, covered in flour, and smiling at you like this is all normal! WOW!

You slap your cheeks with both hands. Hard.

Eris gasps, dropping the bowl of whipped cream on the counter. He grabs onto your hands and inspects your face with a worried expression. “Lychee! Are you okay? Why did you slap yourself?”

His hands feel oddly very real and your cheeks oddly hurt really bad… but there's absolutely no way Eris is actually in my home, right? Wake up wake up wake up-

“Lych–No, I should say (Y/n), right? I would call you my (Y/n), but you're already mine, so–”

Oh, heck no.

You take your hands back and head out of the kitchen, take out your phone from your pocket, and quickly tap on the screen.

Briiing. Briiing. Tch!

“Local Police Department, how may we–”

Your phone is suddenly snatched from your hand. You throw your hand out towards it, only for Eris to take several steps back and hold your phone out of reach. He looks at the phone and immediately hangs it up and tosses it somewhere on the ground. Then he moves so quickly you don't have time to react until he's wrapped you in his arms. He places his head on your shoulder, his lips tickling your neck. “(Y/n)... Don’t do that. I missed you… so, so much… ”

You can only stand there, hands awkwardly hanging there at your sides, trying to absorb the bizarreness of this situation. “W-why are you here? H-how’d you get in?”

“Never mind that, your dear Eris is here now.”

You take deep breaths. “Eris…”

“That's me~ I'm your Eris~”

“Right… Uh, could you… let me go?”

“I don’t wannaaaa.”

Your eyes look all over the place, as if looking for a camera that’ll pop out and announce that this is all just some elaborate prank. Except there are none, and this is all very real.

You clear your throat, collecting yourself. “Okay… Fine… Listen. I… I think I get why you’re here. It’s because you like Lychee, right?” you try to reason. “Well, sorry, but bad news is, I'm not anything like Lychee. Lychee is just a character.”

“I know.”

You purse your lips, and then say, “Okay… so that means you don’t know me. Me. We’re strangers! You have no reason to be here! Get off me!”

He lets go of you but slides his hands down to your arms. You’re unable to pull away. What’s with this strength?

“Eh? That’s not true!” he says. You're (Y/n). You like (favorite animal), (favorite fruit), (favorite TV show), (favorite dish), (favorite pos–)”

You begin to sweat as you listen to him list of all of your favorite items, before moving on places you’ve ordered food from, to private details, such as your age, your highschool, your address, your family home address, even your Social Security number–Who the heck is this man and how did he find these things out?

“–and that’s all I have so far. What do you think, (Y/n)?”

“Get out.”

“Nooooooooo!”

He pulls you into a hug again, as if to emphasize the point that he’s not going anymore. You try to twist and turn your way out, but you find his grasp to be extremely difficult to get out of, despite how gentle he’s being with you.

“(Y/n)... You know…” he mumbles into your shoulder, making you still. “For the last few days, I finally realized what you meant the last time we talked. It’s true. One day, I will want to be with someone. In person. Hold hands with them. Hug them. Kiss them…”

He leans into your ear and whispers, “But I have also realized that I would only want that… with you. Only you. I love you, (Y/n).”

…..

“I’m… sorry,” you stutter. “I don’t…”

“Oh, that’s okay!” He releases you and steps back again, interlocking his fingers with yours this time. A blush appears across his cheeks as he bashfully looks up at you with his head tilted down shyly. “We can start over. Today can be our Day 1?”

His fingers have incredible strength, again you’re unable to escape their gentle grip. “What? Day 1 of what?”

“Oh? You don’t know?” he says, softly swinging your hands side to side. “Day 1. Dating.”

…..

“Who says we’re dating?” you screech, wanting so badly to rip your hands away from this deranged man.

“Eh?? What do you… Ohhh! I haven't asked you properly yet, huh? Sorry, love. Will you date me?”

“No! We've just met!”

“Oh.” You can see the cogs turning in his head, before he tilts his head and giggles. “But that’s exactly why we should date. People date to get to know each other more. Silly, (Y/n). But if you need further convincing: as you can see I’m handsome, and I have money! Lots of it! You’ll never have to work a day in your life. I’ll be the best boyfriend for you.”

Tempting as that sounds, the idea of placing your life into the hands of someone else just like that? Hah! No thanks. “No.”

The cogs are turning again before he reaches another answer in his head. “Ohhh, I get it! I'm so dumb! It took me so long to realize… You haven’t realized you love me too, right? That's okay. I can wait. Hehe~”

You stare at him incredulously, speechless. What the he-

Ding!

“Oh!” He drags you back into the kitchen before letting your hands go to don your oven mitts and take out a freshly baked cake to flip it over a rack. “Ta da~! Mmm, sorry. I was hoping to decorate it before you woke up but… well, who needs frosting anyway, right?”

You place a hand against your forehead “What… why?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Eh? Did you forget? Oh, love. It’s your birthday today. Happy birthday, (Y/n)!”

-----🔔-----

[Many, many years ago…]

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday, dear (Y/n)~ Happy birthday to you~ Now, make a wish!”

You close your eyes, make your wish, and blow all the candles out in one go, ensuring your wish will come true as it always does every year.

You receive two presents to open. One from your Mom and one from your Dad. That’s how it always is on your birthday, or your Mom or Dad's birthdays. Just the three of you. No one else. Even now in your teens, your birthday party has only three members and there is nothing more that could make you happier.

After a fun-filled birthday, you went to sleep so peacefully that you didn't wake up the next day. Your parents decide to go grocery shopping without you, letting you rest in because it’s a Saturday.

It was a normal day. Just a normal day.

Sometime after you wake up, you hear heavy knocking at the door. Curious, you open it and find the police. They come bearing heavy news.

There was a drunk driver on the road.

Your parents didn’t make it.

Your wish didn't come true.

-----🔔-----

[Present…]

No matter how many candles you blew out, your wish didn’t come true. It didn’t the year after that. And the year after that. And the year after that. It would never, ever come true ever again, and at some point you just stopped celebrating your birthday altogether.

“(Y-Y/n)? Do you not like it? I’m s-sorry…”

Your vision turns blurry as memories flood into your mind. Your eyes fill with hot tears to the point it flows down your cheeks. For the first time in a while, your face twists in agony as you try to stop the dam from breaking in front of a stranger, but your knees give out instead.

Eris catches you and you both slowly sink to the ground. He holds your head gently against his shoulder, letting you cry out years worth of contained sorrows and to your heart's content as he pats you on the head, cooing at you and offering you words of comfort. He doesn’t understand, but at least you aren’t pushing him away.

Once you run out of tears to cry, you whisper with a broken voice, “Thank you… for the cake.”

“Anytime, my love, anytime.”

“... I'm not… your love.”

“Shh, shh… Take it easy… I'm here for you…”

“Idiot… Just leave me alone…”

“M’kay.”

…..

“I said leave me alone. Why are you still here?”

“Mm… because I don't think you want me to leave you alone right now?” he offers.

You sigh, giving up completely.

…..

Grumble…

“(Y/n), before I go, would you like to eat some cake?”

“... No thanks.”

“Oh… Okay. Well, I also got a present for you too.”

“Don't want it.”

“Can't return it, I'm afraid,” he sighs. “It cost so much too…”

“... Fine. I'll take your stupid gift and eat your stupid cake.”

“Yay~”

[puffein]

EPILOGUE | late spring [xii.]

summary: all you have left is hope as you board a trip back to new jersey. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 2411 a/n: its finally the eeeeend!! i hope you enjoyed this series! thank you!!!

series masterlist playlist!

Edinburgh, Scotland

Late-May 2027

The sharp chilling air of the early mornings of Edinburgh rouses your sleepy form from its slumbers. The bright sun waking its warm light to cascade through the open gaps of the windows made you forget the fading breezy air you felt a minute ago. Blinking through the sudden illuminating light of the sun, you felt the moving car come to a complete stop. 

Your eyes watch the forwarding move of each stranger, the crowds moving like waves crashing through their destination, their luggage trailing behind them with the sounds of its wheels gliding through the pavement. 

You let out a breath, pushing the door open and taking the heavy suitcase out of the car. You heard a door closing in hard and a set of rush footsteps gliding towards you. 

"Y/N, wait– this.." Kate's staggering timbre of voice made you whip your head towards her, an eyebrow raised at a box she was carrying. "This is for you." Pushing the box forward into your arms, you gave her a confused look. 

"What is this? I told you I do not need a parting gift, I'll be coming back here." you huff.

Her dark hair moves swiftly as her head shakes, "No, no, I know you're coming back. It's, um, remember like years ago you told me about the letters, just the story behind that, um, well, you see– I didn't throw her letters away, I have kept them." 

Your heart thumps, eyes flickering downwards– into the box your arms securely carried, "Kate, why.."

"I don't know, it's just, it felt weird to throw it away. If what you have said is the truth, that you are now okay and breathing then it wouldn't be so hard to read the letters she wrote years ago, right?" 

Your heart wobbles lightly, a smile taking its place right at your place, "Alright, thank you for keeping this."

Kate beams, her body giddy at taking in your gratitude, her hands moving awkwardly as she points at you, "Can I hug you or is that too weird, I mean I know we are busi–" 

You bark out a laugh, wrapping your hands in her wrist to pull her flush into your body, hugging her. "Be good here, Bishop."

"I will!" she chirps, leaning away to give you her wide smile. 

You step back, the box in your arms suddenly heavy, you give Kate one last smile, and as soon as your back faces Kate, your smile falls. You feel the weight of the letters, clutching the box tightly, and your steps wobble as you try to navigate your way through the airport. 

The distinct smell of the airport wraps you in quickly, with each stranger having its own destination, you have come into a thought of what stories each of them carries and then your story came in like a bucket of ice-cold water, splashing into you without a warning. 

You have healed. But the heavy weight of the letters doesn't settle right into your being. You are afraid opening such things would make you backtrack all the progress you have gotten, but then again, healing is not linear, it never will be.

So, when you successfully seated yourself in the window seat of the plane, you took one letter out of the box. Eyeing the familiar handwriting plastered through the piece of paper, your breath catches in sharply as your eyes scan the contents of a piece of paper that holds such delicate words. 

My dear Y/N,

      How are you? I don't know what letter this is, this might be my 10th, I don't know. I just kept on writing and writing, it's the only thing that has brought me comfort. I hope you are doing well, I kept on thinking and thinking if I have made a different choice, a different action, would this be just another alternate version of our life?

     I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. I know the words I have said don't justify how wrong my actions were. It didn't dawn on me how my simple actions of ignoring you— the problems— my problem, would cause you such great pain. It didn't occur to me and I was being selfish and prideful. I was so blind, I was so scared of what I was feeling for you that I completely broke you. I didn't mean that, I was just scared and I wanted that feeling to vanish, so I did what I thought was the best plan. To be blind and avoid problems.

      Sorry, I'm sorry.

      I hope Edinburgh is treating you well. All I can do is hope, Y/N. I hope Edinburgh is fixing things for you that New Jersey never fixed. You don't need fixing, though, you have always been perfect and I never treasured that. 

      I love you, Y/N. I really do. I was just scared of many things, the thoughts were bad, and it did not help at all. I'm sorry. This doesn't make sense. Everything doesn't make sense. You are the only one grounding me, Y/N. 

      I hope when the time comes, you and I can talk. I will be hoping for that day.

Sincerely,

Wanda

You try to take in whatever words Wanda has written and along the lines of her painful words, your heart thumps lightly. This is a letter she wrote years ago and yet, it perfectly consummates the current emotions you are feeling. And without a single doubting thought, your heart blooms that one word she always wrote. 

You will be hoping.

༻༺

"I can't believe I have to get married for you to finally come home." Natasha greets you with a teasing voice, the ends of her tone are tender and warm as she pulls you in quickly for a tight embrace. 

You let out a surprised squeal at her tight grip, choking out a laugh, "Get off, please. I can't breathe."

"Oh shut up, you missed this." 

You smiled against her body, pulling her closer and taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. Natasha's grin widens when a familiar hand pulls her away gently. 

"Maria, finally nice to meet you." your hand reaches forward for the brunette to take. The woman with a posture so straight gave you a winning smile, pulling you in again into a tight hug.

"What is with you two and tight embraces, oh god, I feel like my lungs are crushed." 

Maria chuckles, "Okay, you are dramatic." 

Natasha swiftly moves beside you, hanging her arms around your shoulder, "So.. tell me about this Gray woman, does she make your life vibrant contrary to how monotone her name is?" 

You let out a nervous laugh, "Nat, I told you we are just friends. I don't think it's a great idea for me to date, I don't want someone to get stuck up with someone like me."

Natasha completely stops, her face is ready to fight the words you just have stated, "Like you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for anything," you stated, mouthing a small thank you to Maria as she easily carries your suitcase into the car. "I wanna focus on myself, that's literally it."

Nat leans her body on the car, her arms crossing right at her chest, "And we love you for that. Apologies for my remarks." she declares, the corners of her mouth twitching in a wide grin, proud of what she's hearing from her precious best friend. "Now get in. My fiancée and I will take you for a wild ride."

Your smile widens at her silly words, playfully slapping her arms as you duck down to sit in the back seat. 

You watch them interact with each other, how Maria holds out her hand for Natasha to take, how your best friend can't seem to take her eyes off the brunette, how the brown-haired woman has a smile permanently plastered on her face. As you watch them carefully, something gnaws in the deeper ends of your chest, slowly clawing its way out to let you know that this feeling, the feeling of envy, the feeling of being wanted to be loved, is still present, alive, even after shoving in and crushing it to pieces.

It somehow mends itself and it's now clawing wildly out of your chest, making you look away and focus your sights on the moving scenery laid out of the clear window.

Westview is still the same as when you have left it, the tree-lined streets stand beautifully, the proud sun sets itself onto the blue sky, its rays peeking in between the leaves of the trees, making it look like a scene out of a postcard. 

When the moving scenery finally comes to a stop in a very familiar neighborhood, Natasha quickly hops out of the car to open the door for you, her head tilting as she gives you a cheeky grin, opening her arms as she points at a house.

"What do you think?"

You gape at her, "You brought a house?"

"Me and Maria thought it would be nice to have a house before the wedding and this, woman right here," pulling Maria closer to her, Natasha kisses her cheeks loudly, "She surprised me with a house!" 

Your eyes flicker at the brunette whose face is turning red, "That's great, Maria, wow. You are in deep."

"Oh, shut up. I'm saving you money here from checking in a hotel." Maria's stoned voice made you laugh loudly, shaking your head as you carried your suitcase with ease, letting out a silent huff at how heavy it is. 

Letting yourself breathe in the sight before you, the couple's house screams cozy and homey. You can picture them starting a family with this house, little Natasha running around, Maria's stoic face as she scolds their child, and family pictures scattered all over their house. Their future unfolds before your eyes, and you badly want to see what the future holds for you. 

Will it be just like them?

"Hey, Nat." your hand grips Natasha's wrist, "I wanna see something, is it okay if I meet you two at dinner?" 

"Sure, want me to drive you? Where are you even going?" Natasha quips, arranging your suitcase in the corner of the room she had pointed out. 

You shrug, "I just wanna walk around, it's been so long. I wanna see if something has changed." 

"Call me if you need a drive back home, yeah?" The redhead's smile was contagious, making you give her a grateful smile.

That's how you found yourself walking aimlessly on the sidewalks of the neighborhood, each house feels familiar yet different and strange. It's like watching something out of a picture you have hidden in a box that has a label of 'memories'. 

It doesn't feel real, how you are walking to the very place you have run away from. Nothing would have prepared you for what happened years ago, the final conversation you had with Wanda was eye-opening. It did help you get the closure you wanted but not the ending of what you had hoped. Despite that, you chose yourself, you chose what you needed instead of what you wanted. 

It is hard, to choose between a want and a need but you knew what weighed more. Even if it left you on a lonely journey of self-healing, it was the very first time you have chosen an option that does not revolve around her.

Life shouldn't revolve around her and yet you had caught yourself standing outside the coffeehouse, eyes gazing at the empty building, despite the day not being done, the lights were off, and dust forming inside the clear window pane.

Thank you for your patronage. This coffeehouse has permanently closed.

You blinked away the sudden bitterness pooling at the tip of your tongue, gulping the remaining dejection crawling out of your throat over a closed coffeehouse, you looked away.

Westview did change, if it's the same as what you have left, the coffeehouse would still be here, not an abandoned building sitting with its bleakness seeping out of its clear windows. 

The grimness you have felt for something that seems so insignificant to others made you feel petty, but maybe you were just holding on to something that needed to be let go of. 

Hearing the sudden whipping of the wind and the yapping of a fast little dog running right at your ankle, you look down and instantly crouch to take the dog. 

Brows furrowing, you tried to look for a collar.

"Sparky– I swear to god. I am so sorry—" a hoarse voice comes next.

Your head whips fast. 

"...Y/N," she says breathlessly, her soft tunes sounding like she's running out of breath, catching it.

Wanda. 

It shouldn't bother you.

If you had moved on, it really shouldn't.

But it did. The look on her face sits gorgeously, she gapes at you wild like a fish out of water, trying to make sense if you are real or just another delusion of hers. You blink, your heart is calm but your mind says otherwise.

"You–you're back?" 

You nod. "Yes, I– uhm, just today."

The nibbling of her bottom lip made you turn your gaze away, softly setting down the dog on the ground, the cute pup instantly ran towards the frozen woman. 

"They, they closed months ago." she suddenly declares, watching as your eyes linger on the building. A tense silence ensues, making you clench the quiver of your chest. 

"It was nice to see you, Y/N. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she mutters, you turn at her, watching as she struggles to clasp the collar back on the puppy, her hands are visibly trembling. 

With one last final glance, she smiles at you, "Sorry again, he always likes to run away from me. Okay, I— I want to—" she struggles.

Then settle for a simple, "Goodbye, Y/N."

You let her walk away, her long chocolate brown hair sits beautifully at her shoulders, then it hits you. A memory replaying right in your eyes, watching her walk away, steps heavy on the pavement. This is so familiar. 

"Wanda!"

The turning of her head was fast, the hope pooling in her green eyes made you waver. 

"What time is it?" you asked. 

Her shoulders fall, looking down at her watch, "Eight-forty-nine," she replies. 

"Would you like a coffee at nine?" 

fin.

general masterlist ◄

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

[darlingsfandom]

Part 2 of Stalker fanboy Cillian !

Part one !

It's been three weeks since you got the photos and nothing else. You thought it was over. You felt free. It was over.

"Are you sure you want to do the appearance ? I can get you out of it ?" Your assistant asked as you sprayed yourself with your perfume.

"It's been three weeks since I got anything! I'll be okay plus there's security!" You sighed before wrapped your arms around them. They kissed the top of your head and rubbed your back. You finished getting ready and did a double take of yourself in the mirror. "It's going to be okay!" You took a deep breath before walking out of your hotel room and made your way downstairs to the convention below.

"Oh my god oh my god!" A young man started tripping over himself as you waved at him. You walked with your assistant and security towards your table and once you were there you made yourself comfortable. Soon there was a line of people asking for your autograph, asking for advice and everything else you were used too.

"Next!" Your security yelled as the line moved forward which made you jump. You smiled up at the man who was shaking .

"Are you okay?" You asked grabbing his hand.

"Yeah I just can't believe I'm meeting you!" He was about to cry. You stood up, made your way around the table and wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you tightly. "It's okay, I'm just another person!" He pulled away with a smile and nodded as he wiped away his tear. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and sat back down as he walked away holding his cheek.

The line continued with all different types of people. Old, young, men and women. You got a few gifts like drawings, bracelets made with yarn and not like the gold one you got a month ago just before the Polaroids. "I have to use the bathroom!" You told your assistant. They made the announcement that you will be back soon and needed to take care of some personal business. You smiled and waved goodbye real quick.

As you made your way into the bathroom you noticed something that made you stop. The smell of the cologne from the letters, gifts and pictures. He was there. Of course he was there! You mentally slapped yourself before stepping into the bathroom and doing what you needed to do. As you walked back out the hallway seemed more empty than it was two minutes ago and the cologne smelled stronger. Your eyes darted back and forth but you couldn't find anyone or so you thought until you felt a leathered hand placed over your mouth and something hard against your leg.

"Shh shh! Like I said... I'd never hurt you... I love you." His voice was thick and heavy against your ear as you squeezed your eyes shut. He removed his hand from your mouth and before you could even turn on your heel to face him, he was gone. You stood there dry mouthed and blinking rapidly. Your heart was beating a thousand miles a minute as you made your way back to the table.

"Are you okay?" Your assistant asked you as you sat down.

"He's here!" You smiled brightly as the next fan approached you. It was a little girl with her mom and she handed you a picture she drew of you.

"This is so good! Thank you!" You gave her a small hug as she giggled.

"Mommy I got to hug the princess!" She hid in her moms comfort as her mom thanked you for being so kind. You kept up the smile and that everything was okay but you couldn't get it out of your mind that he was watching you, that he was walking amongst all the other people who were meeting all the other celebrities in the room. Why couldn't he have picked on of them ??

"Alright folks! We're wrapping up." Your assistant yelled to the line of people. You sighed softly before you finished up the last few autographs. After you finished you made your way to your hotel room and threw yourself on the mattress. There was a rapid knock on the door and you rushed over only to see no one standing there but there were flowers and a note.

"You looked so pretty today. Touching you was the best part of my day , but the night is young." You quickly shut the door and threw the note in the trash before trying to calm yourself down. You held your head in your hands for about five seconds because just as you went to lift your head you felt the same anxiety wash over you as it did earlier.

"My pretty girl!" He put his hand over your mouth and shook his head as you looked at him in the mirror. "Shh shh! No screaming now. Wouldn't want to do anything stupid !" He kissed the side of your neck gently before he finally spun you around to see him.

"Cillian?" You gasped once he removed his hand. "Why?? I don't understand ?" Your eyebrows furrowed together as you sat down on the edge of the bed.

"It's very simple darlin, you are mine!" He was face to face with you while his hands rested on your thighs. "You belong to me!" He kissed you hard and as much as you tried to push him off you were too weak to do so. "You need me!" He mumbled against your lips. "I can give you everything... you seen the gifts, the flowers , the photos... you've seen what I can provide! Not to mention I can give you all the orgasms that your stupid little boyfriends never could!" He was feverishly kissing you all over while you sat there.

"I... but me? Why? I'm young!" You tried to plead with him as he gripped your arms.

"That's part of it! So young, so fresh, so beautiful!" He stroked your hair slowly and looked into your eyes. "And mine, all mine."

[gingervitus]

WIP Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday

well, here I am. better late than never, right? thank you for the tag @thedissonantverses. if not for writing in bed last night when I couldn't fall asleep, I fear I would not have much of anything to share at all, but WE DID IT JOE.

here's a bit from the next part of grief: in three phases, which I don't think will be out this week. Unfortunately, like with most things, I gave myself a goal that was a little too ambitious and lofty. Now it's taking much longer to write than I had anticipated.

(but also I'm proud of this work and love despair)

Anyway, here it is!

The dust had settled on the stories of the elven gods, leaving so much clarity in its wake.

Viago, of course, was and still is not pleased with her choices, but he's stopped sending his Crows to Arlathan in an attempt to retrieve her. They are never returned in any permanently disabled capacity. All simply maimed in a way that displays very clearly her repeated declination to return to House de Riva. A broken arm. A very sprained ankle. A fractured clavicle. Each one finds their way home to presumably resume their duties as soon as they've been healed. And each one has a scathing letter which arrives addressed to Rook a month or so after their initial arrival, critiquing their incompetence. Despite everything, she laughs as she reads them.

Trudging through the forest after a rain with the extra weight of her Antivan spoils, though, is almost as bothersome as the rare trip to Treviso she is returning from. With the disappearance and presumed death of the First Talon, the other houses have been in a state of turmoil for nearly two years. Her boots sink into a pile of mud, and she grumbles to herself about how impractical Crow armor and Antivan fashion is, wondering why she didn't simply plan accordingly and wear what she normally would. She knows very well that would never have been the case, not if the proprietor of her old haunt would have anything say in the matter. 

Teia insisted on showering her with gifts upon her return. Upon the return of an ally. An old friend. A confidant. “I am happy for you, Via… and Lucanis.” Luckily, they managed to work their way through most of the expensive wines and cheeses during her three week stint in the city. She is well aware that it would have been even more difficult to make it through Arlathan hauling all that food. Sharing them with a friend had also been gratifying. One of the few people she genuinely misses being away from the city she knew as home for so long, and her whole trip home, she cannot recall Teia ever looking quite so… defeated. “These last two years have been… illuminating.” 

Lucanis was meant to bring about change. Be the innovative progressive the Crows desperately need with a well established name to back him up, but it was a short lived title, all three Dellamortes up and vanishing without so much as a word. “House Nero is… well, Cesare snatched First Talon, and we all knew how that would go.” Slaves being plucked from Tevinter, half of them not making it through training. Infighting from every which angle. Black market dealings with every seedy operation imaginable. House Nero has been accumulating a massive wealth and set out to destroy the old Villa at the edge of the city as soon as they had been able. They all knew what would happen should the Sixth Talon ever take the reins. Suddenly, the Butcher was a benevolent and kind ruler if for nothing else than his true unyielding love for the city of Treviso itself.

I'M GOING TO DO THE WORD ONE SOON BUT IT'S NOT A PART OF A WIP. I HAD AN IDEA FOR IT WHILE I WAS FALLING ASLEEP.

[thelov3lybookworm]

You Desrve Better (part two)

Part one

Althea built her courage up as she neared Rhys's office. She knew he'd be sad and furious, knew he'd try to stop her from leaving. He was stubborn like that. But if he was stubborn, so was she. She would leave, even if it meant she'd have to leave without his consent.

These past weeks had been a shit show to say the least. Trying to avoid Azriel everywhere she went was hard, and it was taking a toll on her. She had almost locked herself in her room for the whole day countless times now due to the embarrassment of her misunderstanding. But she knew that if she did that, someone would come to get her, and she didn't have the energy to explain things to the busybodies that were the inner circle.

She was so lost in her thinking about what she would say to Rhys to convince him to let her go, she didn't realise she was standing right outside the door to his office. The noise of a glass hitting the floor and breaking pulled Althea from her thoughts about what he would think about her decision, and she finally lifted her hand to knock on the door to Rhysand's office. Everything went silent.

She waited for sometime before knocking again. "Rhysie open up. I know you're in there. If you don't, I'll let myself in, and you'll like that a lot less–"

The door swung open silently before she could finish. She walked in and surveyed the mess created on the floor by the glass that had broken. Sighing, she looked up at Rhysand, taking in his halfway unbuttoned shirt, tousled hair and wildly beating pulse. He was standing in front of his desk, looking like a boy who was caught doing something that his mother had specifically told him not to do.

"Tell whoever you are hiding in here to wait outside, I need to tell you something."

"What could be so important that it couldn't have waited until the morning?" He looked extremely pissed now. "What could be so important that–"

"If you would shut up and let me speak, maybe you'd know. Send them out."

"Tell me now. She isn't going out."

"Rhysand, its either she goes out or I do. And you will definitely not like me leaving this place without telling you."

His brows furrowed before he cleared his throat. "Please wait outside, darling. I'll call you back in.

"The closet behind him opened and out came a beautiful female, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She gave Althea a disgusted look before walking out and closing the door behind her. Althea followed her every move before turning back to Rhysand.

"This better be something good." Rhys said.

"Trust me it is." She folded her arms, taking a deep breath. She put a spell for masking anything they say to prying ears before continuing. "I'm leaving. I would like to travel the continent, then maybe go to Vallahan. I–"

"What? Why?"

"Let me finish speaking Rhys." She jabbed her finger at him. "I won't be coming back unless I wish to. I will be writing letters to you, if you want, that is. Also, I don't want you to send people after me because I can take care of myself. Get it?"

"But why Thea? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong Rhys. I just wish to explore the world out of Velaris and Night Court. Is that so bad? Wanting to see the lives that probably are completely different from ours?"

"That is not the only reason, is it?"

She sighed. He knew her too well to accept her dumb excuse. "Rhys. I'm tired. Tired of trying to hide from Azriel and what I felt for him. I need time to process everything that's been going on. Please. I promise I will come back. Someday." She wanted to kick herself for saying the last part, knowing that he had heard it. Any chance she would have had of leaving was now gone.

"Someday? No Thea. I'm not letting you leave. Stay with us. I'm sure we'll figure something out. You just– just wait. You'll forget it. You'll forget him. I'm–"

"Please Rhysie–"

"No. I'm not letting you put your life in jeopardy just because a guy rejected you. We'll get through it together, I swear."

It was inevitable, she knew. Him trying to stop her. And because she didn't want to argue, because they'd be here all night then, and she still had some packing to do, she nodded. He raised his eyebrows and she sighed before nodding again. He held out his arms, and she stepped into them, resting her head on his shoulder. She stayed there a moment longer before stepping back. She gave him a reassuring smile, then turned to leave. Just before she exited the office, she turned back to Rhys.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do sister. I love you too." She nodded before returning to her room.

•○🌑○•

Rhys's pov

She lied.

Althea had lied to him.

And he cursed himself for not realising it before. Maybe it was the previous day's tiring events. Maybe it was his lust addled brain and the beautiful female waiting for him. Either way, it didn't excuse him not paying attention to his sister.

He'd been woken up by Nuala, asking him why Althea was standing in the garden with a bag. It took him a moment to understand, but when he did, he jumped out of bed and started pulling on his pants, not caring that Nuala was still in the room. He winnowed right to the front steps of the house, and saw Althea at the gates.

"No." It came out as a broken whisper, his throat closing up as Althea stepped out of the protective bubble surrounding the Town House. He wasn't sure anyone could have heard him, but she did. She turned to him as he tried to make his way to her, stumbling over his own feet.

She had tears streaming down her face. She shook her head, giving him a shaky smile, mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'. Before...

She vanished.

•○🌑○•

She still heard his voice.

The tiny, broken no that made her turn and look at him.

She still remembered the look his face.

The look on Rhys's face as he fell to his knees, opening his mouth to say something to her, before the darkness had consumed her. The hurt. The horror. The realization that she really was leaving. The silver lining his eyes.

It had been ten years, and the memories still haunted her dreams.

She felt guilty and sad for hurting her family, but not regret. Never regret. If she hadn't left that day, she never would have become the person she was today, and she was quite proud of herself.

Althea rubbed her eyes as she got up from her desk, forcing herself to stop thinking of that morning. Finally getting up from her work and wondering what she'd make for dinner after having skipped lunch in favor of reading all the reports sent to her by Rhysand regarding the Illyrian camps, she made her way into the kitchen.

As she prepared a sandwich, the sound of something light dropping on the counter behing her made her turn. A rolled up piece of paper lay there. Rhys had either sent her a new report or a mission. That's how they had been communicating for the past decade. If they wanted to tell each other something, they'd write it down and send it.

For the past year, Althea had settled down in one of the cold mountains of night court, the type where there usually would be Illyrian camps. But this one was secluded enough that there were no camp near her that it they could become a nuisance, but near enough that if she was in danger, she could winnow there easily.

She cleaned her hands before picking the paper up. A new mission. The Skyward Camp, the camp nearest to Velaris, hadn't been sending in the monthly evaluations to the High Lord for the past couple of months. Rhys had tried contacting them by writing to them. Sending people there. But they never came back with any useful information always saying the Lord of the camp sent them away. He wanted her to go there to try and see what was going on, and if they still didn't get any answers, he'd go there himself.

Althea decided she'd leave for Skyward after she finished dinner. She wrote back to Rhys before devouring her sandwiches, packing a bag with the things she'd need and winnowed away.

•○🌑○•

lthea studied the Skyward camp from the forest near it. It was silent. Not in the eerie kind of way, but a peaceful kind of way.

A twig snapped behind her, and immediately her dagger was in her hand as she whipped around. An Illyrian male stepped from the shadows, his wings tucked behind his back.

"Who are you?" The male asked.

"Why should i answer you? Who are you?" Althea retorted.

"Because I asked you a question. And I am the one who looks after the camp when the Lord isn't here."

"Oh. Wait. Are you saying the lord of the camp isnt here?"

"Oh no my dear. I'm not saying that. In fact, he's on his way here. I'm saying that he'll be extremely pissed when he gets here. And so if you don't want to be subjected to his wrath, you should tell me who you are. So, let's do this again. Who are you?"

Before she could say anything, a voice spoke from behind her.

"Tch tch, Kieran. Is that how we speak to our ladies?"

She turned halfway, not wanting to keep her back to the other male, and saw the most beautiful male she ever laid her eyes on.

Dark hair and amber eyes. He gave her a half smile which showed the dimple in his left cheek.

"Hello, sweetheart."

•○🌑○•

(Can you guess who these guys are? Can you tell who this guy with the dimples is?)

Hint: he is from another book series not of sjm

Taglist: @bubybubsters

[crimsonbastard]

I made you into My Pet PT - 2

This is Part-2 of this one shot that I wrote few months ago.

The GIF does not belong to me

I took inspiration from several Lenector Fics that I gobbled up. But most of this work is of my own brain worms.

Hope you guys enjoy this!

To read the next part

"I made you into my Pet!"

He stopped thinking, as it only made it worse. All he remembered of that dreadful walk was the clack of his boots on the marble floor. Not the flickers of the torches on the icy corridor, not the winter wind hitting the opening of his shirt, with piercing cold. He willfully dissociated from the world around him, he couldn't concentrate on anything, he couldn't focus his vision on anything but the marble floor he was walking on. He did everything in his power to not lift his gaze and see her.

Lenore gently tugged his arm as she led him, she knew she had her work cut out for her, but she accepted the challenge. She heard his steady breath behind her. His heartbeat, returning to normalcy. The quivers of his muscles subsiding. She knew her touch was the last thing he wants right now, but it was the only thing that helped him get back on his feet. After what seemed like an eternity of twisting and turning in what appeared like a labyrinth she finally stopped.

Hector realised they had stopped once he began to hear only one set of footsteps, his. He finally lifted his gaze off of the icy marble floor and rested it on an 8 foot tall mahogany double door, with intricate floral carvings.

Lenore pushed her small delicate right hand through, revealing a furnished bedroom with a red carpet. It was half the size of the council room they just left from. It was a classic set up, in the center, a large king sized bed with black velvet sheets proudly stood besides a desk and dressir. The desk had a few parchments lying on it with a quill stand and an ink chamber. No doubt, thats where she writes her diplomatic letters. The large window to the right displayed the room’s content to the icy mountains of Styria. Through the corner, away from the crowd, stood an inconspicuous corridor that lead to the bathroom. A simple steel chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting its cold flames against the marble floor. A red velvet carpet covered most of the floor, reflecting the night and the blood.

"I'm afraid your chambers will take a day or two to finish. The mason is a talented man but I want to make sure that you're given quality. So I guess I'll be keeping you in here, in my chambers for the time being"

She put it so non chalantly as she let go of his hand to rummage through the dresser. She took several different tunics and assessed them. She gave a satisfactory hum as she found one that seemed to meet her liking.

"There!"

She presented a simple Blue Tunic, woven of silk.

"This will bring out the color of your eyes!"

Nothing, he was still too dazed to even acknowledge the happenings around him.

"Hello, Pretty boy? What's going on in that silly little head of yours?"

Lenore cheerfully chided him. It was at that moment that Hector returned to reality. Everything materialised and he noticed her holding the tunic in front of him. It became painfully aware to him that he was now in her chambers.

"Now now Hector, you don't expect me to dress you up now? Do you?"

She hithered, a wink followed at the end of her sentence. Her cheeky smile showing a hint of fang. She couldn't help with her sultry tone throughout.

"I don't want anything from you"

He muttered under his breath. Doing everything he can to defy her whims. Even if they were for his benefit.

"Nonsense! This tunic is of fine silk. It's far more comfortable and better than the rags that you've been wearing until now. It'll even help keep you warm in our walks!"

She was taken aback. She was hoping a change of scenery and new clothes would loosen him up but clearly that wasn't the case.

"I don't know Lenore. It's not like I have a say in the matter, now that I'm your slave!"

He grumbled. Arms now crossed and eyes dangerously narrowed. There wasn't necessarily venom behind those words. Just exhaustion.

At this, she sighed, she set the tunic aside, gently placing it on the desk and crossed her arms. Crossing her arms, she pouted. Her eyes, narrowed, indicating tiredness but at the same time they had an understanding glare, there was no hint of irritation, or anger. She relaxed herself and smiled again. Resting her arm on the chair of the desk.

She had her work cut out for her when it came to him. She reminded herself. But she'll be patient. And she'll make him understand.

"You're not my Slave Hector! You're my Pet ! They're two different positions. As my pet I'll take care of you. I'll protect you from Carmilla's wrath. I'll shower you with my affections and I'll be your voice in front of my Sisters. And I already told you. Your chambers will be ready soon and you'll also have the freedom of the castle!"

She calmly and methodically put it as she gently gestured towards him with her arm. She didn't hide her smile when she mentioned about showering him with her affections which was accentuatated with the blush on her porcelain cheeks. The twinkle in her ember eyes strengthened as she talked about it, with a warm, pleading looking in her eyes, beckoning him to see the positives.

"I don't care about that Lenore! I trusted you! I pledged my life away to you! I thought you wanted to run away with me! You took my trust and spat it back on my face!"

He growled, his voice, husky. Clear

Venom was imbued on those words of his this time. Hector suppressed the urge to execute every conceivable act of defiance, just to spite her. He thought of attacking her again like the time when she first visited his cell bearing gifts of peace. He hoped that she would overpower him like last time and accidentally kill him in the process. Or even better, He thought of running out of her room and jumping out of the corridor, into the stone cold courtyard below. Dying would be certainly preferable than losing what little remained of his dignity. Little by little he gave in to those urges. The sweet release from his dehumanizing servitude sweetened it's allure with each passing moment.

But before he could pour actual intent to his thoughts he could feel a slight buzzing on his finger. The finger where the ring rested. It started to tingle. Burn even. Lenore's voice from the council room echoed.

"These rings are linked, you wear them and his creatures will be loyal to you too. And if he ever tries to harm us, take the ring off or tries to run away the ring will cause him so much pain that he would think he shat out his own heart"

He knew then and there that even his own death won't happen on his terms. She controlled everything in the end. She gets to decide when he would die. She gets to dictate his life from now on. He was stuck in a gilded cage.

A defeated exhale left his mouth as he resigned himself. It was over. She enslaved every aspect of his life, from the way he would live, his death and even the most intimate aspect, the one thing that defined him, his forging. He collapsed on his knees again, but this time on the soft carpet instead of the painfully cold icy marble floor. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he clutched his head.

"Hector!"

Lenore glid over to him, not making a sound. She bent down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders once again as she tugged them towards her. Bringing his head to her chest.

She couldn't bear to see him like this. She knew he was hurting, she knew she was the cause of it. But there was no other way to secure his life. It was the only way she could make sure to keep him safe as well as placate her sisters' wrath, especially Carmilla. They needed tangible proof of his loyalty to the Styrian cause. And the rings were the only way. She gently caressed his silver hair. As she properly took in the state this poor boy was in. He needed someone to care for him, to guide him.

His tense frame began to relax. The aching muslces began to loosen up. He was leaning into her touch. How he hated it.

This woman is the source of your damnation damnit!

But she also felt so good. So so good.

Her tender touch soothed the ache of his heart. Her embrace made him feel safe. Feel wanted.

But before Lenore could ponder over the next course of action to take she heard him grunt and felt his body jerk away from her touch.

He took a step back, breathing hardly. Clear disgust displayed on his face as he defiantly grimaced. He steeled himself yet again.

"No...not again"

A hoarse whisper escaped his lips as he fought back the tears. His ironclad resolve bringing about a second wind to his body. That resilience of his was one of the qualities she admired in Hector. No normal man would've survived the hell Carmilla put him through, making him march 800 miles from Brailla to Styria, for a month when Winter was at its peak.

He was Carmilla's personal punching bag, a medium for her to blow off some steam after her failed coup on Dracula. The very Dracula whom Hector served. And not simply serve, he was one of the two humans, two Forgemasters, whom Dracula made his close confidants, his trusted human generals to organize the war effort on their own kind, the very kind that ostracized them and turned them into outcasts, Dracula sought their counsel and help once he decided that humanity had no valid reason to exist after they killed his human wife.

Carmilla managed to persuade Hector to see reason. The Old man had gone mad, he lied to Hector, he wasn't simply going to cull the Human race and put the survivors in pens as he promised the naive boy, He was going to purge them all.

"Hector please-"

"No!"

He spat back. He was at his wits end and if this went on any longer, he would give out. His shoulders rising and falling with each weary breath. His Silver locks swaying with each breath as they framed his face. Aquamarine Eyes glinting from the torches in her chambers.There was grace in every movement of his. Even when he was at his worst, even when he was beaten down and naked in the cell. Even when he was inside her. He looked graceful. Lenore mused.

"You're all the same! You and Carmilla, you come bearing false gifts of peace. You talk about how you're looking out for me with your kind words only to plunge the dagger from behind once I've expended my usefulness!"

The Bloody Audacity. She thought.

As much as she loved her sister, Lenore always abhorred violence. She refused to accept that dominance and subjugation is the solution to every problem. She prided herself in her diplomacy. Getting their rivals under the fold without senseless violence was one of her many accomplishments as the Diplomat of the quartet. Unlike Carmilla, Lenore doesn't believe in violence, she believes in commerce. You get something I get something and we both leave happy. There's a degree of compromise involved as neither of the parties get what they want but there's also the satisfaction.

For her, Violence was always a last resort. Yes, she beat Hector during her first visit to his cell, but that was only out of retaliation. He attacked her first, grabbing her throat, threatening to rip it out if she didn't let him go. But there was no malice behind his actions, it was more akin to a skittled puppy lashing out of fear than anything. A wounded animal frantically trying to save itself. If only Carmilla didn't beat the shit out of him and made him march 800 miles, chained up and without his boots, if only her sister tried to reason with the man again and gave him a purpose to work for them. Things would've been different. That's how it always is. Carmilla loses her temper and Lenore has to implement damage control.

She convinced Hector that what they're doing is exactly what he thought Dracula promised him, a cull. Conquering the region between Styria and Brailla and fortifying their new empire and securing the livestock. The plan guaranteed their safety for centuries to come but they didn't have the man power to execute it yet. Their army dealt severe casualties during the siege at Brailla. Things were going as per their plan until an outside party teleported Dracula's castle away and killed him themselves. Dracula was dead, and the vacuum that his death caused in the Vampire power structure was too good to be passed up. Hector's army of night creatures will help secure their expanded empire, or greater

Styria as Carmilla calls it. She convinced him of their plan. Now she must convince him that his current position is for his own good, that this is what he truly needed. She didn't lie when she said she liked him. She does. But she's loyal to her sisters first and foremost. But once she brings Hector into her fold he'll be hers. Her own little slice of cake for an eternity to enjoy for. But for that she must put in the work.

She knew that Hector, as he is right now won't be able to listen to reason. A plan already forming in her mind.

"Alright Hector, I understand that you're in no state to listen to what I've to say. I can't blame you.

As much as I would like to spend the entire night, to stay by your side and ease you into it I can't. I have urgent matters to attend to to. So in the meantime, please make yourself at home. There's the corridor leading to the bath. I can't have you in this miserable condition, now that you're under my care. There's the tunic I selected for you on the dresser. If you don't like it then please choose your pick from the collection. I'll have a servant bring you proper food, god's you must be starving. There are books here that you might like. I probably won't be back until sunrise. So please, make yourself comfortable and get ample rest in the meantime. We'll talk once you're in a better state of mind"

She gave a reassuring smile, there was not a single hint of exasperation behind those ruby irises. She was being genuine. Her small delicate hand pushed through the huge Mahogany door again and she ventured out. The click-clack of her heels fading out.

Hector let out a breath of relief. He didn't know how much more he could take it. To breath the same air as that woman. To share the same space as her. But he was more disgusted of the fact that he was upset when she left. But he tried his best in hiding it. He knew if he didn't then she would know she still had some leverage over his heart. She had his forging skills, but he will never come to her willingly.

He won't offer himself to her like he did in that cell. He would forge away night creatures to the quartet's content, to her content, but he will never give her the satisfaction of seeing him like she did in that cell.

But she did make sense, he was dirty and exhausted. He swatted some grime that collected on his temples with his arm. He sure could use a bath. Part of him wanted to spite her and sleep on the floor, unwashed. Like a disobedient dog. But he was too tired for anymore theatrics. If he were to live in this gilded cage, he might as well allow himself a few basic comforts. Just a few.

No more and no less. He didn't want to give her the idea that he was starting to lean into her affections. Because in his heart he knew that this was a battle of attrition, and he was dealt with the short end of the stick.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞 - Part 16

Dean x Fem/Reader

Part 16🥰🐞

A/N: This is heartbreaking, and beautiful, fluffy, fluffy and more fluff😋

Side Note: Thank you all so much for the support. Much love, my bugsies 🥰🐞

Warnings: anger, raised voices, sexual content 🙈

......

Opening your eyes, tilting your head upwards, lifting a little of his chest, admiring the brown, beard fading into a slight whitish gray, he looks so peaceful, he might be a giant, but his a gentle giant.

Snuggling closer to him, the cinnamon, woody with just a touch of orange blossom scent coming from him awakens her senses. Tracing little circular movements on his chest, thoughts wandering off too last night, a smile tugging at her lips, remembering ever little detail, the way he cherished her, made her feel loved, and wanted, desirable even, sent an electric sensation through her body.

Somehow this man with his sky blue, heart melting eyes, took a hold of your heart, there was a softness in his masculinity, a protective warmth in his strong arms and a soul that whispers, I know you don't need me, but I'll always be here.

His voice sounded husky, when he said morning darling, hearing him call her that, in his tone of voice, with that deep southern accent of his, was enough to send her over the edge.

Morning, her voice sounded almost musical. Their eyes met again, and so did their lips, she knew in that very moment, if she didn't start making her way home today, she'll probably never leave his warmth.

....

Studying the room one last time, remembering the pain, healing, laughter and then finally the love and intimacy these walls came to recognize, she took out her sketch pad, not the one Benny gave her, but a new one she bought, for capturing the moments the two of them shared, the first page was a pencil sketch of the three of them sitting at the dinner table, laughing about the cat who stole the drumstick, the last two pages was filled with rough sketches about the cherry blossom tree and then the two of them all tangled up underneath the covers.

Putting it on the bed, with a note attached "saying thank you Benny for looking after me and helping me to get better and trust again, in here you'll find all the memories we made, I will cherish you in my heart forever. Much love , your ladybug darling " signing the letter with a little heart, and a lipstick stain from her pouting lips.

...

Looking at the woman with her lively eyes and short brownish hair, she could see tears shimmering, trying to keep your own voice steady, I'm going to miss you Judy, thank you for everything, I literally would not have been here if it weren't for you.

Oh honey, take care of yourself she said while pulling you into a hug, I'll always be here if you need me okay! Now I have to go before I cuff you the house so that you never leave, a little laugh escaping her lips.

Walking closer to where Benny were standing you could see his forehead furrowed and he's brows drew together, his bright blue eyes became a greyish colour, revealing the sadness, your lips parched to say something, he leaned in, tasting your lips, one last time, still holding you close, a sad smile forming on his face,

I'll be back Benny, your voice sounded breathy, his raspy, voice washed over you saying no you won't darling now go and be free but remember you'll never be unloved by me, you are too well tangled in my soul and therefore I will always be there whenever you need me.

Her eyes swam with tears, she sighed while digging her head in his chest, I love you Benny.

"I love you too Darling he said while kissing the crown of her head.

With wide eyes she said I should stay.

No! Go be brave, be free darling. I'll be here, he purred.

Getting into your car sending one last glance over your shoulder before driving through the rusty gates. You wondered if you'll ever see him again.

You just drove, you were so tempted to turn back, your heart was torn, on the one side there's Dean who you'll always love and then the other side Benny, who captured your heart. Damnit I'm confused, whispering to yourself. Making a promise to no-one really, that you were just going to focus on making amends its the final step, and for the rest, you'll figure it out as you go.

..

She drove into her old hometown first stop Bobby she inhaled, this is going to be hard isn't it!

She knocked on the door, hearing the old man's rough voice coming through the door, - what the hell, get off my property, I will shoot, door screeched open.

Noticing the shotgun and him standing upright, made her laugh.

He sounded overjoyed, babygirl, tears shown in his deep blue eyes. He grabbed ahold of her, so happy to see you, you look better than ever.

Laughter overtook her, so glad to see you too Bobby.

Inviting her in, they talked, she apologized, he did the same, telling eachother everything.

She got up promising she'll come by and drink coffee, but she had a few people she needed to see.

Before heading out the door Bobby stopped you, his voice sounded heavy, babygirl, just a heads up, Dean took your leaving hard, he can tell you everything himself, but his better now, he went back to his old ways though, different woman every week.

One of his one night stands from back in the day showed up in town, and they started to see eachother again. not sure how that's going, but I just wanted to let you know.

Oh! Thanks Bobby, her words sounded more brittle than she intended. She gave Bobby one last hug, walking towards her car, thinking about how much she hurt him, her glossy eyes revealed the throbbing pain in her chest.

Inhaling some air into her lungs she drove towards the house she grew up in.

Recalling one of the quotes Benny used to say from JK Rowling "Anything's possible if you got enough nerve" , her mouth curving into a smile. That man and his quotes.

She pulled into the driveway shaking just a bit. She just stood there making sure she looked good, knocking on the door.

Seeing her mom open the door, the emotion welling up in her eyes, Hi mom, her lower lip trembling.

Honey your home, Caroline sobbed. Pulling her daughter into a heartfelt hug.

I'm so sorry about everything mom, I..I.. was just so broken, I'm so sorry for causing all this pain.

Looking into her daughter's eyes, seeing the light in them again, is the only apology she ever needed.

The two of them spend the rest of the day, catching up, crying, holding eachother.

...

When Bill came home, he acknowledged the joy gleaming from his wife, sweetie?

"Sweetheart look in the living room, she insisted.

He just stood there, hearing his daughter's sweet voice, hello daddy. His eyes glistening, babygirl he exclaimed!

She ran towards him, Hugging him, apologising and telling him everything.

Glancing at your parents, realising you had no idea how much you missed them, that night after dinner you lend your mom's phone to video call your brother.

The shocked look on Joe's face revealing he expected his mother, not you. Sis! He expressed. They talked till the early morning hours, mocking him a bit, about the grey in his now longer beard. They laughed and cried. After making plans to go and visit him in Chicago the two of you said your goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Exhaustion over took you and you drifted off.

...

When you went to make amends with Cas, he didn't judge you, he just listened to you, expressing his gratitude towards the two people who took care off you. You also learned that day , that Dean were out of town, on some case his working on, And Sam and Eileen went on a three month cruise so you could not get in contact with them.

...

You spent the next two months working on your new novel, creating new paintings and joining a yoga class, you and the yoga instructor, just clicked, she was an amazing soft kind hearted woman with her luscious dark hair and friendly eyes. You and Lisa became good friends very quickly.

....

Breathe in, through your nose and out through your mouth, that's it, she soothed to the class. Thank you all for being here, Namaste.

While rolling up your yoga mat, you see Lisa coming closer, hey there, her voice sung.

Aren't you chipper. You betcha ya, she giggled. Why would that be Lis? My boyfriend is coming back tonight or tomorrow.

Aww really, I would love to meet this mysterious man! You exclaimed.

Lisa laughed, oh you will, but first we are spending our weekend under the covers. I've missed him so much.

You let out a giggle, you should enjoy it, we'll meet up, after your weekend of pleasure.

...

Pulling your car in the garage, walking into your house, grabbing a previously prepped green juice out of the fridge, falling to the couch.

Jikes! Feeling a little woozy after the morning yoga, and staying up till 3 , writing, thinking maybe you'll take a short nap, you snuggled into the couch a bit deeper.

Your eyes flung open when you heard the familiar sound of the impala's engine purring down the street. He's back!

....

Seeing his phone receiving a message from Lisa while driving past her house made him winch. Of course it doesn't make him exactly a good man, being with Lisa and thinking about her, but hell that's the situation his in.

After getting home and taking a shower, throwing on some joggers, headed straight for the bedroom, to sleep, falling flat on his stomach, arms stretched out wide over the mattress letting out a sigh, finally some sleep.

The knocking of the door, made him flinch uttering, what the hell, go away, the knocking silenced, but then started back up again.

I swear, I'll shoot you, he growled, the wooden floor creaking underneath his bare feet. Turning the door knob, what! he commanded!

His brows knitted, his jaw line tightened, his face seemed cold and hard but his heart was rapidly beating. She stood there, in a white sundress, her hair much longer than before, her complexion as beautiful as ever, there was a sense of lightness radiating from her.

Her voice sounded like a symphony, Hello Dean.

Hello Dean, hello Dean that's what you have to say, his words sounded tight.

I.. I didn't come to fight, I came to make amends, to say I'm sorry, about everything.

He gritted his teeth, yeah if only it was so damn easy!

Her voice sounded soft, and low, listen Dean, I just wanted to let you know that I don't blame you, for anything and I'm truly sorry for what I said, and how I just left, I truly hope one day you'll be able to forgive me.

Noticing her shaking, her eyes glancing over with the wetness of the tears she's trying to fight back, all he wanted to do is pull her close, make her feel his love, but for some reason his words was brutal, how the hell do you expect me to just forgive and forget.

I hate you, I hate what you did, I hate what you said, I hate the way you just left, like I didn't matter to you.

Her jaw dropped, her eyes wide, brittleness in her voice, this was a mistake, she turned around, fleeing to her car.

You, us, were a mistake, he growled. Taking in the sight of her leaving again, made him realise, he didn't hate her, he loved her.

Sprinting, cathing up with her, grabbing ahold of her body, hands on her hips, throwing her over his shoulder, he hissed, want to talk, sweetheart, lets talk...

Put me down Dean she demanded. Closing the door with the back of his leg, placing her down, her back now against the door, he stood there in front of her, his voice thick, I'm sorry for what I just said , searching her eyes, she didn't make a sound, running his hand down her arms, the friction it caused made his heart rate go faster, grabbing ahold of her hands, pinning it above her head, she whimpered, he crashed his lips against her tasting the sweetness he remembered, breathy he told her you have any idea how much I craved you, her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but he didn't want words, he want their bodies to speak for them, and their hearts to listen, the two of them was starved for each other, his hands lingered over her body, removing the sundress, she's digging her nails into his back, pulling him closer, wanting him more and more. Ravishing eachother, exploring one another, he remembered all her little weak spots, making the sweetest moans escapes her lips. He groaned knowing she wanted him as much as he did. Panting and out of breath they lay in eachother's other arms, knowing their home again...

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Dear Mama

The letters Heavy's written to his Mama since the start of 1970, giving her and his sisters some life updates, and responding to theirs. He's come to an important decision.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

I've been wanting to do something with Heavy and his family for a little bit, and just kind of his side of everything that's been happening. Because he's generally such a quiet guy sometimes he tends to react to things rather than drive them, and most of the time when I have him drive action it's sex, lol. Wanted to showcase some more of his internality and the poetic way he wields his native language. Giving his family life updates while artfully dancing around the fact that like 60% of his free time is sucking and fucking, lmao. Also: spot the Simpsons joke!

---------

Dear Mama,

I hope you've been well. I'm sorry I haven't gotten a letter to you in a while; it's hard to get mail down off of the frozen mountain where I'd been stationed since the start of the year. You know how it is. Thankfully, we've been reassigned back to the desert, so I'll have easier access to the postal system. So my letters should once again be more frequent.

I've been well, all things considered. The team didn't take as well to ice-rimed mountains as I did, so while it'll take some time for me to adjust to the temperature change, the team's been overjoyed. Especially Scout. He's a very thin man, so his tolerance for cold only goes so far. He's from cooler climates, but even so, the mountains had him nearly rattling apart from shivering! Ludwig, however, was unflappably enthusiastic, as always.

Speaking of Ludwig; his magical training has been progressing swimmingly, and he's developed into quite the nascent mage. It's truly impressive what he can do when he sets his focus on it. His determination is beyond dogged, and his passion boundless. I can't argue with his results!

Which brings me to interesting news: Ludwig has mastered an old spell from seiðr traditions that allows him to harness the jotun blood that runs through my veins, and give me the form of a full jotun, like Papa. When the excitement of discovery and novelty calmed down, however, I found myself struck by how strong my resemblance to Papa was. And though I haven't voiced it to him, it's made me realize how far divorced I am from that side of my ancestry, save for how it's shaped my appearance. I know Papa had a bit of ice and storm magic at his disposal, but also that he didn't use it much. He was far more invested in the movements of the world and the politics of men, I know. So that's something I might try to do some reading on in the near future. If you have any knowledge, Mama, I would love you to share it. I know Papa tried to keep us sheltered from the world of monsters, but like it or not, that world has come to me, and I feel it irresponsible not to explore that side of my own nature.

On a similar, but less somber note, Ludwig gave me a ring last week.

Don't get too excited, Mama. It ended up not being what I'm sure you hoped. I admit, I hoped the same, but I think my dear doctor isn't the type to think of such gestures of his own accord. He's a man of passion, not tradition. It'd be almost frustrating if his obliviousness weren't deeply endearing.

The ring is a magic item, a way to activate that seiðr spell on command should I choose, and he enchanted it himself. It's the culmination of quite a bit of work, and honestly I feel like that in itself is as much a statement of intent as a ring of more traditional meaning. It in itself is a promise.

It's no secret that our lifespans will differ, now. Ludwig, as a garuda, can live forever if he's careful. Scout, as a faun, can do the same. Their lifespans are functionally infinite. Ageless, timeless, and beautiful for eternity. Meanwhile, though I know my life will be longer than a human's, it does have a limit. I think that knowledge has been weighing on Ludwig a bit, and making him dig into my supernatural side as a result. Whether that will yield fruit, who knows? But it warms my heart to know that he desires to be by my side for all of eternity. Whether he realizes it or not (and knowing him so well, I deeply suspect not), that ring was a proposal, phrased in different terms.

I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sure I'm boring you with such fanciful thoughts when I should be keeping you updated on my life. But I suppose my life might have taken a turn for the fanciful.

Ludwig sends his love, and his thanks for a lovely Smissmas together. Scout hopes to meet you all someday sooner than later, but isn't sure when he'll be able to join me for a trip. He has a large, very tightly-knit family, so holiday travel is unlikely to deviate away from his mother's house. I hope to meet her someday. He speaks highly of her, and she sounds like a lovely woman. Certainly, she raised a wonderful son. Something the two of you have in common!

Give my best to Zhanna, Yana, and Bronislava, and let them know I can easily receive mail again. It's been a strange kind of lonely so far this year, unable to write with you all, and I'm eager to read what my dear baby sisters have to say.

All of my love, Misha

*

Dear Mama,

Thank you for your last letter. I hadn't realized just how much variation there was in jotunkind. I'd thought all of us merely hrímþurs, the frost giants, so it is honestly eye-opening to learn of the others descended from the jötunn. I'll have to do more reading on the subject, sometime. I'm sure Ludwig would appreciate learning more as well. Perhaps that wizard he bought his first magic book from might have something.

That said, I hope this letter finds you well. Work's been stable, with a few minor transfers across the region but staying largely in the desert. We've mostly been stationed at one base and then taken transports to satellite bases as the need arises. It's been less hectic than packing up and moving bases entirely constantly, but I won't deny that the times we don't use teleporters between our home base and the satellite bases make for terribly boring mornings. The team's taken to singing on those trains and busses, seeing how long it takes the driver to yell at us.

The train conductor is surprisingly resilient.

We've been helping Scout learn to control his small bit of magic lately, which has been an interesting effort. It's definitely been building teamwork between us, however, and been very good for our cohesion overall. And Scout's been quite happy for the extra attention.

Ludwig's been working on healing magics, and trying to replicate the effects of his specialized medical equipment using magic. To what end I'm not entirely sure, but it stands to reason it'll be helpful should an emergency arise when he doesn't have his equipment ready to hand. He's very clever about never letting himself be completely caught without a way to improvise a Plan B for situations.

That's all I'll say about Ludwig this time. I promise. After Zhanna's scathing letter and Yana and Bronislava mocking me endlessly, I'll spare you all the gooey romantic musings of a smitten old man.

Aside from work, life's been quiet for me. I read that romance novel that Yana sent with her letter, and enjoyed it far more than I expected! I'll be sending it back along with a novel that had a similar description on the back cover, which I found in town recently. I haven't had the time to read it, though, so please, Yana, don't hate me if it isn't very good.

Lastly, I hope you enjoy the small box of shortbread cookies I'm also sending with this! They were baked by our team's Demoman, who sends his best. He takes care of his elderly mother, and when he heard I was sitting down to write my mama a letter, offered to make sure it came with a gift. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

All of my love,

Misha

*

Dear Mama,

I'm glad you enjoyed the cookies! I'll be sure to let Demoman know, and give him your thanks. As always, Ludwig and Scout send their love.

Things have been busy of late. We finally had a nice, week-long furlough, our first of the year and entirely too overdue. I took the opportunity to simply spend time with Ludwig, though I'll admit I've slacked on the research I said I intended to do. Following Yana's next book recommendation, I ended up visiting a local bookstore and walking out with far more novels than I'd intended. I won't lie; I used to look down on books like these, but as the years go by I realize more and more that not every word committed to page needs to be come world-changing insight. Sometimes a story can simply be fun, and that's enough.

Also, I don't need a French-to-Russian dictionary in hand for these books, which is a blessing in itself. I don't miss those long, sleepless nights working on my doctorate! And I like to think this has been helping my reading skills in English, which is its own reward. Scout isn't a particularly strong reader, so I hope to help him practice. As such, I need to improve as well. It's good motivation so that I don't get lazy about language acquisition.

After our furlough, there was a company event. A gala of sorts with all of BLU's various teams, at a rather nice venue with a frankly obscenely expansive bar. They even had cocktails I enjoyed, and you know how rare that is. The news was sprung on us quite abruptly, but thankfully our Spy was able to outfit us with custom suits, thanks to being a shapeshifter who knows an excellent tailor. Ludwig gets clothes made by the same person; they do wonderful work. I've never seen my dove so elegant. The whole team looked very handsome, dressed in such fine clothes. We almost looked like a bunch of gentlemen! Very unlike us, I know. We even managed to not make too much trouble at the event itself, which was a small mercy. (I was on my best behaviour; don't worry, Mama.)

We took a few photos before leaving for the event, so I asked our handler for some copies. I'm including a group shot of all of us, and one with Ludwig, Scout and I.

And before she writes back anything about that photo to me, please tell Bronislava, again, that our Sniper is not single, and to please stop asking me about it. He's dating our Demoman. Don't ask me about that, either. I'm not about to divulge the details of my friends' love lives.

All of my love,

Misha

*

Dear Mama,

Please tell Yana that our Spy is also taken, and to please stop asking me questions about him and his love life.

Also please tell Zhanna that I'm not hogging every handsome man on earth for myself. She's being ridiculous.

That said, I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for your sweet words about my photos. I've passed on the compliments to Ludwig, Scout, and the rest of the team, who were all very flattered and grateful.

We recently had another week-long furlough, which we ended up spending on-base, mostly for lack of plans. It was nice to be able to relax, though. I read the next book Yana sent, and have sent a few more with this package, as well as a letter for her to discuss the books in-depth. I'll spare you and the whole family our ramblings. I'm glad the trading post there has been sourcing more books for her voracious literary appetite, though. It's been nice to read fiction in Russian again. It's more relaxing than practicing my English, to be sure. I'll be sure to return her books with the next package. I fear this one is already too large.

Scout was away for the week, off with our Sniper and Spy on an outside job in Japan. It sounded very eventful, though in the interim our Demoman, who I think I mentioned is dating our Sniper, was inconsolable most of the time. It was pathetic, yes, but also very sweet. I would like to think I would be in better spirits should Ludwig have to spend a week away, but to say I'm sure would be hubris. After all, we go together, as I like to say.

It turns out that the Japan job was to help Spy's sister with a mess that had ended up on her doorstep thanks to his own past. News of this, among a few other things, has had me thinking. Getting in and out of Russia has always been difficult, which is why I attempt the crossing so rarely. It's only by the grace of the power of Builder's League United that I'm afforded such frequent correspondence with you all. And I can't help but worry that my own larger profile on the scene of mercenary operations might find you all, remote as your hiding place may be. I still worry that your location is less secure than I think. And I worry that if something should happen to me, or to my employment here, what sort of lurch that would leave you four in.

Also, Zhanna has been most vocal on the matter of men. Where are the men? When do I get to meet any men? Why am I not meeting any men now? And so on.

As such, I've decided to begin the process of working toward bringing you all to America in the next few years, where you will be truly safe from the KGB, and able to flourish as you deserve. It's not enough anymore just to try and keep you safe at home. Not when you deserve so much more.

It's with no small amount of guilt that I make this decision. While I have been working hard, and sending you the majority of my money, I feel as though my idleness such as my last furlough is cruel when you all yet live in fear and isolation. I'm here working for you, but in doing so, I have a surprising amount of leisure, like a great predator lounging between hunts, and it worries me that I'm being unduly selfish. After all, I have two beautiful lovers, a team of close friends, food and comfort when I want it, and peace when there isn't bloodshed. We fight a war with no personal stakes by day and play by night, eating and drinking our fill and passing our free time with games and romance, far away from the civilized world, in a place so private that Ludwig can walk about on talons with his wings proudly on display, and Scout can prance on hooves and try his best not to clatter his antlers into the lower doorways. It's our own private, violent Eden in its way, and it feels cruel to enjoy this life when you still hunt bear meat for your meals.

Ludwig's tried to assuage my feelings, to explain that being with him and Scout merely expands my family, and that I shouldn't make myself miserable as some penance, but I find it hard not to hold that guilt within me regardless. Especially when I use his ring to transform and see a bald reflection of Papa staring back at me in the mirror.

You four are the most important thing in the world. Not just my world. The world. And I want to give you that world. I've already requested information from my handler regarding the steps I would need to take in this, as she would likely be the conduit through which all of this happens. The process will be slow, and delicate, but I'm hoping that within two years, you will never have to eat bear again.

Zhanna, no dirty jokes.

I know this is exciting news, and I'm sorry it's on such a long timeline, but I wanted to make you all this promise now, so that you know there is an end in sight—a light at the end of this frozen, lonely tunnel. In the meanwhile, if there's anything you'd like me to send in these packages, please don't hesitate to ask. As it is, I've included some cakes Scout brought back for me from Japan. He says they're called 'manju', and are quite tasty.

All of my love,

Misha