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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SEVEN

previous chapters | welp. it's here. this one is a DOOZY, and i'm so sorry. i never expected it to get this long but oh well!!! go grab a snack and get settled cause this one is kinda wild. love u guys sm. i proofread this very quickly so i apologize if there's any mistakes!! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: the pressure is building in more ways than one. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexting, n00ds, oral (m receiving), lap-sitting, thigh riding, alcohol, lemme know if i missed any! word count: 15.6k ao3

You're beginning to learn that Joel runs hot and cold.

There have been moments with him, intimate and special and warm, moments that make you feel light on your feet and send butterflies wilding through your stomach. Moments where he's open and present and wants all his attention to be on you, on your body, your pleasure. His touch sets you alight, his words send tingles down your spine.

And then weekdays happen and you start second guessing yourself all over again.

On Sunday you'd attended church with your parents, another attempt at appeasing your mother in lieu of all the lies and deceit. You've only gone to a select few services since you came home, something you know they've been silently judging you for and just waiting to hold above your head. Admittedly you'd been afraid of bumping into people you knew, having to switch on your teenage persona of Good Catholic Girl™ and lie through your teeth about how good it feels to be back home again. Luckily in the few services you'd attended, you'd only run into some elderly family friends, managing to avoid anyone you went to high school with.

Your luck had to run out at some point, though. This service you'd been accosted by none other than Bethany, one of your childhood friends who you'd practically left in the dust when you'd gone away for college. Her friendship was always full of judgement, perfection, and not to mention heaps of Catholic guilt. She'd taken one look at you, appraising you up and down as if assessing you for imperfections, then pulled you into a tight hug.

"It's so good see you," she'd said when she'd pulled back, a wide - and borderline frightening - grin plastered on her face, "My momma told me you were back, thought I woulda heard from you by now!"

Your mother, standing beside you in your pew, had furrowed her brow at this, clearly confused. You hadn't understood her reaction completely until Bethany had headed off to go say hi to someone else.

"I thought you had lunch with her and Alice the other week," she'd murmured softly to you under her breath, giving you an accusatory look, "Said you'd be helping them out over the summer. That's what you told me, anyway."

Fuck.

"O-oh, right," you'd had no idea what else to say other than that, biting down on your lip and staring straight ahead as the service began. She hadn't said anything else about it, but you'd sat in discomfort and anxiety for the next hour.

In a panic, you'd found Bethany after the service and quickly asked if she needed any extra help at Sunday School, to which she'd responded with enthusiasm - a little too much - that they always needed extra hands on Thursdays to help with lesson planning. You'd jumped at the chance, telling her you'd be there.

That night you'd texted Joel. You hadn't heard from him all day despite it being a weekend, and part of you had been hoping you might go over and see him once your parents were asleep.

guess who's volunteering at church now? this idiot.

You'd expected words of comfort, maybe a joke, at least something that would make you feel better about the situation. However, his response to yours had been brief, short, simple:

Rough. Get some sleep x

This trend of short responses has only continued throughout the rest of the week. He's distant when you text him, responds with a few words at best, short and simple and almost like an entirely different person. It's hard to believe it's the same man who whispers good girl in your ear and tells you how well you're doing, how wet you are, how pretty you look. His texts are some ghostly version of him, constantly fading in and out, barely showing interest or desire - that is, if he texts you at all.

It makes your skin itch, sends your insecurities into a tailspin. Why does this always seem to happen? You can't make heads or tails of it - you know he's busy, know that his job takes a lot out of him, and yet you can't help but feel that there's something more he's not telling you. He'd told you on his back deck all about how he wasn't very happy at his job, how he'd prefer to be retired by now, living life on his own terms - so why can't he just do that? It's clearly taking a toll on him, and while part of you feels empathetic and yearns to comfort him, another part feels angry, irritated.

You'd gone to your friends with these concerns, hoping for some sort of answer or solution to the problem. Instead, they'd been more sympathetic to Joel's plight than yours.

you gotta remember you're not in a relationship with him babe

right!! men are v simple creatures. they see things black & white. ur his fuck buddy and he prob doesn't rly want it to go beyond that.

now THAT'S going too far. she's more than his fuck buddy definitely. he wouldn't have told her his whole life story last weekend if that were true.

telling her he had a fucked up childhood isn't necessarily his whole life story. most guys had shitty childhoods lbr

but he opened up!!!!! fuck buddies don't do that.

exactly

i wish you guys were here :(

i'm honestly 5 secs away from booking a flight to texas bestie. gotta use my dad's frequent flier miles somehow.

"My friend Tasha is coming to visit this weekend," you tell your mom on Wednesday evening with a smile, turning your phone toward her to show the Airbnb you'll be staying at, "We're gonna stay at this little bungalow, have a girls' weekend."

Her brow furrows, "Why can't Tasha stay here?"

Because Tasha would terrify you, you want to say, because Tasha doesn't wear pants unless absolutely necessary. Instead you just smile again and say, "I think a change of scenery would be good for me, it'll be like a mini vacation. Plus there's a hot tub."

"Now that's something we need," she turns back to her book with a shake of her head, "I swear, your father is more interested in buying that boat we'll never use instead of something new for the backyard." You hadn't been asking for her permission, but her indifference sends a wave of relief through you; you've still been trying to be on your absolute best behavior lately to make up for the lies.

You head out to the backyard and seat yourself in a lounge chair by the pool, unlocking your phone again and swiping to your last conversation with Joel from last night.

hope you had a good day :)

I'm sure yours was better. Sleep well x

Curt and to the point, not at all what you'd wanted him to reply with. You recall one of your first phone conversations, the one where you'd been experiencing the same lack of interest in his texts, what he'd said to you: Don't think for one second that I don't think about you. But how can you not? How are you supposed to feel desired when he's being like this?

can you call me tonight?

You try not to wait too long before biting the bullet, not wanting to talk yourself out of it, but you do stare at the message with your finger hovering over the send button for longer than you really need to. The sound of the back door sliding open forces you to send it, locking your phone again as your mother walks over and seats herself beside you in another chair.

"It's nice to see you wearing that again," she says with a nod to your chest, referring to your crucifix - after wearing it again last weekend you'd thought that keeping it on might please her. "You're starting to really settle in here again, aren't you?"

You try not to grimace, "Yeah, it's nice being home."

She leans back in her chair, letting the suns rays hit her for a little bit without speaking. You sit there waiting for her to say something else, discomfort flooding through you. You're reminded of how easy it was to sit with Joel in his backyard last weekend, how little pressure there was to put up any kind of front - sitting here with your mother is the exact opposite.

"So, you lied to me," she finally says, voice quiet.

Your eyes widen and you sit up a bit, turning to her with panic already rising in your throat, "Wh-what do you mean?"

She doesn't turn to look at you, continuing to stare at the sky, eyes covered by her comically large sunglasses, "You know what I mean."

You sit there, staring at her with a mix of confusion and fear. There's no way she knows about Joel, how could she know? Who would have told her? You wonder if perhaps one of her neighborhood friends saw you leaving his house, saw you in his car... but the guise of lessons is your cover now, so how would any of that point to your relationship?

Some relationship, you can't help but think to yourself, based entirely on sex and only communication on the weekends.

"Bethany and Alice," your mom finally states, and you feel the panic in the pit of your stomach loosen immediately - oh.

"Mom," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I-I know. I'm sorry. I know I told you we met up but..." you bite your lip, trying to come up with some kind of excuse but coming up empty.

Instead, you do something that surprises you entirely - you tell the truth. Or at least... half of it.

"I really feel like my friendship with them has passed," you admit with a frown, "I'm... I'm different than I was when I left, you know that, don't you? I'm sure you've noticed."

She's still not looking at you but you catch her nodding slowly, thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry I lied but... I didn't want to disappoint you. And I didn't want you to worry about me being alone all the time. I'm actually rarely ever alone at college so it's been nice to have some time to myself," you smile, thinking of the girls in your group chat constantly waiting for new updates, "Having lunch with two people I haven't talked to in years just... didn't seem appealing to me. I have different friends now, you know? I'm older, people outgrow each other."

"Friends like Tasha," your mom states, bitterness in her voice, "Tasha who you don't even want me to meet."

You make a face, "Mom..."

She puts her hands up in defeat, shaking her head, "It's fine. You can do what you want and so can she," the words are drenched in judgement, "But you should remember that there are rules for staying here, young lady. And honesty is one of those rules."

You take a deep breath, swinging your legs around the edge of the chair and placing your arms on your knees, your face in your hands. You're so close to snapping back at her, making a comment that'll surely start an argument, but you shove it back down as best you can, counting to ten in your head.

"I'm sorry," you finally say through gritted teeth, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." She stands up then, disappears from the chair as quickly as she'd settled in it. You watch as she walks to the back door again, reaches for the handle.

Your mouth can't stop itself.

"Have you told Dad about my guitar lessons yet?"

She freezes, turns and stares at you for a moment without saying anything, then opens the door and heads back inside, slamming it behind her.

Checkmate.

I will when I get home.

Your anxiety is through the roof as you pace back and forth in your bedroom after darkness has fallen, freshly showered and pampered and already out of distractions. Without really thinking much about it, you pull Joel's flannel from under your mattress and wrap it around your shoulders, breathing him in as you sit on your bed and try your best not to keep checking your phone. When it finally vibrates you're not even embarrassed when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hey," you murmur, settling into your sheets and closing your eyes, "Is everything okay?"

"With me?" he asks, voice tired and gruff, "Thought it'd be the other way around."

Your brow furrows, "What do you mean?"

"Thought you'd wanna talk about this church volunteerin' stuff," he's moving around as he talks - you hear the sound of a cupboard banging and the clang of a glass against a countertop.

You don't speak for a moment, listening to the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and Joel taking a swig. There's no sound of the tap - you'd be willing to bet that it's not water he's drinking.

"No, I..." you frown, "I was worried about you."

You hear him take another sip, swallowing loudly and then placing the cup back down with a clink. More pouring. You swear you hear the faint sound of a chuckle before he takes another swig.

"Well that's silly," he states, and you suddenly notice there's a strange difference in his voice, a heaviness you're not used to.

"Are you drunk?"

He chuckles again but there's no humor in it, "Nowhere near as drunk as I'd like to be."

You frown, readjusting yourself against the pillows. You hear him take another sip, "Did something happen?"

He sighs then, deep and tired. You hear him put the glass back down on the counter, "No, babygirl, nothin' happened," hearing him say your pet name makes you feel a little better, the anxiety ebbing away a bit, "It's just that my job is the bane of my fuckin' existence."

He sounds genuinely exhausted, words tinged with resentment. You pull his flannel tighter around yourself, breathe him in, pretend you're in the same room as him, "Talk to me," you say softly, "Tell me what's wrong."

He doesn't reply for a moment - you can make out some footsteps on the other end, the creak of his stairs as he goes up to his bedroom, "No, darlin', it's nothin'. Shouldn't be talkin' about this with you."

"Hey, if something's bothering you, I wanna hear about it. I wanna make it better... if I can."

You hear him settle onto his bed, a satisfied little noise emanating from his throat that makes you smile, "That's the thing, babygirl. You can't. This is just the way life works. You do shit you hate and then you die, plain and simple."

"Joel," you admonish quietly - it's the first time you've said his name aloud since last weekend, it feels right on your lips, safe. He sighs but doesn't say anything else, breath evening out in your ear. "What is it? Really? I've been worrying about it all week."

"Oh honey," he murmurs softly. "Shouldn't be worryin' about me, there are more important things."

"Not to me," you admit, closing your eyes and shaking your head even though he can't see you, "First I thought maybe you were just busy, but-"

"Busy," he scoffs, "Right, yeah, busy. That's my middle name at this point. Fuckin' busy."

He really doesn't sound like himself - you know you still don't know him very well at this point, could be wrong about so many things, but part of you just knows that this isn't Joel. You know his softness, his safety, his kind eyes and crooked smile. This version of him sounds so sad; you can't help but wish you were in his bed right now, able to hold him close and run your fingers through his grey curls. You want him to open up to you.

"You don't wanna hear this shit, angel, you don't," he continues, voice gentler this time, "I know you're thinkin' somethin' is wrong, thinkin' somethin' in particular happened to make me feel like this, but the truth is..." he sighs again, deliberates for a moment and then simply states, "Truth is I'm just bein' stupid."

"You're not stupid," you say immediately, and he chuckles.

"God, you're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "It's nice to hear your voice."

Your feel your skin heat up at the words, crossing your legs together unconsciously, "It's nice to hear yours too," you whisper with a smile, "I've missed you this week. Every time you've texted me it's felt like it's not really you."

"I'm sorry, baby," you can hear the sincerity in his voice buried underneath the tiredness and alcohol, "I'm just... I'm a mess." You hear him shuffle a bit in bed, like he's turning onto his side, "Work is always puttin' me in a shitty mood lately and I just...I don't want you to see this side of me."

"But why?"

Another sigh, then-

"'Cause I don't want you to look at me differently."

You bring the sleeve of his flannel to your lips, "I could never look at you differently, Joel," you whisper, "Promise."

He's quiet for a moment and you hope you haven't upset him, hope he's just thinking about what to say. You mean your words; it really would take a lot for you to look at him differently. You know you probably shouldn't feel that way considering you've known him less than a month, that the feeling should scare you... but it doesn't.

"I'm tired, angel," he finally says, voice sad and distant, "I'm too old to be doin' this job."

You wait for him to speak again, listening as he takes a shaky breath on the other end of the line, almost like he hasn't told anyone this. And maybe he hasn't.

"But it's hard to admit that to myself," he continues, "And even harder to admit it to you of all people. I don't want you to see some washed up, tired, old geezer, ya know?" he says it with humor but you can tell that he means it, "I mean I used to... god, I used to be able to do shifts like this no problem. Be up at five and home by midnight and able to do it all over again the next day. Now it's like I'm runnin' on a half empty tank of gas. Got no joy in this job anymore and my back is killin' me and-" he cuts himself off suddenly, "And I need to shut the fuck up before I scare you away."

"You're not gonna scare me away," you whisper, and you mean it, "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughs softly to himself; you're not sure if he believes you, but you're choosing to hope that he does, "Ya know, I didn't even wanna tell you my age when we were first together? I wasn't gonna tell you, I really wasn't. But then you were so sweet and vulnerable and honest with me-"

You scoff, "Yeah, lying about knowing how to play guitar, that's certainly honesty."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," he chastises - you can hear the sudden smile in his voice, "No, darlin'... when you told me you hadn't done anythin' before. That's when I knew I had to tell you, 'cause it wouldn't have been right otherwise," he makes an odd noise in his throat and then corrects, "Not that any of this is really right, but..."

"It feels right," you say softly, staring down at the plaid lines on the flannel shirt shrouding your body, reminding you of what it means - that you're his.

"It does," he agrees, voice rough and low, "Right and wrong in all the right ways, huh babygirl?"

You nod to yourself, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face, "Exactly."

The both of you are silent for a few moments but just like last weekend, it isn't uncomfortable or awkward. It's calming and safe, just listening to each other's breathing. You can tell he's tired, can hear it in his slow exhales; again, you can't help but wish you were lying beside him. And you can't help but wonder if a more sober Joel would have even said any of this to you, would have just kept it to himself and continued to deal with it in silence, not bothering to tell anyone how he's been feeling. It breaks your heart a little bit.

"It'll be okay," you whisper gently, soothingly, "It won't be like this forever, Joel."

He sighs, deep and sleepy, "You really are an angel," he murmurs, "So sweet and lovely, babygirl. Love hearin' you say my name like that."

His words send warmth throughout your body - no one has ever spoken to you the way Joel speaks to you, makes you feel the way he makes you feel. You close your eyes and bury your face in the sleeve of his flannel, listen as his breathing gets slow again.

"You should get some sleep," you whisper, even though you really don't want to end the call - but Joel is tired and you want him to feel better, "Text me tomorrow, okay? Even if you're grumpy."

He almost laughs but he's so close to sleep that it comes out slurred and low, "Okay, baby, I will. Promise."

"Goodnight, J-"

"Wait wait wait," he suddenly sounds a bit more alert, rousing himself from sleep, "You didn't tell me 'bout this church thing. You okay with it?"

You giggle at his sudden concern, "It's nothing, really. Just helping an old friend out with lesson plans for Sunday School. Not very exciting."

"Fun," his voice is sleepy and low again, "What're you gonna wear?"

You have to bite down on your lip to stifle another laugh, shaking your head even though he can't see you, "Go to bed, you perv."

He chuckles, "Okay, okay. Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight, Joel."

You're about to end the call when you hear him murmur one final thing, so soft you're surprised you can even make it out - but you do:

"Hope I dream about you."

You fall asleep with a smile glued to your lips.

You end up wearing the same outfit you'd worn to Joel's last Saturday, though you leave the stockings at home; you doubt the women at church will be offended by your bare legs. You fasten your crucifix around your neck and make sure your mom gets a good look at you before you leave the house; you haven't spoken since yesterday afternoon but you still want her to see you're putting in some effort, as surface level as it may be.

She's in the living room when you come down the stairs, and her expression can't help but turn to one of surprise when she looks up from her book to see you standing there in your Sunday best.

"I'm going to the church," you explain softly, "Gonna help out Bethany with the lesson plan for Sunday School."

She assesses you up and down, eyes fixing on your crucifix for a moment before trailing back down to her book. She doesn't say a word.

Silent treatment. Typical.

Fifteen minutes later you find yourself being greeted by Bethany, blonde hair flowing down her dress as she stands outside the church with a bright smile plastered on her face. You recognize the forced expression immediately, one that you yourself have become an expert in feigning, though for different reasons. You haven't seen her in years but you still know her well enough to tell when she's less than thrilled about something - this time that "something" is you being there.

"I'm so excited you're here!" she tells you, voice shrill as she immediately takes a step forward to envelop you in a haphazard hug that feels neither excited nor genuine.

You should have known it would be like this. When you'd left for college a few years ago you'd promised to keep in touch with both Alice and Bethany, the only "solid" friends you'd managed to keep throughout all the studying, the tutoring, the church services, the extracurriculars, volunteering, etc. It's a miracle in itself that your friendship had even lasted through high school, if you're being honest. You'd begun to distance yourself from them a bit in those final years as you started to lose your faith while theirs only seemed to grow stronger. Leaving for college had been the last nail in the coffin.

"Me too!" you lie, feigning a similar smile as you both pull back from each other.

Though her grin is unrelenting, you can see the distance in her eyes, the sourness and disdain for your presence extremely evident. She doesn't like you. There's an awkward few seconds of silence where she assesses you up and down again, like she had at the service on Sunday.

Why did you even say yes to me coming here? You want to ask as you stand in front of her awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. If you didn't want me here you could have just said there wasn't anything for me to do. But you already know why you'd still been invited despite her obvious disdain for you - keeping up appearances means everything to these people; actually being honest about her feelings would have been disastrous for her reputation.

"Was sure you'd forgotten all about me," she finally says with an edge of malice still shrouded through her smile, "Haven't heard from you in what? Three years? And then you just show up outta the blue, huh?"

You grimace, "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. There was... I mean, I've just had a lot going on, I guess." You kick your feet awkwardly; this is not the conversation you want to be having right now.

"A lot goin' on, huh?" she echoes, eyes still scanning you up and down, "Right. Busy with college?"

You nod quickly, "Yeah, it's been kinda crazy."

She raises an eyebrow, "What are you studyin' again?"

"English Lit."

She snorts then, shaking her head and taking a step back, "Right. Reading. Sure sounds crazy."

Your brow furrows, "It's more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she puts her hands up in defense, fake laughing and smacking her lips together, "Just find it funny that an English Lit degree takes up so much of your time." She's being pretty bold with the sarcasm but you suppose she has a right to be angry, though you'd never assumed she'd be this pissed about you cutting her off, "Anyway, we should get inside, they're waitin' for us."

"Bethany," you take a step toward her, softening your expression, "I'm really sorry."

She just shakes her head again and turns away from you to reach for the handle on the front door, forced smile finally fading into a natural frown, "Forget it."

Great start.

You don't talk much after that, not after you're led into a side room off the chapel where a few other women are sitting in a circle with binders in their laps. Bethany simply gestures for you sit down in an empty chair and the meeting begins. Everyone immediately begins their rapport, discussing their plans and reading quotes aloud from their binders while you just kind of sit there unsure of what to do or say. A few of the women give you a tentative smile or two, but the way Bethany periodically glares at you is enough to keep them from actually speaking to you directly. You're okay with it though; as awkward as this is, you'd rather sit in silence than have to pretend. Still, if you'd known it would be like this you never would have come - it's not like your mother appreciates it anyway.

Your phone vibrates at one point, a text from Tasha confirming her flight information with lots of !!!!!!'s that make you smile. As if sensing your sudden mood shift, Bethany puts her hands up with another grin that doesn't reach her eyes.

"We keep phones in our purses" she says sweetly, "So we don't get distracted."

You nod and slip it back inside your bag, a gesture that's more of a peace offering than anything else; it seems to appease her.

It's strange being inside this part of the church again after so long. You'd attended your own Sunday School lessons here, prepped for choir and readings, learned your scripture. It certainly doesn't feel as safe or inviting as it once did, though you have to admit that there was always an undercurrent of pressure, of judgement - an energy that still remains today. Bethany watches you closely, quietly assessing you as you nod along to everyone's suggestions and ideas and try to keep up your long-time façade of obedience. You push down the new parts of you that long to take back a bit of control, maybe say something shocking or suggest something ridiculous just to see how they'd react.

You've been sitting in silence for about forty five minutes when Bethany announces its time for a quick phone break. Like clockwork everyone in the room pulls out their devices and starts checking for missed calls from their kids, their husbands. You pull yours out and your eyebrows go up in surprise when you see a text from Joel on your lockscreen:

How's your day going angel?

He didn't forget his promise. A smile plays at your lips as you start typing out your reply, but it quickly fades when you feel Bethany's eyes on you, watching.

"I'm, uh-" you stand up, smoothing out the creases in your dress and gripping your phone tightly, "I'm gonna take a bathroom break."

The bathroom is the same as you remember it, high ceilings and white walls, your footsteps echoing loudly as you walk over to the sinks and lean your back against the countertop. You continue typing out your reply to Joel:

well all the church ladies are giving me the silent treatment til i'm worthy of being here again lol. but jokes on them cause my mom is also giving me the silent treatment so i have training! anyway i miss you. wanna hug you. hope you're feeling a bit better today 💕

You turn around and face the mirror while you wait for his reply. You're still smiling - it's impossible not to when you're thinking about Joel, but this smile is bright and genuine, unlike the forced grins you've been sharing with Bethany for the past hour. God, you can't remember the last time anything made you feel as free and happy as Joel makes you, like nothing else really matters. Your phone buzzes and you tear your eyes away from the mirror to read his reply:

Aw baby I'm sorry. I wanna hug you too. Wanna do a bit more than hug if I'm being honest, but you know that already.

You bring your other hand up to your mouth, smiling even wider into it as his typing bubble pops up again only seconds later:

And I'm sorry about last night. If I said anything stupid please forget it ever happened. Me and alcohol don't mix that well sometimes. I'm alright, don't worry about me x

But I do worry, you want to say, I want to make you feel better. But how can you do that from a church bathroom, miles away from wherever he is right now? You're suddenly reminded of something he'd told you a few weeks ago, something you hadn't quite understood in the moment - You can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures.

Oh.

You look at yourself in the mirror again and carefully place your phone down on the edge of the sink. Your hand slowly comes up to push aside the collar of your dress, pull the stretchy material past your shoulder and down your arm. You do the same to the other side, slipping out of your sleeves and tugging down the high neckline of your dress to expose your bare chest to the mirror, putting your cleavage on display. You bite your lip, willing yourself to see what Joel sees, a pretty girl in a pretty dress, bra straps clinging to her skin and a crucifix hanging from her throat. Filthy.

You grab your phone and turn it toward the mirror, opening up your camera app and moving it close enough so he can see only your torso, sleeves hanging limp at your sides while your other arm comes up to squeeze your breasts together a bit, accentuating your cleavage even more. You snap a pic and send it to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

He replies seconds later:

Fuck

A grin spreads across your face and you make quick work of slipping your bra straps down your shoulders as well, just as another text from him comes in:

Send me another baby. Please.

Already one step ahead of you, you think to yourself as your cheeks warm and you pull down the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling out into the cool air of the bathroom. You squeeze them together again, nipples hardening tightly as you take another picture and send it along with a coy message:

better?

He must be staring at his phone, waiting for it, because his typing bubble appears instantaneously. You can't help but feel a sense of pride at the power you're holding right now, a change of pace from your usual naivety.

Oh babygirl. This is just what I needed.

i know :)

You glance at the bathroom door and then at the time - you still have a few minutes before the meeting starts up again and your mind is already racing with what you can do with those few minutes. With barely any hesitation you tug your dress up over your thighs, pulling your panties to the side and aiming your phone underneath. You frown when you pull your phone back up to find that it's dark and blurry.

"Hold on," you whisper to no one, then carefully lift your leg and place your heel on the countertop for support, pulling your dress up again and aiming your phone a little better. You pull back your panties and aren't surprised in the slightest to feel that they're suddenly damp.

This picture comes out much better. Your pussy is bare and a little wet, clit poking out past your lips, panties pulled against your inner thigh. You already know it's gonna make him crazy as you hit send.

Jesus Christ

He's already typing something else when you receive it and you can't help but giggle, covering your mouth and trying to picture where he is right now, what he's doing. Is he in a bathroom too? On a break? Or is he in the middle of a job, surrounded by other people? The latter thought makes you even wetter somehow.

Fuck you have such a pretty pussy baby.

thank you mr. miller :)

Will you hold her open a little for me? Show me that sweet little hole?

Who are you to deny such a request? With heat radiating all over your body you bring your phone down again and scissor your lips apart, exposing the innermost part of yourself to your phone camera. You can feel your own slick on the tips of your fingers, and when you push yourself open you feel a bit of your wetness dribble down onto your palm. Fuck. This is hotter than you'd expected it would be. You'd thought it would be a good way to make him feel better, get him through his work day like he'd said; you never thought you'd enjoy it this much.

Oh sweetheart. Look at that.

You feel another rush of pride as you take your leg down from the counter and tug your dress back down, rubbing your thighs together and doing everything in your power not to touch yourself again even though you want to. A quiet whimper unconsciously tears itself past your lips at his follow-up message:

Who's that perfect pussy belong to babygirl?

You've never typed a message back so fast in your life.

you. it's yours mr. miller.

That's right. Good girl.

Your skin is on fire, body tingling in all the right places. You smooth a hand down your bare chest, cup one of your breasts, gently squeeze. It's impossible for your eyes not to roll back a bit when you imagine Joel's hand on you instead, big and firm and callused and perfect. Your pussy throbs in your underwear and another whimper slips past your lips.

i'm really wet now :(

I know angel. Come over tonight and I'll take care of it, Ok?

Your heart leaps at the invitation, even more wetness pooling in your panties at the thought of what Joel might want to do tonight, if there's another “lesson” he has in mind.

yes please

Eyeing the time again, you bite your lip in disappointment when you realize you should probably be getting back. You wait until Joel has finished typing his final response, a message that makes your skin burn with anticipation:

Don't touch yourself til you see me. Keep that soft little pussy hidden, baby. Promise me.

i promise x

Just as you hit send you suddenly hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps down the hall, quickly approaching the bathroom. Your eyes widen in the mirror, gaze snapping to your bare breasts, sleeves still hanging loosely at your sides. In a panic you hurriedly attempt to stuff yourself back into your bra before you have company – but you're not that lucky.

The bathroom door bangs open and you freeze with one arm halfway through your sleeve, breasts still completely exposed in the mirror as you turn on the spot to see none other than Bethany standing there, frozen in place.

“I-” she looks flabbergasted, expression one of pure horror as she takes a step back from you and grips the knob of the door like she could rip it off at any moment. Your free arm that isn't trapped in a sleeve comes up to cover yourself as best you can, but you know she's already seen everything.

“I'm- I was just-” You're similarly taken aback and at a complete loss for words, unsure how the fuck you can explain what exactly she's just walked in on.

Her eyes fall to the phone in your hand, like she's putting the pieces together, then she shakily takes another step back and leaves without saying another word, the click of her heels echoing back at you loudly until the door finishes closing behind her.

Shit.

You don't have time to stand around thinking up an excuse; you do briefly consider escaping through one of the windows to avoid facing her, but you know it would just delay the inevitable. Instead you hastily finish pulling your dress back on and stare at yourself in the mirror for one final moment.

Your smile is gone. So is the light in your eyes. You suddenly begin to feel that familiar sense of guilt creeping in, the shame, the sin. You blink a few times and find that there are tears welling up in your eyes, a lump in your throat. A tiny voice in the back of your mind, one you've been attempting to mute for years, whispers to you: What have you done?

Bethany doesn't speak to or look at you for the rest of the meeting. It's not much of a change from before you'd gone to the bathroom, but there's something new in her silence now, something you can see in her eyes as she stares down at her binder while the other women talk. Fear. You've known her for most of your life, can sense certain mood changes from a mile away; you've frightened her. And somehow that just adds even more to the guilt building in your stomach.

You'll apologize to her after the meeting, it's all you can do. You genuinely feel horrible that she'd walked in on something so private, seen something she never intended or desired to ever see. You wonder if there's anything you can use to pass off as an excuse; maybe you spilled something on your dress and were cleaning it off? Maybe it was too tight and you needed a breather? Anything is better than the alternative – the truth – but you somehow doubt she'll believe anything you say at this point. That bridge was broken the second you left for college; there's no repairing it now.

The meeting ends with a few pleasantries exchanged and several comments about picking kids up from school, getting home to cook something for dinner, normal things that remind you how abnormal your own situation is in comparison. Half an hour ago you'd felt on top of the world, in control, had power in the tips of your fingers. Now you just feel small again, inconsequential.

You wait until the other ladies have left before taking a step toward Bethany, ready to unload your apologies and beg for forgiveness. She surprises you by speaking first.

"I'd think twice before wearing that again,” she hisses at you, venomous and pointed. Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?"

"I said,” her words are slow and full of bitter intention, eyes glaring daggers at you, “I'd think twice before wearing that again" she gestures to the crucifix around your neck and you unconsciously reach up to take it between your fingers, glancing down at it before looking back up to meet her angry gaze.

“I'm...” you feel overwhelmed, tears pricking in your eyes again at the sudden burst of rage being directed at you, “I don't...”

"You might not understand this,” she practically spits through her teeth, “but that symbol actually means something to the people here."

"I know what it means.” It comes out as barely a whisper, voice shaky as she takes an intimidating step toward you with nothing but malice in her expression.

"So that's why you've got your breasts out in a public bathroom? A church bathroom?”

“Bethany, I-”

“You're not welcome here anymore, understand?” her voice is full of finality, “You can come to church with your parents-” The mention of your parents sends your anxiety into a tailspin, heart beating frantically in your chest as she continues to step closer and closer toward you, “And you can pretend you're their good little girl. But I know the truth. And it's not welcome in my Sunday School ever again. Got it?”

My Sunday school. The superiority complex is strong and you know deep down that this is all completely rooted in her own fears, her own desires, her pride, but none of that seems to matter when she's staring you down like this, holding you captive with her hostile words.

"Got it,” you whisper, nodding shakily.

"Good. Now go home and take," she points toward the crucifix, the tip of her finger close enough to faintly brush against the shape of it, “that,” she suddenly prods it, giving you one final sneer, “off.”

It takes you twenty minutes to leave the parking lot after that, tears blurring your vision as you cry in your car and try not to let the shame completely envelop you.

Going to Joel's that night carries none of the anticipation you'd felt earlier this afternoon; instead you feel nothing but shame as you steal your mother's house key from its dish in the hallway, closing the front door behind you as softly as you can and hurrying out into the night. There's no excitement or rush like the last time you'd done this. You feel like you could cry at any moment as you approach Joel's house, climbing his front steps with a heavy weight on your shoulders that wasn't there before, that hasn't been there in weeks.

The door opens before you can even turn the knob – he must have been watching from his window, waiting for you in anticipation for tonight's “lesson”. Your stomach lurches.

“There's my little Sunday School girl,” he murmurs, taking your hand and tugging you gently inside.

“Please don't call me that,” you say quietly, head down.

He shuts the door behind you and takes your hands in his – you can feel his eyes on you but you're unsure of the look on his face, what expression is on it. Does he sense there's something wrong? Or is he waiting for you to jump his bones?

“Hey,” his voice is soft, concerned, “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, still staring at the floor.

“What happened, babygirl?” he murmurs, one of his hands releasing yours to come up and stroke your cheek gently, thumb grazing the wetness beneath your eyes, “Why're you cryin', darlin'? C'mere.” His finger travels down to your chin, pushes your face up to look at him.

His expression is worried, brow furrowed and forehead creased, a frown playing at his lips. You feel your heartbeat slow, the weight on your shoulders decreasing just a little bit as safety settles in your bones. He cares.

“I had a horrible day,” you whisper, feeling tears trickle down into the corners of your mouth, “I know you want to...want to...” you shake your head, “Whatever we were gonna do. But I don't think I can tonight, Joel. I don't feel good.”

“Oh, babygirl,” he breathes, releasing your chin and immediately wrapping you up in his embrace, arms tightening around you as he pulls you against his chest, “We don't have to do anythin', don't even worry about that.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathe him in. His flannel underneath your mattress is nothing compared to the real thing, the real smell of him overtaking your senses and filling you with a true feeling of warmth and safety. His arms are so big – he's so big – and without meaning to you find yourself going completely limp in his arms, bones turning to jelly. It's like finally breathing in the fresh air after holding your breath underwater, a natural reaction to finally being where you belong.

He doesn't question your body's response, almost seems to understand completely as he pulls you up from the floor and adjusts you slightly to cradle you in his arms, carrying you past the living room, past the kitchen, up the stairs and to his bedroom. You just close your eyes and bury your face in his shirt, inhale the scent of sawdust and sweat and cedar and Joel.

He tips you gently onto his bed, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before settling in beside you without saying anything. You feel his arm wrap around you, tug you in closer beside him as he noses your hair and lets you just exist.

Minutes pass before you finally break the comfortable silence, voice quiet and small - “I feel so ashamed.”

You feel his brow furrow in your hair and you turn around to face him, bringing your arm up around his torso and pressing your hand firmly against his back. He looks at you with confusion, concern.

You tell him everything. About Bethany, your friendship with her and Alice before you left for college, the way you'd already begun to lose your faith even then. You tell him about your mom, about the silent treatment and her reaction to the white lie, the lie that's practically nothing in the grand scheme of deceit you've been weaving these past few weeks. You talk about church and Sunday School and all the guilt you'd felt in that little room growing up, how being there again felt wrong and uncomfortable. You tell him how free you'd felt in the bathroom with your camera, the power you'd felt, reclaimed, and how all of it had been snatched away from you the second Bethany had entered. How she'd destroyed any semblance of confidence you'd been able to find today, how she'd shamed you for the crucifix that you don't even want to be wearing. It's the most you've ever told him, the most you've ever talked to him about anything.

And he listens.

He doesn't seem put out by your venting, annoyed or irritated or ready to send you home at any minute. He just nods, frowns at the right moments, strokes your arm and your cheek, kisses your forehead when you start to cry. Wipes the tears away when you apologize for crying. He stays with you and remains present and attentive, lets you talk and talk until you start to apologize for how much you've been talking.

“I know this isn't even what you signed up for,” you blubber, shaking your head and bringing your hands up to cover your face, “I'm sorry I keep bringing so much- so many complications into your life.”

“Shh,” he soothes, placing his large hands on yours and pulling them away from your tired eyes, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, “Stop apologizin', baby. Stop. You've got nothin' to be sorry for.”

You suddenly sit up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and bringing a hand up to touch the crucifix still clasped around your neck. You hadn't taken it off like she'd told you to do; you'd felt like doing so would have made you weak, would have been like giving up, even though you'd never wanted to even wear it again in the first place.

“Why does this little thing have so much fucking power over me?” you ask aloud, not directed at Joel but more-so to yourself, “My whole life, no one has ever seen me, they've just seen this.” You shake your head, squeezing the tiny cross in your hand. “And wearing it again has just brought all that shit back, it's done absolutely nothing good. Wore it for my mom and she still gives me the silent treatment. Wore it for Bethany and she still treats me like garbage, tells me to take it off. It's just a fucking necklace.”

Joel sits up beside you, places a warm hand on your thigh and peers at you with those soft brown eyes, lulling you back into a sense of calm, of serenity.

“Give it to me,” he says quietly.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You stare at him for a moment, then watch as he carefully brings his hands up to graze his callused fingertips against your neck, brushing the chain.

“I'll take it off your hands for a bit,” he murmurs, “Outta sight, outta mind. And if you want it back, I'll have it ready for you. How's that sound?”

You nod slowly to yourself, feeling your eyes begin to sting again at his words, “...Good. Th-that sounds good.”

Without saying anything else you hear the sound of the clasp being undone, feel the chain slip away from your skin as Joel takes it from you. You turn your head to watch as he fists it in his palm for a moment, gaze thoughtful and faraway as he traces the shape of the cross with his thumb. A few seconds later he opens his bedside table and carefully places it inside, then shuts the drawer.

And just like that, the weight is gone.

You take a shower in his bathroom again, wanting to wash this day off you and start over, clean slate. You could have had one when you got home from the meeting earlier but you'd instead opted to just lay in bed feeling sorry for yourself for much longer than you'd needed to. Now you close your eyes and let the hot water envelop you, wash yourself with Joel's body wash and allow yourself to become his again, picturing him laying in his bed in the other room, waiting for you. This is what matters. This moment. Right now.

You enter his bedroom wrapped in one of his towels, drops of water still spilling down your skin onto the hardwood floor. He's sitting up in bed, shirtless with his legs hidden under the covers. He's seemingly deep in thought as he stares at his phone screen, brows scrunched together. You watch as he pulls the phone away from himself, eyes squinting and lips parting a bit, then pulls it back, like he can't see what he's looking at properly. You realize that's probably the case.

“You need glasses,” you say with a soft giggle, and his expression relaxes when he sees you standing there, phone going back on his nightstand.

“I have glasses,” he admits sheepishly, giving you a tender smile, “Just hate wearin' 'em.”

“Of course,” you roll your eyes and take a few steps forward, still gripping the towel around yourself. His eyes fall to the parts of you that are bare, revelling in the way the lamplight reflects on your wet skin. You feel tingles erupt through your senses under his gaze.

“Are you naked?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, “Wearin' pants, don't worry.”

You stand there for a moment, staring. He just stares back, eyebrows going up a bit while he waits for you to say something else. When you don't, he tilts his head slightly, appraising you.

“Do you want me to be naked, babygirl?”

You're answering before you even really know what you want, "Yes."

Without needing to be told twice he reaches under the covers with both hands and shimmies his way out of his pajama bottoms, staying hidden under the sheets as he tosses them out onto the floor. You bite your lip, still just standing there staring at him without moving. You're still dripping everywhere, a little puddle of water forming at your feet the longer you stay frozen.

He raises his finger and playfully curls it toward himself with a smile, "C'mere, baby," he murmurs, "Be naked with me."

You don't need telling twice either.

The towel drops from your body, landing in the puddle of water on the floor - easy cleanup. You feel heat radiating through every inch of your bare skin as you walk toward the bed, avoiding Joel's eyes and quickly slipping in beside him. You really don't know what you're doing - you'd said when you got here that you didn't want to do anything, not tonight, and it's still true. But part of you just aches to be close to Joel, to feel his warm heat, his rough skin, be connected to him somehow. It's what you've wanted all week.

You inch in beside him, back against the headboard, your bare thigh touching his lightly beneath the sheets, and you find yourself tensing up unconsciously. He clocks your reaction immediately.

"You don't gotta be nervous, angel," he tells you softly, soothingly.

You swallow and take a deep breath, "It's hard not to be," you whisper, though there's no reason to, "I'm just... I'm so..."

"What?" he asks, brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb swiping beneath your eye again like he's checking for more tears - luckily you're feeling much better in that department.

You sigh, shrugging slightly, "I don't know what I'm doing," your eyes fall down to the duvet, knowing that if you pulled it back you'd see your bodies touching underneath, his rough and tan skin pressed against yours, soft and untouched, "I mean, I don't even know why I came tonight. I knew I didn't- that I didn't want to-" you sigh again in frustration, unable to find the right words, "I just... I missed you," your eyes travel back up to meet his, "I just wanted to be near you."

His expression softens, still stroking your cheek as he peers into your eyes, "You feel safe with me, don't you?" You nod. "You know I won't do anythin' you don't want me to do, right?" Another nod. "So it's okay to just relax when you're with me."

You grimace, "How can I relax when we're naked in bed together?"

He chuckles, dropping his hand from your face and shuffling down into the bed a bit, away from the headboard, "Okay, time for another lesson."

You feel your heart sink again, worried that he's not understanding - probably because you can't explain it right - but he smiles reassuringly at you and curls his finger slightly, urging you to follow him downwards. With a quiet inhale you slowly inch away from the headboard and further down into the bed, beneath the duvet. You both stop moving when your heads hit the pillows, laying down fully beside each other.

"Gettin' naked doesn't always mean there has to be sex," he says softly, and you watch as he very slowly brings his hand down beneath the duvet; you know where it's going before it touches you, but you still shiver when you feel his fingers brush lightly against your bare arm, "Us bein' naked in bed together doesn't mean anythin' has to happen."

"But earlier today I said..." you trail off, shaking your head, "I promised that-"

"Earlier is earlier," he brushes your arm again, tender and comforting, "Circumstances change, your day got shitty. Mine was no better. It happens."

His hand travels downward, toward the skin of your hip. He curls his palm around your bare flesh and gently massages it, thumb stroking the edge of your tummy. It's intimate and new, but somehow it feels more safe and comforting than sexual, like he's simply doing something casual, normal.

"Sometimes you just wanna lay in bed with someone" he murmurs, still touching you tenderly, "No expectations, no pressure. No nothin'. Sure, it's fun to touch each other and be together like that, but if you just wanna sleep..." his fingertips brush your back gently, then press firmly into your skin as he pulls you a bit closer toward him, "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

You're not sure what to think, staring at him with a million different thoughts flooding your mind. Your interpretation of what men want has always been a bit of a grey area, but you've heard enough from both your family and your friends to know that most of them are just after one thing. You'd heard it from your parents your whole life who always warned about non-Christian boys and their sinful thoughts, then from the girls at college who dealt with disrespect and catcalls, men who turned on them in an instant the second they realized they weren't getting any.

Joel isn't like that. Sure, he wants sex - that's been obvious since day one, when he'd invited you inside his house within minutes of meeting you. He'd only had one thing on his mind, just like your parents had always said. But he hadn't thrown a fit when you'd said no, and up until this point he's made it abundantly clear that the ball is in your court, that it's up to you what happens between the two of you.

"I know all this stuff can be scary," he continues softly when you don't reply, "I know you're embarrassed about bein' so inexperienced, but you don't need to be. I'm here to make it easier for you; I want you to be comfortable."

He nudges forward a bit and slowly begins to wrap his arms around you, warm and inviting. You let him, body going loose and comfortable in his grasp as you feel your eyes close; safe. You feel so safe.

"You're so warm," is all you can think to say, loving the way it feels to have his broad and hairy chest pressed up against your bare breasts, his big and strong arms winding around your smaller form.

He chuckles softly and you feel him press a gentle kiss to your cheek, beard scratching your skin in your favorite way. You bring your arms up and hug him back beneath the blankets, feeling your naked thighs press firmly against his. You're aware of his cock - it's hard not to be, not when it's pressed gently against the base of your tummy, soft against your skin - but he doesn't rub himself against you or do anything to initiate more than this, more than just being together like he'd said.

He really means it, you know he does.

"I can't wait to have sex with you," you hear yourself whisper in his ear; it sounds dirty but you don't mean it to be, "I just...I'm really glad it's gonna be you."

And I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you.

You wake up the next morning to a firm and solid presence at your back, bare and warm and comfy. You're surprised you're awake before Joel's alarm, wondering what exactly woke you up in the first place - and then you feel it. Something wet and sticky against your lower back, something pulsing and twitching every so often against your skin.

Good morning.

He hadn't pressed his cock against you like this last night when you were cuddling, hadn't asked you to touch it or even acknowledged its presence. But sleeping Joel is an entirely different person, his big arms wrapped around you tightly, one splayed across your belly while the other holds your right breast, cups it like it's meant to fit there. He holds you in place firmly, breath at your neck, nose in your hair.

You're not sure how much time you have left before his alarm goes off. The sun is only barely starting to come up outside the window, so it could start ringing at any time now. All you know is that the sensation of having him so close to you like this, his most intimate part so close to yours, so wet and warm, it's making you all wet and warm. Your skin almost feels itchy, especially at your neck where his warm breath leaves a damp spot beneath your ear, a spot you're suddenly longing for him to kiss, to lick.

"Joel," you breathe, unable to wait any longer, scared that at any moment he'll have to leave the bed and start getting ready for work.

No response.

"Joel," you repeat, a bit louder this time, and with his name you carefully grind back against him a little bit, the wet head of his cock trailing back and forth against your warm skin. He makes a grumbling noise in his chest, pulls you in a bit closer, "Joel, wake up," you moan, painfully aware of the shape of his balls against your ass, big and heavy and suddenly the hottest thing you've ever felt in your life.

"What?" he groans, rousing from sleep, "What is it?"

It's all the confirmation of awareness you need to suddenly turn in the sheets, bring the duvet down to expose your naked bodies to the both of you. His eyes are bleary and tired as he watches you from beneath heavy eyelids, sees where your gaze has settled.

His cock lays long and thick and loose against his tummy, round tip drooling precum into the hair smattered above his belly button. God, he's so big. Your lips part, saliva filling your mouth like it had the last time you saw it, like somehow your body knows exactly what the next step is.

"I wanna put my mouth on it," you whisper, pushing your hair back behind your ears and turning your gaze back to Joel's face, "Please."

His eyebrows go up in surprise, eyelashes fluttering with sleep. He's probably wondering where this is coming from, how the girl in his bed right now is the same one who just wanted to be held last night, but he doesn't seem to be complaining. He nods quickly, stretches his arms above his head and tries to rouse himself even more from sleep.

"Of course you can, baby," he mutters huskily, voice deep and dripping with arousal, "Go ahead."

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," you murmur softly, and before you can even fully process what you're doing or question if you'll even be good at it, your lips are pressing against the warm heat of his wet tip.

He hisses immediately and you pull back, frightened for a moment that you've already fucked up somehow. He shakes his head quickly at you, "No, no, you're good baby, that's good," one of his hands comes down to settle against the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, "Give it a kiss, just like that."

And you do. Time is already not on your side - you feel like there's a countdown clock hanging over your head as you press another kiss in the same spot, his precum sticky on your lips. You'd thought it might be gross, had heard lots about blowjobs from your friends and how unpleasant they can be, but when your tongue darts out to carefully prod against where he's leaking, you find that it doesn't bother you that much at all.

"Tastes funny," you murmur softly, peppering a few more kisses around the wide head and then down to his shaft, thumbing the prominent vein on the underside as you do it.

"Kinda gross, huh?" you hear him say softly above you, a strained edge to his voice that makes you smile against him.

"I think I like it, actually," you admit softly, tongue darting out once again to slowly lap up a bead at the tip. You're not lying; there's something masculine and sexy and inherently Joel about it, something you hadn't been expecting.

"That's good, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking the back of your head gently, "That's so good, angel." You don't know whether he means your opinion on the taste or simply a reaction to the things you're doing with your tongue, but either way you keep going, hoping that the alarm doesn't interrupt you.

You wrap your lips around the tip carefully, pulling it into your mouth and sucking it gently - very gently. He makes a breathless sound above you and you can't help but bring your gaze up to his face, your eyes meeting his as you swallow him down.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he breathes, thumbing a strand of hair at your temple and pushing it behind your ear, eyes dark, "Look at you."

You swirl your tongue around the tip, still making sure to keep eye contact with him as you carefully slip more of him inside your mouth. He's so big, there's absolutely no way you'll be able to fit all of him inside, at least not without some practice. He doesn't seem to mind that you can only take a little bit of him, his thumb coming downward to stroke gently at the corner of your mouth. He wipes away a bit of drool pooling there, brows furrowing.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, nodding slowly to you in reassurance as you very slowly begin to lift your head up and down, up and down, eyes going hazy, "Takin' that cock so well."

His words spur you on, encourage you to take a little bit more. You've got about half of him in your mouth and you already know you won't be able to take anymore, the spongey tip pushing dangerously close to your gag reflex. You absolutely do not want to choke, don't want to ruin this in any way. You want him to feel good. Feel better.

"Oh, honey," he groans softly when you begin to palm his balls, rolling them gently and feeling their fullness, round and heavy, "This mouth," he touches the corner of your lips again, a bit harder this time, trails his fingers downward to grip your chin, "Made to have my cock in there, huh?" his eyes are boring into yours, pupils blown wide, "You like havin' your mouth full like that, babygirl?"

You nod and whimper around his length, speeding up a little bit and never breaking eye contact with him, obsessed with watching his eyes get darker and darker, filling more and more with lust as he watches you pleasure him.

"Yeah, you do," he murmurs, voice soothing again like last night, calm and safe, "What a good girl you are, wakin' me up to suck my cock. Couldn't wait, could ya, baby?" you shake your head and the head of his cock slips past your throat a little too far, so much that you have to pull off him quickly to be sure you don't gag, "Aw, baby, that's okay," he reassures you gently, "It's a lot, I know."

Your eyes are hooded and your jaw is already starting to ache - you're not used to doing something like this and he knows it, strokes your cheek gently as he takes his cock in his hand and carefully pushes the tip against your lips.

"You just kiss it, baby," he whispers, dark and deep, "Kiss that cock 'til I come, okay?"

You do as you're told, lips parting slightly as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips and strokes himself a few more times, bringing himself close to the edge. He's so gorgeous like this, so rugged and almost animalistic as his chest heaves, groans escaping his mouth as he watches your lips. His hand is still in your hair, grip getting tighter and tighter as you lean down a bit so he can gently fuck the tip of his cock back into your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and you can feel your pussy throbbing against the mattress with every thrust, lips tight around him.

"Ah, fuck," he grits out suddenly, then pulls his cock away from your mouth and releases all over his chest and stomach, thighs tensing up as you watch his eyes practically roll back into his head. Your eyes are wide and attentive, locked onto the white ropes of come that spurt against his bare skin. You find yourself wondering what it would feel like at the back of your throat instead, on your tongue, what it would taste like...

Your thoughts are interrupted by Joel's alarm going off, loud and obnoxious. Before he can pull himself up to turn it off, you lean over to the nightstand and do it yourself, swiping it off and turning back to his blissed out form. He lies there panting for a moment, eyes closed. You can't help but smile, feeling pride swell in your chest again at the knowledge that you made him feel like this.

"Don't go back to sleep," you whisper softly, "You gotta go to work."

He groans then, but opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile and a wink, expression still sleepy and satisfied, "Who needs an alarm clock when I got you, huh?" He gestures with his finger for you to move closer and you do, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Mornin', darlin'," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Morning," you whisper back, and you revel in the smile on his face when you pull away, "Sorry for jumping your bones so early."

He just shakes his head with a wide smile, "Never apologize for jumpin' my bones, baby." His eyes fall to your naked body, settling on your pussy, still wet and aching against the sheets, "Aw, sweetheart, lemme take care of that for you."

You shake your head, pointing to his phone, "We don't have time, you gotta get to work and I gotta get home before my parents wake up," you slip out of bed and reach down to pick up the clothes you'd stripped yourself of last night before your shower. He starts to protest but you put your hand up with a soft laugh, "It's okay, Joel. I wanted to do this for you, start your day out right. Give you a chance at a good day."

He peers up at you from the bed, face smooshed into the pillow as he watches you get dressed, "Doesn't seem fair."

You just roll your eyes, pulling on your panties and shorts and pointing to his phone again, "Really, we need to hurry," you bite your lip as you slip your t-shirt over your head, "I have keys this time but I still don't wanna risk it."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles softly, "I'm goin'."

He slips out of bed and stretches, tilting his body back and forth. You both hear the way his bones crack, the noise that emits from his throat when he bends his back a certain way. You watch his expression change, going from content and sated to embarrassed and grumpy in seconds.

"And just like that, the illusion is gone," he mutters to himself, limping away from the bed and toward the door without so much as a side glance to you, clearly upset by the sudden reminder of his age. You frown, watching him go and feeling an ache in your chest that makes a home there for the rest of the morning.

He'd made you breakfast last time, so it's only fair that you make something for him today. Unfortunately cooking has never been your forte, so about fifteen minutes later you're waving a dish rag at the fire alarm while the sausages you'd managed to burn are smoking in the sink. Joel comes running down the stairs after his shower with a look of concern on his face, only for it to fade into one of amusement when he sees the situation.

"Now why am I teachin' you guitar when you clearly don't know how to even use a stove?"

"Oh, shut up," you can't even pretend to be mad at him, grin spreading across your face as you shake your head and breathe a sigh of relief when the alarm stops going off, "Help me clean this up."

You end up making toast instead.

"You know, we've still got about ten minutes," he says across from you at the table as you eat, peering down at his watch quickly.

"Yeah, 'cause I fail as a cook," you mutter, making a face at your slice of toast, "I was gonna do eggs too, you know."

"Let's not reach for the stars too quickly now," he says with a sly smile, putting his hand up quickly when you prepare to retort, "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"What did you-" you look up from your toast and see him beckoning you toward him again like he had last night, finger curling toward himself with a sly smile on his face.

You look at the clock on the oven, biting your lip.

"It'll take five minutes tops," he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"Really?" you challenge, "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes."

That, you'd like to see. Dropping your toast back onto the plate, you stand up and walk to the other side of the table, unsure what exactly he wants you to do. He spreads his legs a bit, points to his thigh.

"Sit here, babygirl," he says, voice low and hypnotic, "Wanna show you somethin' new."

Yes please.

You situate yourself on his lap, one leg going between his thighs while the other dangles carefully off the other side of the chair. He pulls you down, big hands coming up to palm your hips and hold you there firmly. You swallow tightly, unsure exactly what he has in mind.

"You know what feels really good?" he murmurs, thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin between your shirt and your shorts.

"What?" you whisper, peering down into his eyes with intrigue.

"This," he says softly, then very slowly begins to move your hips, dragging you carefully back and forth along his thigh. Your eyebrows shoot up, lips parting as you feel the ache in your core immediately return, the pressure of his thigh and the movement of his hands setting your nerves alight.

He looks down at his own handiwork, watches as he moves you back and forth, back and forth, rocking you over and over again until you're whimpering in his lap, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He just smiles up at you, doesn't stop his movements.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he breathes, watching your expression closely, "Feels good to finally have somethin' touchin' that pussy, huh baby?"

You moan at his words, hands slipping from his shoulders to wrap around him as you lean forward to bury your face in his neck. He just starts to move you faster, chuckling softly to himself when your hips buck against him. It's amazing how such a simple action can feel so fucking good, the constant stimulation against your clit through layers of material making you writhe and whimper.

He removes one of his hands from your hips and slips it inside the leg of your shorts, fingertips tickling your inner thigh gently. You grapple onto him even tighter, hugging him like a koala as his thumb slowly begins to stroke you through the wet spot of your panties.

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about this pussy yesterday," he murmurs, thumb rubbing your clit over and over in little circles, "Those pictures were so filthy, baby."

You moan against his shoulder, gripping him tighter as his thumb begins to pick up speed. He presses a kiss to your neck, wet and hot; it makes your eyes roll back.

"And this little hole," he murmurs in your ear, suddenly adding a finger inside your shorts to circle your entrance slowly, "Kept thinkin' about this tiny little hole, all open for me."

God, when he talks like that you can't even fucking think, brain running on autopilot as he pulls you impossibly closer and lets you bare down on his thigh, his finger and thumb trapped under your weight, pressed firmly against your core.

"Who's gonna fill up that hole, babygirl?" he whispers in your ear, soft and secret, "Huh? Who's that hole belong to?"

"You," you whimper into his shoulder, eyes shut tight as he strokes his finger up and down through the fabric, adding even more pressure to the overwhelming sensations you're already feeling "It's yours, Mr. Miller."

"And what's gonna go inside it, sweetheart?"

"Hnhng," you can't speak, inhaling shakily as Joel's other hand presses harder against your hip and continues to guide you, fucking you back and forth against his thigh. He just watches you, eyes dark, lips parted, brow furrowed.

"Words, babygirl," he reminds you softly, "Use your words. What's gonna go inside that tight little hole? Huh? Tell me."

"Y-your cock."

"That's right," he murmurs, the tip of his finger prodding inside you gently, taking the damp material of your panties with it, "Gonna fill you up so deep with my cock, honey. You're gonna feel it right here," he moves his hand up and places it at the base of your belly, pushes against it softly, "Gonna be so big inside you, sweet girl."

Oh fuck.

"I want it so bad," you groan, wrapping your arms even tighter around him, "I need it Mr. Miller."

"You do need it," he agrees softly as he kisses the top of your head, bringing his hand back down from your belly to guide you again, moving you back and forth "Need to be fucked so bad, don't you baby? Til you can't even think straight."

You nod frantically, continuing to grind yourself down against his thigh over and over and over, "Please," you whimper, almost a squeak, "Please, Mr. Miller."

"Shh," he soothes, pulling you in closer and moving your hips against him, looking at you with those big brown eyes full of lust and safety, "I will, babygirl. Soon. I'll fuck you so good, honey. I promise." Your body hitches in his lap as you near the edge, eyes going wide and mouth popping open as your orgasm starts to hit you, "Yeah? You like thinkin' about that, huh? Me fuckin' this soaked little pussy into my mattress? Fillin' you up so deep you can feel me in your stomach?"

You can't hold on anymore, eyes shutting tight and high pitched whimpers flowing past your lips as you start to come. He pins you against his thigh, holds you there tight and firm as your pussy pulses and throbs through his pants. You lean forward to bury your face in his neck as you ride it out, feel his hand press against your back.

"Oh, good girl, that's it, baby," he murmurs, kissing your temple gently and stroking your back in little circles, "Come all over my lap, sweetheart. Show me how wet she can get, there you go. Good girl."

After a moment of catching your breath and willing yourself to pull your face away from his neck, you both bring your attention to the clock on the stove - five minutes have passed.

"Told ya," he murmurs, pulling you into one more hug, hitching his chin over your shoulder and rubbing your back gently as your head lolls against him.

You're too blissed out to tease him back.

The arrivals gate isn't as busy as you'd expected, thankfully. You lean against your car a few hours later, still reeling from your morning with Joel as you wait for Tasha to show up. You'd told him about your weekend plans before you'd left, insisting that despite spending time with Tasha you'd still be attending your Saturday lesson.

"Can't wait," he'd murmured to you, low and deep in your ear after giving you one final kiss at the door, "Got somethin' real special planned, babygirl."

You'd practically melted down his front steps.

"THERE'S MY FAVORITE SLUT!!" you suddenly hear someone shout, and you look up to see Tasha at the sliding doors, bags dropping to the ground as she sprints at you head on and collides with you seconds later, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

She's just the same as she was the last time you saw her, high spirited and excitable and sweet, practically vibrating in your arms with joy. Only she could rock a bright purple cowboy hat and sweatpants, not to mention the lime green flip flops.

"Oh my god," you gasp in her ear, hugging her back and spinning on the spot, "You're insane."

"I'M EXCITED!" she squeals, pulling away from you and clapping her hands together, "We're going out tonight!!! Together!!! For the first time ever!" She brings her hands up and places one on either side of your face, lips turning down into a pout, "My baby bird is leaving the nest," she sighs dreamily, shaking her head, "I never thought this day would come."

"Please get in the car," you laugh, popping the trunk and gesturing to her bags, "before I change my mind and send you back."

You give Tasha the complete run-down on Joel as you get ready at the Airbnb, updating her on everything that's happened since you'd last checked in. It feels so good to actually talk about it, not text or simply mull it over and over in your head. She gasps at all the right spots, makes ridiculous faces in the mirror as she curls her hair, nearly drops the curling iron on the floor when you tell her about this morning.

"AND YOU LIKED HOW IT TASTED?" she practically screams, running out of the room and then running back in like she has no idea what to do with herself, "Oh my god, you are down bad. Jesus Christ," she makes a face, "Sorry, I mean- uh, fuck."

"Tasha," you roll your eyes, "You can say Jesus Christ."

"I can?" her eyes widen and she sighs in relief, picking up the curling iron from the floor, "Thank god."

You're going clubbing tonight for the very first time; a night of dancing and cocktails and flirting and living out all the college dreams you still have yet to experience. You're a bit tentative about the flirting part though, a concept that floors Tasha immediately.

"You can't go clubbing and not flirt," she says with faux shock, spinning in front of you as she assesses her dress in the mirror, "It's the best part!"

"I have a-" you cut yourself off, making a face at your reflection.

"You do not have a boyfriend," Tasha says immediately, "There has been no definition, babe. You need to keep reminding yourself of that."

"But it's not just fucking," you argue with a grimace, "I mean, it's not even fucking at all, we still haven't taken that step yet."

"I know, I just don't want you to get your heart hurt, honey," she frowns, leaning toward the mirror and applying some lipstick, "Boys are mean."

"Well, Joel's not a boy," you say quietly, fingering the hem of your own dress, a short and cute pink number that Tasha had brought specifically for you to wear, "He's a man."

"Mmhm, so you keep telling me," she raises an eyebrow, "I think I need to see this man for myself. Give you my honest opinion, see if he's really this gorgeous, perfect hunk you make him out to be."

You bite your lip, trying not to smile as you think back to this morning, how he'd looked in the early morning light, naked and sleepy and beautiful. And all yours.

"He is," you murmur softly.

You're supposed to be going clubbing, supposed to be out dancing and drinking cocktails and living out all your college dreams for once in your life. But where are you instead?

"O'Neil's!!" Tasha says excitedly, pointing to the red neon sign outside the bar you've just arrived at, throwing you a shit-eating grin that just makes you playfully roll your eyes.

You never should have told her the name of the bar Joel frequents, because she's now made it her mission to find him, get a good look at him and judge for herself if he's really all you're making him out to be. It's your own fault, you suppose, considering that you don't have any pictures of him or any frame of reference to articulate exactly the way he looks. For Tasha he's shrouded in mystery, but not for much longer.

Your ears are already ringing when you get inside the bar, the chatter and buzz of other people's conversations flooding your thoughts. You're not used to being out like this, being around drunk people or high people or literally anyone whose ideal night out is spending time at a bar. It's nerve-wracking and you instantly feel like a fish out of water, gripping onto Tasha's arm after showing your ID to a man who ogled both of you way more than he needed to.

"So this is where he hangs out," Tasha says, assessing her surroundings and leading you towards the bar where most people seem to be gathered, "Quaint. Little divey. Definitely not for our crowd but hey, we're learning new things tonight." She taps the counter and tilts her head toward the bartender with a smile, "Watcha got on tap?"

You wrinkle your nose, "I thought we'd be having cocktails."

"Oh we will at the club, don't you worry. But if we want the authentic dive bar experience, beer is necessary," the bartender lists the options and Tasha orders, though you barely hear what either of them are saying over the loud music and conversations. Your eyes scan the bar for any sign of Joel, but people are packed so tightly in here that it's hard to really see anybody, faces and bodies melding together.

The bartender hands Tasha the drinks and she throws him a wink, "Thank you, darling."

You envy how easily she navigates a situation like this, so natural and graceful despite her surroundings that are anything but. She hands your beer to you with a smile and holds hers up in front of her, tilting it toward yours until they clink.

"To you finally coming out with me," she toasts with a grin, "It's about damn time."

You smile back and take a sip, trying your hardest not to wince at the bitter flavor. It's not like you've never tried alcohol before, you just already know that you hate beer.

"Delicious," you lie, and Tasha just laughs and gestures toward a suddenly empty booth in the corner of the room.

"Let's sit there while we suss him out," she mutters to you, pulling you along with her and slipping inside, "Now, what's he look like? You've been pretty vague about those details." She waggles her eyebrows, "Be honest, is he bald?"

You almost spit out your second sip, shaking your head furiously, "No, he's not bald. Full head of hair."

She puts her hands up in defense, "Hey, it's not that crazy to assume!"

You just shake your head and laugh, turning back toward the bar and the people and trying to get a gage on where he might be. You know he usually comes here with his contracting crew, but what the hell does a contracting crew even look like?

"Help me out, gimme a description!" Tasha says eagerly, wiggling in her seat a bit and following your gaze, "He has facial hair, right?"

"Yes, it's kinda messy and scruffy," you bite your lip, squinting a bit as if that'll help you.

"And what's his hair color?"

You don't look at her as you reply, "Um.. grey."

Tasha's hand slaps down on the table and you jump, eyes going wide as you turn back to her, "What?"

"Grey? Girl, how old is he?" she doesn't sound angry or judgmental - she sounds intrigued. And almost... impressed? You gnaw on your lip, scrunching your eyebrows together as you look back toward the crowd of people.

"Um... he's..." you stop short, freezing when your eyes land on a familiar shirt near the bar, a red and black plaid button down that you'd seen only hours ago, "There! He's there!" You point at him quickly, ducking your head a bit and motioning for Tasha to lean in closer to get a good look.

"Oh... my god," she breathes, and you feel a rush of pride at her response, unable to stop the grin from plastering itself to your face as you peer at him.

There's something different about him that you can't place - maybe it's just because you haven't seen him in a public place like this, aren't used to what he looks like when it's not just the two of you. You try to put your finger on it, and while you're doing so he does something that makes your heart positively swell in your chest.

He smiles. That beautiful crooked smile that pulled you in the day you met him, set your skin on fire and brought you to the point of no return. Those crinkly eyes, the grey in his beard, the softness of his eyes, they send that familiar feeling of safety rushing through your bones. And you realize there's nothing different about him at all. That's your Joel, sitting on a bar stool after a long day of work, nursing a glass of whisky and chatting about his day. He's the same Joel who you'd woken up with this morning, just in a different setting.

You're so distracted by his rugged beauty out in the open like this - overwhelmed by his charm and his smile - that it takes you a few seconds to see who exactly he's smiling at.

You feel your heart in your throat.

There's a woman sitting beside him. Not just beside him, but so close their stools are touching, so close her legs - long and lean and beautiful - are brushing his. It's not subtle the way her ankle moves against his calf, up and down, up and down. She's wearing jean shorts and a halter top, skin dark and gorgeous and exposed in all the right places, beautiful brown braids cascading down her back and shoulders. You can't see her face but you already know she could be a model. She probably is.

No. No, something isn't right.

Maybe it's not him.

Time feels like it's frozen, like everyone in the bar has stopped moving except the two of them, like a giant spotlight is shining directly on where they sit, where they touch, where they smile at each other. Because it is him. It's him in all his gorgeous Joel glory, peering into the eyes of a woman who isn't you, a woman who's probably more his type, closer to his age, a woman who's somehow making him smile like that when she shouldn't. That's how he smiles at you. That's your smile.

A woman who's now leaning in for a kiss.

No. Please no.

A woman who he kisses back.

This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just some sick and twisted nightmare you're about to wake up from at any second.

His hand comes up to cup her face.

"I'm gonna throw up," is all you manage to gasp out to Tasha as you yank yourself from the booth and sprint out of the bar, hand splaying across your belly as you bend over and release the contents of your stomach all over the sidewalk.

You feel Tasha's hand on your back, pulling your hair behind your ears. She's saying something but you don't understand it, ears continuing to ring despite being outside in the cool air, away from the loud music and chatty conversations, away from them.

"Oh honey," you finally hear her say, soft and kind as she rubs circles into your back, a comforting action that brings no comfort to you, not now, not after what you've just seen. "I'm so sorry."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months

Text

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual tags.

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.”

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!”

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

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chubsonthemoon · 2 years

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Last Binderary book is DONE!!!! This is the incredible Maybe sprout wings, by @moorishflower.

This post is going to be a doozy, so gonna just skip straight to the cut!

INTERIOR

INTRODUCTION

I really wanted to model this bind after my own copy of the Odyssey, (which is all highlighted and bookmarked and annotated to hell from my Great Text courses in undergrad ehe, so this bind was such a fun trip down memory lane!). But beyond just the cover/general aesthetic, I also wanted to give the book a similar feel to these kinds of editions of classics--there's usually an introduction, translation notes, and other supplementary materials, right? Like, a physical manifestation of the work of many, many people, all having conversations with one another across time and space.

So that's what I did! I wrote a short introduction (I will also probably post it to my AO3/my blog as well, in the name of preservation etc. etc.) and began reaching out to folks in the fandom who I knew had created art and meta for the fic. The result? 18k words of analysis, comments, and meta, and nearly twenty pages of art!

And this is what I love most about this bind, I think! This book is the work of several people--truly a collaborative work by the fandom--all of whom I will now be shamelessly calling out below :D

CHAPTER HEADER ART

First and foremost, this book would not be what it is without the gorgeous header art by @fancy-rock-dove! Thank you so much Dove for letting include your work, and for being so supportive and kind these past few weeks about this bind <3 You in particular have contributed so much to this book (which I will be getting more into in the next section ehe), and I'm so psyched I get to hold your art and words, too!

NOTES ON THE TEXT

This section was divided into four parts: Asks and Answers, Meta, Selected Comments, and Chapter Heading Art: Process

For Asks and Answers, I trawled Heather's blog for meta she had written in response to questions and other meta about the fic. Asks came from @fancy-rock-dove, @quillingwords, @kulapti, and myself! (I THINK I got all of them--tumblr's search function is finnicky even on its best days, so so sorry if I missed something T_T) I first got hooked into reading this fic because of one of these asks, so I'm very fond of this section in particular :D

For Meta, I included two wonderful essays written by @pastrypuppy (also known as @kulapti) about Hob as an author figure and the Disrupted Fisher King narrative in MSW. Her analyses were so fascinating and I just had to include them in the book! (And thank you as well for your permission, friend!) (also hello fellow Renegade comrade 🫡)

For Selected Comments, I owe everything to (once again :3) @fancy-rock-dove, whose insights are the epitome of transformative fandom at work. I'd look for their comments after I read every chapter to see what their takes were on this or that element of the story, and every single time I would go "!!!!! I didn't even realize!!!" or "OOOOOOOH I hadn't thought of that!!" It was like being in a lecture hall and always whipping your head around when one of your classmates raised their hand, because you knew they were going to say something fascinating that you hadn't considered before.

Aside from one of my own comments, Dove's comments make up the entirety of this section (for which I owe you my life--your long-form responses to fics are a gift to this world) but GOSH was it also so much fun going through the comments section while typesetting and seeing all the keyboard smashing, yelling, and crying from the other commenters. Communal nature of storytelling and ongoing meaning-making of fanfiction, babey!

And finally for Chapter Heading Art: Process: once again Dove coming in clutch with some wonderful insights into the design of each of the chapter heading art pieces! This kind of stuff is honestly my favorite: meta about art for a fic which is, in turn, a transformation of an existing story (not even to mention that The Sandman is its own kind of fanfiction of existing mythologies and histories)--I just!! Think it's all really, really neat :'D (for more coherent/polished thoughts on this pls see my introduction asjdfkls)

ART

The art gallery!!! A million thanks to @fishfingersandscarves, @honeyseller, @jazzpsych, @doctor-rainbowfoxey, and (HI AGAIN DOVE) @fancy-rock-dove for granting me permission to include all of your beautiful pieces!

As usual for artworks in my binds, I printed each piece out on specialty photo paper to really make the colors pop, then sewed each page separately to the text block! Behold, everyone's beautiful beautiful pieces!

The art gallery also satisfies the certain "oooh shiny" part of my brain that always activates when I see pictures in a book, so am also very fond of this section :3

CONSTRUCTION

And now on to the nitty gritty stuff! I used the German Bradel binding technique again, my second time using it. Even though it's more complicated than the case bind, I really love how it gives you the full board space for the cover designs (~it's free real estate~). Keep it a secret but I kiiiiiiind of made a small goof in the last few steps (I did the turn-ins a step too early and so had to paste an extra sheet of cardstock to secure the spine to the boards, whoopsie), but it's a pretty small difference, aesthetically speaking, so it wasn't the end of the world XD

Edges are once again fake gilded, but this time I tried something new with the colors! I did two layers of acrylic paint--one watered down shade of red for the base, then one metallic gold on top of that. I really like the red/gold effect! I'll have to keep experimenting with this kind of layering:

ALSO. Y'ALL! I think I'm finally getting the hang of endbands!!! Many thanks to the folks at Renegade who hosted all the endband workshops last month--I'm still working through them, but even the few sessions I've seen have been TREMENDOUSLY helpful. I learned that tension is Very Important, as well as thread thickness, so I tried doubling my thread and keeping a Very Close Eye on how I was holding the threads while doing the beads. And behold! I still have a ways to go (and one day I would LOVE to do the fancier designs), but I'm v happy with the progress I've made so far!

And finally the covers!! ARCHIVAL MOD PODGE MY BELOVED. I printed on the same matte presentation paper that I used for the art, then did several coats of archival matte mod podge + a pass of gloss mod podge over the title strip to make it ~shiny~. Then once those had dried and I'd adhered them to the boards, I sprayed two layers of matte clear acrylic sealer (also mod podge!) to finish it off. I had some issues with the paper tearing when I handled it before it was fully dry, but luckily the blemishes were small enough that it was easy to do spot corrections with my black acrylic paint. And now I know to be more patient next time LOL

(some non-photoshoot shots that show the shine a little better!)

FINAL THOUGHTS

I had a lot of thoughts while I was binding this book--about Sandman fandom, about Dreamling fandom, about the Odyssey, about storytelling, about fanbinding, about Binderary, about Renegade, about my friends--but really what came to mind the most was gratitude!

Simply put, I'm so grateful to everyone I've met both in this fandom and throughout the years I've been active online--this is SO fun, y'all. It's so much fun to love stories together--to talk about them, to write them, and of course to bind them! I hope I've adequately conveyed that gratitude.

But of course, this book would not exist without the wonderful words of @moorishflower. Heather, thank you so, SO much for sharing your stories, thoughts, and time with us--it is always a happier, better day when I get an email notif from you and when I see you on my dash. I love your work so much, and I'm so happy I finally get to put it on my shelf! So thank you so much again, for everything <3

and OKAY THAT'S IT FROM ME FOLKS!!!!! Binderary 2023 is officially a wrap! I had SUCH a blast--will probably write up a reflection post on it uhhhh after I take a very long nap ajslkdfjslk _(:3」∠)_

all my love! <3

#the sandman #dreamling #Moorishflower #Maybe sprout wings #binderary2023 #bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #not my fic

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604to647 · 3 months

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Safest with You (Ch. 19 - The Betrayal)

5.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din addresses the threat made against you the only way he knows how.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, unprotected PiV, nicknames (pretty bird, baby, etc.) Angst, angsty angst. Additional warnings withheld to avoid spoilers.

A/N 1: I'm just going to upload this now instead of my usual Friday posting because it's been a doozy to edit and while I don't think I've quite achieved the emotional punch I wanted, I feel like not posting it is holding me back on the next chapters; TLDR - it's not perfect but please take this from me 🙏🏻🫣

A/N 2: I'm sorry.

Series Masterlist / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘

It’s been a hell of a week. More than once, Din’s come home worn down with evidence of some type of altercation etched into his energy. Whatever is happening with the Mandos these days, it’s different than before – whereas prior to Cass and Rikard’s wedding the toll that the unrest had taken on Din was mainly physical, these days the weight that Din carries on his ever tightening shoulders seems to be more of a mental burden. He won’t talk to you about it and that alone leaves you anxious with worry for him.

After what must have been only a temporary respite, months of simmering tension in Din’s world feels like it’s about to break into a boil at any moment and you just know that Din will be in the middle of it when it does. One night, Din comes home with a nasty knife wound down his side and you have to fight back tears as you do your best to help him clean and patch up his wound. When it’s clear that your amateur first aid skills won’t be enough, you call Lala who came over immediately and put her nursing degree to use, mending and healing what you could not. After walking her down the stairs to her waiting cab, you had hugged your friend tightly, thanking her profusely for coming and helping Din. The look of concern on her face finally breaks you and before you can help yourself, you're crying in her arms – you've never had anyone with whom to share your worry for Din before. Your friends have seen you stressed over Din in the past, but this is the first time someone has seen evidence of the violence that’s the root behind your anxiety. Selfishly, you feel a weight lifted off of you from not having to hide this part of your life with Din from your friends for once.

Climbing the stairs and reciting to yourself the instructions Lala left on how to keep Din’s wound clean and infection-free, you suddenly wonder if Din might be angry with you for having brought in an “outsider”. But your concerns turn out to be completely baseless, evaporating the moment you fluff the pillows behind Din’s head while trying to make him more comfortable – Din takes your hand and apologizes to you, “I’m sorry, pretty bird.”

“Sorry for what? Getting hurt?”

“Sorry that I can’t keep this part of my life out of yours.”

Silly old man. “Din, there isn’t any part of your life that I don’t want in mine,” you try to smile at him reassuringly, but he’s already succumbing to the pain medication and drifting off to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about the threat made against you - he doesn’t want to scare you or have you living in fear. He also doesn’t want to add to the anxiety he knows you already carry on his behalf, especially since he doesn’t have any answers right now - the investigation into the threats is not going as quickly as he’d like.

He knows he's not being fair. It’s all hands on deck right now - every Mando on the payroll put on protection and surveillance details to ensure that each photographed target has sufficient coverage, including you. That only leaves a few bodies with enough time and know how to properly investigate the threats and chase down leads. These things take time, patience, focus – Din knows that, but all he can think about is you and how every minute he hasn’t uncovered the culprit behind the threats is a minute you’re not safe. It’s distracting him and making him sloppy – like the other night where he literally chased down a lead who ended up pulling a knife on him.

As far as Din’s concerned, even if he has a Mando watching you every second of the day (which just isn’t possible), until he makes headway in the investigation, you won’t be any safer. He doesn’t tell you any of this - just lets it stew and eat him up. But you know him so well and he can tell that you know he’s keeping something from you and that it hurts you. Din had made you a promise a long time ago that even if he can’t tell you everything, he would never make you feel like he was purposefully keeping you in the dark – he knows he’s breaking that promise every day.

Something has to give.

Din knows this but he doesn’t know what. He could tell you everything – you would have to live as you never have before, frightened and terrorized. Would you blame him? He already does. Or he could try harder to pretend that nothing’s wrong – somehow this feels like lying to you and quite frankly, he doesn’t think he could manage it anyways. What he really needs is a break to come in the case so he can take out whoever is behind this, but he has no concrete way of making this happen. In lieu of that… he could remove the target over your head another way. There are no good options.

Then, without warning one night, it hits him square in the jaw what the only option is.

It’s near closing time at the gym, but there aren’t any people working out – just a Mandos gathering. Paz leads the meeting which consists primarily of going over surveillance reports and handing out protective detail rotations. The atmosphere isn’t relaxed by any stretch of the imagination, but nothing out of the ordinary has come up recently and if anything, the meeting is fairly routine.

Din is only half listening to the protection assignments, having already heard that Jimmy and Mayfeld are assigned to you this week, when out of the corner of his eye he sees Brian get a text and leave to make a call outside, but he never makes it past the front doors of the gym.

Even from a distance, Din can hear Brian’s girlfriend through the line; she’s upset, nearly hysterical, whatever Brian is saying to her completely masked by the sobs coming through the phone.

Having been silenced by what they can’t help but overhear, the Mandos all watch as Brian returns hurriedly to talk to Paz, voice low while his girlfriend appears to stay on the line; Brian has his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone but her loud sniffling can still be heard through the ear piece of the receiver. When Brian leaves, practically running out the door – Paz calls out for a few Mandos to follow with him, but not Din.

“You should go see Lil’ Lady, brother.”

“Why? What happened?” Din panics.

It wasn’t Paz’s intention to alarm his friend needlessly, realizing too late the folly of his words, “Brian’s girlfriend was being followed while she was out walking the dog. Not even very discretely. Two cars filled with guys won’t stop harassing her – she’s not close to home so we’re going to go deal with it.”

“While she was walking the dog?!” Din’s immediate thought goes to you and Al as Paz knew it would.

“Yeah. We’ll go with Brian. You go home, ‘kay brother?”

Din’s already packing up, ready to close up the gym and head to your place, the buzzing in his head drowns out anything Paz might be saying: “nothing to worry about” or “it’s not the same.”

It might as well be the same. Brian’s girlfriend was walking the dog. You walk the dog. She was alone. You walk Al alone. She had been so very frightened – he could hear it over the phone, and his heart constricts painfully imagining that same current of fear in your voice. She has a detail, of course, but apparently whoever had gone after her was willing to take the chance, or somehow knew when she would be alone, without Brian and when her security would be rotating off.

The Mandos can only do so much – even with their efforts, none of the targets being protected are 100% safe 100% of the time. As he drives, Din can’t help but replay the sound his brain conjures of what you might sound upon realizing you’re in danger, scared and crying out for his help.

By the time he pulls up to your building, he’s come to the only solution that’s viable in order to keep you safe. The one that that increasingly loud, incessant voice in his head has been nattering about since he saw those photos of you. With a heavy heart, he picks up his phone and dials a number that he hasn’t called in a long, long time.

For the past few days, Din’s been coming home earlier and you can tell he’s making an effort not to bring Mando business home with him. While you appreciate it, you think you would much rather if he told you more about what was going on, or at least be less closed off with you. Tonight, he comes home tonight with flowers and a big bag of take out from your favourite Thai place as a surprise – you know he’s trying to make up for his mood the last two weeks; his sweetness warms your heart – he’s shut you out a lot recently but you know he probably hasn’t meant to. And while you don’t need him to apologize for it, you do need him to know he can open up to you about what’s troubling him – the two of you have come such a long way since the first time he told you about his connection to the Fetts; it seems silly to keep you in the dark so much after saying, in Din’s own words, that you were one of them. Sitting down with your plates, you let Din know as much in a gentle and calming manner – you don’t want him to feel bad, you just want him to know you want to be there for him.

Din sighs, “I know, I’m so sorry, pretty bird. I don’t mean to shut you out. I… just don’t want any darkness to ever touch you.”

Leaving your plate behind, you climb into Din’s lap and run your hands through his soft curls, gently placing soft kisses to the corners of his mouth before cupping his face in your delicate hands and cradling it so he looks at you, “I know, baby… but I’m a big girl. And I know that I have my big bad wolf to take care of me if things are too much.”

Din smiles and closes his eyes, feeling a tingle every place where the soft graze of your fingers touches his skin: his face, jaw, neck. He could stay like this forever, just melting into your touch.

Nodding, he tells you what you need to hear, “Tomorrow night, I have to do something that I’m dreading. But it needs to be done and I’m the only one who can do it. But, pretty bird – if there was any other way, I would never entertain it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It consumes my every waking thought. It will be one of the hardest and maybe worst things I’ve ever had to do – and I don’t even have any idea if it will even work. I don’t think I’m at all prepared for what will happen after - I’m scared, baby.”

Din's telling you the truth. Tomorrow, he’s leaving. Tomorrow, you’ll hate him. He doesn’t know how he will find the strength to go through with what he has planned - all he knows is that he has to. He’s almost afraid to open his eyes – he knows that when he does, he’ll be met your understanding and unwavering sympathy for his plight; you always look at him with so much care, love and belief in his goodness. His heart shatters at how much he’s going to betray that trust.

“Will you be in danger?” you ask, timidly – you won’t ask details because you don’t think Din will give you any, but you’ve never heard Din speak this way before. Normally so fearless, it’s so unsettling to hear your big, strong warrior admit that he’s afraid.

His eyes forlorn, Din nods, “I wouldn’t rule it out, baby. If things go a certain way, I’ll go back to my place to lay low, okay? No matter what, I’ll call you before 9:00 to let you know I’m okay.”

Still holding his face in your hands, you study your sweet, brave Din’s face and try to convey with your own gentle expression that you believe in him, that everything will be alright. He reads you perfectly and his chest tightens even more – no matter what, you always remain his biggest supporter, confident in his abilities and his decency. His precious pretty bird. He closes his eyes and inhales your sweet scent, a mix of your floral perfume and the nameless subtle scent that he associates with just you, as you flutter soft butterfly kisses all over his face and neck.

That night Din takes you to bed and makes love to you. His loving gaze and hands try to memorize every line and curve of your figure; he kisses your lips swollen so they’ll imprint on his own. Mentally, Din attempts to record every sigh and sound of pleasure that falls from your mouth, hoping he’s captured them properly so he’ll never forget them.

He makes you sing with his fingers and mouth, honouring every deep valley and cresting wave of your body and thanks you for allowing him the privilege of knowing it so intimately by touching the very deepest, loveliest parts of you. He drinks from you like a parched man in a desert that knows what he’s found is a mirage, but it’s as good to a desperate man as an oasis, so he’ll have more than his fill while the fantasy lasts. He gives you mind numbing pleasure and takes none for himself, hoping that every orgasm his gives you tonight will somehow lessen the hurt he’ll inflict tomorrow. The less selfish part of him knows that it will actually hurt more, but he cannot regret devoting himself to you for just one more night.

When Din finally enters you, it’s with him positioned on top - pinning you beneath his formidable frame, caged in and safe. He won’t take you any other way tonight. He won’t look anywhere else tonight but your bright eyes, the ones that remain, for now, filled with adoration and love. If there’s anything he swears to himself that he’ll remember, it’s these eyes. They close whenever he steals your air by uncovering those secret parts of you that only he can reach, and snap open wide as you gasp to the sensation of Din dragging along your tight, warm walls. Later, after he’s already pulled two from you, Din slowly thrusts, stretching and filling you so that you both feel every inch of his worship and he watches them fill with tears. “I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself as his kisses your wet cheeks.

The final time you come, you do so in tandem, both you and Din crying out loud, unashamed, and desperate. Collapsing on top of you, Din softly chants words of praise and love: ‘I love you’ ‘You’re perfect’ “There is no one for me but you’ timed to his still pulsing cock, trailing off only when the fluttering of you sated cunt subsides.

---

You wake some time in the night to the gentle movements of Din’s lips pressed into your hair, murmuring words that you don’t understand, either because they’re too quiet or because your brain isn’t quite awake enough.

“Din?” you mumble, still half asleep.

“Sorry, pretty bird,” Din gently pets your hair, “didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Rolling so you’re now facing him, you gently extricate one of your arms from under the covers and run your fingers down the strong line of Din’s jaw, smiling softly at the way his scruff tickles your finger. Din closes his eyes at your feather light touches.

“Can’t sleep because you’re worried about tomorrow, baby?”

Without opening his eyes, Din nods and leans into your hand, encourage you to give his face more of your soft scratching. He’ll miss this. Your soothing touch. The way you read him and know his feelings sometimes better than he does himself. And, of course, your sweetness - how you take on his troubles as your own so he never feels alone, and honestly, just how much you care. You care so deeply, about him, about everything, and it tears Din’s heart out that soon your beautiful soul will be marred by what he has planned.

He opens his eyes to what he will forever insist is the most gorgeous sight his eyes will ever behold: you smiling lovingly at him, softened eyes full of fondness, confident that the man you’re gazing at adoringly cherishes you, one who deserves how you cherish him right back, “Whatever happens, Din, we’ll get through it. Together. But you should get some sleep, baby - you probably need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

He nods again, he’ll agree to anything you say so not to burden you will extra worry or concern. Still taking care of him. Always caring for him. Fuck. You’re a heaven he never thought he would find. Din mirrors your actions, stroking your cheek softly as you smile sleepily at him, his gentle actions doing what they intend - lulling you slowly back to sleep.

“You’re so pretty,” Din whispers, unable to string together something more eloquent; it’s beyond him right now to find the words expressive and articulate enough to describe the beauty he’s looking at.

No matter - your face glows at his compliment, “Thank you, baby. You always make me feel so pretty.”

“You are,” Din’s voice is indulgent and true.

“And you make me feel so safe.”

“You are,” his chest tightens a little at this sentiment.

“So loved,” your voice lilts up a little at this declaration, soaring above the notes of the words and its pretty melody makes Din's heart take flight.

“You are,” Din’s emotions nearly choking him now.

“And so happy,” the look on your sleepy face is tranquil, trusting, content.

“Oh, fuck, pretty bird. You make me so happy, too,” Din’s voice cracks. It’s such an understatement, in some ways even derivative of how you actually make him feel and yet, not untrue - you make him deliriously happy.

“And loved?”

“Yes, baby, I feel loved,” he grins at the innocence in your voice, though he knows when it comes to the lyricism of your words, nothing you say is by chance.

“And safe?”

“Very safe.”

“And pretty?” and there it is: your silly, teasing grin - wide and self satisfied, like a Cheshire Cat.

Din gives you what you want, “Yes, I feel pretty.”

“You’re the prettiest, Din,” you yawn, eyes ready to close but still crinkled in mischief. Not for the first time he wonders at your playfulness and how you always manage to make laugh. He will miss these lighthearted, carefree moments with you the most, he thinks. Miss making you laugh right back. Oh, your laugh. He wishes there was someway he could record it, to have on hand and replay anytime he needed to lift his spirits.

“Ok, sweetheart. It’s clear you’re delirious. Time for sleep,” he nuzzles his nose against your neck as you giggle.

“Nope, I’m going to remember every word of this tomorrow morning, pretty man,” you insist, though your languid, sinking body belies the conviction in your tone.

Once he hears your soft, sleepy purrs, Din resumes what he was doing before you woke. He certainly was not sleeping; he won’t let any of these last remaining moments he has with you go to waste. Instead, he contents himself just watching you sleep in peace, admiring your beautiful features, unable give them up for even a minute more than he has to - not when he knows that this is the last night he has with you in his arms.

And so, he appreciates as much of you for as long as he can - soaking in your presence and the warmth of your lithe body against his, feeling your soft calm breaths as your chest rises and falls in your worry free sleep. He murmuringly declares all his love, devotion and regrets, knowing he will never have a chance to speak these truths directly to your face; so like a coward, he pours them out now, hoping something within you will hear him and always know how deeply he cares for you. And how very, very sorry he is. He admires your loveliness for as long as he can, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to the woman he loves until he’s overtaken by exhaustion.

How long is too long? This is the question you ask yourself at half past 9:00 pm. When you last saw Din, kissing him goodbye this morning as you left for work, he had reassured you again that he would be careful today and he would check in by nine o'clock.

It’s been an entire day of trying to keep your mind off what Din is doing and failing miserably. You can’t get the image of your strong hulk of a man - the fighter, the protector - looking so unsure of himself, beaten, frightened. Anxiously you’ve been awaiting his call all evening, fidgeting and unable to sit still or focus on any task that you attempt to pick up for a distraction.

Is he hurt?

This fear plagues your thoughts starting at 8:00 pm and only intensifies as time ticks by.

“Fuck it,” you say to Al at 10:00 pm, “I’ll take you for a walk when I get back, ok bud?” Al looks at you as if to say ‘It’s about time, Lady’ before laying his head back down for a nap that will thankfully be undisturbed by your restlessness.

You fret the entire cab ride to Mando’s, but mercifully, it’s quick. About to put your key in the lock, it strikes you that it might be a good idea to exercise some caution, so instead, you knock softly. Worried when Din doesn’t answer right away, you say quietly through the door, “Din, it’s me. Are you there? Are you hurt?”

To your relief, you hear the lock start to turn; but when the door finally opens, your stomach drops.

It’s not Din.

Instead, Vanessa stands on the other side of the door, half naked - wearing only her underwear and one of Din’s button-up shirts. You look at each other in silence for what feels like forever; your mind feels foggy, unfocused, but you think you perceive a small smile on her lips. With every second that passes, the strangling pressure on your heart grows stronger, smothering every loud beat. Finally, you find your voice, “Is Din here?”

And suddenly he is. Visible from the doorway and standing only a few steps behind Vanessa, Din’s shirtless and his pants are unbuttoned, as if he had pulled them on in a hurry. He can’t quite make eye contact with you, and in this moment, any hope that you might have had that this isn’t what it looks like, vanishes.

Vanessa turns and steps towards Din - as she is about to pass him, she stops at this shoulder and says, loudly, “When you’re done, come back to bed, baby.” Cupping the far side of his face, she pulls him towards her, planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth before she walks off in the direction of the bedroom.

You look away and try to swallow the sob that's trying to claw its way out of your throat. Din is coming towards you now and instinctively, you back away. This is not your Din. Not the Din who always leaves you the last bit of milk for your morning coffee. Not the Din who holds his hands over your eyes during scary movies, but narrates for you what’s happening because he knows you still want to know. Not the Din who pledged his love and loyalty to you. Not your Din. But your Din is a lie. You think you're going to be sick.

Din watches as you shrink away from him and his heart shatters. He knows with certainty that he’s lost you. Yes, this is what he planned for; he needed you to no longer be his. If you weren't his, there would be no incentive for anyone to target you - but seeing you so hurt and being the one to hurt you is more agonizing than he could have prepared for.

He shuts the door so that it’s just the two of you standing in silence in the hall. Willing yourself to look up, you stare at Din directly, “I came tonight because… I thought you might be hurt.”

I know, baby, Din laments, I knew you would. Because you’re considerate and all kindness. And I leveraged your goodness like a weapon and used it against you.

You pause, still trying to reconcile what you’ve stumbled upon and what you’ve believed up until tonight to be the essence of the man you love. Didn’t Din assure you that Mandos never cheat? That he has never and would never? That you were enough for him? As if to give him one last chance to somehow offer an explanation that your brain couldn’t conjure up on its own, you continue in a smaller voice, “Just last night you were telling me how happy I make you,” your eyes desperately search his, “How could you do this?”

You do, pretty bird. You make me so very happy. Din looks at you with a resigned expression, “I told you… I’m not a good guy.”

You don’t know what you expected – a denial maybe? Some attempt by Din to comfort you? An acknowledgement of how he’s betraying a year long relationship that had been one of the happiest of your life? Somehow this stoic non-response stings just as much as the cheating.

“No. You’re not,” you whisper.

Din can only look at you sadly, eyes downcast in shame. No, I’m not, pretty bird. Finally. You acknowledge the very truth that Din’s been running from since he met you. You and your goodness had almost convinced him that despite the things he’s done in the past, or what his connections and ties are, he might be good too - good enough for you. But a man worthy of you wouldn’t place you in danger just by association; the man you deserve would never betray your sweetness or belief in him by leading you into darkness without your knowledge.

“… you’re an asshole.”

“I am. I’m sorry.” It’s the most truth he can offer you tonight.

The tears are coming now and there isn’t anything you can do to stop them. Your body is screaming at you to leave, to get yourself far away from Din and the flaming wreckage of what you thought was a true and deep love - one you had given all of yourself to and for which you were now left with only questions that you know will never be answered. “I never want to see you again,” you manage to choke out.

Din is grateful for the small grace that he won’t have to lie to you again. “You won’t. I promise,” he whispers, devastated.

And with that, you turn and flee.

---

Din stays standing on the landing until he hears the downstairs door slam; you never turned around and he is suddenly very aware that he will never look upon your face again. The realization hits him with a force the tips him against his door; he closes his wet eyes and rests there for a minute before going back into his apartment. When he turns from closing his door, he finds Vanessa standing in the living room, looking at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Din sighs. “Well, what?”

“Is it done?”

Is what done? Is he done breaking the heart of the only woman he’s ever truly loved? Is he done ruining the best thing that’s happened to him a long time? Destroying something that’s brought a light to his life he never thought was possible? He supposes it is done.

Din sighs and nods. He’s not unappreciative of Vanessa’s help, but she represents everything he’s broken tonight, “Thank you for your help, Vanessa. Do you need a ride? I can drop you off on my way.”

Vanessa smiles coyly, “Right now? I thought we could…” she lets her voice trail off, looking eagerly at Din. But when he remains unmoved, face dispassionate and detached, she takes the more direct route, “I mean, she already thinks we had sex. We might as well actually have sex.”

Din doesn’t have any fight left in him; he just needs tonight to be over, “I don’t think we can do that, Vanessa. I have to go, are you sure I can’t offer you a ride?”

She dresses as she gathers her things, annoyed, “Where do you have to go? Are you going after her?” Hands on her hips, she looks at him in disbelief, “Din. She hates you.”

“I know she does. But I still want to make sure she makes it home okay.”

Exasperated, Vanessa storms past Din and out the door, ignoring his offer of a ride and for the second time in ten minutes, Din hears his downstairs door slamming closed.

---

Din expects you make it to your apartment before him, but he has enough time to park his truck and find a spot where he won’t be seen before he sees you come downstairs with Al. Your pretty face is ashen and a look of shock is still written on your face. With a lump in his throat, he watches you let Al do his business and the ensuing tug of war between you and your dog, both intent on going in opposite directions.

His chest aches when he hears you cry as you kneel down, “I’m sorry buddy, I can’t take you for a long walk tonight. I’m sorry.”

Your sweet pup shows you the compassion and care that Din can’t offer you, allowing you to lead him back into the building without further fuss.

Din stands on the sidewalk, looking up at your apartment far into the night. He experiences a sinking sensation of déjà vu, remembering the last time he was in this position – when he ended things with you after your third date. What a fool he is, letting go of his perfect match twice; the finality of his actions this time leaves no hope in his chest. And so, Din remains rooted where he stands, not moving even when his legs start to protest; he barely registers your security detail coming over to check on him. Jimmy’s calls of his name or questions as to what happened are unable to cut through the dull droning in Din’s head of his own failings. Called in by an panicked Mayfeld, Paz arrives a short while later; upon seeing Din’s near catatonic state, he intuits with disbelief what Din did tonight. With some difficulty, Paz draws Din away and back towards his vehicle – Din never even hears his best friend’s insistent whispers that things will be okay and that they have to go. His head is filled only with you and a sad recitation that drowns out all other voices: I’m sorry, pretty bird. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Bc I'm not posting on my usual day, tagging a few people that have been so patient with me and supported this series. Ty ilysm 🥹 @tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

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tinypandacakes · 1 month

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Next chapter of TK is going up around 4-5pm CST today (August 11) !! Ended up at 12k words.

Just cleaning up and making the last few fine tuning edits but I think this is the best i can get it. It’s been a doozy to get this chapter out there but I’m sooo ready to release it into the wild. Thanks for your patience 💕

Also remember to please check the tags. I try to update them if something major/recurring happens or will happen, but I do not tag every thing that comes up in the story because it would be a giant wall of tags. But please remember this is a dark fic with dubcon, and all sorts of manipulation, gaslighting, and dark themes

#trapper keeper #writing update

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ashensgrotto · 9 months

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Never Had a Friend (like Me) - Part 1

Original art piece by pfbatakopd on twitter (Used only for Header. Do NOT REPOST ORIGINAL ART)

Part 1 (You Are Here) Part 2 Part 3

YandereSoulmate! AU:

Part 1 (Am I Feeling Love?)

Part 2 (Protective)

Part 3A & Part 3B (Poor Unfortunate Souls)

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto X F!Reader

Word Count: 9,105

Synopsis: A chance for redemption comes in the form of a wish…

Author’s Notes: Ok, here we go. I received an anonymous message in my inbox for the next part of the Yandere!Soulmate series and I was actually going to work on it - but with the arrival of GloMas, working on the next part of ‘Raison D’être,’ wanting to finish “Weren’t You Aware, Angelfish?”, AND the holidays, time got away from me and I forgot about Scarabia’s segment for a short while.

However, because you all seem to enjoy this and want to know if the tako has redeemed himself - I figured I would work to get this part done. Now, warning - Pompefiore’s part is going to take a bit of time to complete because I will have to wiggle my way through my memory bank and replay a few parts of it (which is approx 76 chapters in length for those players who haven’t made it that far into the game yet) since I’m working so deep into Ignihyde’s chapter right now (which is a doozy - I’m still in chapter 67-tower 1, oof help).

This one is also going to be split into three parts - I promise it will not be a long wait for the second & third parts as this is my Christmas gift to all of my readers <3

Thank you all for your continued support!

Warnings are as follows: yandere behaviors, manipulation, imprisonment, & hypnosis

***

I’m in the mood, to help you dude

You ain’t never had a friend like me.

***

It had been weeks since the last overblot incident… and just as long since Azul last saw you.

He sat in his office, looking over paperwork for the last quarter and rubbing his brow with worry.

The profits had started to steadily decrease following his overblot, causing the Monstro Lounge to slowly suffer the loss, like an infection slowly eating away a mer’s life. He had no one really to blame but himself for that… Azul had lost control, let his obsession get out of hand and had hurt the people closest to him.

Jade… Floyd… you.

Azul let out another large sigh and set the report down, taking his glasses off and rubbing his face. He had considered going back to the Coral Sea for holiday, but was unable to due to two reasons; one, the ice floes would’ve made the journey too dangerous to travel alone - especially since Jade and Floyd had already prepared to stay at NRC for the holidays, and two… you were still here.

Not in Octavinelle where Azul had wanted you to be, but in a rundown shack on the school property.

The building had been a dorm, once upon a time, but ghosts had moved in and scared the students to the point that the building was deemed ‘unsafe.’ However, with your charms and personality, the ghosts were easily persuaded and welcomed you in with open arms - though Azul had a sneaky suspicion that both the headwardens of Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul had likely persuaded the otherworldly spirits in exchange for access to both of their dorms. Regardless, with you no longer in Octavinelle and now at the mercy of the headmage’s “generous” nature, Azul could only watch from the shadows as you now tended to the school property in a janitorial role.

Azul leaned back in his chair, his thoughts plagued by you before an obnoxious ringing noise filled the office.

He grumbled, picking the phone up, “Monstor Lounge, this is Azul speaking.”

“Hello baby, how are you?” the familiar voice of his mother on the other end made Azul jump in surprise.

“Mother,” Azul coughed, “Hello - I apologize I hadn’t had a chance to call you. We’ve been busy lately.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” his mother answered, “It’s been busy here too… but everything’s been calming down since the ice floes came - though I was surprised to see your letter that you were considering coming home for the holidays.”

‘Shit…’ Azul had completely forgotten about that - when (Y/N) had lived in the Octavinelle at the beginning of the year, Azul had entertained the idea of potentially inviting her to his home for the holiday, slowly and suringly getting her accustomed to the idea of staying with him - although it would prove to be a difficult task, especially now.

“However, I’m assuming that you changed plans at the last minute,” his mother continued.

“Y-yes, I was indeed planning on coming… however, Jade and Floyd both decided to stay behind so I chose to stay as well,” Azul answered, the lie slipping easily off his silver tongue, “Someone has to keep those two in line, after all.”

His mother snickered, “Don’t be saying that in front of their father though. Sevens knows what the moray will do if you say anything like that.”

Azul nodded, clearing his throat, “Um, well… What's going on with you, then? The restaurant still alright? How’s Finn?”

“Finn’s well - busy as always,” his mother answered, “Business has been getting better - hired several new staff members as well… a few sweet mers around your age, Zully.”

Azul rolled his eyes, “Mother… we’ve had this talk. I’m… not interested.”

“You might not be, but it will happen one day,” his mother’s voice was calm and soothing before she sighed on the end of the phone, “However… I have a sneaky feeling that you’re still upset about what I told you all those years ago.”

Azul bit his lip, answering, “Of course not… Soulmates? That’s ridiculous.”

“Azul…” his mother’s voice turned into a scolding tone, “There are plenty of fish out there - I know you’re still pretty young to be thinking about it, considering a mer’s life is longer than most, but shorter than a fae’s… but I only want you to be happy.”

“I am, mother,” Azul tried to smile, “I’m content where I am - I’ve gotten stronger, my business is growing, and… I’ve learned so much.”

“Perhaps, but allow me to give you a little insight - it’s something I learned long ago,” his mother prompted, “Happiness, though may be defined as ‘the state of joy or contentment,’ is typically filled by three main parts of life; success, dedication, and personal. Dedication and success go hand in hand with each other - if you work hard and are dedicated, you achieve success - even if the tasks prove to be difficult to the point that you might fail over and over again. Personal can mean time for yourself - spending time with your hobbies or doing what you love… spending time with those you care about even.”

Azul listened to his mother’s words, thinking.

“I know that you are successful and you’re dedicated,” his mother continued, “But you won’t achieve happiness if you just focus on those two things - take time for yourself now and again, look for stronger connections within your friendships… and look for someone that will want to support you and you support them.”

“I… I think I understand…” Azul answered, “I’ll… take your words into consideration.”

“I hope so - your grandmother taught me that when I was still a little octo fry many years ago,” his mother answered, a teasing tone caught in her voice.

Azul couldn’t help but smile, “Yes… Nanna always did know what was best.”

“Yes, she did, still does even… Well, I should probably let you go, then - you have a lot of stuff going on there,” his mother let out a sigh, “Just remember… I love you, baby. Merry Christmas.”

“I love you too… momma. Merry Christmas and I’ll see you at the end of the year.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Zully. Stay safe.”

Azul smiled and hung the phone up, sitting back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling.

“Finding that so-called ‘other half’ is like - well - like the story of the mermaid princess and her longing to be with a human. It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once in a millennium if not longer. Anyone can be happy with or without their soulmate, Azul. There’s no reason you should go to such lengths to be with someone who may not even exist…”

Azul shook his head at the memory of that day years ago - he wanted to forget… but sevens knows he couldn’t forget you.

A sudden loud crash had Azul bolting upright, his features twisting in annoyance. As far as he knew, the only ones in the lounge were Jade and Floyd… which could only mean one thing.

Trouble.

“Those two morons…” Azul gritted his teeth, standing from his chair, “If I catch the lounge in a disarray again…”

He grabbed his jacket, tossing it over his shoulders, before placing his hat upon his head, the magestone pen morphing into the headwarden’s silver octopus topped cane. He hurried from his office and headed into the lounge.

Entering the lounge, Azul’s eyes widened at the sight.

The lounge was damaged - several tables and chairs were overturned, marred by huge cracks and scratches while lamps lay in pieces on the floor, the glass orbs scattered into a thousand fragments on the carpeted flooring and the magestones cracked and shattered as well. Azul’s eyes narrowed on Jade and Floyd’s figures, but realized they weren’t alone after all. Several students from the Scarabia dorm were there as well, their wands out and at the ready - pointing them at Jade and Floyd, who seemed to be guarding something on the floor.

Azul’s eyes widened in surprise at seeing Kalim’s magic carpet as well as Grim hiding behind the remaining two members of Octavinelle - and they weren’t alone.

You were there as well, cowering behind Jade and Floyd’s intimidating heights as the Scarabia students glared daggers at you.

“There’s no escape for you now, thieves!”

“Surrender quietly!”

“Mrow?!” Grim held his paws up, “You chased us all the way here?! You guys are seriously stubborn, you know that?”

Azul remained quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting to look you over - noticing how you had one arm close to your body. Were you hurt?

Azul’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his shoes echoing in the lounge as his stern voice addressed the situation, “What is all the commotion at this late hour?”

The students turned to look at Azul, one of them speaking quietly, “Y-you’re… Azul Ashengrotto, the housewarden of Octavinelle!”

“Would you care to explain what is going on?” Azul asked calmly, moving to stand in front of you with Jade and Floyd behind him.

“It’s none of Octavinelle’s business,” another student tsked, “Just hand over the two of them quietly.”

Azul crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he eyed you and Grim out of the corner of his eye, “Now that I’m looking closer at it - it appears to be (Y/N) and Grim sprawled out on our floor, quivering and covered in dust. Heh - I almost thought they were a pair of dust cloths.”

“Azul, please,” Azul met your gaze, “save us with your spirit of benevolence.”

“Hmm…” Azul turned back to the group of Scarabia before him.

“If you refuse to hand them over, you’ll be blamed for their wrongdoings as well,” the student warned.

“Hey - are ya yankin’ my tail here?!” Floyd’s eyes widened dangerously, his teeth peering out from behind his lips, “Who do ya think yer talkin’ to?!”

“No fighting of any kind is permitted in the Monstro Lounge,” Azul kept his arms crossed over his chest, his focus reshifting to address the situation at hand, “This is a place for gentlemen.”

“What was that? Are you interfering?” one of the students asked, “Fine, we’ll just do this the hard way.”

“Hmph, I think it’s time we asked these ill-mannered patrons to leave,” Azul growled, clicking his tongue in annoyance, “Jade. Floyd. Show them the door.”

The eel twins grinned as they moved quickly, going after the Scarabia students like the set of predators that they were. Azul was quick to move and cover (Y/N), his overcoat covering your form to protect you from the fighting, “Don’t look, my dear, I do not wish for you to see such behavior.”

“Azul - I’ve seen worse,” your voice rattled him to the core as he huffed.

“I... don’t need the reminder.”

It didn’t take long for the Scarabia students to fall back, Jade and Floyd repocketing their pens.

“Go on an’ scatter, ya bunch of minnows!” Floyd laughed eagerly.

“We’ll be eagerly awaiting your next visit to our lounge,” Jade smiled.

As the last of the students disappeared, Grim jumped for joy, “Mya-haha! We did it! You see that?! That’s what you get, you bunch of jerks!”

“We, Grim? I think you mean they - Floyd and Jade - did it,” you ask before shaking your head and turning toward the trio, “Thank you, all three of you - I don’t want to think what they would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Thanks are unneeded, my dear,” Azul answered, standing and offering his hand, “However, I’m afraid we’ll have to bill you for repair fees for the tables and chairs - not to mention the lamps and assorted dishwear that was damaged in that fight. Not to mention our own labor rates, since we were dragged into this affair.”

“WHAT?! You’re charging us for that?!” Grim asked, throwing his paws up in the air.

“Surely it’s a small price to pay for us rescuing the both of you from the inky depths of peril? After all, (Y/N) did ask for my spirit of benevolence.”

“Azul, please,” you asked quietly, “There’s a reason that the Scarabia students were after us.”

“I’m assuming it has something to do with Kalim’s magic carpet.”

“... Not really,” you answer, “We were being held hostage.”

Azul frowned, not liking the word one bit, “Explain, (Y/N).”

***

Azul muddled over what you had just told him, Grim piping up every so often to include details about the Scarabia situation to add more information as the cunning octopus thought deeply. As Azul thought, his eyes kept shifting to you, his thoughts going deeper into self-loathing; if you had remained in Octavinelle, none of this would have happened - you would’ve been safe, not having to walk to an oasis down and back again every morning before even eating, or sleeping in a closet under lock and key, or even doing battles with other students of magic when you couldn’t even cast a spell yourself.

His poor little angelfish…

Azul’s eyes widened, an idea appearing in his mind… a chance of a lifetime had just been given to him and he would be damned to let it go to waste.

A knowning smile spread across his features, “...It sounds like we should go to their aid.”

“Myra?! Did you hit your head or something when I wasn’t looking?!” Grim asked.

“Of course not!” Azul feigned harm, lifting his gloved hand to his chest, “I’ll have you know, my dear Grimmy, that the last incident forced me to reflect on my greed. I came out a changed man!”

“Oh, really?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest, “Care to explain?”

“I decided to contribute to the school as a whole, in honor of the Sea Witch’s spirit of benevolence,” Azul explained, his features turning coy, “It’s common knowledge that the housewardens are typically the ones their students go to in times of need or struggle - even the vice wardens are responsible for that as well. However, the power has to be shared equally between both the house and vice wardens - and Scarabia’s all over the place. It’s faced with a crisis now and my own classmate is in need of help - I can hardly ignore them in their time of need.”

You watched Jade and Floyd give each other knowing smiles before the twins looked at Azul, Jade asking, “What is the plan?”

“Here’s my idea,” Azul proposed, “The five of us head to Scarabia tomorrow - we’ll go under the guise that we are returning Kalim’s carpet as well as offering assistance with the dorm’s studies, this will ensure our stay especially since Octavinelle did overwhelmingly well on their finals before break…”

“No thanks to your study guides,” Grim huffed.

“Grim,” You warned.

Azul coughed and continued, “Once we’ve secured our spot within Scarabia, we’ll be able to do a bit of sneaking around to figure out what’s really going on.”

“And I’m assuming you have an idea on how to do so?” Jade asked.

“Let’s get to that point before we make any rash decisions,” Azul answered.

“I think that is a wonderful idea,” you agreed.

“(Y/N)?! Are you crazy?!” Grim asked, “We can’t go back there!”

“Grim, we really have no other options,” you turned to the feline demon, “We’ve tried contacting the Headmage, the other students can’t get into the school because the dark mirror is closed off, we have no way of contacting Riddle or Leona either… Azul’s plan is the best we have right now. Personally, I’d rather not go back, but with the way things are looking for Kalim…”

“You’re afraid there’s going to be another overblot, aren’t you, pearl?” Jade asked.

Azul blinked, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Yes, Kalim’s behavior was erratic, but it couldn’t be enough for the headwarden to go into an overblot… would it?

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, looking over at Azul, “I noticed that… when things got a little out of control, someone overblotted. I can’t bare to see another student go through that, much less a housewarden again. I’d like to try and prevent it from happening again, if possible.”

Azul nodded, “No worries, angelfish - I’ll make sure mine was the last one you saw.”

You give the housewarden a small smile of relief - thankful that he seemed to understand.

Azul remembered during his blot how the memories of his childhood came forward; the root cause of his pain and suffering that eventually became his thirst for power that festered and grew until it snapped - and you had seen it all. Whatever this strange magical gift was and how you received it, Azul was certain that it was your own form of unique magic - one that was so powerful that it may even make Malleus Draconia afraid if he knew about it; the power to look into one’s past and see everything that shaped them into who they eventually became was strong powerful magic indeed - but, of course, Azul didn’t want anyone else to know about it, considering he was victim number three to the overblot crisis that appeared to be happening this year.

Azul reaches out, offering his hand to you, “(Y/N), as headwarden of Octavinelle - allow myself and Jade and Floyd to help you and Grim solve the mystery of Kalim’s strange behavior. I’m certain the five of us plus Jamil will be able to ease Kalim’s troubles and bring back the peace Scarabia so desperately needs. Do we have a deal?”

You look at his hand, the memory of the first day you met him and the day you lost your legs both playing in your mind - but what choice did you have? You look at him and take his hand, squeezing it.

“Promise - this will make us even?”

“Indeed. I promise.”

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penvisions · 7 months

Text

return the favor {chapter 22}

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader || M! OC x Pre Boston QZ! Reader (flashback scenes)

Summary: Memories often spring up at the worst of times, but as you continue to travel alone there's not much else to occupy your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: minor character death, m! oc death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, allusions to p in v, unprotected p in v that results in pregnancy, kissing, pregnancy, symptoms of pregnancy, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, allusions to child loss, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, self-depreciating internal monologue, if i left anything out pls lemme know!

A/N: trying something new with this chapter, i hope it reads well! thank you to everyone who participated in the poll for the next few chapters of this fic! this one is a little shorter, but the next one will be a doozy. my mind is a little overwhelmed with school and tutoring and four different WIPS

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Joel was trying.

He was trying to tamp down the anxiety he knew would thrum in his veins the second the gates of Jackson closed behind him. Back out in the unknown and unpredictable landscape. Winter was granting him a passive day, no snow, no biting wind, cloud coverage clear for the sky to shine a light blue to crystal clear you would think it was a brisk summer day. But the pause in extreme weather aside from the near freezing temperature did nothing to quell the pulse beneath his skin.

He was alone, traveling with a teenager he had come to care about in a dangerous way.

The journey had been meant to be made with Tess, first. Strong-willed, no-nonsense saint of a woman for taking what he could offer her and not asking for anything in return. Just wanting to share space and renown within a controlled setting that allowed for them to execute their runs and make what passed for a decent living back in what was left of the quarantine zones. To share their bodies when human nature sparked connection in the oldest and most instinctual of ways. She had turned an eye to his abuse of the very same things they traded for food, for water, for supplies for their shabby apartment that had seen far better days before they stepped foot inside.

Then journey was then meant to be made with you. A surprise in the moments after her death. Skilled in many things and willing to help a man suddenly saddled with a teenager he had no clue how to interact with. But he had, once upon a time. The situation tasting of irony and self-destruction. Selfless to the point of disembarking on your own path in the wake of his own attempt at running when faced with something too real for the world. Maybe in the Before times, it would have worked out. Perhaps a meet cute as he delivered his brother to an urgent care for a drunken blunder, a work accident he himself fell victim to, or a begged visit for Sarah should she had fallen off her bike or taken a tumble in soccer practice. Maybe then it would have been given life, hopeful glances and lingering touches that would have turned into nervous dates. Nervous dates that would give way to regular familiarity and then heated nights beneath sheets of his bed.

But it had never should’ve blossomed in the now, in the after. And yet, it had tried.

Ellie was mad. She wasn’t trying.

Not the first day at least.

Speaking when spoken to, ire and hurt flaring uncomfortably in moments he could sense weren’t aimed at him. At least not completely. Aimed at you, for going back on your word. Something you wouldn’t have had to do if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally by falling for you. He had been wrong in his accusations, throwing the proposition you made to him all those days ago back in your face. Like you had forced yourself on him, forced him into thinking of you that way, of wanting you that way. But it had been him, his decision to take you up on it in his grief. Wanting to feel something other than the gaping hole that seemed to eat up more and more of him as the years went by.

But instead of just taking his body in the ways he allowed you to, you had also begun to heal that black hole he was made up of. Slowly and so minimally at a time that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He stopped and made the time to teach her how to shoot the rifle, hoping it would help to bring her out of her shell. And it worked, he silently thanked the universe, it worked. She was cracking jokes and quipping like normal. Mirth lighting up her eyes and questions flowing from her. And he indulged them, as best he could. Telling her of how he supported himself before the world fell apart. About how he always dreamed of singing and making music.

But just as everything seemed to be on the mend, it was broken once again.

With the crack of a wooden bat.

“A-Angelo?” You voice was as shaky as your reaching hands, fingers brushing against the man’s face only a few steps away. He was older, that much was certain. Only a year apart back then, back when the world functioned in an entirely different way. Only a year apart, but two decades of time separating you now, turned into completely different people. A wave of emotions at finding your family by pure chance and circumstance in the wilds of a state you had never been to before while on your way to look for them hit hard. You both surged forward and embraced, the man’s arms coming around you and tightening.

“I thought it was you, the hair,” He choked out, deep voice cracking. He was so broad, tall frame looming over you, developed fully into a man who had survived the worst of nature and humanity. Just as you had grown into a woman who took nothing of ill nature aimed at you, taking the things that had happened to you and using it as a foundation to be stronger.

“It’s me, I’m okay.” You gripped his shoulders tight, pushing him back a little to look him over.

“No injuries, no bites, you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay….We both are.”

That’s when your mind decided to remind you of the other voice you heard, the feminine one.

A young girl, no more than her teens and far too skinny was half concealed behind a tree trunk a few yards away. Her eyes were brown, honey brown and beautiful and they reminded you of so many people lost to space and time. They shown just as Taylor’s had done, once upon a time. Like you had both talked of wishing to see on a bright new, chubby face…

“Oh.” The phantom jolt of a kick felt through the skin of your aunt’s stomach so many years ago sprung to life in the palm of your hand. “Oh, Angelo. I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He detached from you, taking a few steps toward the girl, now in between you both equally. He held out a hand to her, his gloves tattered and stitching frayed in certain places.

“It’s okay, she’s okay. She’s family.”

“You’re so beautiful,” You gently coached her out, hoping nice words would help her to feel safe. “I’ve never met you, but I’ve waited a very long time to. You- you can call me by my name or Bean, if you’d like?”

“This is our cousin, from mom’s side. Do you remember her saying that we needed to go East?”

A small nod, wide eyes taking in the situation.

“It was to find her. She’s good, smart, she can help keep us alive.”

“You’ve been doing good on your own.” She didn’t move, not taking a step to back away and put distance between you nor toward you in a hesitant greeting. Her wide brown eyes were alert, telling of the things she’d experienced and been witness to. Of how cautious she was in the face of new people, a good thing to be but completely unwarranted in this particular case.

“Yes, but…Adela, we…we need help. This season, it’s harsh and we don’t know this land as well.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know we’re practically strangers but we are related. I know that doesn’t mean much these days to some people, but it means a great deal to me. I will do everything in my power to protect you, just like your brother.”

Hours later, after a shared meal and an introduction of your gifted appaloosa, camp was made and secured. Adela was fast asleep, one of the blankets you had tucked underneath the saddle wrapped around her small frame inside her sleeping bag. Light snoring sounding from the bundle she made against the horse.

“We’re the only ones that made it.” Angelo said before you could even figure out how to ask after everyone. Outbreak day a rather taboo subject amongst those that survived it. For Joel, at least, for you it was easier to divulge but still not a light subject to talk about. You had been willing with Ellie, with Maria. The first to quell her curious questions, to allow her another perspective on the events before her time that shaped the world into the one that she knew. The second to appeal to her, to connect with someone who felt comfortable.

“We didn’t know anything was going on for a while, you know how it is working in a ware. house all day. But when I got home that evening, apparently grandma had passed during the morning. Scared the hell out of everyone when she came sprinting into the living room and lunged at dad.”

“I…I can’t imagine, I’m so sorry. I know I had a missed call from the house that day, but I had been running late. And then, you know….”

“It’s okay,” One of his gloved hands reached out, taking the closest one of yours and squeezing. “We both made it, Adela made it. I love our family and cared so much for everyone, but this world is too harsh for them. It was always going to be us and that’s the only comfort I have in what happened.”

Silently agreeing, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, your grandparents had softened in their age, his parents and your father caring for them together. Soft in their endearment too, not suited for a life of constant unrest, of constant fear and paranoia. Of scrounging for food and basic supplies, having to defend what was yours by any means necessary.

“I was traveling with a man from Boston QZ and a girl, we were trying to find her family out this way. The last lead would’ve taken us to the University of Eastern Colorado.” You admitted over dinner the next day, having taught Adela the basics of how to properly interact with a horse, how to climb up in the saddle. While she was tall, she was skinny. Alarmingly so, but Angelo assured you that he always made sure she had enough to eat. He was willing to go without to provide for her, to ensure her still growing body had as much as it needed, or close to it at least.

“We were just there,” He took a breath, savoring the smell of the coffee that you had brewed for him as you all settled around the fire for the night. Scraps of foil that had contained easy, portioned meals to through on the fire that Maria had provided you with. “Well, around there. We came across a group of people settled into an old lodge town. Not to far from the city actually.”

Something about the man’s tone had you delaying your questions until Adela had laid down to rest for the night, tired from the day of interaction. But she was warming up to you, a familiar comfortability between you both as you talked to her about her mother. She admitted quietly that Angelo wasn’t willing to talk about their parents, people she had never had the chance to meet. The chaos of Outbreak day and those following it too much for him to talk about.

“We-uh, we left the group pretty quickly.” The man cleared his throat, turning around to ensure that his little sister was indeed asleep and not feigning it in order to eavesdrop. “The leader, god – what was his name? It doesn’t matter, he was so nice at first. Preaching about how people need to stick together, that his flock chose him to lead them and look after them.”

Your heart sank to your stomach, religious fanatics always putting you on edge. The way they manipulated the words of the bible in order to further their own agenda. And the way Angelo described him as initially nice and welcoming. A ploy, a trap laid out to ensnare people.

“But the first morning there, he came to visit us in the small set up they provided us with. Asked Adela to go out on a walk with him while I was still asleep. She hadn’t wanted to go, but felt obligated. Like he was just going to give her a tour or somethin’ and it was harmless, ya know?”

The rush of blood in your ears was loud, but you strained against it, needing to hear the words coming from the man beside you.

“He- that motherfucker, he exposed himself to her. Said that if she wanted to stay and use their resources that she needed to earn her keep. She begged me to leave right that second, to gather our stuff and make a run for it. But I don’t her we needed to act like nothing happened, to wait until nightfall and take what we could. So we did….but if you said you were traveling with a girl…brown hair, short, scar in her eyebrow?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, body thrumming with fear. No….no…there was no way Ellie could’ve been taken by the same men. She wouldn’t willingly go with anyone, had been hesitant to even let you or Joel out of her sight for too long….That meant…Joel had to have been injured in order for them to steal her away from him.

“She was unconscious, they were…they were carrying her into the settlement.”

Your head shot up, drink spilling over your hands cupped around the thermos.

“No.” You stood, hands steady despite the flood of emotions raging around in your mind. “No, no, no. I know those people, without them I wouldn’t have made it back out this way. We traveled from the other coast.”

It was late, but you didn’t care. You were gathering everything you needed, your pack and half of the food supply.

Adela roused at the noise, springing up and reaching for your hands.

“No, please, don’t leave us. We’ve lost too much already.” Tears were in her wide eyes, tugging at your heart in more ways than one. You crouched down in front of her, clasping your gloved hands around her own. Giving her your undivided attention.

“Honey, please, listen to me. I’m- I – I don’t want to leave you two, but I have to. Please understand. The girl that you saw, that was…she’s important to me. And she needs my help. I’ll see you again, I promise. I swear to you, Adela, I will see you again. Behind the walls of Jackson, we can…we can have a life there.”

Standing, you pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll tell you embarrassing stories about your brother from when we were little.”

Pulling the map from your pocket, you circled the spot for Jackson with a marker.

“Here, this map will get you back to a settlement. Jackson. It’s large, has walls, it works. Ask for Maria or Tommy, tell them my name and that I sent you. Tell them you’re my family, you are. Take this,” You moved to wrap your old coat you had draped over your lap over the small frame of the girl and push the map that would lead them back to Jackson in the man’s hands.

The man surged up and gripped you tight in a bear hug, his body wrapped completely around you like he would do ever since he had begun to tower over you as children.

“Please, be safe!”

“Seek refuge in Jackson. I’ll return there, I promise.” You urged as you mounted the horse, reigns tight in your hands.

You clicked your tongue and tugged hard, urging the horse forward. The sound of hooves beating on the frozen ground was the only sound in the quiet, frozen night.

The remains of the a few bodies were scattered about the derelict campus that had been the destination sought out by them. Joel and Ellie. Those you were searching for nowhere to be seen, only hints of them in the bullet casings, the torn-up dirt, a bat broken in half- the jagged ends of one piece soaked in a deep red stain of blood. Joel’s, if your cousin’s words and your spiraling thoughts were correct.

Internally cursing at the man for pulling it out, for not waiting for a better moment, for not thinking in the haze his mind must’ve been.

Just as you began to trace the trail of rather fat droplets, you heard the crunch of someone stepping on fallen leaves behind you. Before you could even turn around completely to face them, someone was wrapping their arms around your neck, cutting off your air.

Your last thought was of Angelo and Adela. Of Joel and Ellie.

‘It was hot. Sweltering. And your dress was too tight over your swollen middle. It was a small bump, barely visible from the front, more so from the side. You had thought you indulged in too much food one evening after a deer had been caught but the teasing jab soon delved into something more serious. Especially when the swelling hadn’t gone down in the following days and nausea became a morning ritual.

You had been ecstatic, a first for you. And exciting thing you had always wanted. A faint thought you hadn’t entertained even in a working world, a notion you hadn’t thought possible at all with the demise of the world. When you had told him, Taylor had shared in your excitement, immediately beginning to hoard everything he could loot from the nearby state park. Gathering everything you could use, whether it was to repurpose it or store it for the future.

You had found a pocket of happiness and security in the rubble of the world, hidden deep in the forests of Tennessee in the form of a man who welcomed you into his space when all you had wanted to do was run. Finding yourself injured and needing aid, he had offered it to you.

What had begun as a small stay to ensure you would heal okay, that your stitches were secure and wouldn’t pull. But the conversations that flowed from one to another over those first few days tied you to each other. Braiding together your futures in such a wonderful way. There was no way to know how badly the universe would fray the untethered strings.

The only consolation was that the nights were cooler, the evenings and mornings twinged with a chill that signaled the end of an unseasonable warm fall. But as time moved on, Taylor had pleaded with you to consider staying close to the cabin. You had agreed, the symptoms of your pregnancy making it hard to do much of anything for long. Hunting and patrolling far too much for you to handle at the moment.

You were tending to the horses when he appeared behind you, arms snaking around your shoulders. The tickling of his facial hair sprouting giggles from you. The horses snickered, sharing in your delight. After securing them back in the modest stable, large hands were wrapping around you and sweeping you off of your tired feet.

“C’mon, princessa, let’s go have a nap.”

“But I don’t wanna,” You whined, not wanting to waste the sunshine while it was still showing, winters notoriously gray and overcast in this part of the region. The looming mountains casting dark shadows over pockets of land. Thankfully the cabin wasn’t in one of those regions, hidden well by the tall trees and stained a dark green all along the roof to avoid searching eyes to those at a higher altitude.

“Who said we were gonna sleep, silly girl?” Taylor swooped down to kiss you fully on the lips. Stirring warmth in your core. With a deep laugh at the chasing of your lips after his, he carefully rushed up the stairs and through the front door. “I’m gonna devour you, you’re too good looking a snack to leave untouched.”

“Oh hush,” You curled your hands into the long hair he had tied into a bun at the back of his head. Taking the band from around it and causing the strands to cascade around his handsome face.

“Glowing and full of me, carrying our baby in your pretty little tummy. Good god, you’re constantly on my mind, princessa, you’re my entire world.”

“And you’re mine, mi amor.”

Bubbling giggles flowed through the cabin as he made his way up the stairs and through the small landing. Into the bedroom that you found happiness in the midst of the fallen world.’

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

taglist: @furiousmushroom@sawymredfox @ayamenimthiriel @bookloverkat @rosaaeles @narcissa-anastasia @littlemisspascal @oscarissac2099 @ghostwritesthings @76bookworm76 @elli3williams @sarap-77 @christinamadsen @vivian-pascal @dugiioh

#dev writes #fic: return the favor #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #ellie williams #platonic ellie williams

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

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Vino Veritas - Epilogue

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

Epilogue: That Most Presumptuous Of All Things

“You look so handsome,” you tell Frank, smoothing his suit jacket, straightening the little cluster of white flowers in his lapel. He smiles down at you, that warmth shining in his dark eyes that you know is just for you. Even after all these years, it still gives you butterflies.

His boutonniere matches the baby’s breath braided into your hair.

All these years later, the two of you are finding yourselves at yet another destination wedding in wine country.

This time, you’re not half so annoyed about the presumptuous inconvenience.

This time, the guest list numbers two: him, and you.

No one was more surprised than you, a few months ago, when in the middle of dinner on a normal weeknight he set a river rock down in front of your plate of chicken carbonara that simply read, “Marry me?”

You’d never meant anything more, when immediately you’d answered through your laughter, “Yes.”

The two of you decided very quickly to forgo the meaningless trappings and pageantry of the conventional wedding. Who did it concern, anyway, but just the two of you?

In half an hour, you will go to the courthouse where a Justice of the Peace will say a few words over your union, and you’ll sign a piece of paper together declaring you man and wife. This last big gesture will be undeniably sweet, but you can’t help but think it won’t really change anything between the two of you. The cement of your bond set long ago, mixed with dedication, sweat, and tears poured into this precious thing between you.

It hasn’t been all roses. No real relationship ever is.

Your fights are probably the stuff of legend in his condo building. Your first big go round, after the inevitable shouting match, you’d left his apartment in a huff, needing to regroup (so as not to commit murder). When you came back you found him sitting in the dark with his head in his hands. He’d thought you’d left for good, and you promised him that night that you would always come back for him.

It’s a promise you’ve kept.

A bit more embarrassing, your make up sex is probably legend too. Mrs. Fontaine next door always gives you a certain sly little look with a twinkle in her eye, the night after.

For such an expensive building, they’d sure skimped on the thickness of the walls.

He’s tried to break up with you, twice. Once, after seeing you holding a friend’s baby, (and maybe because you somehow managed not to drop it?) he convinced himself (without asking you) that you really did want kids and were wasting your youth on him. The second time, because he insulted you. Or rather, your art. His usually impish teasing just went a bit too far, and it had been a doozy, you had to admit. No one can deliver a cuttingly true remark like Frank, and he did make you cry, though he apologized almost immediately. Ironically, in the end, the whole thing upset him more than you, the you deserve better song and dance surfacing again that you’ve fought tooth and nail.

You did not respect his wishes either instance, refusing to take no for an answer, going after him with both barrels and a vengeance. You sent flowers to his work, bribed his dry cleaner to put love notes in his jacket pockets, and left sappy balloons tied to his car. You even threatened to finally ambush him with the boombox (you didn’t even own one, truth be told) which finally led to a sit down at your favorite sushi joint, and your inevitable victory. As it turned out–it was exactly the assurance he’d needed all along.

Both times your love just came out the other side of the fire even stronger.

Your joy is legend too, even if only in your own mind. Frank makes you laugh every day. He makes you feel desired, and loved, and mostly saves his razor-edged observations for the rest of the world outside, which the two of you watch go by with spectators’ amusement and dismay. Talking shit remains your number one pastime together. At some point, the little things each of you does that inevitably annoys the other becomes more of a running joke. Your love language includes flipping each other off regularly and playfully trading barbs. It’s hard for others to believe, but his devotion to you is thoughtful and complete. You do your best every day to return it in kind. Some days you fall short, and sometimes he does too, but on the whole you make eachother happy, and somehow five years have flown by.

“You look beautiful.” His approval fills your heart like a sunrise. You’re wearing a simple white lace dress that hits just above your knee. If you have to run from a mountain lion, you’re not going to trip over your skirts. Your shoes? Might be another matter.

“Thanks.”

“I like the heels,” he says with a smirk, as though his thoughts are aligned with yours. They often are as of late, you’ve found. Your shoes are actually the same wedge platforms you wore to a different wedding you attended together, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“I thought you hated these shoes?” you tease.

“Oh no. It will be impossible for you to run from me, when you finally come to your senses,” he says with a little smile, touching a strand of hair by your ear lightly. You shudder as it sends a thrill across your skin, and if you’re being honest, straight to your loins. Whose ridiculous suggestion was it, anyway, to forego intimacy before the wedding?

Ok, so it was yours–and Frank has been delighting in torturing you over the past month. You just might expire over the time it will take to get to the courthouse, go for a leisurely drive through the vineyards, and sit through a nice dinner at one of the wineries overlooking the fields at sunset. Sex is yet another thing between you that has somehow only gotten better with time, and to say you are looking forward to your wedding night would be an understatement.

“This was all your idea,” you remind him. “Are you…rethinking it? If you are–”

He snorts and pulls you against him, lifting you on tiptoe with an arm around your waist and kissing you so deeply you know you’ll have to re-apply your lipstick.

Ah well.

“Woman…” He rests his forehead against yours, and you smile, ridiculously content in this moment with him.

“Why do you want to get married, Frank?” You realize, perhaps hilariously, you never actually asked him, so delighted that you just rolled with it. You already practically live together, at his place and yours. You’re both financially independent. You’re not planning on starting a family. Your commitment to each other was already set in stone.

“I felt like we needed a challenge. We’ve been entirely too happy,” he says with that smirk that makes you roll your eyes.

“Come on.”

“And if something happens to me, I don’t want my mother or Keith to be able to pull my plug.”

You poke him in the ribs for this. For some reason, he’s convinced himself this morbid scenario is inevitable. “I already have your medical POA.”

He squirms away with a grunt of amusement before grabbing you up again, his gaze softening for you once more. “Because, I love you, more than anything or anyone.”

You believe him too. The thing about Frank, is that he does not make this shit up. He says what he’s thinking, at the moment he thinks it–and you think your heart really might explode. “Likewise,” you assure him with a smile, tilting your head to receive another gentle kiss that curls your painted toes. “Are you ready to go?”

He nods, and maybe you are feeling some pre-wedding jitters now. Because you still think this man is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on, and sometimes it is still a little hard to believe that he’s all yours.

You grab your purse, he grabs the keys, and together you walk out the door towards the next big step of your life, together.

The End, which is really just to say, another beginning…

Thank you everyone who’s come on this wacky journey with me and supported this fic! @treedaddymcpuffpuff @scarlettspectra @sweetwolfcupcake @lilspookymeh @kurai-hono-blog @nightmare-bean @discoscoob @thewhumpcaretaker and SO many others, (I didn’t want to make you feel weird by tagging you if we’ve never actually talked but I SEE YOU! 😘) your comments and likes and reblogs gave me life and helped me actually finish! FULL credit to @nightmare-bean for the rock proposal idea, I love it so much! 🤣

#destination wedding #destination wedding movie #frank x you #Frank MrNiceCaboose #frank x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #frank reeves x you #im sorry im just feeling mushy lately 😆#fluff

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pepperonidk · 4 months

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vii. where else can i go || all i could do

"Don't we get to be happy?" "Then he smiles and where else can I go?"

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x f!Reader Summary: Don't you get to be happy at some point down the line? Warnings: angst, reader wears heels, jihyo mention bc that's my wife fr Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: oh boy. this was a doozy. there are like 3 versions of this song i listened to on repeat. Jonathan Bailey from Bridgerton, Jeremy Jordan, and Grant Gustin from Glee and the Flash. I cry every single time. the gaslight toxic boyfriend anthem. sorry jihoon.

join the taglist! previous chapter || back to library || next chapter

The party was in full swing with people dancing to the jazz band that was playing on stage and the who’s whos of the music industry all mingling in small groups. And you were at the bar, nursing your second glass of expensive champagne, people watching.

“So what’s it like?” a voice coming up beside you drew your attention away from where you were watching Jihoon entertaining a group of whoevers across the room. He glanced and caught your eye with a smile before you turned away.

That was really the most you’d seen of him all day. Jihoon had just come home from his tour a few weeks ago and was already hitting the ground running. Phone calls were few and far in between during the last leg of the tour. And when he was finally home... Well, you’d wake up and softly slip away from a sleeping Jihoon as you got ready for your day at the lab, and by the time Jihoon was home from countless hours at the studio, you were well into a deep slumber. Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed to see a text saying Jihoon was still at his studio.

This was the most you’d seen him in a while, actually.

“Sorry, what’s what like?” you questioned. The person beside you was Jihyo, another artist signed to Jihoon’s agency. You had spoken a handful of times but mostly in passing “hello”s and “nice to see you again”s. She was one of the names you had heard more frequently in Jihoon’s tour stories since Jihoon helped her produce her debut album even while he was overseas. In fact, you were 60% sure this party was for her.

She called her hand for the bartender to top up her glass of champagne before answering your question. “What’s it like to be the wife of this generation’s Beethoven,” she smiled kindly. You chuckled at her question before tilting your half empty champagne flute to hers in a toast.

“It’s great,” you returned her smile before turning and catching Jihoon’s eye once more. He was speaking to a few big shots of the agency, board members and whatnot. He winked at you slyly and you felt yourself blush.

“Oh come on,” another voice chimed. Seungkwan, another singer you’d become somewhat familiar with from Jihoon’s stories. “Give us something juicy,” he pleaded. He had helped Jihoon with some backing vocals on some of his songs and was an insanely talented singer. He was one of Jihoon’s reasons for signing on to this particular agency.

You let out a sigh as you turned back to them. “There’s not really anything juicy about it,” you answered. “He’s just... Jihoon.”

“And what’s Jihoon like?” Seungkwan asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You see him almost more than I do with the time he spends at the studio,” you began. “I’m sure you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, well,” Jihyo replied. “We know the workaholic superstar side of him, so we really don’t know him that well.”

You hummed thoughtfully. At work, at these extravagant parties, on stage, he was charming in a way only a picture perfect idol could be. He laughed at all the right times, shook hands with all the important people, but it was all still a performance. It was nice to relish in the idea that you were by his side before all of this, when he was still a senior in college whose veins were pumping nothing but Coke Zero and instant noodles.

“Well at home, it’s just normal,” you finally answered, smiling to yourself. “We could be watching a movie and eating pizza and then suddenly he’ll think of something and it’s like he zones out for a bit until he jumps up to grab his journal.”

It was easy to visualize the scene as it happened frequently. He’d grab his journal and his lucky pen that he’s chewed on way too much and scribble furiously the same way you’ve always known. And then suddenly, he’d stop and look up and hum to himself until a small smile forms and his eyes light up and you know he’s found what he was looking for.

“It’s like music coming to life,” you mused. “And I’m a part of that.”

Jihyo chuckled politely, taking a sip of her champagne. “Doesn’t that get annoying?” she asked. “Jihoon constantly getting up in the middle of stuff to write? I’d be so annoyed if I had to pause my movie so he could write a song about Coke Zero.”

You rolled your eyes at her joke. “Yeah, yeah,” you answered. “He’ll scribble in his terrible handwriting, and log miles walking around the apartment while humming mumbled words, and he’s an insane genius... but then he smiles and how can I complain? I’m a part of that.”

“Well what about you then?” Seungkwan asked. “Maybe you’re not writing the next hit of the century, but knowing Jihoon... well you must be pretty amazing if he married you.”

He must have meant it as a compliment, but his words still found a way to bite at your heart. You looked over to Jihoon once again, but a couple of well dressed ladies stood in front of him and blocked your line of sight. However you didn’t miss the way one of them laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m uh,” you began. “I’m a lab assistant,” you confessed, unsure of why you hesitated in your reply.

“Oh so you’re like one of those scientists who are curing cancer or whatever?” Jihyo questioned with a smile.

“I remember having to take a biology class when I was in college for a bit,” Seungkwan added on. “Have you published anything?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Uh, not really,” you answered. “I mostly just file reports and do calculations... it’s usually the head researchers who do the publishing. And we’re not studying cancer, we’re looking at how various binaural beats and their beta and gamma arms affect damaged language serving areas of the brain.”

You wanted to shy away, noting the way Jihyo and Seungkwan’s smiles faltered just for a bit to reveal their boredom before their celebrity training kicked in and they continued to smile through the now awkward tone of the conversation.

“But it’s fine, really,” you stammered out. Why you felt the need to defend yourself to people you didn’t know so badly, you had no clue. “I’ve also been applying to grad schools and studying for entrance exams so...” you nodded before turning to take a sip of your drink.

“Well that’s pretty cool,” Seungkwan said a little bit too quickly.

“Yeah,” Jihyo nodded her head in agreement. “I hope it works out for you.”

“Me too,” you raised your glass slightly in a salute as you turned away, giving them the opportunity to walk away from the conversation. You let out a sigh and swirled the remaining bit of your drink around the bottom of the glass.

Although they didn’t mean to, they did raise some valid points. For most of your relationship with Jihoon, he’s been on a rocket headed for the top while you followed in his stride. Were you ever by his side? Or have you always just been riding his coattails? You had told him when he proposed that you were on your way, assured him that you’d be beside him one day. But what if your dreams were changing? Would Jihoon still be waiting for you when you decide you’re fine with a smaller life without all of the glitz and glamor? Would he let his dreams change with yours and settle for that life with you?

Would he stop running his race to sit with you and watch the clouds go by? Would it be enough?

As if sensing your distress, you felt Jihoon’s gentle touch on your shoulder and you turned to see him smiling gently at you. Against your judgment, your heart did a small flip. That damn smile, you thought to yourself. He smiles and where else can you go?

“Hey,” he called out to you before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” you replied, hoping Jihoon didn’t notice the nervous lilt in your voice. You’d honestly been ready to go home hours ago, when you felt blisters forming where your shoes chafed against the skin. But Jihoon was still busy making conversation with all the right people, making small talk with other artists, and of course having his ass kissed by the many clout chasing nobodies in the room. It was pretty standard for every party Jihoon brought you to. Sure, it was part of his job, but it’s not like you were dragging him into a lab to calculate titrations with you.

The car ride home was mostly silent. Jihoon hummed along to whatever songs came on the radio while you turned your attention outside to the city lights that blurred by as he sped through the empty roads of 4 am.

Too fast, you had thought to yourself. It’s all too fast.

It wasn’t until you were home and sat on your bed that you finally spoke, relieved to be able to

drop the mask and just talk about what was on your mind.

“Jihoon,” you called. He popped his head out of the bathroom door in the middle of brushing his teeth to show he heard you. You looked down into your lap before continuing. “I don’t want to go to these parties anymore.” You heard him finish up in the bathroom before he came back into the room with you.

“Angel...” he called out. “What are you talking about?” He sat beside you on the bed and reached for one of your hands to hold in his.

“I just,” you began, stuttering. “I just don’t want to anymore.” The sentence came out much more biting than you intended but you tried to not look surprised at the defensiveness of your words.

“And I’m asking why not,” Jihoon snapped back. Your eyes shot up to him in surprise at his tone and he let out a sigh. “Why don’t you want to go to these parties anymore?” He asked again with more restraint.

Ever since Jihoon started working at the agency, he had been wound up more than you had seen him. You’d heard stories of him snapping at interns, feeling impatient with everyone else who was struggling to catch up with the genius’s mind. When did you become one of those people?

You chewed your lip, unsure of what to say. “I hate these parties,” you began, much firmer now. “Nobody ever talks to me and when they do, it’s because they think I’m someone important whose ass needs to be kissed, and when they realize I’m not, they walk away. I always have to wear uncomfortable outfits, the food sucks, and for a record label, they hire some really shitty DJ’s too.”

You stood from the bed and walked around to the other side of the room and began pacing back and forth, the nervous energy taking over your body as your hands fidgeted by your sides. You kept your eyes on the carpet, afraid that looking at Jihoon would ruin the momentum you’d generated. “I hate wearing heels,” you continued. “And all anyone ever wants to talk about is who the most famous person in the room is, and we could just be using that time to watch a movie or finally just spend time together after months of missed facetime calls, and I really just hate your parties.”

The room was silent for a beat before Jihoon spoke with a quiet and cold tone. “Are you done?” was all he asked.

“Yeah,” you answered firmly. Jihoon stood up to face you and you couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Good,” Jihoon replied. He was quiet, but his words were calculated. “These parties are important to me and you know that–”

“Please,” You scoffed. You were angry now, mostly at the fact that it had taken you this long to speak your mind. “Important for what, Jihoon? For you to butter yourself up with the same people over and over again? For adoring women to fawn over you? I haven’t seen you in months, but they see you every day, so how is that even fair?”

“Stop,” he interrupted you, loudly and sternly. “Just stop, for a goddamn second and just listen.”

In the last few years, you and Jihoon had had your fair share of fights. They were usually resolved pretty quickly and usually ended with a sleepless night in bed together, but lately, things have felt different. This was different. Jihoon had never raised his voice at you, not like this.

You stopped and listened.

“Yes,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It is important for me to kiss their asses and to play along with the adoring crowd, and you know exactly why I need to do it. So fine, if you hate seeing people cheer me on then you don’t have to come. But be fucking serious with yourself first.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, taken aback by the way he cursed. Although he was more than an arm’s length away from you, you took a step back defensively. “This isn’t the life we promised each other, Jihoon.”

“What? A life where I’m living my dreams? Where I have you?” Jihoon scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me then what life I’m supposed to have.”

“A life where we have each other,” you exclaim, frustrated. “A life where we have each other and it’s enough for you, Jihoon. Is that too much to ask for?”

He buried his face in his hands before standing to cautiously take a step towards you. “Please,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I just...” he took a few more steps before reaching out for your hand. “What’s this really about, angel?”

Tears were now brimming your eyes as he continued to speak. “Is it really about the party, about me? Is it that you’re disappointed that another school rejected you? That you’re stuck in another dead end? Did you think this would all be easier than it turned out to be?”

You shook your head at him and pulled your hand out of his, walking back to the bed. You hated that you were fighting like this, and you hated that somewhere inside of you, you felt the self-doubt that you had pushed so far down coming back up.

It was hard not to be frustrated and disappointed with yourself when you were surrounded by everyone else’s success. You had worked as hard as he did and yet, life did not hand you the same rewards. And although lately you were beginning to finally feel like you were happy where you were, Jihoon was quick to remind you that you were far more than a few steps behind him. If your life now was enough for you, why wasn’t it for him? Was it enough for you or had you really given up?

The tears were spilling now, and you lay down, turning to the other side so Jihoon couldn’t see them.

“If I didn’t believe in you,” Jihoon began. You could hear that he had knelt down on the floor beside your side of the bed. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far. If I didn’t believe in you, if I didn’t think you could do anything you wanted, if I was certain that you’d come through... well the fact of the matter is that I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

You choked back a sob, aware that Jihoon definitely knew you were crying.

Jihoon’s hands found their way onto your side as he moved to sit beside you on the bed. You weren’t fully sure how you were feeling any more, but you shifted to move away from Jihoon ever so slightly and you heard him take a deep sigh as he retracted his hand from your side.

“Don’t we get to be happy?” he questioned, his voice beginning to raise again in frustration. Usually Jihoon’s sweet words would easily coax you back to his side. But tonight, they felt more like daggers than honey. “Like at any point down the line, don’t I get to be happy without you pushing me away? Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why do I have to feel like I’m committing a crime for doing something I’ve always dreamed of?”

He let out a sigh before continuing. “I will not fail so you can be comfortable,” he said with that calculated tone once again, an attempt to hide his frustration. His words betrayed his attempt. “I will not lose because you can’t win.”

He was quiet for a second and you wondered if he was finally finished. You were tired.

“If you just hold on, you’ll be fine,” he said, returning to a softer tone that didn’t match the heaviness of his words. “But don’t make me wait till you are to be happy with you.”

His words cut into you, but you couldn’t find it in you to look him in the eyes as he twisted the knife. He may have missed the point, but his pointed words found their way into your heart anyway.

He stood up and grabbed a pillow from beside you. The next time he spoke, he was further away. “If I didn’t believe in you,” he said quietly but loud enough for you to hear. “I wouldn’t have loved you at all.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Taglist:@yksthings @alonelystarfish @coveyland @xuimhao @sana-is-ms-rmty @gummymintae @maverey @jespescially

#lee jihoon #woozi #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #lee jihoon x reader #woozi angst #lee jihoon angst #seventeen angst

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corviiids · 1 month

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sparknotes for chapter 9 of as you like it because a very kind commenter asked for a breakdown and if theres one thing im good at it's breaking down

(spoilers for the fic obviously)

tihs chapter gave me so much trouble. i sat on it for so long i literally hated it by the time i posted it but im starting to forgive it now. it was, as ive said, originally way longer, and the next part of the fic was supposed to be the second half of this one... but it was starting to get absurd and i realised that neither part would have the weight i needed them to have if they were lumped in together. (with some relief, honestly, because i kind of had wanted them to be separate initially but didn't think they'd be long enough. i dont know myself very well.) anyway, the next chapter should be a bit of a doozy now although hopefully not SO absurdly long.

this chapter picks up where the previous cliff hung off, which is to say, after the 'shadow' akechi reveals that he's actually just the real ass guy. akechi in the palace what will he do. the chapter doesn't immediately kick off with ren's reaction though and that is because ren is the most repressed man alive and does not know how he feels about it.

so, akechi disguised himself to enter his palace, which is significant for a few reasons:

1. he's disguised as himself

which i think is ironic in a fun way, but it's also just a very basic nod to the fact that akechi pivots between which of his personae is his default. this isn't necessarily super meaningful, but he does later refer to the black mask suit as

a costume, instead of an outfit. i mean, don't read into it too much, he's just talking, but i did think that probably points to how he feels about his appearance generally.

2. more importantly, his disguise involves taking off his mask.

so he's disguised, yes, and he's disguised as himself, yes, but that disguise is a literal unmasking, which is also kind of ironic. in presenting himself this way he has literally and figuratively made himself vulnerable. they're inside his heart, and the entire time he's in the palace, he is exposed... again both literally and figuratively because he also starts sharing more with ren than he ever has. look, i just think it's fun to have a character who has so many layers that he has to lie so hard that he becomes himself again.

i only want to point this out because (this is also part of larger meta about mona lol) akechi knew about the metaverse, but there is no way to intuit the method of stealing hearts without guidance. it's such a specific and involved process. thje most akechi could work out on his own was that if you killed a shadow, that person would have a mental breakdown. no way to guess that if you send a calling card and then go in within the next 24 hours and take a physical manifestation of a thing that you didn't know existed (process) would lead to that person ahving a change of heart (result). so even if akechi had a palace and knew about it, even if he wanted to do something about it, he would have assumed there was nothing he could do about it - i also have no idea what the process would be for sending yourself a calling card, even if he DID know about the process. so basically in this fic akechi found his palace and just assumed that was it. he was like, fucked up lol. anyway

this just straight up isn't true HAHA so i put in the silly little dichotomy of akechi gently taking ren's arm to protect him from slipping on the ice while telling him that he lied about caring about him. i think in this chapter as akechi begins to openly explain more and more of his thought process, this is probably the first truly clear glimpse you get of exactly what akechi's distortion is and how deep it runs.

the things akechi says with total conviction in this chapter are just... not true, not a fair or founded way to view the world (or the art of performance haha), but he says them with total conviction, and hopefully it should show off how unreliable he is as a source of exposition. one commenter asked about this moment of akc's eyes going yellow and if it was somehting that happened in canon - not really, i was just thinking about those little moments in the game after you send a calling card where the game cuts from the person to their shadow to do a little oneliner about their distortion.

akechi's IN his own palace, so i thought it would be fun to kind of make it a physical thing that can happen to him where he sort of merges with his shadow for a brief second in the moments when the distortion is strongest.

OKAY this is one of my favourite bits of the chapter HAHA the deep soda lore. i dont expect anyone to remember all the way back to chapter 3 but:

literally nobody asked about this but i love the phantom thieves!!! i dream of all the little silly moments of being a team that they must have that we don't get to see in gameplay, for obvious reasons of it wouldn't really work in a game, but i can imagine them in my brain. i can imagine their trickshot contests that get their asses kicked. i can imagine them chanting at each other to chug while joker and oracle compete to down an entire bottle of brand neutral mountain dew baja blast. i can dream.

soda lore is gay.

i dont honestly think it's inherently a bad thing necessarily but this part does kind of set up like... you can see akechi very early on in life forming this worldview that the truth isn't always what you want, you know? this was a 'lie' he and his mother both bought into, they both knew what the truth actually was, so it wasn't real dishonesty, but they just had this little fantasy. i just thought it would be fun for akechi to have a way to bond with his mother and feel closer to her, and that way is by buying into this white lie. idk

akechi's mother isn't really a character and i don't want to form her into too much of one because i think it's very much the point that, like... he made this point in an earlier chapter but having lost her at a pretty young age i think it's quite crucial that akechi doesn't really have a fully formed image of who his mother is outside of what she was to him as a child. so i actively don't want her to feel too real or defined. im not interested in making an oc out of her because i think it defeats the purpose. that said, this line exists to maybe gesture very vaguely at the notion that akechi's mother was a very bright person who similarly was stuck in circumstances that didn't serve to foster her real potential. just the image in my mind of a person who's clever enough to get across algebraic notation in chess by flipping through a book in a few minutes, but was never exposed to the opportunity to learn chess until this moment in someone else's house, and also the particular situation of learning this skill WHILE at someone's place as a call girl, i dunno . i hope im treating this with the grace it deserves but i wanted to build just this particular image in vivid colour while also keeping the reality quite blurry and vague, just to give the reader a sense of where akechi came from while still preserving his limited pov.

my thoughts on the phantom thieves' methods (and how they compare to maruki) are definitely too long and involved to put into a post about this fic chapter specifically, but maybe one day. i also wanna stress im not like... strictly anti-phantom thief or anti-heartstealing lol but i do have thoughts about the philsophy of it and the thieves' hypocrisy WHATEVER that's not for this post. i bring this up only to crow about finding a way to bring up the experience machine (ie maruki's reality) in this fic without it being royal compliant and have it be... hoepfully... sufficiently relevant to the plot. wa hoo! the experience machine came up for the first time back in chapter 4 and im just delighted that i finally got to close that loop. by the way, that experiment is also called the lotus eater machine after the lotus eaters in the odyssey! i dunno that it's actively my favourite thought experiment but it's definitely up there and i think about it a lot.

TITLE DROP

i think i spoke once about what 'as you like it' means. it's obviously the name of the shakespeare play from where 'all the world's a stage' comes, but it has a couple more layers to it as well - akechi's palace is a place where he performs to what he believes other people want or need to see from him - so his appearance is as you like it. and his accusation of the thieves' heartstealing methods is that they twist a person's internal reality to suit their vision - that's the meaning he's taking here, claiming that joker is turning akechi into an unfamiliar new thing, as [joker] like[s] it. you get it.

this running joke of ren really hating vents wasn't something i planned but im attached to it now. prayer circle for his knees

ive basically given up on making sense of samerecarm, which is par for the course for any rpg or video game really where reduction to 0hp/revival are mechanics. like, im inclined to think 0hp is more equivalent to unconsciousness, because... well... otherwise it's pretty cold that they left akechi dead in the engine room without even looking for a way around the wall. lol. but one of mona's revival lines is 'being dead isnt easy!' or something like that, so i kind of just give up and assume it's video game logic you'r enot meant to look at too hard lol. the way i reconcile it for my purposes is to say it's a sort of metaverse-exclusive state of being which is not quite dead but sort of in a limbo state wher eyou can be brought back with specific revival magic, which i refer to as being down. that's uhhh, that's different from the battle status of down... which you get after being hit with a crit/technical/weak skill... look, don't think about it. joker in crow's arms.

this is literally meaningless i just wanted to include a cameo of my very favourite persona q2 battle theme.

#rookfic #thank you sunlitpearl on ao3 for asking. all my love forever to everyone who enables me to yap non fucking stop #rookposting #i need to actually have a tag for this fic specifically because i talk about it so much #AYLI #< there #long post #eta i forgot to mention but goro figuring out the stamp thing but continuing to play along anyway #was very very very loosely based on my experience as a kiddo with santa HAHAHA #i was 3 y/o and clocked that 'santa' used the same wrapping paper as my parents. and i thought that was sus.#then i asked mother if santa was real and she went 'do you want the truth' and i was like well never mind. i know NOW.#idiot smartass toddler!! i was so pleased about figuring it out i didnt think about cutting off the present supply.#kept playing along for the fun of it tho although 'santa' started receiving carefully price matched lists from me instead of letters #anyway #tangent from my childhood tales

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wildemaven · 1 year

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Four

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5214

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece- He's traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn't except is to meet you, his niece's school teacher who couldn't care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warnings: 18+ blog; language, absent parents, abandonment as a child, anxious feelings, mentions of food and drinks, tiredness affecting life, mention of drug use but no actual usage, Dieter working with Sponsor and secular 12 step program, mentions of divorce, Dieter being a cool uncle, I think that everything and like always please let me know if I got anything.

A/N: We survived Chapter 3! It was a doozy of a chapter, but I was loving reading through everyone’s comments!! Starting this chapter, I was super nervous because it was already plotted out, but I was worried if it was going to flow well enough after our big blowup. We get lots of things this chapter though, so I didn’t want to scrap it. Big thank you’s to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being a champ beta reader for me, and to @purple-elm for lending her knowledge in recovering/addiction- so appreciate you both. I’m excited for you all to read and can’t wait to hear your thoughts!! PS: reader finally gets her nickname next chapter!! xx

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

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They say Rome wasn’t built in a day.

The same could be said about your relationship with Dieter.

Relationship?

Friendship?

Acquaintance-ship?

Two people forced into proximity, each attempting to mend their broken, dejected lives— owning their wrong doings through humility and self reflection.

It had been weeks since the disastrous evening at Diem’s. You wouldn’t say the tension between you and Dieter had gotten better, but you could say it hadn’t gotten any worse.

You had hoped the fog would have lifted with each passing day, but the more time went on, the guilt of your actions seemed to establish a spot within your mind, replaying each moment in a series of vivid flashes— a torturous occurrence.

It didn’t help that you and Dieter now crossed paths on a regular basis. Him in your classroom for brief periods to drop off Wren. You at Diem’s place for your girl chats and the random movie nights.

Each run in was cordial with minimal communication, mainly because you were terrified of saying something wrong, but then it became not knowing what to say at all—so you kept dialogue brief and to the point, never veering too far from your comfortability.

Routines are an integral element to your everyday life. From the minute you wake, your body’s natural response is to begin working through each daily duty without a single thought.

School mornings unfold in the same manner each day, from the moment you click off your alarm to stopping at the bakery for your breakfast sandwich, your routine has you feeling confident and motivated to tackle any challenges that may arise during the rest of your day.

Routines work well, until they don’t.

That first trickle of wakefulness, your hormones performing their cyclic functions, seeping into your listless body. The sound of the birds chirping and morning commuters rushing to their respective destinations has you rolling on your side. You groan at the vague memory of your sleepless night, playback of your fight with Dieter still haunting you in your dreams.

A few cautious blinks, your eyelids working against the light filtering in from your bedroom window, vision slowly shifting into a clearer image as you focus on the red numbers on display—

7:30

“Shit!” Your body shoots up into a sitting position, frantically rubbing your eyes in hopes that you had read the time wrong.

7:31 clicks over.

You overslept! But your alarm?? You check the little device that’s been your morning comrade for years, mentally berating it for not alerting you, only to discover it’s your own fault— setting the time for 6:30 pm instead of am.

The first bell rings at 8:00, leaving you 30 minutes to race through getting yourself ready and to school on time to prep for class.

There’s no wiggle for a shower or taking your time to properly wake up. It’s a mad dash to get dressed, only to find your usually clean and organized closet in a state of distress— clothes half hanging on hangers, mingled piles of clean and dirty clothes and no real distinction of which is what. Your only option is to pull from your weekend wear of very casual and not something you would ever wear to school, except for in times like this— desperate times call for your favorite vintage band tee and distressed jeans.

A quick wash of your face and a few swipes of mascara before you’re slipping into a pair of your favorite sneakers and dashing to grab a cup of coffee.

Upon your arrival into the kitchen, you notice that you had also forgotten to set your coffee maker before bed. You try to not let it frustrate you, but the thought of having to endure the day on not only a lack of sleep, but no caffeine as well has you on the verge of tears.

Your shoulders sag, your head tilting back and eyes closed as a mumbled annoyance bubbles up from your throat. Accepting that you can’t change the outcome for your lousy morning, you lean into your optimistic thinking and wish the rest of the day goes well. You grab your school tote as you head to your car, thankful the drive there from your house is a short one.

You don’t make a stop at the teachers lounge to say your ‘good mornings’ to the office staff or grab any important papers that might have been slipped into your teacher inbox since yesterday.

It's a brisk walk through the school halls, avoiding any eye contact with your neighboring teachers, mentally crossing your fingers there’s no mention of your less than appropriate school attire.

Door unlocked and propped open, a few switches flicked upward triggering the fluorescent overhead lights to flash on, you made it with merely minutes to spare.

You take a moment to collect yourself, clearing your mind from the morning blunder before you put on your cheerful facade for 20 little humans.

The classroom is filled with bits of your personality and things that bring you delight. Classic educational posters of shapes, colors, numbers and the alphabet mixed about with various paintings you had done to add more vibrant color to the otherwise boring beige walls.

There was a small area of wall space next to your desk reserved for artwork that was gifted to you from your students. You allot time every day to share your love for art with them, letting them explore their creativity through drawing and painting. By the end of the week, you would have a nice little collection you would gather to take home to store for safekeeping.

A few picture frames, a photo of your mom sat beside one of you and Diem from when you were celebrating her signing the purchase of the hotel, teaching tools and organization trays along with a computer all sat neatly on your desk.

Your most favorite item that lived on your desktop was the little vase you filled every week with fresh flowers from the farmers market. Always a small bundle of poppies assorted colors, depending on the flower vendor. They brought you memories of your childhood, sitting on the front porch as your mom knelt in the soil-beds, planting and sharing her knowledge of plants and flowers alike. You glance at them throughout your school day, a quiet reminder of home.

You begin to prep for your class, mindful of the fact you still need to unload your paperwork from your bag. A thorough cleaning of the whiteboard, writing out of the day’s assignments and activities, then pulling the read-aloud book of the day.

As you’re sifting through your notes and paperwork at your desk in the back of your class, arranging in the order of your day’s lesson plan, your students start to wander through the door with vigorous hugs and enthusiastic goodbyes from their parents.

“Good morning students! Go ahead and grab yourself a book and sit quietly on the floor up front.”

“Good morning!!” Their little voices ring through the room, the sound alone has redeemed the mood of the day.

A glance at the clock and you have 5 minutes before the bell announces the start of school and the majority of your students are reading quietly.

“I’m gonna miss Uncle Dude!! Can we still get ice cream after school?”

“Yeah, we can!”

“Yay!”

The conversation between Dieter and Wren grabs your attention as you continue your morning prep.

Dieter and Wren were usually the last to arrive to class every morning. From your desk you would quietly watch their interaction, him kneeling to her level and her little hands resting on his shoulders— as if she’s the one coaching them through their departure.

You don’t always catch much of their conversations, even knowing both of them on a personal level outside of your classroom, this brief moment together is reserved for them.

Giving your agenda one last look and comparing with your lessons, you notice a single paper for the first assignment of the day— there should be a stack of 20 plus one.

In your frenzy of a morning, it must have slipped your mind to check if any of your lessons needed to be copied and now with literal minutes before the bell you didn’t have enough time to run to the office and back, nor did you have anyone to watch your students while doing so.

“Ugh! This can’t be happening?!” Thinking out loud your frustration, trying to decide if you can push the lesson off until later in the day or just scrape it all together.

“You okay?” Dieter’s gruff voice draws you in, it’s honeyed and sincere as it floats through the air.

“Umm, yeah—“ His expression was undemanding as you took him in. His chestnut hair slightly disheveled, but with purpose. The amber of his eyes held your gaze, unequivocal as he surveyed your distress. “Actually, no I’m not. I way over slept, which means I didn’t get a chance to grab any coffee or make copies for this morning’s lesson—“

Ding

The ringing of the bell interrupts the conversation, your students scattering to put books away and await your instruction.

“Please have a seat on the floor and sit quietly for a moment while I talk with Mr. Bravo.” You announce in your teacher-like voice.

“Go, I’ll watch them.”

“What?” Your head snapping back over Dieter.

“Go make your copies. I’ll watch them until you get back.”

“I can’t just leave them alone without a teacher.”

“They won’t be alone, they’ll be with me. Plus, I played a teacher on a tv show once— can’t be that hard doing the actual thing.”

“I’m going to ignore that last part.”

You’re not sure why Dieter is even offering to help you, you don’t feel like you deserve it— but you really need it and he’s convincing in his own way.

“Okay— but no mention of this to anyone! Don’t let any of them leave or talk you into anything— they can be very persuasive.”

“We’ll be fine! Go!” He gives your arm a little pat as he smiles, an authentic lopsided toothy grin— it’s been a while since you had seen him genuinely smile.

Without a second thought, you grab the worksheet and make your way to the printer located across campus in the main building of the school.

You ignore the questioning looks from the sweet office ladies, they know your presence in the office at this time is out of your usual routine. Thankfully, none of them decide to investigate the matter or mention anything about your attire.

The giant printer takes its time as it spits out the warm, freshly inked paper into the tray, taking its sweet time. The whirring of the machine drowning out your thoughts of Dieter back in your classroom, hoping the kids aren’t wearing him down.

As you near the classroom door, you’re imagining your students overthrowing authority and running circles around Dieter with him tied to a chair— the imaginary makes you chuckle.

What you’re met with is anything but a cataclysmic event, it’s far from it actually. You quietly lean against the doorframe, not ready to announce your arrival back, taking in the sight of your students still sitting in their designated spots on the floor as Dieter stands before them animatedly answering questions.

“Okay, I’ll answer one more.”

“Uncle Dude!!” “Pick me!!” “Uncle Dude, me next” Each student’s hand shooting up at once, they’re little voices vying for his attention.

“Kid with the funny haircut in the front, hit me with your question.” He says as he points to the kid who had a scissor mishap last week, resulting in a wonky style that he decided was cool enough to wear.

“Uncle Dude, how much money do you have?”

“Uh, that’s a weird question, kid. Your haircut makes a lot of sense now.”

“Alright students! Time to say goodbye to Uncle Dude.” Pushing yourself forward as you make your way to the front and stand next to Dieter, saving him from any further innocent but invasive questions.

“Noooooo!” They respond in unison to you cutting off their Q & A time.

“Well, maybe we can have him come back another time if he’s not busy. Everyone get settled at your desks so we can get started and I’m going to say goodbye to Uncle Dude.”

Once you’ve made it to the back of the class, you wait for Dieter who’s giving Wren one last hug goodbye.

In this moment you could feel that fog that had still been looming over the both of you, finally starting to burn off. And for the first time, you could picture yourself getting to know Dieter better, instead of wanting to run in the opposite direction of him.

He catches you staring as he makes way back to where you’re waiting for him by the door. That lopsided smile etched across his face again, this time accompanied with a wink— your stomach spontaneously doing somersaults at his little quirk.

“So, Uncle Dude?”

“Mister is way too formal.”

“Yeah, I guess it kind of is. Um— thanks for doing this for me, I know things between us are not—“

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head as he cuts you off before you can really mention how strained things still are between you two. You don’t sense any malice in his response, so you try not to read too much into it.

“I guess I’ll see you around, or something.”

“Yeah— yeah. I’ll see you around. Thanks again, Dieter.”

Exchanging goodbyes, you both go your separate ways.

You are so focused on passing out the freshly printed worksheets to your students, that you don’t catch Dieter standing in the doorway, unmoving as he observes you moving about the room so carefree in your element.

Once the bell announces the first break for the day, you take the opportunity to head to the teacher’s lounge in search of a snack, realizing you hadn’t eaten breakfast or had any time to pack a lunch before leaving this morning.

Arriving back to your class, with an orange and water bottle you grabbed, you’re grateful there’s still 10 minutes left of the break, plenty of time to sit and enjoy the quiet.

You plop yourself down into your chair, eyes closed, taking a moment to breathe and daydream about what you’ll have for dinner.

Deciding you wasted enough of your break, you set out to eat your orange, when you catch sight of a cup sitting on your desk that wasn’t there earlier. It’s obvious to you that it’s filled with coffee, but how it found its way into your life is beyond you.

As you pick it up, its contents shift and its rich velvety aroma permeates the air around you. That first cautious sip is heavenly, an instant surge of dopamine the second the bittersweet liquid hits your throat.

“Mmm.” Not even caring no one can hear your audible enjoyment.

As you go to place the paper down, you notice black pen marks on the side. Twisting the cup to get a better look, you see a message written knowing immediately who left the coffee.

You beam at the words and can’t help but think of this as an olive branch extended to you as a gesture of mending open wounds.

“Let it Gogh. Hope your day gets better! - Uncle Dude”

“How did you feel after the fight, for lack of a better word?”

“I was pissed, angry, frustrated— sad.”

“Those are all reasonable reactions. Let’s focus on the sadness you felt. What were you feeling in that moment?”

“I think at first, I was sad that my sister thought so lowly of me— it hurt to hear her agree with this woman who I only just met.”

“Did that sadness change into something else?”

“Yeah— then I was sad at the realization that I had caused my sister so much pain over the years. That I was a selfish asshole— sorry.”

“You’re fine.”

“That I was a selfish jerk who was so consumed by the chase of the next high and the high itself, that I couldn’t see how it was affecting anyone else around me.”

“Okay. Now, the anger part— do you think that feeling correlates with sadness? Maybe the anger you were feeling wasn’t directed at the right person, that deep down the person you are truly angry with is yourself?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense. I mean yeah I was pissed hearing the crap being said about me— but I guess, if I had been sober like I said I was, these things wouldn’t have been said to begin with.”

“How does that realization feel?”

“It sucks, but it’s the truth.”

“At any point following this argument, did you have the urge to use?”

“No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because, I want to stay clean— prove to myself, and my sister, that I’m stronger than my addiction.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear that. Now, the goal here is to use your coping strategies to continue to help you when situations like this arise. How do you think you’ll handle things in the future?”

“Continue calling you regularly to stay in check, revisit my 12-Steps, use that 54321 Method, it has been helping me focus, and leaning on friends and family the most.”

“I can email you over a few book suggestions too that helped me get through some dark times if you’d like?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you for listening.”

“Of course, Dieter. I'm here to support you however you need it.”

The day following the blow up with you and then Diem giving him some hard truths, Dieter had reached out to the Sponsor he had been working with while in treatment.

After their conversation, Dieter came to the realization he had no right to be upset with anyone but himself— a hard truth to swallow.

Every week since then, he calls his Sponsor for a cheek in to review his Steps and see which areas he wants to improve on more until their next session. Afterwards he usually goes for a drive to clear his head before he heads back to Diem’s house.

Tonight is no different, except when he pulls his car into the driveway, he remembers it’s movie night and he had forgotten to mention to Diem he’d be late to it. He takes a minute to himself, also realizing you would be inside too.

The moon gives off an understated brilliancy as the silence coated the world around him, unguided thoughts streaming from his subconscious.

While you both had been around each other and shared minimal words, there was still a tension among the two of you and Dieter wasn’t sure how willing and open you would be to talk to him about it.

He recalls that one morning at school drop off, you had seemed a little stressed and tired, offering to help you seemed like a great way to initiate a good starting point in mending the situation between you.

You were receptive, showing no signs of harboring any hatred towards him, a step in the right direction.

The way you looked at him, sincerity washing over your features, he felt a palpable sense of relief— you must feel the same way.

He didn’t push for more or beg for a chance to prove to you that he had changed, so he led by action and hoped you would see him, a man who was willing and capable to do the work he needed to make a change in himself.

Shadowed movements float across the house window, a sign to make his way inside.

There’s an even placidness when he walks through the door, the muffled sound of the tv hardly detectable as its display radiates a glow throughout the living room space.

“You missed movie night.” Diem’s voice, barely above a whisper, alerts him to her presence in the kitchen.

“Sorry. I had a call with my Sponsor then went for a drive— totally slipped my mind that it was tonight.”

“Don’t apologize— But maybe a text next time, so I’m not worrying you’re dead on the side of the road or something.” She joins in the entryway and engulfs him with a hug.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“How’d your call go?”

“Good— It was good. Some days I think I’m strong enough and don’t need to call, that I’m fully prepared to navigate through my shit on my own. And then I realize how dumb that sounds.” He huffs out a single sigh, a hand resting in his jean’s pocket as his other rubs the back of his neck. “But they help, so I keep calling.”

“That’s great.”

“How was the movie?? Wren asleep already?”

“Frozen 2 again, so I guess you really didn’t miss much.”

He already knows Wren spent most of the movie reciting her favorite lines and singing along to every song, she usually convinces them all to join in.

“They’re still passed out though, I was just getting ready to attempt to put Wren in her bed.”

He looks to where Diem is pointing, the couch where he hadn’t seen a heap of pillows and what he can only assume is you and Wren sleeping.

“I’m going to wake them, hopefully Wren will go back down easily. I’ll see you in the morning.” She gives a kiss to his cheek before making her way to where Wren is fast asleep in your arms.

He watches as Diem slowly wakes you while untangling Wren’s little body from your arms, cradling her as if she was still a tiny baby and whispering to her sweet little praises, then disappearing down the hallway.

A yawn escapes as you stretch from where you’re still sitting on the couch, twisting and pulling, loosening your joints and muscles for your walk home.

Grabbing your phone and keys from the coffee table, you set out on your journey back to your house, but you’re startled when you nearly bump into Dieter in the middle of the entryway.

“Easy there.” He steadies you, placing his hands on your upper arms as you find your balance.

“Sorry, I didn’t even see you there. I must be more tired than I thought. You missed movie night, Wren had to carry most of the songs herself.” You voice is still laced with a small trace of sleep.

“Yeah, I had an appointment and totally blanked on what day it was. I’ll be here for the next one though.” He notes the way your head tilts a bit when you’re really listening, the way your lips turn up just a tad, not a full smile but enough to convey the sentiment. “It looks good on you.”

“Hmm?” Your brain still muddled and drowsy, confused by his comment.

“This—“ His hand reached out to you, his fingers flicking at the lapel of his brown fuzzy overcoat. “Looks good on you.”

You look down, realizing what you were wearing, a twinge of embarrassment filters through you.

“Oh gosh! I’m sorry, I forgot I had it on. I had forgotten a sweater and got cold, Wren brought it to me to wear. It was so warm, we fell asleep I guess.” Over explaining the situation as you begin to remove it from your body— he finds it funny that Wren immediately went for his coat before an actual blanket.

“Keep it— It’s cold out, it will keep you warm on your way home. I’ll get it at some point.”

The fog has lifted, gone— replaced with an airy breeze that swirls in and around the both of you.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Besides, I’m sure Diem will love not seeing it around for a bit.”

“That explains her eye roll when Wren came running out with it.”

“Well, I guess this is good night then.”

“Good night Dieter.”

He opens the door and you make your way out to the front porch, a gust of wind sweeping through has you immediately grateful for his coat.

When you reach the sidewalk at the end of the driveway, something tells you to turn around.

There, as if waiting for you to safely make it across the street in the direction of your house, Dieter stands watching.

You give him a little wave, a final goodbye.

When he waves back, you sense this might be the start of something new.

Some weekends were extra work days for you, catching up on grading and planning out any projects that you had added to lesson plans last minute.

There were times when you were caught up on everything, leaving you two full days of no plans or expectations.

It was a beautiful balmy Saturday, the sun had begun situating itself at its highest point, the perfect day to explore downtown.

After tending to your little garden, watering and pulling weeds, you had decided to walk down to Bart’s Bookstore to browse their intake of used books.

Any free time you had, you always wound up at Bart’s, whether it was to pick up your next read or leaf through potential reads on their patio, enjoying an ice cold tea and sandwich.

The outdoor bookstore was open concept, literally no walls, just a tin roof and shelves displaying their contents in an outdoor setting. While they did have operating hours, they also ran by the honor system if you came and found something after they closed— leave your money, take your book.

You took your time perusing each shelf, hoping to come across something to replace the novel you had just finished.

Making your way down another aisle, you spotted a familiar face sitting at a table, Dieter.

From what you could tell, he was alone, reading but able to make out the title from where you were.

This was the first time you had run into him outside of your normal setting of school and Diem’s house, not really sure if you just pretend like you didn’t see him or use this as an opportunity to sit and talk with him.

Your feet decide the latter for you.

“Dieter?”

He looks up, squinting as his hand attempts to block the sun shining directly in his eyes, that lopsided grin slowly widens at recognizing it’s you standing before him.

The hem of your sundress billows as the breeze picks up, a small stack of tattered books tucked under your arms, he decides that you look ethereal as the sun drapes its glowing rays around you.

“Hey! What are you up to?”

“I came to find a new book, just finished my last one.” Glancing down to the books you’re holding, in case he hadn’t seen them.

“Find anything good?”

“Not sure yet, but they seem promising. You alone?”

“Yeah, decided to get out for a bit, while Diem and Wren are out shopping. Seemed like the best place to be with this nice weather we’re having.”

You nod in agreement.

“Would it be okay if I talk to you— if we talk… I mean— if you’re not busy, would it be okay if we talked for a bit?”

“Sure, take a seat.” Gesturing to the open chair across from him.

Placing the books on the metal table, you sit in the chair, scooting it forward to the table as you find a comfortable position.

“Thanks. I’ve been wanting to talk with you— I-I’ve just been so nervous and wasn’t really sure you’d even want to talk to me.”

“What do you want to talk about?” He leans back, a leg crossed over the other with one arm draped over the back of his chair as his forearm of the other rests against the table— his fingers rubbing against each other as he waits for you to share.

“I’ve been wanting to apologize for what I said— screaming at Wren’s party and telling Diem to not have you stay with her. I should have never—“

“It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” His chestnut locks begin to move about as another breeze moves around, he tucks the loose strands behind his ear.

“No, I need to apologize— you didn’t deserve how I treated you and I’m ashamed that’s how things went down.”

“Thank you. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure— yes.”

“Why did you hate me so much? Diem mentioned something about your past— she wouldn’t tell me though.”

Your fingers toy with the edges of one of the books, you take a deep breath and decide to share with him your feelings behind being so harsh towards him.

“This is going to sound so dumb, but my Dad was an actor— still is? I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him in years.”

“Really? I did not expect that.”

“Yeah. He left when I was little, maybe 3 or so. He had this wild idea that he was destined to be some big time actor, and was going to be famous— the works.”

“What happened?”

“He never came back. He called every few months, and sent my mom some money. But then the calls just kind of dropped off. After about a year of silence, my mom received divorce papers out of the blue. It was just her and I after that.” You take a minute, glance at him to see if you can get a sense of what he’s thinking— his expression empathetic towards the words you’re saying.

“So, I grew up with an aversion for anything pertaining to actors and Hollywood. I decided they were all just out to better themselves, leaving their families for a better life.”

Your throat feels dry after baring yourself to him, grateful he gave you the opportunity to share this piece of your life with him in such a raw manner.

“I’m sorry, about your dad. My parents are in the industry, and while they didn’t outright abandon Diem and I, they weren’t all that active in our lives growing up. I thought I could do it differently though— make it as an actor, but do it better. Upside to having famous parents is it’s a shoe in with getting booked, everyone already wants to work with you because of your name— no one cared if I was any good or not. So I had to work ten times harder just to get some sort of recognition for my acting skills. I think the attention and the fame eventually did get to my head— I lost who I was and why I wanted to become an actor in the first place. The drugs kind of numbed it all, made me think less about how I was hating everything around me and kept me going. And, well we all know how that ended.”

“I’m so sorry Dieter.” Your eyes fixed onto his and you grabbed for his hand, giving a gentle squeeze, a quiet ‘thank you’ to him for sharing his story with you.

He turns his hand and reciprocates the gesture, his thumb drawing little circles on the back of your hand.

“You’ve already seen me at my worst, why not give me a chance at my best.”

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo #Pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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moxie-girl · 9 days

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DRDT EP 13/14 ANALYSIS/THEORIES

I said I'd do this once I collected my thoughts! haha Warning! This is super long…

To start, I'm going to pick apart all the stuff I predicted for ep. 13 (I'll try not to make it too long…)

Levi's Secret

Well. Levi sure did admit to. All that! I think this eliminates any last doubts I personally had about him being the killer… (your honor just because I'm a serial killer doesn't mean I killed that specific person /ref) I really like that he isn't shown as a bad person just because he lacks empathy, and he's actually actively trying to be a good person… the fact that he just admitted his secret because he thought it was the right thing to do is so funny though, there go all my theories lol! (I'm still a little worried about rule 14 though…)

Ace's (Almost) Murder

Yeah!! This is probably what we're gonna spend episode 14 talking about, with murder method and alibis, etc. I still don't think it was Nico though! (I want to say I called that it'd be relevant, but it felt a little obvious…)

The Murder Method

I think we can say this has been all figured out, with the method being exactly what several people much smarter than me all figured out.

The Possible Culprits

Rose was still acting a little odd, but I think Whit on the other hand, despite whatever all that was, is off the hook for now, so my number 1 suspect is still Hu! I'm like 90% sure she was the one who tried to kill Ace, at least, and that's become very important now!

Secrets

Well, we got all the secrets figured out! (Hu :( ) The fandom interpretation was pretty much correct, except for Teruko's (we'll get to that later…) I do hope that after this trial, some of the secrets that are not relevant/haven't really been discussed do get adressed, because I could even see them becoming motives for murder again. But also, I just want the characters to talk about them! (gimme that juicy juicy angst…)

Ace

He didn't re-open his injury or really freak out like I expected, but we got some vulnerability (and a new sprite!) from Ace, and considering next episode is probably gonna focus a ton on him, I'm still expecting at least one of the two to happen…

Teruko

Luckily for Teruko, we didn't have anything unlucky happen to her this episode! But she sure did get her time in the protag spotlight anyway, I'm glad she didn't let the mistake from last episode get her down!

☆ ☆ ☆

Also, my bingo card! I got a bingo!! (ft. my messy tiny notes if you want to read them)

A few of my other bingo predictions I'm still going to hold on to for the next (few) episodes, but now, onto some new stuff!

Final Arei Flashback

Whoooah boy was that scene a doozy. I'm starting to think David's murderous rage towards the blackened at the start of the trial was genuine, because me too, man. I'm really glad Arei got at least a little bit of closure before she died, though! She also had an interesting take on the "good person" role, something that has been very important to this trial thus far and will likely continue to be. (I'm thinking that the killer may have had a "good person"-related motivation for killing, which is why it's the chapter's overarching theme?)

Also, to adress the elephant in the room… EDEN??? Well, no wonder Xander "didn't expect her to attack [him] like that" - and from her expression I wonder if she expected it either - I'm really looking forward to learning more about what, exactly, happened before the killing game that involved them! I didn't really believe in Mastermind!Eden before this, but it's starting to look pretty plausible... (Also Xander is the king of haunting the narrative oh my god lol)

Teruko's Secret

Many of us, myself included, were hoping/guessing/assuming that when all the secrets were figured out, David would reveal that he actually had Teruko's, not Xander's. While that didn't happen, the way he reacted after she claimed "her" secret essentially confirms it, as does a lot of other evidence:

That secret being hers would complete a secret circle of Teruko -> Rose -> Whit -> David -> Teruko and a secret pair of Xander <--> Min, which makes sense considering all other secret swaps are either circles of four or in pairs.

Xander and Min would have each other's secrets logically since neither of them can receive secrets, so theirs would probably be separated from the rest.

MonoTV's line about not knowing whether they're all correct feels like a reminder/a hint that some of the secrets are incorrect, and those two feel like the most likely options.

Teruko apparently has no idea which secret is actually hers, so may have just guessed the one that sounded more like her, except we know she never knew her parents and only had one sibling (as does Charles… I wonder if he'll notice)

EDIT: I cant believe I almost forgot, but I feel like David’s attitude towards Xander (and Teruko) makes more sense with these secrets, because why would he idolize Xander if the killing game was his fault, but he would idolize him if he thought Xander was trying to end the killing game by killing Teruko, the person David now thinks/knows is at fault.

However, since David didn't claim out loud that Teruko was lying, it's likely that this piece of information will become relevant much later in the series, and he'll be keeping it to himself for now.

Veronika and Hu

When did Veronika and Hu make their pact? And how did Hu, presumably the one who wanted to make the pact, know that Veronika had her secret? Also, what on earth do you mean, Veronika, that your secret isn't the worst thing you've done???? This little section with the two of them could just be entirely innocent and a way for the dev to get the rest of the secrets on the board, and let Veronika be a little unhinged as she tends to be, but I get the feeling at least some of this is relevant. (I'm betting on either Accomplice!Veronika or Veronika's actual "worst thing" being important to a later trial…)

David

Ohhhhh, David. I feel like Veronika with how much I want to psychoalanize this guy. He is on the verge of a breakdown, and I can feel it! The question being, of course, whether Arei's death was enough to make it happen this chapter, or whether this is something that's gonna last another chapter or two before coming to a head. My money's on the second option, because I think this trial is about to be about Ace and his impending breakdown :)

I do hope after this trial we do get to see a little more of what David's actually like beyond his facades/the roles he's been playing! Also, as much as I'd like to see David survive and have to deal with the consequences of revealing his "true" personality on live television, I think it's more likely he'll go the way of DR antags trying to end the killing game via self-sacrifice.

(We also better keep a close eye on anyone who tries to befriend or help David in Ch3, because they're gonna die next! /j)

J's Morality

This is a short one, but I just wanted to comment on another analysis I saw point out that J has been one of the most vocal people anytime murder has been brought up. I think that behind her rougher personality, J is a more empathetic person, and/or has very strong morals, making her a narrative foil to Levi now, so I do hope the two of them interact in Ch3!

Whit??

Whit. Whit why do you know so much about hanging??? Being serious though, I saw someone else bring up that his mother might have died by hanging and he researched it afterwards as a coping mechanism or something? That's the saddest possible explanation, but it does make the most sense by far… I honestly don't think that Whit is the killer, because then why would he be being so helpful in figuring out the murder method, but he's still so weird and suspicious sometimes.

Nico!

Even though I still don't think it was Nico (crime scene makes more sense if seen as Nico trying to help Ace, they may have just admitted to it because it was the less confrontational option, next ep is def not the last one and I think it'll be about proving who it was other than Nico, and if you look at Nico's secret quote…) I still do hope they get the chance to get mad! Get mad at Ace! Get mad at David! Get mad at whoever the (attempted) killer was for putting the blame on them! Idk I just want them to have their moment.

☆ ☆ ☆

And finally, here are my new bingo cards for the next episode:

(I can't believe ep14 is gonna be 40 mins + there's a "non-spoiler" thumbnail rn oooooh I'm so nervous)

#godd i missed being in a fandom w weekly episodes + theorizing its soooo fun #drdt #drdt spoilers #danganronpa despair time #hu jing #nico hakobyan #ace markey #arei nageishi #teruko tawaki #david chiem #drdt theory

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jojosquires · 4 months

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So, the next chapter of "Dizzy Edges" is actually not the doozy chapter I thought it would be. I'm doing a small (I'm limiting myself to 3,500 words) chapter following Tim in the (slightly) distant aftermath of Ch. 26. He's going on a field trip! Then, it'll be time for the big chapter that may destroy my brain (parallel Dick and Tim POVs as they have one-on-one conversations with two guest characters--can you guess who?)

BUT... I found this note in my phone and I think it's a pretty good breakdown of Helena, Dick, and their relationship to Tim in this story (makes sense because I wrote both the note-which I forgot existed-and the story). Helena isn't a terrible caretaker... She's just not equipped to be what *Tim* needs all the time (~sometimes~ her ability to just let things go actually *is* a benefit to Tim...) He's pretty good at balancing himself out of given time and a little space to think things through. Even in RR he's fully aware he sounds crazy and he might be wrong... He's got some level of self-awareness even if he ignores it.

So, here's the note and I hope it helps make sense of a few things that have happened:

Helena is fighting for Tim but in the way she *thinks* he needs her to: taking down crime, with prejudice, in Gotham. The reason she got to know him in the first place is because the usual systems *failed* this kid so she has to work outside of them to *fix* things on his behalf. It's an intentional parallel that she *leaves* at night to fight the problems that plagued him and he *left* at night to escape those problems. He had to leave to find comfort, by leaving she (accidentally) isolates him *from* comfort and stability so he finds himself wandering the city again looking for things to do to take his mind off... Just everything. Tim appreciates her dedication and is aligned in her goal to protect the innocent (even if he disagrees on her methods). But she isn't fighting *for* him the way he actually needs her to (just by being there to listen and being open/honest with him).

Dick is fighting *for* Tim... He wants to protect Tim and that's his number one goal when he thinks of Tim. Long-term goal may be to fix/break the system, but short-term he's concerned with Tim's well-being (physical and mental). He wants him to keep existing yes, but he also just *needs* Tim around. His support and his jokes and even that incessant little head tilt. He listens to Tim and remembers what he says and values his steadiness and adaptability. He keeps showing up when Tim is out looking for a distraction, for comfort. If Tim asked Dick to stop doing something on his behalf, he would because he's fighting for Tim in this scenario and he actually listens to what Tim says he needs (even if Tim is wrong about that).

Helena loves Tim like a brother (genuinely), but that means she thinks she knows best what he needs and doesn't ask Tim what that might be. Dick *is* Tim's brother and he trusts him to make the right call when it matters. He'll catch him if he falls. That's the difference. Helena would kill for him, Dick would *spare* someone because Tim asked him to. And Tim would ask him to stop to save *Dick* from having to grapple with the guilt and the consequences of a choice like that. They're each other's life raft and lighthouse. Saving each other and guiding each other in the storm. Each is the other's biggest supporter and, honestly, one of their most trusted advisors.

Sorry if this isn't interesting. But if you stumbled across this by accident maybe give the first few chapters of this weird and overly long story a go.

Either way, I hope you have a great day (or night).

#ao3 batfam fanfic #batfam #batfamily #tim drake #dick grayson #helena bertinelli #I have thoughts and they come out a lot and I think I miss literary analysis #Some day I'll write a completely unrelated essay about Usopp Zoro and water 7/enneis lobby in one piece because... there's something there

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deanwritings · 11 months

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The Guest House - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 2,478

A/N: I'm back!! It's been a doozy of a few weeks; lots of grad school homework, illnesses, my brother's wedding. And to top it off had a nice little health scare.

But I've been craving getting back to this story. This chapter is a little shorter but keeps the story moving! Hope you enjoy

“So what exactly did you do before you quit?” Dean asks casually as you head back to the house.

“Data marketing.” Dean turns towards you with a raised brow. “I look at how and what people spend their money on and make recommendations for how to sell products.” It was the easiest way to explain your job. You’ve tried a few times over the years, and you almost always left people confused, including your mother, who even after seven years still didn’t understand what you did on a daily basis.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He smirks. “Do you enjoy what you do?” You smile as the town passes outside the windshield.

“I do.” You hum. “For me it’s like a puzzle.” Your hands get animated. “You have all these pieces of information and you have to put them together to figure out how to best market a product. It’s fun. It’s like being a detective except no one dies.” This gets a hearty laugh out of Dean as you come to a stop light.

“A detective?” Dean chuckles with a wide grin as the light turns green.

“What can I say, I love a good mystery and I have a weak stomach.” You shrug. It was true. You loved a good murder mystery but if you were watching a movie, it was usually through your fingers. Even clearly fake blood churns your stomach.

Dean pouts out his lower lip as he rolls his head side to side, considering your response.

“Fair enough.” He concedes.

“What about you?” You ask in return. “You’ve been a mechanic since you were sixteen?” You recall him mentioning it earlier. He nods.

“I started part-time in high school to make some extra cash. I was saving up for an old car that I wanted to buy and figured taking a mechanic job would be a good place to learn how to fix it up once I got it.”

You look around the cab of the pickup; it doesn’t look like what you would consider a “classic” car, just a regular truck, probably a decade or so old if you had you guess. Dean catches your wandering eye.

“This is not the car.” He scoffs, almost offended you would think that. “This is my work car. My baby is at a special garage where she’s protected from sun damage, dust, anything else that could damage her.” He begins listing off concerns on each finger on his hand that’s not currently on the steering wheel.

“Your baby?” You gape at the mention of the presumed pet name. “I’m confused, are we still talking about a car?” His carefree laughter fills the truck.

“Yes, she’s a car, but I built her from the ground up. She’s the most important thing to me.” He speaks with admiration, and your brows fold in at the center, listening to disbelief as the man next to you speaks about a car like a normal person would a child, or a spouse. Definitely not a car.

“Has Lisa tried renting her on Hertz yet?” You laugh along with him, but you only hear the sound of your voice echoing through the cab. You glance towards him, his smile gone.

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry.” You sputter, throwing your hands out towards him. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You quickly backpedal, your words almost tripping over each other as you realize what you’ve said.

What a dumb thing to say. You’re literally making fun of his divorce. Smooth, Y/N. If Dean weren’t sitting next to you, you would give yourself a rightful smack to the forehead.

“No, no, it’s okay.” He tries to assure you, but the lightness in his voice is gone. A silence settles over the truck as you squeeze your eyes shut and turn towards your window. AKA away from Dean.

Shit. Why the hell did I say that? You mentally berate yourself again. Just as the two of you were finally getting to a good spot.

“It was a good joke.” Dean chimes in. “Seriously, relax.” You open your eyes and peek over your shoulder to find Dean glancing between you and the road, his lips slightly turned upwards.

“Truly, it’s fine.” You huff out a deep breath. You don’t totally believe him, but at least he wasn’t holding it against you.

“I swear I didn’t mean it like that.” Your voice drips with sincerity, your body flashing hot with embarrassment. Dean just purses his lips.

“Can I ask you something?” His tone is serious. Oh god. You just look at him and he glances from the road to you. “Are you going to be super awkward now?”

You huff out a laugh, your heart still pounding hard in your chest as the tightness starts to dissipate. Dean chuckles next to you as the tension is left behind you like the town in the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes later, you’re back at the house, the hood of your car propped open as Dean leans inside, working on removing the corroded battery as you watch a few steps behind him, keeping your distance so as to not hover.

“You seem to be up early today?” He shoots you a glace over his shoulder as he pops the battery out of its place. He straightens up, giving his lower back a stretch before leaning his prominent figure down and placing the ruined battery on the ground and grabbing the fresh one next to it.

That was true. The last week or so you had been sleeping in. Especially since you weren’t getting rudely awakened by Dean anymore. But, of course the morning you had plans, this morning, your car decided to crap out.

“I was actually planning to hike Mount Carmel.” You had been researching some of the local hiking trails around, wanting to get out into nature and get in a workout, and Mount Carmel seemed easy enough that you didn’t have to worry about an injury since you’d be going alone. And a lot of the trail reviews mentioned that the area was safe for solo hiking. You weren’t trying to become a cold case on your vacation.

“Figured it could be a nice way to start the morning.” You shrug as Dean’s gaze catches yours as he reaches into his toolbox for something.

“Maybe do some meditating once I got to the top. But like everything else with this trip, nothing has gone according to plan.” You take a deep breath and your hands slap against your thighs.

“Meditating?” His whole face scrunches as he rests the new car battery on the edge of the car as he turns to face you.

“Yes, meditating.” You challenge back. “It’s good for you.” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Isn’t meditating just breathing?” He asks with a slight shake of his head, like he’s trying to work it out for himself.

“Technically yes, but it’s about focusing on your body. Quieting your mind and honing in on the world around you.” Dean rolls his eyes with a scoff and he turns back towards the car.

“You sound like Lisa. She was into yoga and all the crap.” His voice is partially obscured as he leans in towards the engine.

You fold your lips in, wondering if you should say what just popped into your mind.

Fuck it. You seemed to be getting along. And it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve a few jabs after the nonsense he had pulled with you the first half of your vacation.

“It’s really good for anger, you know.” Dean shoots you a look over his shoulder, and you bite down a smirk at his gaze.

Well god damn if the sun wasn’t hitting him just right as he stared you down. Not to mention the view you were getting as he leaned over the car.

You had to wonder exactly what went wrong in their marriage for Lisa to leave a man this good-looking. It’s not like people didn’t marry just for looks alone sometimes. But obviously there were some deep-seeded issues considering how bitter their divorce seemed to be,

“I’m not angry,” He huffs, his bottom lip pouting out.

“Suurrreee,” You breathe out under your breath as you cross your arms and lean against a nearby tree as he continues to work.

A few minutes later, Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and shuts the hood of your car.

“All set.” He turns towards you with a grin, and you can’t help but match it as you push off the tree and straighten up.

“So how much do I owe you?” You rock back on your heels, your hands resting on your lower back. You were hoping it wasn’t going to be crazy expensive. You really knew nothing when it came to cars, just that you were always left with a nice dent in your credit card bill whenever you had to take it into a shop.

“It’s on the house.” He smiles at you easily.

“Dean.” Your shoulders drop at his offer. “C’mon, you don’t need to do that.” You start to argue, then a sour thought hits you and you frown.

“Are you just doing this because you feel bad that I don’t have a job?” Pity. That’s why he was helping you. And that's why you didn't want to tell him about your situation in the first place.

Dean’s smile doesn’t falter as he shakes his head.

“No this is not because I feel bad for you. Consider this my gesture of a fresh start.” He holds his hand out to you, and you can’t stop as your cheeks dimple with your smile as you take it.

His cool fingers wrap around yours and you tighten your grip on him, not wanting to think you were some fragile little girl who didn’t know how to shake a hand. He just raises his eyebrows before you drop your hold.

“Pleasure doing business with ya.” You want to wink at him like he did you at the shop, but like you said, no one in real life besides Dean apparently, can actually pull off a wink, so instead you just continue to smile bright.

Dean wants to laugh when you grip his hand extra tight, like you’re trying to prove something, but he just returns your smile instead.

“By the way,” he starts as he drops your hand, leaning against your bumper as he crosses his arms and ankles. His brows furrow as your tongue briefly peeks out onto your lips, and his own mouth pops open, before he realizes he was in the middle of a sentence. “This time of year Mount Carmel is probably pretty icy. Temps have been below freezing since the month started. If you’re going to hike, you should probably go with someone.”

You roll your eyes with a huff and cross your arms.

“Yeah me and all my friends can go.” You scoff with raised eyebrows. Dean just returns the gesture as he rolls his own eyes.

“Are you sure you didn’t get fired for being a smart ass?” He shoots back, and your mouth drops open.

“Huh.” You nod, your tongue pressed against your inner cheek giving you a weird lump that Dean grimaces at.

“Guess I deserve that for the Lisa joke earlier.” You conceded. Dean just gives you a nod to the side, but peppered with a smile, so you know, no hard feelings.

“Guess you did.” Dean smirks as he pushes off the car.

“By the way, there’s some local hiking groups, maybe you can give them a look to see if they’re doing anything. But if you’re still hellbent on taking a hike, I’m off Thursday, and I’ve hiked it a few times if you still can’t find anyone.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he even realizes what he was saying.

What the fuck.

He had not intended to offer to be your hiking buddy. Hell, he hadn’t hiked those trails since the early years of his marriage, back when he would do anything to make Lisa happy, even if he thought it was stupid. Who wanted to waste their day going for an hours-long walk? Apparently you and his soon-to-be ex wife.

Your eyebrows raise.

“Seriously?” You ask with skepticism. He doesn’t blame you.

No going back now.

“Uh, yeah if you want. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.” He gives a laugh, but cringes internally.

Who the fuck says that? Really, what the fuck was he doing.

You narrow your eyes.

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.” Your face is serious, but your eyes give you away. A laugh escapes before he can stop it. He definitely wasn’t wrong about you being a smartass. And he likes that he can seemingly read you, whether you mean to show your emotions or not. He wasn’t sure. Yet.

“Fair enough.” He claps his hands together. “But I gotta be gettin’ back to the shop.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, like his motley crew were waiting behind him. “Someone’s gotta keep those boys in line.

You laugh with raised eyebrows. For some reason, it feels more like you’re laughing at him, and not with him. He feels heat rush up his neck.

Truly. What the fuck is wrong with me right now.

“Uhh, but if you have any more car issues, feel free to give me a call. Like you know, I’m right down the street.” He starts to turn, but your voice stops him.

“And how am I supposed to call you if I don’t have your number?” He turns back to you, happy to see you still smiling. Something about it warms the cool morning.

“Right.” He reaches into his back pocket and whips out his phone. “What’s your number?” He pops open a blank text message. When you don’t respond, he looks up. Your smile has turned cheeky, and you look like you have something smart on the tip of your tongue. He decides to beat you to it.

“If you give me a fake number, I kinda know where you live.” He gives you a pointed look before your whole body shakes with the most carefree laugh he’s heard so far.

“Once more, sounds like something a serial killer would say.” You continue through your giggles.

“Just give me the damn number.” He huffs and you relent, giving him your number as he types it into the phone.

Dean Winchester. Is all the message says when he sends it, and a moment later you pull your own phone from your pocket, holding up the notification to him triumphantly.

“I’ll see ya later.” He gives you a low wave before he hops into his truck and heads back to the auto shop for the day.

Keep Reading

NEXT TIME:

“I can’t believe you consider this fun,” he huffs behind you, watching every step he takes.

“No one forced you to come.” You remind him with an easy breath. Not that you’re trying to taunt him while he seemed to be struggling as he staggered behind you, but it was just another reminder that he truly seemed to hate hiking.

“You know you could walk on a flat road. I mean, really, what the hells the difference? There’s plenty of trees on the road by my place.”

[Grumpy Dean is back ^-^]

Forever Tag List

@iprobablyshipit91 @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213 @kaydallas21

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #the guest house

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lokiprompts · 2 years

Text

Appropriate - Chp 1

"Introductions"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Words: 5k (it's a doozy, but an important start).

Warnings: Some swearing, but otherwise fluffy, some angst.

Song to listen to while reading: Maestro

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

Next chapter here

“This is a prison, Brother.”

The Odinson brothers stood together in a nearly empty apartment within Stark Tower; Thor beaming with unbridled optimism and Loki with a scowl painted on his face. The very walls of the room made the youngest prince nauseated, the beige walls and cookie cutter interior design completely devoid of personality. It was a far cry from his grand chambers in Asgard. But this tiny apartment was now his to call home. He had arrived earlier in the day, fresh out of Asgardian prison to pay penance on Midgard. Loki’s arrival was mostly due to Thor’s pleading, arguing to his dear father, Odin, that Loki would be punished thoroughly just by having to stay on Midgard. Thor thought he was doing his younger brother a favor and believed a stay at the tower was a lesser penance.

But what Thor didn’t know was that he was right. This was Hel for Loki.

“You’ll get used to it!” Thor said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but his happiness didn’t rub off on his dear brother, “I have a feeling you would like it here more than you think.”

Loki had begun to absentmindedly rub his new ‘jewelry’, magic dampening bangles that kept his seidr at bay. They were a brilliant combination of Asgardian magic and Stark Tech in the form of golden bracelets, the left engraved with ‘Reindeer’ and the right with ‘Games’. ‘A little razzle dazzle to make Loki feel pretty’ Tony said. Loki’s eyeroll was inevitable.

The feeling of being deprived of his magic was unsettling for the sorcerer, to say the least. Even in his cell within Asgard, he could use his magic as he wished. His magic became another limb to him, something that had become second nature to rely on. A muscle memory that he did not even have to think about to command. Even his strength and speed were affected by the bangles. Now his magic, his strength, and his speed were all gone, and he was in essentially trapped in this dull room to live in with his immortality the only thing separating him from the average mortal.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in a pointless attempt to try and shrug off the sluggish feeling the dampeners gave him. Loki’s morning was spent mostly with Stark, having the bangles placed and explained to him.

“Okay Reindeer Games, no one is excited for you to be here so this is how it’s going to go,” Tony sneered, activating the technology of the bangles with a few calculated taps on his hologram monitor, “No magic, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. – you can’t leave the building and you can’t access certain areas in the tower. If you try, there will be consequences.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, “What consequences?”

Tony grinned, booping Loki’s nose with the tip of his pen and taunting a god as if he hadn’t been tossed out a window, “That is for me to know, and for you to inevitably find out.”

Thor slapped Loki right on his back, jolting his younger brother forward and out of his memories, “It will all work out, don’t worry. I have a feeling that you will like the Servant of Workers that will come see you, I am sure!”

That got Loki’s attention. “You get your own servant here?” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all.

Thor grabbed Loki’s shoulder, giving it a gracious squeeze that made his younger brother grimace and roll his eyes, “She insists that she isn’t, but what she does clearly makes her a servant. You know, Midgard, everything is always so confused here. The Midgardian’s will catch on soon enough. Are you fine, Brother? I have a meeting with the team shortly, but I don’t want to-”

The god of mischief took a generous step away from his brother, cutting him off, “Yes, yes. I am fine. Now leave me be!”

There was a moment of hesitation where Thor’s gaze scrutinized his brother, trying to read through any potential lies. Eventually, he decided Loki’s proclamation of ‘being fine’ was good enough and he left the apartment, leaving Loki alone in the Tower for the first time. Still in his fine Asgardian leather, the sound of his boots echoed in the apartment as he took this time to give his new dwelling a proper look.

Loki was familiar with Tony’s penchant for finer things, each room ‘sparing no expense’, but the room he was in was clearly made on a budget. It made Loki wonder if Tony kept this room for people he hated. The living room was bare except for two beige armchairs and an end table, doubling as a coffee table in the center of the room. There were no books or a television. Attached to the living room was a kitchenette that had a humble stove and an even more humble sink that was large enough to hold exactly one plate, and that was being gracious. Loki turned down a short hallway to his bedroom if you could even call it that. There was a small full-sized mattress that was laid unceremoniously on the floor. Loki leaned down to gingerly touch the comforter that adorned the mattress and immediately scowled. The fabric left a greasy, gritty feeling on his princely fingers that were used to the finest of silks. Of course, the offending comforter, too, was beige. There was nothing else in the room, except for a closet that had a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie hanging up like they were the finest of suits. His ‘new prison uniform’, Loki thought with a scoff.

Seeing the set of repugnant clothes was the last thing Loki needed for the gravity of the situation to finally sink in. Tear started to prick at the corner of his eyes, and he slouched down to the ground, his back against the bare beige wall of his new bedroom. This life was a far cry from what he had in Asgard, even in the prisons. He always had the finest of meals prepared and dropped off to him. There was always a steady rotation of books and most importantly…. he had his magic. Without it, Loki felt like he lost his sense of identity. So much of himself was wrapped around his ability to use magic.

Growing up, he was always the smaller, weaker brother when compared to Thor. Even though Loki could hold his own in a battle, Thor’s brute strength always bested him in one-on-one combat, and it was their mother, Frigga, that took pity on Loki and taught him magic to level the playing field.

Frigga.

Loki let out a choked sob as memories of his mother teaching him magic as a young boy came flooding in. The quality time he shared with his mother was precious to him, even more so now that she has passed. Losing his magic felt like he lost her all over again, and it was enough to bring him to the point of breaking. Time dragged with Loki lost in his thoughts, tears now freely flowing, and before he knew it an hour had passed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of his apartment and Loki’s immediate reaction was to groan. Thor likely forgot something; the god was like a tick with its head borrowed so high in his brother’s business he couldn’t get out. With quiet steps, Loki stepped back out into the living room and listened, hoping that the guest would go away. Still, there was persistent, light knocking which was unlike Thor. But Loki certainly wasn’t up for guests and their questions.

“Go away, Thor! I may not have my magic, but I can still wield a knife!” Loki snarled through the door. Briefly, Loki questioned whether he even had knives in this dreadful apartment.

“Good thing I’m not Thor!” A voice called out from the other side. It was sweet, small, and charmingly melodic. The sound made his lip twitch up in a slight smile. It was the first time he smiled since arriving at the Tower and that fact was enough to catch Loki’s interest.

“And who are you, if you are not Thor?” Loki teased, inching closer to the door with each word until his nose almost brushed the wood grain.

“Um,” the voice giggled nervously. It rang clear and bright, despite being muffled by the door and it made Loki’s smile that much wider, “I am Y/N. I work for Tony Stark…well sort of. It’s complicated, but I am here to talk and help you, if that’s okay?”

The idea that anyone could help him was laughable at this point, and his dark mirthless chuckle was evident of that, “What could you possibly help me with?”

There was a shuffle behind the door, “Quite a bit, actually. Thor might have told you about me. I am the team’s social worker, and my job is to help you adjust.”

“Oh, the Servant of Workers? Yes, Thor mentioned you.”

Loki could vaguely here a curse, and a muttering of ‘damnit Thor’, making Loki bite his lip in amusement.

“Well, I am not a servant, but I can help you. We can talk if that’s okay? Can I come in, please?”

Even though he had been talking through the door these past few minutes, he suddenly became acutely aware of the dynamic of the conversation you were having and how rude it was – at least by his princely standards. He put his hand on the doorknob, but before he turned it and opened it, he flicked his wrist. When his intended magic did not come out to hide his still puffy and watery eyes, he considered sending you away. You seemed nice enough and gave him the option to decline meeting with you, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, he opened the door and finally laid his eyes on you.

All breath left the god when he finally saw you, time slowed down, dreams and love had new meaning – and if he wasn’t so utterly, instantly besotted he might have rolled his eyes at how utterly cliché he was being. Greedily, his eyes raked over your form and soaked up every detail.

Your eyes were as bright as your laugh, a bit wide with surprise like you hadn’t expected him to actually open the door. The next thing he immediately noticed was your height; or you lack of it. Your small stature landed you just below his shoulders and he had to look down to see you and look he did. Stared, actually, with his mouth opening and closing as his once silver tongue turned to lead. Everything about you was stunning, no radiant, no resplendent – you’re perfection.

You, however, didn’t seem to notice his momentary brain malfunction and cheerfully offered your hand to shake, your other hand clutching some folders and a large book tightly to your chest. Loki saw how you looked between him and the rogue hand whose presence became more and more awkward the longer it lingered. ‘Do something, Loki’ he cursed mentally, yet he did nothing.

Slowly, your hand lowered and just a fraction of a frown ghosted on your lips, and it was enough to break him out of his stupor.

“Apologies – Yes, Darling. Come in, come in!”

He quickly stepped out of the way, and you walked into the apartment, stopping just past the threshold, and looking around. Suddenly, Loki was self-conscious of his beige prison. Caring about other’s opinions was something he did not display too often. Deep seeded threads of jealousy was also held close to his heart when it came to Thor, and that same heart swelling with pride whenever Frigga praised his magical skill. Of course, Odin’s opinion is a whole other layer of anger and tears, but now he found himself wanting to be in your good graces. To impress you.

Loki sped by you and his large frame overwhelmed his tiny kitchenette and began whipping open all the cupboards.

“Can I get you something?” His voice pressed and anxious, “Tea? A biscuit?” He frowned when he realized all the cupboards were empty except for one can of chicken noodle soup and a dinning set for one person. Did he even have a tea kettle? He truly had nothing.

“No, no, that is quite alright.” Loki’s frowned deepened and he looked to you, who had opened one of your files and clicked a pen to scribble some notes down. “So, like I said, my job title is a social worker and part of my job is here, and the other part is at the hospital. Majority of my job is to help you get what you need to adjust to your life in the tower.

You looked around, motioning to the practically empty apartment you both stood in.

“So, you are a servant? You fetch things for people?” You giggled and pressed your papers closer to your chest again. Already, Loki couldn’t get enough of your laugh.

“I am sure some of the people I work with think so, like Thor who won’t let that go,” You flashed Loki a pointed look that was filled with mirth, and it too made Loki laugh, “But, really, my job is to help you get adjusted. I am not at your beck and call.”

Loki leaned on the small island in the kitchenette with his elbows and limbs going every which way awkwardly. When did casually standing become so difficult?

“So, you also work for the hospital?”

Instantly, you lit up, and Loki smiled at the joy on your face, “Yes. It is my main job, actually. I work with children who have special abilities, much like yourself, and help make sure they get the care and tools that they need to succeed.” All your words were spoken fervently and the passion you were exuding warmed Loki’s heart.

“You’re kind then? To care for children like that.” Loki felt like he was stating the obvious. You were a radiant creature who loved working with children and now forced to help a monster – his spiraling thoughts echoed in sick repetition in time with his fingers that started to anxiously tap on the island counter.

“I would hope so,” You laughed again, your eyes darting to his nervous tick. You motioned to his small hallway, “Is it okay if I take a look around?”

Loki rightened himself quickly, “Right, certainly. Right this way.” He led you down the short hallway, to his tiny bedroom with the mattress and greasy comforter on the floor. The matching frown you both wore was telling. So, this wasn’t an appropriate living situation for Midgard either. Loki started to shift on his feet uneasily from side to side when you poked around in his closet and saw the only piece of clothing hanging, the sweat suit.

“So, you will need some clothes, for sure.” You turned to him and gave him a warm smile, a smile that held no judgement for his living situation. Loki, on the other hand, has his lips in a tight line. Oh, how far has he fallen.

“I can get you some clothes from Asgard if you’d like, but that will take some time. I would have to ask Thor.” Loki flinched at the mention of his brother, “Or we can go shopping tomorrow and get some clothes here. I just need to get some approvals first.”

This perked Loki up, “I thought I couldn’t leave the tower?” He recalled his earlier conversation with Tony.

You nodded, “That is true, but I have special privileges and if I get it approved, we can go.” Suddenly, you realized he might not want to expose himself to the world outside. The god wasn’t the most welcome in this city, “Unless you prefer to stay here? I could pick some things up fo-“

“No, no, no!” He cut you off, waving his hands, “I would love to go and get out of this infernal apartment.”

Again, your laugh rang throughout the small room, and it delighted him to no end. Did you always laugh so much – Loki wondered. Wordlessly, you walked out of the bedroom and back out to the living room and motioned to one of the beige armchairs, “May I?”

“Please do.” Part of him debated if you checking in with him constantly was out of politeness or fear, but you didn’t seem afraid of him. If anything, it looked like you made yourself at home when you perched yourself upon his chair. Your lack of fear confused him. Don’t you know what he did?

“Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?” You started and Loki’s breath caught in his throat, fully expecting his self-deprecating thoughts to come to fruition, “The horrid furniture.”

Loki huffed out a breathless laugh, “Yes, it is quite horrible.” You handed Loki the big book you had in your lap, finally giving Loki a view of your curves. The outfit you wore was modest – a pencil skit that accented your rounded hips and a demure blouse that had its top button undone, allowing for just a peak of teasing cleavage. Loki hadn’t noticed he was staring until you cleared your throat.

“That book there, that’s a furniture catalog. You can pretty much ask for whatever you want, and I will do what I can to make it happen for you. There are a bunch of options there, so hopefully you will find something you like. I know this place is a far cry from a palace, but I sincerely hope it can become home to you in time.”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes and scoff at the idea of this beige nightmare being his home, but the warm, sincerity that shone in your eyes stopped him. There was so much hope there, a brazen plea to give this retched tower a chance, to give you a chance. He turned the book over in his hands and let his thumb flip through the pages. For you, he could try. At least for now.

“So, now that we have that settled, the next thing is figuring out how much you know about life on Midgard. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Loki leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide and bursting through his leathers. There was a moment where your eyes flickered down to his muscly thighs. It was almost too fast that he might have missed it, but he didn’t miss it. With a smirk, Loki motioned for you to continue, and you opened one of your folders, pulling out some papers and clicking your pen.

“Some of these questions may seem ridiculous to you, so please be patient with me. I heard from Thor that you are very well read and are quite intelligent, so know that this is just standard procedure even with how silly these questions are.”

Loki’s face heated up with your compliment and keen observation. He hoped the pink on his cheeks did not show up as brightly as he felt them burn, “Go ahead, Darling.”

You flashed Loki and unreadable look after hearing the pet name but carried on as if nothing happened. “So, what is your experience with cleaning? Doing the dishes, laundry, vacuuming? Things like that?”

Several emotions flashed across Loki’s face – first shock, then confusion, and finally dramatic offense, “What?! Do I look like some oaf to you?!”

Your hands flew up in defense, “Remember, it is just standard procedure. I don’t think you are an oaf at all, or anything of the like, but I need to ask these questions to determine what you may need help with. You likely might not need any of my assistance, but I must ask these questions to figure them out, okay?”

You spoke calmly, clearly, and without judgement and that aura of calmness was almost a balm to the already anxious prince. Loki decided that your questioning was way worse than his time with Stark this morning. At least with the genius, he could hide behind his dripping sarcasm and cleverness, but around you he felt naked, vulnerable. It was unnerving.

He sat back as you repeated your question, folding his arms and essentially closing himself off from you. The prince took the time to ponder the question and he realized he never had cleaned a dish himself in all his thousand years of existence, let alone did his own laundry. If he did need to clean something himself, he had his magic to rely on. And what was a vacuum? If there was one thing Loki didn’t like, it was not knowing something and what made it worse, that fact was going to be made painfully obvious to you. So, he did what he did best.

He lied.

Everything you asked him, he exceled at. Cooking? A master chef. Cleaning? Meticulous to a fault. Midgardian technology? Child’s play. The whole assessment took approximately an hour, and it was the highlight of Loki’s horrible day. Conversation flowed freely between you two after he allowed himself to relax and be comfortable around you. The sound of your laughter bouncing off the walls and the soft smiles made Loki feel something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A flicker of warmth in his cold, closed off heart. Just a man, and not the monster he knew himself to be. At least for now, with you, he could pretend.

After your last question, you tucked your papers back in your folder and stood up with the smile that Loki had come to know and appreciate during your short time with him.

“Well, it seems my predictions are right, and you don’t need any help with anything here on Midgard.”

Loki smirked, “Of course not, Darling.” Again, you scrunched your nose at the pet name before making your way to his front door and spinning around, offering your hand that held a small card.

“It was great meeting you, Loki. It seems outside of getting what you need in this apartment, you won’t need my help at all. I will have some food and provisions delivered up to you later today and I will, hopefully, if the approvals go through, pick you up tomorrow morning to go clothes shopping. You can let me know what you decide on furniture then.” He gingerly took the card from your hand and looked at it. It contained your name, a phone number, and where your office was located within the tower.

“And then after that, you won’t have to see me ever again!” You chirped, meaning for it to be playful since it was obvious Loki hated this apartment, the tower, and you assumed, you as well. Little did you know that innocent statement had sent Loki’s reeling. These….feelings, feelings? Feelings for you were new, confusing, and Loki was convincing himself that they weren’t feelings at all, but instead an infatuation because of his recent forced living situation. Just something to pass the time. But he couldn’t ignore the panic that was starting to settle in his chest at the mere thought of never seeing you again.

Loki was so caught up in his emotional crisis of the heart to even notice that you had left, and you were already making your way down the hall and away from him.

“W-wait!” Loki called out, sounding a bit more panicked than he would like, but it made you stop in your tracks and turn. That made it worth it.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, after Loki’s long legs ran him straight to you in record time. For the first time, in well, ever, Loki felt slightly winded from the exertion. He placed a large hand on his chest as his breathing settled. Damn, these bangles!

“Well, Um..Well, you see – Here’s the thing…” Loki stammered, his hands stretched out and pleading while his mind tried to come up with a reason to get you to stay. You stared at him as he rambled on, not saying anything, with your ‘this man is crazy’ expression well-hidden underneath your professional mask.

“I lied.” Loki rushed out.

“What?”

The young god rubbed the back of his neck, and your eyes caught the stray curls that lived back there, free from his onslaught of gel, “I actually don’t know any of the things you asked me about.”

“What?” You repeated. Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Loki’s intelligence and cleverness was known by the Avengers, and you had believed every word he said when you went through the assessment. He even provided examples and lofty tales of his time in the kitchen or cleaning his chambers in Asgard when the maids were sick! And he lied?

You found yourself asking him about those very scenarios and if they were true or not in a tone that wasn’t as warm as when you first met him, Loki noticed. You didn’t like being lied to, that much was clear.

“I know, I know, I am sorry, Darling, but things have been….hard for me.” His voice lowered to a shame filled whisper, “I am a prisoner here, I know, getting the sentence I deserve, but I lost my magic, my home. The last thing I have is my mind, and I didn’t want it to be known that I couldn’t do, or understand, such simple things. I truly am sorry, Darling. Will you please help me?”

It was the sincerest Loki has ever been and it surprised and horrified him to know that all the things he said were true, and he was saying them to you. A stranger. But every time he looked at you, something deep within him told him he could trust you. It was a new feeling, a strange and confusing one, but one that Loki found himself welcoming with open arms.

“Okay, I will,” Loki let out a long, relieved exhale at your words, “But, no more lying, okay? We can’t work together if we aren’t honest with each other.”

The God of Lies gritted his teeth, instantly regretting his choice and feeling the first pang of guilt for lying to you, “Of course.”

“Do you have time to talk about some things now?”

“My schedule is wide open,” ‘Painfully open’, Loki thought. Again, he followed you back into his apartment and you walked into his kitchenette.

“Since you don’t know that much about cooking, we are going to do go over some basics. I will be ordering some food and other provisions for you, but it will all be very simple things. Canned foods, microwaveable meals, things like that until we have a more formal cooking lesson. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Loki’s heart fluttered at the mere prospective of even more time with you. The feelings of guilt for lying to you already a distant memory as he indulged himself in your radiant presence.

You walked over to the microwave that sat over the tiny stove, “This is a microwave. Have you used one before?”

Loki shook his head no and stepped right up to you, watching your every move. You turned your attention back to the appliance and started to explain the intricacies of using it. Loki, however, was not paying attention to a word you said. Instead, he was admiring all the little details that made you, you. First, he admired your long eyelashes, long and curled and they framed your eyes perfectly. Different colors floated about in your iris, little flecks that sparkled. There was also a slight flush to your cheeks, a rosy hue and he wondered if you could be blushing because of him. But his favorite part, oh his favorite part was your mouth. Loki’s eyes followed the curve of your cupid bow and around the edge of your soft, pillowy lips. Your mouth was moving, but he wasn’t listening.

“Most packages just show…..” Your sweet voice faded in and out of his ears as he watched you, “And don’t ever, ever put….”

Loki found himself leaning into you. His nose just lightly brushing against your hair for a light whiff, but that feather touch was enough to have you whip around to face him. Your eyes went wide at the realization of how close he was and how much he towered over you. You took a tentative step back and it made Loki frown.

“Do you have any questions?” You asked, your billowy lips now in a straight line.

“No, your lesson was quite enlightening, Darling. I shall become an expert of this…microwave…in no time.” He could feel the unease radiating off you. Why did he let himself get so close?

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow for clothes shopping, okay? Have a good day, Loki.” And with that you left, and Loki was alone yet again. The apartment felt empty, and cold now that you had left. The life bringing warmth that you brought followed you right out his door.

The rumbling in his stomach broke him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when your food delivery would be happening, but he remembered the lone can of soup in his cupboard. He opened it and pulled the top off, unaware of how lucky he was since he didn’t have a can opener. The salty, savory smell of chicken noodle soup wafted up to his nose and he decided it was satisfactory enough. He dumped the contents of the can in his only bowl and stirred it with his only metal spoon.

He put the bowl in the microwave, spoon and all, carefully so he didn’t spill. Closing the door, he looked at the numbers on the appliance. It was then he realized he hadn’t listened to a word you said during your entire explanation of how to use this contraption. With a careless shrug, he punched in thirty minutes. He remembered helping his mother make a stew in the palace once and he thinks that is how long it took, but that was centuries ago.

For a few seconds, Loki watched the contraption light up and the bowl spin, but he quickly grew bored and sat down in his armchair. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. How was he going to live like this? Surely, he would waste away from boredom. Loki leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back and soon the exhaustion from the day overtook him and he fell asleep.

Screaming smoke alarms woke him up with a start, and his wrists, they were burning. He cried out in pain and collapsed on soft carpet of his living room just as shield agents burst into his apartment, knocking the door right off its hinges.

“Get him!!”

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