young7711

[young7711]

"We pay tribute to one of our fallen sons. Liam truly was a Wolverhampton lad, and it is really important that we recognise the work that he did. In terms of a lasting legacy, we will approach the family at the right time and in the right way. There will be an appropriate time to celebrate the life of Liam Payne who was a great ambassador for our city."

Wolverhampton City Council about Liam

[young7711]

Not that anyone has really wondered, but I am alive. I’ve been MIA for a long while except for a reblog or two a few weeks ago. Maybe I’ll try to be more active. We’ll see.

[young7711]

The worst part about Liam Payne dying is that people are posting about “the switch up is crazy”

Like no. He was an abuser and made horrible decisions, but nobody wanted him to die. He was getting hate for an INCREDIBLY valid reason, but we all recognized that he needed mental and physical help. He needed to go to rehab. He needed to get away from drugs and alcohol and improve upon himself away from the public. No one wanted him to die.

We’re not mourning the life of an abuser, we are mourning the part of him that we adored and looked up to for a massive part of our childhood/ teenage years. He was a huge part of how I was introduced to my love of music. And yes, he did horrible things and made horrible decisions and over the last few years has been anything but admirable, but none of us wanted this.

Maya didn’t want this. And everyone saying that it’s her fault can actually go burn in hell. She likely already blames herself enough. She likely already wishes she hadn’t spoken up about it out of the guilt that she likely feels. You guys commenting all over the socials about how this is her fault and “are you happy now?” Are actually horrible people.

A 7 year old boy just lost his father. A woman just lost her long term boyfriend. Two parents just lost their son. Several young children just lost their uncle. Show some fucking respect. Joking about it and hating on people who had nothing to do with what happened is not doing anything but twist the knife for the people who this has ACTUALLY effected.

[young7711]

they were all brothers. they are all brothers.

no one, and i mean no one, will ever be able to understand those years and growing into adults in the bubble they were the way those five will. for five years, they saw each other more than they saw their own families. they became family. they share something so special that people nor circumstances will ever break— they shared their youth. they shared a flash of time together that shaped them from boys into men. and as much as we’ve talked about how integral liam was to our childhoods and growth through this band, a piece of the other four boys’ childhoods and youth also died yesterday. a piece of their history died yesterday. a face to their personal memories died yesterday. and it’s devastating.

they found a home in each other when they were so far away from home, and i cannot even begin to imagine the grief they are feeling and will continue to feel.

walking in the wind has the perfect line like “if you’re lost, just look for me. you’ll find me in the region of the summer stars” and i know for a lifetime to come those four guys will be living that out as the years go on.

my entire chest aches for them. they deserve all the space and grace during this delicate time.

[young7711]

old dogs don't change

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks after sleeping together, your no-strings-attached agreement goes up in flames when joel goes on a date with another woman. you make sure that never happens again. (sequel to keep it on the low)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, ex-boyfriend!joel, jackson era, tlou 2 jesse appearance, age gap, hurt, angst, smut, unprotected piv, post-breakup sex, rough sex, public sex, rough oral (m!receiving), exhibitionism, possessive behavior, jealousy, alcohol use, briefly dating other people

word count: 10.6k

You have no idea who she is, but you bet she’s a total bitch. Is that mean? Maybe. Do you give a shit? Nope.

To be fair, you’d probably say that about anyone Joel started dating after you, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be true. Sure, you've never actually talked to her…or seen her before in your entire life, but that’s beside the point. She’s cute and bubbly, and everything you’re not, and that’s the point. 

It’s honestly a little comical how different the two of you are, and you can’t help but wonder if Tommy did that on purpose. You know he was the one who set them up. Everyone in the dining hall was talking about it this morning. The latest, hottest piece of gossip, bouncing from table to table like a cruel game of telephone. 

He probably thinks he’s protecting his big brother, but you think he needs to mind his own fucking business. It’s not like he knows anything about your relationship, not really. Well. It’s not your relationship anymore, is it? And Tommy, along with everyone else in this town, blames you for that.

Poor Joel, dumped by the biggest bitch in Jackson, who took advantage of his kindness and patience for years, and broke his heart when all he did was love her. Selfish, cold, and uncaring. Nothing like the pretty, perky girl sitting next to him in the booth they’re sharing at Seth’s. 

If only they knew what really happened.

The bar is especially busy, even for a Saturday night, so you figure no one’ll notice you blatantly glaring at them. It’s not like you care, anyway. You’re feeling warm and loose, and maybe a little too tipsy for your own good, but tonight, you get to do whatever the fuck you want. 

Because Joel’s sitting ten feet away with his arm slung around another woman, and it hurts. 

It sucks way worse than him avoiding you since the last time you slept together, after all of the things you did and said on that couch. The things he said. You shoo away the thought with another swig of beer, wishing you were drinking something stronger. It's for the best. 

If you get any drunker, you’ll probably end up doing something stupid, and the last thing you need is to prove everyone right that he’s better off without you. But you can’t seem to shake the anger that’s starting to simmer below the surface. 

With the emotional toll this night has already taken, you kind of don’t want to. So, you surrender to it. Fuck him. He’s a piece of shit for parading his new girl around right in front of you, and for breaking off your agreement without so much as a word. 

If he wanted to see other people, he should’ve opened his mouth and used his big boy words. Then again, he’s always been terrible at that, so why are you surprised? 

Maybe he’ll fuck her tonight. Touch her all of the ways you like because that’s all he knows anymore. She’ll moan for him, soft and sweet, gentle in her affection, just like she’s touching him right now. But it won’t satisfy him, and when he’s panting on top of her, chasing that all-consuming release only you can give him, you know he’ll be pretending she's you. 

Asshole.

You’re still watching them, shooting daggers from your spot at the bar, when your wish from earlier is granted. Two overflowing shot glasses topped with lime are placed in front of you, and you look up to see a very attractive dark-haired, brown-eyed man smirking down at you.

"Looked a little lonely over here," he says in a raspy baritone even lower than Joel's. He clinks the top of your beer bottle with the bottom of his own. "Thought you could use some company, maybe another drink."

Well, he’s right. You could use some company, and you’d love another drink. There’s no harm in having a little fun, right? If Joel’s doing it, then there’s nothing stopping you.

"So, both of these are for me, then?" you smile coyly, reaching for one. He nods, his own smile widening.

"Could be. Can I join ya?" he gestures to the empty stool next to you. 

He has this cocky look on his face like he already knows you'll say yes, and in your inebriated state, you think it's kind of hot. It reminds you of Joel when you first met. How he knew exactly what he wanted and wouldn't give up until it was his. Until you were his.

You consider him for a moment. He’s young, maybe even younger than you, and obviously confident enough to make a move on you. Fleetingly, you think he might end up being that stupid thing you do tonight, but then you down one of the shots and decide you don't actually care. 

What turns out to be tequila burns the entire way down, and you immediately pick up a slice of lime. You’re hyperaware of the way his eyes lock onto your mouth as you suck on the sour fruit, lingering when a droplet of juice dribbles down your chin. 

It’s not a total surprise when he reaches up to thumb it away, but you are taken off guard by how strange it makes you feel. The pad of his finger is disappointingly smooth, no weathering or even a hint of a callus. You're not sure why that matters to you, but you can take a decent guess.

You chance a glance over at Joel's table and, of course, you have his full attention now. His entire body looks tense, from his hand clenched on the table to the prominent vein bulging angrily in his neck. 

Good. Now he knows how it feels.

Looking back up at your mystery guy, you run your tongue along your bottom lip, catching any remaining lime before you finally give him an answer. 

"Sure. Pop a squat, cowboy," you giggle. It doesn't even sound like you and feels wrong the second it passes your lips, but as long as Joel heard it, that's all that matters. "You got a name?"

He replies, but you're too busy keeping an eye on Joel in your peripheral to catch what he says. In the back of your mind, you think that’s probably a good thing. You'd rather not know, especially if you do end up taking him home. 

Mystery guy laughs at your noncommittal hum and you realize you’ve been caught. But he doesn’t seem upset. It’s clear he’s amused by your obvious interest elsewhere and that piques your curiosity. 

Any other guy here would’ve been pissed by your apathy, especially if they’d bothered to buy you a drink that you accepted, but apparently not this one.

He sits down on the stool next to you, pulling it close enough that his knee presses against yours. You unconsciously lean into him, your skin erupting in goosebumps despite your growing unease.

He's...baffling. A total enigma. You can’t figure out what his deal is or why he’s choosing to keep pursuing you when your eyes have been glued to another man all night. 

The thought of letting this continue long enough to find out is a little thrilling. Might as well see where this goes. If it escalates, you’re more than confident in your ability to care of yourself.

But it happens sooner than you expect. His hand finds the back of your stool and, then, his lips are suddenly right next to your cheek. You can feel the warmth of them as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear.

“Look, not try'na to overstep, but…,” his eyes dart to where Joel’s sitting, unreservedly ignoring his date. The poor thing barely notices, chattering away about something not nearly as important to him as watching you. His gaze returns to you, and you can feel him smirking. “You wanna make that guy you've been staring at all night jealous?"

That’s—wow. You didn’t see that one coming. He’s got a lot of audacity to assume that’s something you’d want, let alone offer…what? His services? 

But, then again, he isn’t��wrong. Joel’s been the only thing on your mind since you walked into Seth’s tonight and saw him with her. He’s always on your mind if you’re being totally honest with yourself. It’s plain to see, obvious to every single person in this bar including the man himself.

You eye your mystery guy curiously for a second before nodding, your lips quirking into a small smirk. Maybe it’s time to prove to Joel and everyone else in this judgmental town that you’ve moved on, too. That you’re not the sad, bitter shrew that deserves to be alone.

"Yeah, actually, I do," you reply cautiously. But there's still one lingering question that has yet to be answered. "I just…why? I don’t get why you’re helping me. What are you getting out of this?”

He shrugs, and somehow you can just tell by the look in his eyes that there’s no hidden agenda. You’re not sure how you’re just noticing, but he has kind eyes. This whole time, he’s been nothing but patient and attentive, like Joel always was—...is? 

Was.

You almost wish you could fall for someone like this man instead of pathetically clinging to your past. Maybe you’ll at least get a friend out of this crazy night, if nothing else. But then you remember one, tiny problem with that idea.

“Can you tell me your name again? I promise you have my full attention this time,” you smile sheepishly. He chuckles good-naturedly and, again, doesn’t seem to hold it against you.

“It’s Jesse,” he says with a deep, southern drawl you should probably be more attracted to. “And let’s just say I know how it feels to want someone ya can’t have.”

You nod slowly, understanding perfectly. Except—you didn't realize up until this moment that that's exactly what you want. Someone you can't ever have. 

And it took seeing Joel with someone else, his body pressed up against a woman that isn't you, to realize it. Well, that fucking sucks.

You decide not to ask about Jesse's situation. It's not your business and, anyway, you're both trying to feel better about your circumstances, not worse. 

There’s a silent sense of camaraderie between you that tells you to throw caution to the wind. Tossing back the second shot, you turn your stool to face his, literally and figuratively turning your back on Joel. 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Jesse,” you murmur, and you genuinely mean it. He grins, leaning in slowly, still giving you time to back out if you want to, but you don't. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller. This one's for you.

"S'nice to meet you, too," he replies softly. 

Then, his lips are on yours. The kiss is wet and open-mouthed, and yet he handles you so delicately. He cradles your face in his hands as his tongue brushes against yours, and you moan softly into his mouth, letting your body get lost in the way he feels. And he feels so—

Much different than Joel. 

All you can think about is how much you miss Joel's rough touch, the way he'd thread his fingers through your hair and tug you into his mouth, nearly devouring you whole. Joel kissed you like every time might be the last, right up until it actually was. 

Fucking hell, why can't you just enjoy this without him ruining it for you?

You try to forget about it, about him, licking into Jesse's mouth a little more aggressively, and he groans, his body eager and responsive. It's probably more than you should be doing in public, sitting at a bar surrounded by people but, hell, you want them to see. 

They can say whatever they want about you. You're done giving a shit.

And, boy, will they have a lot to talk about after tonight. Joel makes sure of that. It happens so fast, you barely register that Jesse’s lips aren’t on yours anymore like they should be.

One moment, Jesse's hands are trailing down your sides to your waist, and the next, he's being forcibly dragged off you. Between you stands a broad, imposing figure ensuring you stay separated.

Your mind goes blank, and all you can do is watch in shock and disbelief as Joel lets loose on him, his words possessive and almost nonsensical. 

"The fuck you think you're doin' touchin' her like that? Y'need to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, kid, before ya get yourself in trouble," he grits out angrily. 

To his credit, Jesse stays cool and collected, but it’s not enough. There’s already a few pairs of eyes on you, drawn by the physical altercation, and it won’t be long before the rest of the bar notices the impending fight.

"Respectfully, sir, s'long as the lady consents, I'll put my hands wherever she wants," Jesse replies, standing his ground. He tries to move around him to return to your side, but Joel fixes him with a look that sends a shiver down your spine.

"S'that really a good idea?" Joel sounds menacing and looks even more so the longer the conversation continues. 

You’re still numb to everything unfolding in front of you and it’s not until Jesse’s next to you again, snaking an arm around your waist, that you finally come to. The reality of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks and now you’re mad. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Jesse cuts you off before you can get a word in.

“There a reason it wouldn’t be?” he turns the question back on Joel and you tense, anticipating a less-than-friendly answer. Jesse squeezes your hip in reassurance, but it does nothing to soothe your unease. He doesn’t know Joel like you do.

“Kid, do I look like I’m fuckin’ around? Take your hands off her and walk away. M'not gonna tell you again,” he all but growls, taking a threatening step forward. 

Neither of you back down. Jesse’s arm stays firm around you as your nails bite into your palm. It's taking everything you've got not to make a bigger scene than you already have.

You knew it. Since the breakup, you’ve been trying to reconcile this increasingly unfamiliar man with the Joel you gave your entire heart to all those years ago. With each passing month, the differences between the two become more and more obvious.

He's angrier now and has so much less patience. It's not that he's unkind. You know that no matter what his circumstances are, Joel will continue to be a good man. But he has a hair trigger, especially when it comes to you. 

And he wants. God, he always wants you. It’s not that you didn’t have an active sex life before everything fell apart. He just...fucks you differently now. Possessively and without restraint, like he needs to be sure you're satisfied enough to never need anyone else. The agreement to keep sleeping together was actually his idea. And it worked for a while—until it suddenly didn't. 

Now, you're forced to come face-to-face with that reality. Sitting at this bar, you spent the entirety of the night believing he'd decided he didn't want you anymore, that he was ready to find happiness in something simpler than sneaking around with his ex.

Except, it's starting to feel like maybe that's not as true as he made it seem. Like he never should've gone on this date in the first place.

"What the fuck, Joel?" you hiss, fighting to keep your volume under control. Not that it matters. The entire bar is staring at you, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth like they're watching a tennis match. "Back the fuck off. Now. This is none of your business."

"The hell it ain't my business. Some kid's runnin' his hands all over another man's girl and y'think that ain't my business?" 

His trembling hands clench into fists at his sides and, while you’re betting the rest of the bar thinks he’s preparing for a fight, that isn’t Joel. It might be you, though, if he keeps this up.

"Excuse me? And whose girl am I—yours? Because I'm pretty sure your girl is sitting over there in that booth. Or did you forget about your date?"

For a moment, he actually has the nerve to look ashamed, like he feels bad about leaving her all alone at their table and for humiliating her in front of all these people. He avoids her crestfallen gaze, likely not ready to face the hurt he’s caused. 

But it only lasts for a second before his eyes darken again, focused solely on you. As if Jesse, his pretty date, and everyone else in this bar disappeared, and it's just you and him. This conversation doesn't include them anymore. It's a private matter now.

"We're leavin'," he says with finality, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

He should know better. That's not how things work with you. You’re a fighter, a trait he’s always loved about you, even if your ire was directed at him. Back then, it rarely was.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving with you," you scoff bitterly. "Go back to your date, I'll go back to mine, and we can forget about this. All of it. We're done, Joel."

He shakes his head, mouth tipping down into a frown like he's thinking something over. Then, he huffs out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, and you start to think maybe he really has lost his mind.

"Y'know, I really don't think we are, darlin'," he drawls dangerously. 

He's on you in an instant, his hand wrapped tightly around your arm as he drags you out of the bar. You briefly consider resisting, but he's moving too quickly. All of those shots you downed combined with the beer you drank earlier go straight to your head, and you're suddenly overwhelmingly distracted by the feeling of his skin on yours.

Fuck, it feels like it's been so long. In reality, you know it's only been a few weeks but, god, you missed it. His hands on your body, anywhere at all on your body. You'd hate how quickly you forget about Jesse if you could think about anything else but those familiar, rough fingertips.

The way they dig into you, reminiscent of how he'd squeeze your thighs or clutch your waist when he was making love to you.

...Wait, what? No...no, fuck. Why is he making this so difficult? Why—Christ...why can't you just leave each other alone? If he never planned on letting you go, he shouldn't have broken up with you. And if he still wanted you this badly...all he had to do was ask. You would've said yes in a heartbeat.

So, you let him steal you away, out into the brisk, wintry air that does little to cool your fury or the heat beginning to coil in your belly. The door shuts noisily behind you, and you immediately wrench your arm out of his grasp before he can say a word. It's your turn to talk now.

"What is wrong with you? You can't just...fuck, you can't do shit like this!" You're seething, practically shaking in your rage, and his expression doesn't look much different. 

"And you can? I dunno what the hell you were thinkin' gettin’ cozy with some goddamn kid, lettin’ him touch ya like that in front of the whole town," he reiterates harshly. He's starting to sound like a broken record. It's the only leverage he's got, and you both know it's flimsy at best.

"Some kid? Jesse's a fucking adult, clearly more mature than you," you bite back. "And it’s a bar, Joel. That's what people do at bars."

Joel scoffs, and you can tell he hates the way Jesse's name falls from your lips. Especially when those lips were on yours not even ten minutes ago. 

"And who are you to decide who can and can't touch me? You broke up with me," you continue resentfully. "You don't get a say anymore."

At that, his face becomes unreadable. He didn't need the reminder, and you know that, but it needed to be said for both of your sakes. Sometimes you think maybe he actually forgets it was his choice to give you up. That he didn't realize his decision would hurt you as much as it hurt him.

"So, what? You gonna take him home then, let him fuck ya?" He leans in close, so close you can feel his soft, graying curls against your temple and the coarse drag of his beard across your cheek. 

"Kiss ya here—," a finger trails delicately down the side of your neck to his spot above your collarbone, then continues down to where you've been aching for him for weeks, "—taste ya here." 

You slap his hand away before he can get any further, but your reaction only spurs him on. How could you forget? He likes that.

"Y'know he can't make ya feel as good as I do. Fuck you just how y'like it, make ya cum as hard as I do," he drawls confidently, almost smugly, in your ear. "Don't ya?"

It's less a question than a statement, because you both know he's right. Joel knows your body better than anyone ever has, maybe even better than you know it yourself. Just as much as you know his. And it's sort of funny. You were thinking the exact same thing about him with his date earlier.

"Sure, Joel. Just like you were gonna take that girl home, right?" You raise an eyebrow, turning your head so your lips graze his skin. "Pretty little thing like her, I bet she likes it slow and romantic. She’ll probably even stick around for a snuggle and some pillow talk. You'd love that.”

Even as you mock him, the sneer marring your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes, and the spiteful nature of your words tastes acrid as they pass your lips. He’s so good at that. Always able to bring out the worst in you to prove his point—that he’s no good for you.

But you stand firm, your chest pressed flush against his in a show of determination. You're still in control here, unlike Joel, whose fingers are twitching noticeably at his sides like he's just itching to get his hands on you again. 

"Maybe I would. Liked it with you, didn't I?" he murmurs wistfully, and that catches you completely off guard.

His words are almost too gentle to belong in this argument, and it doesn’t feel fair. What's worse, he looks like he means them. You’d prefer the fight, the aggression of the man who dragged you out of the bar. Not this. Not these traces of your Joel. 

You can already feel your resolve slipping, and the rapid thrum of your heartbeat tells you to let it. When his hands finally take their rightful place on your waist, he’s in control again.

The cool evening air is suddenly stifling, and you’re starting to feel like you’re suffocating, your thoughts a jumbled, heated haze of anger and fear and want. He squeezes hard enough to pull your hips into his and you unintentionally buck, allowing his hands to travel up your shirt. 

There's an intensity to his gaze, tinged with an unexpected tenderness. He almost looks...sated. Fulfilled, now that you're back in his arms. But not completely, not yet.

"You still haven't answered my question," he mutters. His hands splay across your ribcage, high enough for his thumbs to tease the undersides of your breasts.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, sliding your hands up his chest to push him away so you can catch your breath, but your body won't cooperate. It's been well-trained to crave his touch. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you fist his shirt and instead pull him impossibly closer.

"You asked a lot of questions tonight. You're gonna have to be a little more specific,” you pant heavily.

It's getting more difficult to think, now, with the warmth of his body against you, his thumbs shifting higher to stroke your stiffening nipples. He urges your hips forward again to meet his, and you can already feel him straining in his jeans.

You whimper helplessly, unable to curb the way your body's reacting to him, and the soft sound causes something in him to snap. He suddenly backs you up against the hard brick of the bar's exterior and begins to grind languidly into your stomach. 

"Y'really believe that boy can take care of a woman like you? Hm?" He interrogates you, his voice gravelly and uneven in your ear. "Tell me I'm the only one who can give you what ya need. Wanna hear ya say it."

Fuck, you can't lie to him. As much as you want to, it's just one more thing your body won't allow you to do. Not when he's working you up like this. 

"You're the only one," you moan around your admission. He's still crowding you into the wall, his hands greedily roaming your soft curves.

His eyes meet yours, darting quickly to your mouth before he leans in to kiss you passionately like he’s rewarding you. It only lasts for a second, one deliciously fleeting second, before he pulls away. You’re not sure why you let him. Or why you kissed back.

"Who's the only man who can make ya scream?" he demands a little more urgently.

"You, Joel,” you murmur obediently, your lips already parted and ready for your prize.

And he acquiesces—another insistent kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. This time, you chase him, but he jerks his head back. He still has one last question for you. Except, this time, he looks afraid of the answer. 

"Whose girl are ya?"

He whispers it so softly, you barely catch it over the whistling, nighttime breeze. As he brushes a few ruffled strands of hair behind your ear, you answer without hesitation. 

"Yours, Joel."

His entire body relaxes. Now, he's complete.

"Damn right, you are—"

Then, the front door bursts open next to you, and he's abruptly cut off. Joel is quick to tug you around the corner into the alleyway before anyone can spot you, but he's not fast enough to keep you from seeing who just left the bar.

Jesse.

And there it is. A shock to the system, enough to clear some of that smoky, nostalgic haze and bring you back to the present. But as everything hurtles back for the second time tonight, this time around, you can’t be mad because he’s right.

Of course, you're not Jesse's girl. As pathetic as it sounds, you'll always be Joel's because he’s the only one who can take care of you and give you what need. The only man who can make you scream. But that goes both ways.

Even though he’s been picking fights all night, he hasn’t raised his voice once. It's not the way he wins his battles. So, maybe it's time to remind Joel Miller that there is someone who can make him scream. But he isn't allowed to unless you say so.

It all feels eerily familiar—his fingers digging into your waist and your lips crashing into his hard enough to bruise. You lead him deeper into the alley, back to where the glow of the string lights above the bar can't reach you, before you separate from him. 

Neither of you wants to be the one to say it, but it needs to be heard. Here, in the dark, you can be his completely, but once you part ways and return to your empty beds, that's it. Just like last time. The reasons for your breakup are still very real, and that means your relationship can't be.

"Only here. Right, Joel?"   

He stays silent for a moment, his gaze filled with deep longing and sadness. It almost makes you want to take it back. Take him back. So, when he shakes his head and cups your cheeks, kissing you like this might be his last chance, you're not surprised in the slightest.

And after this whole night—this whole confusing, fucked-up night—you let him. Right now, he needs this. Maybe you do, too.

His lips taste like whiskey and relief, and you return his kiss with all of the passion and fervor he’s pouring into you. You’re both a little frantic in the way you touch each other, but as much as you don’t want it to, it makes perfect sense. 

Those few weeks without each other felt like years, and now that his hands are back on your body and his voice, deep and dulcet, is in your ear telling you how badly he wants you, you don’t want to let him go again.

You grind the heel of your hand into the front of his jeans and his responding groan pleases you more than it probably should. This. This is yours—his pleasure, his attention, him. They belong to you and you alone. Not his pretty, perky fucking date. 

The sudden possessiveness stuns you for a moment, but it's not enough to stop the feeling from consuming you. This must be how it feels for Joel. It's potent and feels so, so…right. You're starting to think you've felt this way for a while.

"I needed you, and you made me wait so fucking long," you gasp against his lips, and the fingers cradling your face tense. You’re still fisting his shirt, nearly hard enough to tear, and you wrench it up from where it’s tucked into his pants. 

"M'sorry, darlin', I know. I know I did,” he rasps back, following your lead and dropping his hands from your cheeks so he can unbuckle his jeans. “M'gonna make it up to ya. Tell me what you want, I’ll give it to ya.”

You want everything. Everything he has to give, you want it all. After everything you've been through, the hurt he caused you, you deserve it. And right now, what you want is for him to feel so good, he'll never go on a date with someone who isn't you ever again.

Sharp gravel bites into your bare skin as you drop to your knees in front of him. He's already so hard under all that heavy fabric and looks desperate above you. Just as desperate as you are for him to replace the flavor of Jesse's tequila and lime on your tongue with something saltier and headier, and undeniably Joel.

You hastily unbutton and unzip his jeans, not wasting any more of the precious time you have left together, before tugging them down just enough to free his cock and balls. He looks...fucking mouth-watering—flushed and red and leaking, and so goddamn thick. You wrap your hand around him and he sighs gratefully, dribbling precum onto your fingers.

"This is what I want," you finally reply, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lean forward to lick a broad line up his cock. He hisses in a breath through his teeth, his thighs already beginning to tremble, and you brace your hand on one. "But you're gonna be quiet, okay? I'm gonna suck your cock and you're not gonna make a single sound."

His expression darkens, but he agrees to your terms, nonetheless.

"Sure, darlin'. Whatever you say," he nods, gazing down at you with furrowed brows. He cradles your face in his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.

The affectionate gesture isn't lost on you, but this time you accept it. Instinctively leaning into his touch, you revel in it for a brief moment before his cock pulsing a frantic rhythm against your palm becomes an unignorable distraction. But a welcome one.

"That's my boy," you mumble against the tip. Just as a pained noise escapes his parted lips, you swallow him down as far as you can take him, purposely gagging yourself on him before you can dwell on the words that accidentally just tumbled out.

Your boy. Your boy. It echoes in your mind, ricocheting wildly and painfully like a bullet. Before you can take it back, maybe even to keep you from taking it back, he buries his fingers in your hair and holds you in place. You choke around him, trying your best to breathe through your nose, but in doing so, you take in a lungful of the heady musk at his base.

The familiarity of it all sends you reeling. He only gives you a second to adjust before he's fucking into your mouth and biting back a litany of needy sounds that rival your own wet, audible gagging. Your grip on his thigh tightens as your throat relaxes, allowing you to take him deeper, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing every time he grazes the back of your throat. 

Tears stream down your cheeks and he wipes them away with a much too tender swipe of his thumb, even as he continues to force you up and down his cock. But you're too lost in your pleasure to notice anymore. So fucking good, you feel so, so good. But you need more, and you're not willing to pull off of him just yet.

Tugging down the front of your shirt, you roll a sensitive nipple between your fingers, and, god, that helps. You imagine they're Joel's and it amplifies the sensation, though your fingertips are still too smooth and delicate. Then, they're replaced by exactly what you've been yearning for all night. 

“You don’t even know how beautiful y'look like this,” he grits out, his fingers running through your hair with one hand and roughly cupping your breast with the other. His hips stutter, and you moan around him. “Fuckin’ perfect. How are ya so fuckin’ perfect?”

Beautiful. More beautiful than her? Well, you must be, because you’re the one here on your knees, choking on his cock, and she’s still sitting in the bar wondering if her date will ever come back. 

He won’t.

You preen without meaning to, your eyes blearily finding his while you drool around him, dripping saliva down his balls and onto your bare breasts. It's as if the visual alone has him thrusting into your mouth faster, pushing your limits only as much as he knows you can take. You must look like a wet dream right now, his wet dream, with your watery eyes and swollen, split-slick lips wrapped tightly around him.

Yet, he's remained so, so quiet this entire time, just like you told him to. Joel likes his sex loud, regardless of where you are and who might hear, so if he’s following your rules, that means something. 

It means he'll do whatever it takes to have you. The realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water, and then you're pulling off of him. 

“You’ll give me anything, right? Anything I want?” your voice cracks around the question, wrecked from the effort of taking him. His hips chase your hand as you continue to pump him, matching his previous, unforgiving pace. 

“That ain’t a question, y’know I will,” he replies breathily and without hesitation. 

You gaze up at him, praying your eyes convey all of the need and anguish and hope you've felt since the last time you slept together. Since the last time you were his.

“Fuck me," and you won't accept anything less than his all. Not that half-assed shit he would've given her. "Fuck me."

He understands. His heart rate kicks up, thrumming wildly against the palm of your hand, and you know he does.

The growl that rumbles through his chest is nearly soundless but powerful. An entire night's worth of tension culminating in a single exhaled breath, just before he drags you up and spins you around, bending you over against the wall. 

Bracing yourself on the harsh brick, you rush to give him better access, arching your back as he tugs your pants and underwear down to your knees. A callused hand runs upward, following the notches of your spine, while his other spreads across your waist, pulling your hips back onto his so you can feel him, heavy and leaking against your bare ass.

God, he’s so close to where you need him now. His knuckles graze your skin as he grips the base, pumping himself before the blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance.

But then, for some godforsaken reason, you feel a wave of panic. Time suddenly feels like it's running out, worsening with every subtle movement he makes. The ticking clock of your and Joel's relationship, perpetually stuck at two minutes to midnight, has sprung to life and that terrifies you.

You don't want him to stop—fuck, you don't want him to stop, but you know neither of you will last long once he's inside you. The build-up was too intense and this entire night has you both wound up so tight, you could snap at any moment. 

You need to savor this. The way you failed to on your couch all those weeks ago, and might not get to ever again.

“Slow,” you tell him over your shoulder, and it's equal parts a command and a plea. If this is the last time, then you want to feel it. Every thick inch of him, while he still belongs to you. “Just…go slow.”

He nods, shifting forward almost imperceptibly so he can watch your lashes flutter as you brace for the stretch.

"Don't need’ta tell me. I know how ya like it," he replies gruffly.

He does. For now, you won’t overthink it or let yourself get lost in the nostalgia of his cock nestled inside you. You’ll just enjoy it. Sex with Joel has always been mind-blowing, and here, in a dirty alleyway, pressed up against the exterior of a bar, you bet it’ll be life-changing.

It stings like it always does when he breaches your entrance, no matter how wet you are for him. Together, you hiss in a sharp breath, mutually adjusting to the overwhelming stretch that quickly ebbs into something addictive.

"Tight as all goddamn hell," he mutters to himself, rocking into you languidly. He takes his time, relishing your walls enveloping him, mesmerized by the way you suck him in until he's buried to the hilt. 

"Would'ja look at that," he continues in awe, tracing where his cock is forcing you to yield to him. "Greedy fuckin' pussy, ain't she? M'not goin' anywhere, don't'chu worry. Gonna take care of ya...make ya feel so fuckin' good..."

He's starting to babble. Not good. Not good at all. 

Broad hands grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can see how tightly you’re gripping him, and it's too much. His hips buck, startling a pained whine out of you as he rams into that spot. The one deep inside you he can only reach when he’s fucking you from behind. Your cunt clenches, fighting to keep him there, and he growls low in his throat, hungry and territorial like a wild animal.

"There it is," he nudges it again, purposefully this time. You barely manage to bite back a sob as you gush messily around him. "Christ, honey, y'sure ya still want it slow? 'Cus it sure don't sound like it."

He's patronizing you. He knows exactly what he's doing—that's his spot. He also knows it makes you loud as fuck. But he wouldn’t. There’s no way he’d go back on his word, not after he promised he’d be discreet.

"Joel. Don't," you warn him shakily, but you're already too far gone to be intimidating. 

He pulls out until just the tip is still inside you, huffing out a distinctly calculated breath.

"Don't what? Don't make ya cum nice and loud on my cock? 'Fraid I can't do that, darlin'."

That's all the warning you get before he slams in hard. Your jaw drops, and you're positive you couldn't have stopped the wail punched out of your chest even if you'd tried.

Wrong. You’re wrong again, and you should’ve known better. It’s not the first time he’s gone back on his word, remember? Joel’s shitty lack of communication is why you’re here in the first place. Sure, he agreed to be quiet, but he never said anything about you.

He establishes a brutal pace that has you scrabbling against the wall for purchase and slapping a hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the desperate cries being forced from your body.

Please, don’t be outside. Please, please, Jesse. Don’t still be outside. 

But your luck's officially run out. 

Heavy mahogany crashes into solid brick, echoing down the alleyway, and a raucous group of people spills out onto the street, barely 30 feet from where your ass and tits are out for anyone to see. Then, the deep baritone of Jesse's voice cuts through the rest, and your blood immediately turns to ice. 

You're fucked. You're about to get caught and expose your secret to the entire town, except...Joel isn't stopping. Fuck, he's—

Yanking your entire body up and ripping your hand away from your mouth, rutting into you like he was just waiting for an audience. He snakes a hand up your stomach to palm at your chest, squeezing firmly to anchor himself as he fucks up into you with all the force he can muster.

And it turns you on so much, you finally stop caring. Fuck it. Fuck this town. Fuck everyone in that bar who made you feel like a goddamn pariah for months, crucifying you for the unforgivable sin of getting your heart broken. 

You hope his date's standing out there, too, so she can hear everything she'll never get to have. So they can all see that Joel Miller isn't the crushed, cruelly dumped old man they all thought he was.

Your moans ring out, loud and high-pitched, all but drowning out the messy slap of his hips into the drenched curve of your ass.

"That's it, darlin', let it all out," he chuckles darkly against the shell of your ear. Your next moan tapers into a drawn-out keen that he mimics, his thrusts getting shallow and sloppy. "S'for me, right? Let 'em know you're makin' all those pretty noises just for me."

Christ, you're close. And he's as close as you are, you can feel it. You turn your head, nodding jerkily into his shoulder.

"S'for you, Joel—mmph, just for you. Only for you," your words slur as he continues to bounce you on his cock. 

"Tell 'em you're mine, darlin’. Not just here," he pants raggedly, desperation coating his words. "Everywhere. You're mine everywhere."

The voices are getting closer, about to pass the mouth of the alley, and the ice in your veins quickly thaws, turning to molten lava. They'll definitely be able to able to hear you, but can they see you? For the umpteenth time tonight, you decide you really don't give a shit. You've got none left. You and Joel, that's all that matters now. 

His hand drops between your legs, thick fingers swirling tight, slick circles into your clit while he waits for you to confirm what he already knows. You've said it again and again—weeks ago, wrapped up in his arms, and earlier tonight, after the worst argument you've had since the breakup. 

And you’ll tell him again in this alley as you cum blindingly hard around his cock. Third time's the charm.

"Y-yours, Joel. I'm always yours."

His hips completely lose their rhythm, and he barely has time to breathe out his contentment before the violent convulsing of your cunt and contrasting serenity of your words send him hurtling over the edge.

"That's my girl."

He crashes his lips into yours, swallowing every noise you make as the group finally comes into view. Their drunken chattering and roughhousing aren't enough to draw your attention away from each other, but the depraved sounds of Joel continuing to fuck you through your release captures theirs almost immediately.

A few of them stop to squint into the darkness, trying their best to pinpoint what everyone already knows is happening further down the alley. As they inch closer, they can just barely make out two connected figures, and the wind carrying muffled gasps and labored breathing with it into the street all but confirms it.

"Y'all seein' this?" they whisper amongst themselves, but in the inebriated state they're in, they might as well be yelling.

And that's what pulls you and Joel back to reality. Shit. Shit. So, this is it, then. You tense in Joel's arms, waiting to get called out as the slutty girl who seduced her ex away from his date. Hell, they're not even wrong. You can feel his cum dribbling out of you, and can't help but think maybe you'd deserve it.

From where you're standing, you recognize each and every one of their faces under the string lights, and you know damn well that none of them can keep their mouths shut. Except...wait a second. They're still glancing back and forth between you and Joel in the shadows and each other. 

Oh. The fucking shadows. None of them can see shit. They have no clue who the hell they're looking at. Joel must've caught on around the same time you did, because now he's backing up, putting more distance between you and the looming crowd. Before they can get any closer, one of the younger guys cuts in front to block their path.

“C’mon, it's probably a couple’a teenagers. Just let ‘em be," he drawls, glancing back at you. Your eyes lock, and you're suddenly so grateful, you could cry. It's Jesse. He shoots you a wink before turning back to the group, shaking his head in mock admonishment. "Don't act like y'all weren't doin' the same damn thing at their age."

By some miracle, it fucking works. They all laugh in agreement, appeased by Jesse's quick thinking. One by one, they follow each other out of the alley and back onto the road to continue their original path home. Jesse lingers. 

"Glad y'all figured things out," he calls out over his shoulder, giving you privacy to tug your shirt back up. He clears his throat awkwardly before continuing, "Look, I, uh...distracted as many people as I could from comin' over here, but if y'all were gonna be that loud, maybe you should'a figured things out at home."

Jesse shakes his head again, chuckling to himself as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Anyway, y'all have a good night, now. Get home safe."

As he jogs away to catch up with the rest of the group, you start to laugh, too. You can’t help it. It feels cathartic, relieving some of the tension of this overly eventful night.

Joel’s body begins to shake behind you, his chest rumbling with what you realize is deep-bellied laughter. It gradually increases in volume as it melds seamlessly with yours; transitory, white clouds of condensation that intertwine, then dissipate.

You feel him slip out as he starts to soften, and then he turns you to face him, carefully crowding you into the wall. He kisses you again, this time slow and deliberate like you asked him to earlier. His tongue meets yours, gasps exchanged and treasured like you have all the time in the world. 

When he parts from you, it feels reluctant, but he stays close, whispering his next words against your lips.

“M’gonna get ya cleaned up, alright?” he mumbles, dropping his arm from around your waist to run his fingers up the cum leaking down your thighs. You shiver as they continue up, slipping his release back inside you. “Don’t…,” he continues, squeezing his eyes shut as his forehead drops to yours, “…just—don’t go anywhere. Please. I’ll be right back.”

Maybe he’s trying to protect himself from the response he anticipates you’ll give him, but that seems silly after everything you’ve been through tonight. You cup his cheek and thumb the coarse, trimmed hairs of his beard, willing him to open his eyes. He does, hesitantly, one then the other, and you offer him a soft smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel.”

An intoxicating breath fans across your face, and the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders loosen. His lips match the soft quirk of your own and, then, brush fleetingly against your cheekbone as he backs away and disappears through a metal side door you didn't notice before. The moment it clicks shut, you slump against the wall. 

Christ. Your mind is simultaneously blank and racing a mile a minute. Taking a deep breath, you let your head thunk into solid, grounding brick while you wait for even a single coherent thought to take root. What now? What happens next? 

There's no coming back from tonight. You both made choices you'll have to answer for, but, for some reason, that doesn't seem so scary anymore. The clock is ticking, but there's time. Plenty of it.

You're still lost in your reverie when Joel gets back with a thick wad of damp paper towels. You snort at the idea of him suddenly appearing in Seth's kitchen and having to explain himself, but maybe the racket you kicked up right outside his door was explanation enough.

"Seth didn't give you any shit for stealing his stuff?" you ask as Joel drops to his knees and coaxes one of your legs over his shoulder.

The cold air has already started to leach the warmth from the paper towels, and they feel cool as he slides them along your soiled skin. He huffs out a laugh.

"Nah, the kitchen was empty. Think they're startin' to close up for the night." 

When he finishes your first thigh, he surprises you by leaning in to press a soft kiss against your freshly cleaned skin. He nips at you teasingly before starting on the next one.

You hum in response, threading your fingers through his hair and watching fondly as he pays careful attention to his task. He continues to wipe away his drying release, trailing his lips down your thigh as he goes, until he finishes at your knee.

He gazes up at you with a charmingly crooked grin, and that’s when it finally slips out. The single coherent thought you’ve been waiting for.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur, brushing your fingertips across his cheek. 

His smile falters. Then, it drops completely and your heart shatters. You don’t understand. But that—no. No, it doesn’t make any fucking sense. After everything that’s happened, how could you have been wrong again?

Joel sighs, grimacing as he slowly gets back up. He braces himself on one knee, clearly aching more than he's letting on, but when you reach down to offer him a hand, he refuses your help.

“S’fine, I got it. Just…,” he gestures to your jeans, still hanging loosely around your knees. You pull them up, fighting not to feel humiliated as he rises to his full height. 

You search his eyes for…something. Anything. Any indication of what he’s feeling right now, but they’re blank. Cold and distant, just like they were the night he left you. 

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you again. Not after everything you’ve been through. Not without an explanation. Not if he doesn’t want to lose you forever.

“Tell me why you broke up with me."

For a long time, you genuinely believed you could live without knowing the truth, but somewhere along the line, it began to eat away at you. Now, you want the real reason. He owes you that, at the very least.

You wait while he either works himself up to it or tries to figure out what bullshit to tell you this time. Once his hands settle on his hips, you know with absolute certainty it's the latter.

“Darlin’…,” he starts wearily, but you shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. He doesn't get to call you that right now, and he knows it. Pausing, he nods grimly before beginning again. "We already talked about this. I’m no good for ya. It was only a matter of time before ya woke up one day and realized it for yourself.”

There it is. That same bullshit reason. You scoff bitterly, not surprised in the slightest.

“What the fuck does that even mean, Joel? We were together for years. If that was gonna happen, don’t you think it would’ve already?" you counter angrily. 

You're trying not to get emotional. This can't be a repeat of what happened last time, but it's dragging up too many painful memories. It's always the same fight. You can't do this anymore.

"You know what? Fuck you," you seethe as your self-control slips completely. "Fuck you for making that decision for me. You had no right."

At your words, his face crumples and he has the nerve to look ashamed. Maybe even a little hurt. His pained expression makes your heart ache, yet a nastier part of you believes it's only fair that he feels this way, too. He sighs, his eyes dropping wistfully to his feet.

“I did what I thought was best," he mumbles quietly as if he doesn't want to be heard. It's hard for him to say this out loud, and you realize it's because he's finally telling you the truth. "I just…I thought you’d be happier with someone else, someone who could give ya a family. Kids. I gave you up so you could have the life ya always wanted."

You eye him incredulously. The life you always wanted? Sure, you and Joel had toyed with the idea of having a family once upon a time, but that was never a dealbreaker. He should've known that. He should've brought it up before deciding to destroy your life together over an idealized fantasy.

“Oh, here we go. Joel, the fucking savior. Mr. Fix-It, swooping in to save everyone and solve every problem," you hurl back venomously. But it was a cruel thing to say, and you immediately hate yourself for it.

Rationally, you know his intentions were kind. He probably even thought he was being selfless. But he hurt you, and, through your tunnel vision, that's all you can see. You push yourself off the wall, stalking closer to where he stands, still refusing to look at you.

"So what, you thought you’d dump me and I’d immediately shack up with some other asshole? Is that really what you think of me?”

His eyes shoot up to yours and his fingers begin to tap restlessly at his sides. Now, you've pissed him off. 

“Don't go puttin’ words in my mouth. That ain’t true and you fuckin’ know it," he all but growls, his body shaking with a turbulent combination of frustration and adrenaline.

You're starting to feel it, too. This conversation is overwhelming both of you, but he still hasn't told you everything. There's a piece missing, keeping all of his disjointed reasonings from adding up. He's holding back and it's time for him to stop.

“Then what is, Joel?" you plead with him to give you a definitive answer. One that finally explains why you had to lose everything. Ellie, your home. The love of your life. "What’s the truth?"

Then, everything he's kept bottled up inside and allowed to poison his happiness claws its way out as a single, unwavering statement. 

“I’m too fuckin’ old for you!”

The silence that follows his admission is deafening. You watch in shock as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He's never yelled like that before or looked so defeated. By something as innocuous as his age. 

It isn't something you'd ever considered, not before your relationship and never once during. But he did. His bottom lip starts to tremble as he turns and takes a few steps away from you.

“Every day, I’d watch ya…offerin’ to take more shifts, spendin’ time at the school with Ellie and the kids," he says softly, shaking his head as he works through his next words. "And every day, I’d feel it. My body givin’ out on me, more and more. My blood pressure’s up, my goddamn knees are creakin’. Couldn’t even fuckin’ stand up on my own just now." 

When he turns back to you, his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He feels too far, but you know you can't go to him, yet. He's not finished.

"You can do better than that. You deserve better than that," his voice cracks and your whole world blurs into a wash of colors. “You’re gonna outlive me by a mile. I’m an old man, darlin’. It wasn’t fair for me to keep ya.”

For a while, you just watch each other. Tears overflow and continuously spill down his cheeks and yours, but neither of you moves to wipe them away. 

None of this is fair. You're both miserable and heartbroken, perpetually yearning for a love you've told yourselves you can't have. Months ago, Joel made a choice for both of you. You won't make the same mistake he did.

"I didn't want fair, Joel. I wanted you. A life with you...," your face screws up as you fight back a sob, "...the rest of my life with you, however long that is."

Joel takes a tentative step forward, carefully reaching out to touch you, but stops himself before he can get too close. He looks afraid...of you. Scared of the consequences of allowing you back into his heart. 

A sob escapes your chest, then, and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly bitterly cold and wanting nothing more than for Joel to hold you. To tell you for the first time since the breakup that he loves you and, regardless of time, won't ever stop.

So, you cross the alleyway and cup his wet cheeks in your hands, wiping away his sadness and, hopefully, his fears. He melts into the poignant familiarity of your touch and it makes you brave. This time, you'll be brave enough for both of you.

"Don't I deserve that?" you whisper, close enough to share his next breath. He watches your lips, hanging onto your every word. "Don't you?" 

His eyes meet yours, and it finally happens. The moment Joel gives in and decides to let himself be happy. He nods slowly in your grasp, reaching up to cradle your hand on his cheek. 

"Dunno what I deserve, darlin'. Not after the things I've done and the hurt I put ya through. But if I'm...if this is really what ya want...," he hesitates, his voice thick with tears and, yet, still that full-bodied, twang that sounds like home. "I'm yours. 'Til my last breath, I'm yours."

He kisses you before either of you can start crying again, and it's all there. The love he kept under lock and key to protect you, released from the prison of his own making.

His kiss feels different again. There's no hunger or rush, and the possessiveness—the need to devour everything you have to give so there's nothing left for anyone else—is gone. He's sure, now, that there's no one else you'd rather give yourself to.

His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer, crushing you into time-worn chambray and sullied denim as you continue to explore each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Two lovers learning to give and take for the first time. Time passes slowly in this space you've carved out for yourselves, even as the moon continues to rise in the night sky and floods the corridor with light. 

Then, noisily and as if right on cue, the last-call crowd stumbles from the bar and immediately catches what the previous group missed. You and Joel separate, dazed but unhurried, to find that it's them. 

It has to be fucking kismet that, of everyone in Jackson, the first to witness your reconciliation would be the biggest blabbermouths in the entire town. The same women who talked shit about you every day for months and constantly vied for Joel's attention, standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws.

Their varied expressions almost make you want to laugh, and you can't help but snort unattractively into Joel's shoulder. Half of them are glaring at you, and the rest look either devastated or genuinely surprised. Guess you were better at hiding your arrangement than you thought, not that it matters anymore. It's a relationship again, and everyone's about to know all about it. Joel clears his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

"Evenin', ladies. S'there somethin' we can help ya with?" he drawls, breaking out the Southern charm that endeared every single one of them to him in the first place.

They all shake their heads, looking a little too pleased with themselves once the initial shock wears off and they realize you've just given them the gossip of the century. After a few fake, high-pitched pleasantries, they slink away as quickly as they came, already chatting to themselves about some shit you'll definitely hear tomorrow at breakfast. You watch them go, feeling oddly liberated.

"Guess the cat's outta the bag, huh?" You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, still chuckling softly to yourself. Joel huffs out a laugh, too, bending down to kiss the crown of your head before nodding in agreement.

"'Fraid so," he muses, amusement and a hint of something lighter glinting in his eyes. 

You haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time. As he holds you in his arms, he leans a fraction of his weight on you to ease the night's strain on his back and knees, and it makes you feel needed. Relied on. That's new, Joel depending on you like this. Things are going to be different this time around, you can tell. They already are. 

You hum, ruminating on what awaits you after your first night back in your own bed, in your own home. What everyone will think and say—to your face and behind your back—when they find out you're back together. Though, the only opinions you give a shit about are Ellie, Tommy, and Maria's, anyway.

So, yeah, you're a lot of things right now: exhausted, yet relieved and so full of hope. But you're not afraid, the cat and the bag be damned.

"I'm not," you tell him honestly as you pull away. You let your hands trail from his shoulders, down his arms, until his hands are in yours. 

Tugging gently, you walk him backward out of the alley, away from the bar and plummeting winter chill, and any lingering, prying eyes. Even the moon and stars have no stake in what comes next. This moment, right here and now, belongs to you and Joel, alone.

"Take me home, Joel."

The light in his eyes burns brighter, amusement giving way to adoration and contentment. He's been waiting for this, to be given the privilege of keeping you safe and taking care of you the way he needs to—it's how he shows love. 

He slots his fingers between yours and leads you down the empty streets of Jackson. 

"Darlin', nothin' would make me happier."

thanks for reading!

[young7711]

girls r like "but he's my comfort character" and then it's literally the most emotionally traumatized man you have ever seen ever

[young7711]

Joel Miller Masterlist

* Indicates Smut (18+ ONLY)

Something Sweet

What Comes After

Have A Little Pun

The Farmer’s Fancy * (soft!dark vibes)

Hot and Cold

When We Let Go *

Work in Progress

Game On

Boys in Bed with Books *(Chapter 23 with Joel)

The Right Technique 

Pickup Man (pre!outbreak Joel)

Mr. Right Next Door (pre!outbreak and neighbor Joel)

The Road to Love (Biker AU)

Simply Irresistible * (Biker AU)

Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Biker AU)

Wrangled * (Cowboy/Neighbor AU)

Motorcycle Man (Biker AU)

Reunited * (Pre!outbreak Joel)

Things I Always Wanted *

Get Your Engine Runnin’ (Biker AU)

Wild For You *(Biker AU)

Cowboy for Keeps (Cowboy AU)

Along for the Ride (Biker AU)

Fair Grounds for Love (Cowboy AU)

Let Our Hearts Ignite 

His to Protect (Biker AU)

A Storm in the Stars 

Driven By Desire* (Mechanic AU)

Lost and Found (Biker AU)

[young7711]

"Not all men" you are right, Remus Lupin would never.

[young7711]

KISSES TO GET THEIR ATTENTION!!!!! For ASHWAH please I beg

AHHHH I love this one so much!! Thank you for sending it in, I hope you enjoy another little snapshot of their lives together!

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, established relationship, set in the ASHWAH universe

Warnings: Pure fluff

Wordcount: 987

She had moved into Joel’s house the same way she moved into his heart; slowly, in such a way that neither of them even really noticed it until she went back to her house for the first time in three weeks.

“Where are you going?” Joel had asked her as she rose from her spot leaning into his side on the couch, his arm falling through empty air from where it had been resting around her shoulders while he was watching a dumb old action movie that she poked plot holes into every other scene.

“I have a few movies that are far better than yours,” she teased with a smirk, and Joel’s brow furrowed, her own doing the same to mirror his confusion before she clarified, “At my house.”

Joel’s confusion stayed for a moment before he slowly realized that she did have her own house, even if she hadn’t been living in it for weeks. He nodded then, not sure why it made his stomach twist that she hadn’t called his house her house, because suddenly, he realized that’s what it was to him.

Their house.

He realized again how intertwined their lives had become when he passed the living room where she had curled up under a blanket with one of his books in her lap, continuing a habit of making her way through the stories he had collected on his bookshelves.

“I didn’t think you were a big reader,” he had said the first time he caught her reading one, smiling to himself as she nearly blushed at his observation.

“I’m not,” she mumbled, yet she turned the page anyway, lifting the book to bury her nose in it and hiding the flush on her cheeks as his smile grew at how endearing it was that she was settling herself amongst his daily life at home.

She looked up now as Joel walked into the room, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head and mumble, “I’m heading to the market to pick up some fruit.”

A hum of acknowledgment left her as she turned the page, and he gazed down at her for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pulling her attention up to him with a softened gaze that made it hard not to stay right where he was and cover her face in kisses that he still couldn’t believe he could give her sometimes.

“Wanna come with?” Joel asked, arching an eyebrow in question as she blinked in surprise at the offer. “What?”

“That is painfully domestic,” she said slowly with a growing smirk, and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he moved away from her, but not before brushing the back of his thumb against her cheek in a small show of affection.

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, shooting a pointed look towards the book in her hands, chuckling under his breath as she tossed it away from herself with an endearing blush he so loved to see on her face because of him.

Joel grunted quietly as he leaned down to put his boots on, lacing them up when she appeared next to him to do the same.

“What?” She repeated his own short question from earlier as she laced up her own boots, straightening up and offering a hand to help him stand. “Who said I wasn’t going?”

That was the first time they embarked on the painfully domestic task of picking out fruit, a task Joel quickly realized she had no idea how to do. He explained the mundane intricacies of picking out a good batch of lemons or nectarines, enjoying the annoyed look on her face as she tried to take in the new information, an annoyance that would fade when she would glance up and see his soft smile that was reserved for her.

One day on a run to the small market in Jackson, she was distracted, brow furrowed as she tried to find the best apple in the bunch. So focused on her task, she didn’t notice Joel trying to show her one he had found from another small crate, and he soon found himself distracted from all the bustling bodies and conversation on Jackson’s streets by how fucking cute she looked so focused.

Suddenly, Joel remembered that he could do something about that now. He could kiss her. He could kiss her in front of everybody in Jackson and let them know that she’s his, that he’s hers.

And so he did.

Joel leaned down, kissing her on the cheek to get her attention, and she looked up in surprise, immediately focusing on him at the affectionate action that they hadn’t dared to do in a place this public, even as she had settled completely into his life.

“Joel—”

Then his lips were on hers as his name left that pretty mouth, kissing her fully as he leaned up and over her, his hand not holding the apple cupping her cheek to tilt her face up. It took no time for her to melt into it, and he smiled against her lips before pulling back to smirk down at her.

“Here,” Joel said, placing the perfectly shiny apple in her hand. “Just getting your attention, sweetheart.”

She snorted a laugh, but he could see her blushing again, as endearing as her little smile as they turned away from the stall. For a moment, he saw her stiffen, surely noticing the other attention Joel had gathered from being so publicly affectionate, but he found his chest filling with warmth as her free hand found his, their fingers intertwining as they walked to the next stand.

“Painfully domestic,” she murmured again, sinking into his side when he removed his hand from hers to wrap around her shoulder, pulling her closer as he leaned down to kiss her cheek again with a wider smile.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sumamitt

[young7711]

Sebastian Sallow: Metallic Blood, Lacewing Flies, and Frostbitten Air

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x fem!ravenclaw!reader (she/her; afab) (house is only mentioned twice)

Summary: Sebastian has pushed it too far and can think of no other remedy than you.

Excerpt: "Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned. You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened. You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth. A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned. "I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Warnings: small mention of death, swearing, blood, detailed descriptions of stitching, crying, kissing, so much flirting, AGED UP CHARACTERS.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N; Here we are again. Thank you to @peterwandaparker @ithinkweallsing @intheshadowofthegame @pasukiyo and @slythering-snake-boys for the love on my previous fic. I hope you all enjoy :)

My Writing

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(pic from pinterest)

There was no solace like sleep.

Drifting away in a sea of covers and quilts, the pillow wrapped in your arms your only anchor to the conscious world. Hours go by in fractions of seconds; zeal coats your body and mind at the feeling of its promise. Your frigid hands and tired eyes cured by the touch of a blanket and the warping of a mattress against the curve of your spine. A stage to dream, not to think. Not to feel. Not to worry. Only to coast.

You were ripped from its precipice by a hand as cold as death.

You pulled away from it, your mind too sunken into your slumber to even conceptualize that it was real, until it pulled at you again. As light as a feather, and equally as apprehensive.

You hummed softly, blinking yourself awake, eyes watered with so much fatigue that everything was a blur. You shut your eyes harshly and opened them once more, vision now clear enough to make out the silhouette in front of you.

Or rather, the man in front of you.

Fortunately, you could recognize him by the depth of his breaths alone.

"Sebastian!" you shouted, sitting up completely in the darkness, still wrapped in the sheets of your bed.

"Shhh," he replied, pressing the palm of his right hand against your mouth, and the palm of his left against your cheek. His touch was firm, not rough.

You mumbled something against his skin as he scanned the vacant room, ensuring no being had managed to hear him. You attempted to speak again, and he finally let go of his hold.

"What are you doing here?" you said, managing to somehow whisper and yell at the same time.

"I -" he began, his breath coming through his mouth becoming slower and slower, " - I needed you."

You were grateful for the darkness overwhelming the room. Your mouth opened like a hog. You quickly shut it.

"How in Merlin's name did you even get in here?"

You could see the smirk on his face, even through the night.

"Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned.

You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened.

You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth.

A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned.

"I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Your hands still cupped your mouth at the sight of his gaping wound, so fresh blood was still pouring down his neck, as you took a shaky breath in. Your hands dropped from your mouth as his smile slowly dissipated into a wince.

"Seb," you whispered.

"I told you," he replied, bloodshot eyes piercing into yours. "I needed you - need you."

You quickly snapped out of your shock and forced yourself to focus, all remnants of drowsiness replaced with its viger, and stood up. You made your way around your bed and opened the second drawer of your bedside table, pulling out a dusty first-aid. Sebastian allowed his full weight to be seated onto your bed, the frame of it squeaking.

"You're lucky every other Ravenclaw went home for the holidays," you said, dusting off the kit and opening it. You took out what you needed - multiple towels, a needle, a vile of previously boiled water, and string.

Sebastian hummed in agreement. "And I'm lucky you didn't."

You smiled, bringing your supplies over to your bed. You propped him up against the bed frame, and you sat before him, legs crossed. "I suppose you are."

You took his chin into your hands and moved his face around in the light, taking a good look at his injury. The skin was completely sliced, and a bruise was already beginning to form around his eye. His eyes fluttered, obviously trying to mask the pain.

"Magic won't work on this," you said, opening the vial of water and dousing a towel with it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he responded, and you pressed the towel against the wound. He hissed, balling your sheets up into his fist. The towel quickly became stained with red.

"What happened?" you asked, attempting to distract him in any way you could.

"What do you think?" he responded quickly. "He didn't want me there."

"He" meaning his Uncle Solomon. You hummed, your way of coaxing him to continue.

"I arrived in Feldcroft this morning and went to our house immediately, and Anne was ecstatic," he said, and you removed the towel, satisfied with the wound's cleanliness. You began to thread your needle. "I haven't seen her that happy in months."

You smiled, the image of her smiling filling you with a crackling joy.

Sebastian smiled at your smile.

"She brought me inside, hugging me so hard I could hardly breathe," he continued, and you lined up your needle. He saw it from the corner of his eye, and his body paralyzed with fear. His breath halted, and so did yours.

"I'll be as quick as I can," you whispered, looking him in the eye.

"I know," he replied, but his eyes shut and his face winced, preparing himself for the pain. For some reason, it was that image that finally sunk the situation into your brain. How hurt Sebastian was, both physically and emotionally, and how desperate he was to just get this over with. You felt helpless, tears beginning to culminate into your eyes. You didn't want to be the cause of that look on his face, but you had to be, and you hated yourself for it.

You were all he had.

And it was with that realization that you couldn't help yourself. You kissed his cheek, just to the right of his wound, breathing in his usual musk of fresh pears, butterscotch, and clean linen. This scent was now clouded, however, with the pungent aromas of metallic blood, lacewing flies, and frost-bitten air. His skin was soft against your lips, despite it all, but you did not allow yourself the time to memorize it. Instead, you pulled away, hoping he could understand everything you meant with the kiss. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I've got you now. You're safe.

You lined up your needle once again, not allowing yourself to see whatever reaction he had to the gesture, and stuck it through the skin, beginning to stitch.

The whimper he released cracked your heart in two.

"Keep talking," you said to him, focusing as best you could. "Just keep talking."

He caught his breath, swallowed harshly, and continued, his voice strained and husked. "She brought me into the kitchen, showing me the meal she prepared. I told her how - how proud of her I was. She thanked me for coming and then brought me to the ta - table, mumbling something about how ha - happy she was to celebrate the holidays as a family."

You had made it to just below his cheek bone, your body sweating and his shaking. Tears still ran from your eyes.

He swallowed again, exhaling deeply. "She set it all up, made sure I was comfortable, and we waited for Solomon. She asked me about - about school. How I was doing. Ho - how you were doing."

You would be lying if you said your focus did not waver.

"I told her everything was great," he continued, hissing once again as you tightened an especially separated piece of skin.

"Over halfway done," you mumbled, and he nodded.

"Finally he showed up, not hi - hiding his shock at my presence at all," Sebastian said. "And we started eating. Everything was perfect. The snow was falling through the window, Anne was happy, I was happy, it was like something out of a novel."

You waited for the catch.

"Until I fucked it up. Like always."

You almost grabbed his hand. Almost.

"I mentioned some of the research I've been doing to - to help Anne," he said, "and Solomon lost it. Yelled that I had to go and ruin the holidays with my obsession with Anne's condition. He ye - yelled so loud that he..."

Sebastian paused, and you paused with him.

"...he made Anne flinch," he said through gritted teeth, "and so I lost it too. I don't even remember what I said."

You looked at him for a moment, this broken boy in your bed, and scoured your brain for any string of words that could make him feel better. Everything you came up with felt immeasurable to his anguish.

So, you finished the final section of stitching quicker than you thought you ever could, not ignoring how Sebastian did not even flinch, and cut the thread. You then placed a fresh, cold-water soaked towel into his wound, attempting to calm it down.

Your eyes never left his, which were now staring off into the distance, haunted.

"Seb," you whispered, trying your best to cradle him with your voice, "then what?"

He sighed. "It's blurry. I know I stormed out, I don't remember what direction I took. Next thing I knew, Ranrok's loyalists were surrounding me, and I..."

He breathed deeply.

"...I killed them all."

You nodded, gently wiping at his wound before removing the towel completely. He turned to look at you, his gaze a mix of fire and pain.

"And I got this during the fight. A moment I wasn't looking," he said.

You nodded again and placed the dirty towels and needle onto a third clean one, and placed that onto the wooden floor of the common room. You looked at your hands in the glowing light - coated in blood, some even dripping down your wrists, a few droplets finding their way onto your sleep shirt.

You looked back up at him, his eyes on your hands as well.

"How's it feel?" you asked him, and his eyes snapped back up into yours.

"Better," he mumbled, wiping at his nose. The wound was yellow, ugly, and swollen, but it was closed. Soon enough, Wiggenweld would work on it, and it would be healed completely. You didn't need to tell him that. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You nodded, resting your sticky hands in your lap. "Thank you for being honest with me."

He nodded back, and the two of you sat like that for some time. Neither knowing what to say, but neither wanting the other to leave.

You broke the silence, sliding off the bed and standing up. "Get some rest, Sebastian. You need it."

He looked up at you, eyes caramelized from the yellow lamps and tears, and stood up in front of you. The look upon on his face was a mix of seemingly every emotion, and he licked his lips. You looked up at him and smiled faintly before leaning down to move the blood-soaked towels out of the way.

He stopped you, sliding his palms over your cheekbones, and kissed your lips.

You wished you could say you hesitated, pulled away in shock, or stopped him, asking if this was something he truly wanted or if it was a way to separate from his own brain, but no.

You all but fucking melted.

His lips were like velvet, caressing against your own like a moth to a flame, unable to get enough, not caring if it burned. And yet, he was delicate with the rest of his body - his hands on your face slowly making their way down to your waist. He was a magnet for you, pulling you in like a song. It did not take you long to place your own hands onto his robes and pull the material between your fingers, pulling him closer, closer, closer. He tasted of roast and cinnamon, likely from the dinner he had mentioned.

You whined as he tipped your head back suddenly, allowing him more access to cartograph your mouth. Merlin, he kissed and kissed and kissed you - breathing into your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip, never letting go.

You didn't want him to.

His hands were in your hair now, massaging your scalp with his nails, sending chills down your spine. Your hands moved to his tie, making it nearly impossible for him to pull away.

He found a way.

You chased after his lips with your own, but he held you back, breathing a laugh against your mouth. You opened your eyes.

His freckles were a piece of fucking art up close.

"Y/N," he whispered against your mouth, centimeters away. "Y/N."

"What?"

"We've got to work on your aim."

You smiled, knowing he was referring to your quick taste of his skin from earlier. "Oh, 'we' do?"

He smiled wide enough to show his dimples, stretching the stitches, eyes darting from your left eye, to your right, to your mouth. "Yes."

"So that's why you kissed me?" you questioned, mouths still nearly touching. "So we could 'work on my aim?'"

His face suddenly turned sincere. "No," he said. "No it wasn't."

You smiled, eyes glowing in victory.

He pulled you back to his mouth, but as you closed your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your hands on his chest, and pulled away with a gasp.

"What?" he said, suddenly panic-stricken, removing his hands from your body instantly. "I'm sorry, what did I -"

"Your robes," you said, pointing at his chest, and he looked down.

His white shirt, tie, and collar of his robe were stained pink, fingerprints visible even in the grim lighting you were standing in. His mouth opened, but before long, he met your gaze with a smile.

"Sebastian I - you're smiling?"

He laughed, genuinely laughed. "Yes, I'm smiling," he said, still laughing.

"But I've just stained your things!" you said, unable to not laugh with him. "I am so sorry, Seb. I'll wash them, I swear -"

"Trust me, Y/N, this is not the first time I have gotten blood on my clothing," he said as he walked closer to you once more and pecked your lips. "But it is by far my favorite time."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again, and again, and again, the both of you smiling into the kisses so big you could barely even bring your lips together. You hummed contentedly, as did he.

"Sebastian," you whispered against his mouth, and he kissed you again, practically groaning.

"Merlin do that again," he asked, and you smirked.

"Sebastian," you said, and he kissed you harder than he had all night.

"Yes?" he responded.

"You need to sleep. You need to heal."

"I need you," he said, and you kissed him one final time.

"Go to your common room, take a shower, get some sleep," you said to him, eyes dancing across his gash, despite the mind-numbing image of Sebastian Sallow with swollen lips and flushed cheeks you had before you.

You didn't want him to go, but he had to.

He nodded, knowing you were right, but still not removing his hands from you.

"And after you do all that," you continued, "you come and find me. To make sure you are healing properly, of course."

Merlin, if only you could have captured the look on his face that he met you with and kept it in your pocket for the rest of your days. He nodded and pressed one final kiss to your own cheek. You smiled.

"Of course," he said sarcastically against your skin. "Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

You nodded, and with one final smile, he walked past you to exit the common room. You rubbed your lips together, wondering if you were somehow in a dream the entire time.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, and you turned around to face him. He had made it to the door to the bedroom, one hand on the handle as he spoke.

"I kissed you because I have been in love with you since the day you bested me in our duel."

He left you with only the echo of the door closing behind him, and the realization that no, this was not a dream. Not at all.

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@leahkenobi

[young7711]

i'll be the one waiting {ominis gaunt x f!reader}

summary: you willingly take the fall for sebastian's crimes. you're not quite sure what will be left when you return.

request for the endlessly patient @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

tws: discussion of death, bad living environments, reader has ptsd from her time in azkaban and while i wanted this to be fluffy i also wanted to examine that

these just keep getting longer and longer lawd

You couldn't let Sebastian go to prison.

You knew he'd done something wrong, something unspeakably bad. But he was your best friend. And finally, after all this mess with Solomon, he'd moved away from the Dark Arts, for good.

And even though you had convinced Ominis, the boy you'd loved since he first threatened to get you expelled, not to turn him in, the bloody Aurors would not leave well enough alone. They'd taken Sebastian's wand, to do a form of priori incantum only able to be cast by law enforcement. It'd take a while to sort through all the spells, because it'd been a week, but they'd find it. They'd find that at one point, on the day Solomon had died, Sebastian had cast avada kedavra.

Then they'd take him to Azkaban. Lock him away forever.

He'd already lost his sister. He'd lost his hope that Anne would ever be cured. He was riddled with grief and guilt over what he'd done. You couldn't let them take his future away.

You just couldn't.

So you secretly said your goodbyes.

You'd taken Sebastian down to Undercroft, duelling back and forth for hours. Showing him all the things you could do with the ancient magic he was so fascinated by. And then, at the end of the night, you'd squeezed him so hard that he joked you were gonna crack his ribs.

You told Poppy that you'd be going home for a while, and asked her to take care of your beasts and your plants and your Deek in your absence. You'd spent a whole day with her in your various vivariums, showing her how to care for them all (as if she didn't know). You'd brought food from the kitchens so you could snack at midday.

And Ominis.

Oh, your Ominis.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest, because the thought of doing it made you physically sick. You'd had to save him for the night before you executed your plan, because otherwise you just keep going back, keep putting yourself through that emotional torture.

You'd made a whole day of it. You'd taken him to Hogsmeade, taken him to every shop he'd paid an interest in, bought him everything he even acknowledged. And at the end of the night, you'd convinced him to do a sleepover in the boys dorm. It was surprisingly easy, but Seb did always say he'd had a soft spot for you.

And you'd shared a bed. And when you kept wriggling, he'd put his arms around you, apparently in the name of keeping you still so he could sleep. So you laid there, paying attention to every inch of this moment. The feel of his body heat, how your body fit against his, what it was like to bury your head in the crook of his neck.

All of it, until you could close your eyes and be able to picture it so well you could convince yourself he was holding you. You memorised his scent. The sound of his voice when he said your name, the sound of his laugh. The placement of every single beauty spot you'd ever seen on him. His face, every bit of it.

And then, at dawn, you Floo'd yourself to the Ministry.

You'd demanded to see the Head Auror, who you knew full well was Solomon Sallow's former partner. You needed someone who'd be too emotionally connected to question your story.

As soon as you'd been put in front of him (perks of being the Hero of Hogwarts, you supposed), you told him the entire fabrication you'd so carefully created over the last day.

The story went thus.

You and Sebastian had been looking for a cure for Anne. You'd finally found one, and Solomon had destroyed it. Solomon and Sebastian started arguing, and Solomon had said some unforgivably cruel things to his nephew. As his best friend, you'd taken issue, and it had led to a duel between yourself and Solomon. Eventually, he'd disarmed you, and in a fit of rage, you'd grabbed Sebastian's wand from his hand, using the Killing Curse.

In other words; you'd killed Solomon Sallow with his nephew's wand. The End.

And as you'd hoped, it went exactly as planned. Solomon's former partner was so caught up in his own anger at his friend's alleged killer being sat in front of him, blatantly admitting to her crimes as though it was nothing, that he'd charged you then and there.

You'd written a confession on the spot.

When it went to trial, you pled guilty and tried not to look at the two boys in the front row. You imagined most people thought Sebastian was crying because he was happy his uncle's killer was being brought to justice. The three of you knew the truth.

And Merlin, you couldn't even bear to look at Ominis. You could feel him though, his sightless eyes burning into the back of your head. You'd caught a glance of him at one point, when they'd led you in for sentencing, and it had physically hurt to see him like that.

His normally immaculate hair was dishevelled, out of place. His pretty eyes were red-rimmed, making him look like he was constantly on the edge of a breakdown. His clothes were rumpled, and one day, even visibly stained. In short, he was a mess.

And on the day of sentencing, when they proclaimed you had received a life sentence (with the possibility of parole due to your cooperation), you'd heard him make a whine. One that almost sounded like a wounded animal, moments away from death. Worst of all, against your will, your mind fixated on that noise, adding it to the mental sound collection you'd made of all things Ominis.

When you were in your cell that night, that was the noise that played over and over in your head. And like the lovesick fool you were, you were still glad to be able to hear it, because it was Ominis.

-

Being in Azkaban was like hell. Which you supposed was the point of the place, after all.

The third worst part, oddly, was the food. Twice a day, you received what could most accurately be described as bread, water and slop. The most bland things anyone could ever imagine tasting. Which probably wouldn't have been so bad had you not come directly after spending a year at Hogwarts. The place where you could simply think of whatever food you wanted, and it would be in front of your eyes, tasting just as gorgeous as you'd hoped it would.

The second worst part was the people. You'd also spent the last year pissing off every possible group that might end up in Azkaban with you; Ashwinders, poachers, dark wizards. All of them, in that prison with you. And it wasn't like the Dementors cared if you got jumped. You were battered and bruised more often than not, and over the years, your body had become riddled with a collection of scars.

Finally, the absolute worst part was the loneliness. You spent 22 hours a day in your cell, with no companions but the rats, and the eerie Dementors flying past, leeching your happiness. You missed your friends. You missed laughing, and joking, and feeling joy.

Most of all, you missed Ominis.

You wondered what he was doing now. It'd been twelve long years. Was he married? Was there a Mrs. Gaunt you might have to smile at and play nice with after you got out? Were there, god forbid, little Gaunts? Little children who'd be the spitting image of Ominis and the woman that wasn't you?

It was an unfair thought, you knew it. The two of you hadn't been together when you were arrested, and even if you had, it would have been unfair to expect him to wait for you when he had absolutely no clue if you'd have ever gotten out of prison. But the thought of him in another's arms hurt regardless of logic, the idea of him giving another woman his surname, his children, made you want to scream and cry and vomit.

Another fun part of Azkaban was that you weren't allowed letters. So now that you'd been granted parole and had been set free on Wizarding society once more, you were completely in the dark. You'd sent the owl the Ministry had allowed you to borrow off on a hunt for Sebastian a week before your release, and all you could do was hope that when you reached land for the first time in over a decade, there'd be a familiar freckled face waiting for you.

-

There was in fact, a freckled face waiting for you.

As the boat approached the dock painfully slowly, you were pretty much vibrating in your seat, giddy at the feeling of fresh air against your face. That feeling only got more intense when you spotted Sebastian at the end of the pier. When the boat got close enough, your eyes greedily took in every inch of his face, excited to recognise a face that wasn’t going to hurt you. He’d gotten taller, must’ve been at least 6 feet now. He’d grown a beard that uncannily made him look like Solomon a touch, but you shook that thought from your head. His hair was longer but no less unruly, and he was dressed smartly. He also had a huge grin on his face, tears running down his cheeks.

The guard gripped your forearm, all but dragging you onto the dock and you could hear Seb call out to be careful with you. That was nice. It’d been a long time since someone cared about your well-being. As soon as the cuffs were off you, Sebastian was on you, squeezing you just as hard as you had him on that last day, sobbing and whispering ‘thank you’ into your hair over and over again. It made you feel like a sweet, innocent fifteen year old once more, instead of the sad, traumatised twenty eight year old you were now.

Once you’d signed all the paperwork, Sebastian had begun guiding you to an inn not far away. He’d been kind enough to drape his coat over you as well, so that any passersby couldn’t see your filthy prison uniform. You’d have to wash it for him. It certainly wouldn’t smell pleasant by the time he got it back.

As you arrived, you noticed how quiet it was, though you didn't think much of it. Seb showed you to a quiet room upstairs, letting you know there was hot water, and some clothes in the dresser that you could wear. When he left you alone, in this small inn bedroom that was somehow still about four times the size of your cell, you felt safe to cry for the first time in a long time.

-

You'd taken an extraordinarily long bath, luxuriating in the hot water and the fact you had bubbles, bubbles! You'd taken the time to brush through your hair, easing out the several year old knots and using your wand, which you finally had back, to trim off the horrendous split ends. Finally, you'd turned to the dresser. The clothes that had been left for you were nice, comfortable, and most importantly, not bloody striped. You'd pulled them on with a grin, delighting in the feel of a non-scratchy fabric against your skin. It all would've sounded vain or shallow to an outside observer, but after so long without these so called little comforts, they meant the world to you.

As you turned to meet Seb downstairs, a newspaper caught your eye. Emblazoned on the front page in huge letters were the words 'GAUNT SON PLANS WEDDING OF THE SEASON'.

Your heart dropped. You were too late, just as you feared. And worst of all, it seemed like you just barely had missed him.

It sent your good mood spiralling down the drain. You clung to the newspaper, eyes too misty to make out the words. There was Ominis beside a stunning woman, and there was a slightly older man who looked similar to Ominis behind them. His brother must have accompanied them to whatever event this was.

As much as it hurt your heart to admit, Ominis had aged incredibly. He looked tall, even taller than Sebastian. His jaw and cheekbones were somehow even sharper, his eyes just as piercing as ever, even through print. He was wearing an elegant suit, and oh, did it flatter him. No wonder he'd chosen this girl beside him. She was just as beautiful, just as elegantly dressed. You bet she'd never gone to prison. You bet she wasn't covered in scars. She seemed perfect.

-

You'd taken a few moments longer to compose yourself before you began to head downstairs. Your head stayed drooped, not even paying attention to your surroundings, until you heard the yell of several people screaming 'surprise'. Your eyes darted up immediately, startled by the loud noise as your eyes darted around to try and figure out what was wrong.

The sight before you made your eyes widen. In front of you, all your closest friends from your time at Hogwarts, and a few new faces you suspected may have been spouses. Even a few little ones that seemed to be mini versions of old friends.

Taking it all in overwhelmed you with emotions; joy that they'd come to see you, despite them not knowing the full story as far as you knew. Sorrow at seeing it displayed so clearly to you how much you'd missed. Grief for yourself, at how you felt like you were just starting your life after all this time, when all of your friends were so settled.

Before you knew it, your hands were over your face as you tried desperately to conceal the sobs leaving your lips. There were hands on you in a second, far too many to have been a single person, a cacophony of familiar and much missed voices desperately saying words to try and soothe you. None of them were the voice you both craved and dreaded hearing, the voice you'd imagined for so many days and weeks and months.

When you finally recovered, pulling back, your eyes searched the crowd until you saw him. Tucked away in the back corner of the room at a small table, nursing a glass of wine. He seemed to have come alone, no wife-to-be in sight. He looked just as handsome as in the picture upstairs, if not more, now that you weren't seeing him through grainy newsprint.

Even as you were passed around the room, greeting old friends, meeting new friends in law, and seeing teeny tiny little ones excited to see the person their parents told them about, your eyes didn't leave him. And he seemed to be moving his head, tracking your voice.

Once you'd had your reunions and introductions, you saw Ominis rise from his seat. He walked past you, his scent hitting you. He still used the same cologne. He never did like change. As he passed by, you finally heard the sound you'd missed so.

"Outside."

He continued on his path, not stopping until he reached the doors and slipped outside. You didn't hesitate. Before the doors had even fully shut behind him, you were there, catching it with your hand and following him into the cool night.

Ominis was leaning against the wall of the inn, hands in his pockets. He didn't make any move to acknowledge you, so you silently rested against the wall next to him, waiting for him to speak first.

It took him less than a minute to break the silence.

"You are… a complete idiot. A lunatic. The stupidest person I have ever met."

You bit your lip. You probably did deserve this. Taking a life sentence for a boy you'd known for less than a year was quite a foolish move.

"That was Sebastian's crime. It should have been his punishment. That was supposed to be the consequences of his actions, and like a reckless fool you took it instead."

You finally spoke.

"Ominis, he was finally coming back to us. He'd left the magic be. He'd accepted Anne's decision. He was riddled with guilt. I couldn't let his future be taken from him, not when he was trying so hard to make amends."

"So you sacrificed yours instead? Sebastian did feel guilty, yes, because he killed a man. I'd have preferred neither of you go to prison, but if one of you had to go, it should have been bloody Sebastian because he actually did it. If that cost him his future, so be it, because he chose to cast that spell!"

You sighed, shaking your head.

"Can we not? Please? It's been a long time. I've missed you. It's been awful. Please, can the lecture wait 'til another day, preferably one where I can say I've spent a full 24 hours not in hell on Earth?"

Ominis thought for a second, and then the tension left his body and he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I've missed you too. So much. I never thought I'd see you again. It devastated me. I was a mess those first few years after you went. And even when I got myself back together, there wasn't a day where I didn't think of you."

His words made you look up, and you realised his lips were oh so close to yours. A slight head movement, and they'd be touching. The idea was so tempting. And then it flashed into your mind again.

'GAUNT SON PLANS WEDDING OF THE SEASON.'

As soon as the headline came back into your head, you were pulling away quickly. He was a taken man. He was engaged, on the cusp of marriage. And there you were, thinking about kissing him. Thank Merlin you'd caught yourself. You'd only just got him back. You couldn't imagine your spur of the moment decisions taking him from you again so soon. His fiancée definitely would ban him from you if you made a move on him.

Your sudden movement left him with a confused expression on his face. You didn't stop your retreat as you mumbled the word 'cold', returning inside the inn and allowing Sebastian's tiny freckly children to clamber over you. You pretended you didn't notice when Ominis returned a moment after you looking puzzled, and possibly… hurt?

At the end of the night, Sebastian's wife informed you that the room you'd been in earlier was booked for the week for you. She also said that you were more than welcome to stay with the Sallows after, but they'd assumed you'd have wanted peace before moving into a chaotic home. Even though you'd known the woman less than a day, you hugged her like a sister. A woman like this, and the tiny children she'd given your friend, were exactly why you'd made the decision you had. So he could have a future like this.

-

Finally, you'd had a moment to rest after the long, long day you'd had.

There was a very comfortable, very pretty nightgown in the dresser that you'd shoved on as soon as you saw it. Then you'd spent about ten minutes casting every non-dangerous spell that came to your head, thrilling at the feeling of being able to cast magic again. And to top it all off, you'd crawled into bed just a moment ago, and compared to the old, ragged mattresses of Azkaban, this bed felt like a cloud.

You were about half a minute away from being dead to the world when you heard a cautious knock at your door. Screwing your eyes shut, you prayed the door-knocker would leave so you didn't have to get out of this lovely bed, but no such luck.

Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of the bed, sluggishly making your way to the door and flinging it open, only to see… Ominis.

He stood in the doorway, and you had been right about the picture, bloody hell, he was tall.

The first instinct you had was to invite him in, and then you reconsidered. You were a single woman, in a nightgown and in a hotel room by herself. He was an engaged man. You really shouldn't let him in, it would bring nothing but trouble.

But as was Ominis' usual straightforward way, he took advantage of your hesitation to move into the room uninvited, taking a seat on the end of your bed. Sighing defeatedly, you closed the door behind him, standing against it as you, for the second time today, waited for him to speak.

He took much longer to open up this time, but after five minutes of awkward silence, he finally spoke.

"Why did you leave so suddenly earlier?"

You don't know what you expected him to be here for, but admittedly, it wasn't that.

After considering your words, you spoke carefully.

"I thought you were about to kiss me."

His reply was instantaneous.

"Yes, I was. Would that have been… unwanted? Because I swear, you can always tell me if you're uncomfortable. You don't have to flee to escape my advances."

How should you phrase this now?

"You can't kiss me."

Well, that certainly wasn't the best way to say it.

"Pardon? I can't? Would you mind elaborating?"

Letting out a sigh, you sat by him on the bed.

"I know you're engaged, Ominis. I don't know what you hoped to get from kissing me, but I'm not going to be some kind of - of mistress."

His jaw dropped.

"I'm what?! Who the hell has told you that absolute nonsense?! Was it Weasley because I swear I will wring that -"

You thought it was best to interrupt there.

"I saw the newspaper, Ominis. No need to maim Garreth. She's very pretty, by the way. Congratulations."

His eyebrow raised before understanding dawned on his face.

"My brother is getting married. For some reason they apparently chose a picture where I'm next to his bride-to-be. I've had the same misunderstanding at work, actually. But I swear to you,"

He took your hands at this point, carefully kissing your knuckles.

"I am unattached. Quite frankly, I've been unavailable. It's always been you or no one. And until I heard you'd gotten parole, I'd quite come to terms with the fact it would likely be no one. I've never been happier to be wrong."

You stared up at him wide-eyed, not a clue what to say. How do you respond when the man you've loved for so long tells you he'd literally decided to give up love because he thought it couldn't be with you?

Once again, he took your silence as an opportunity for action. His long fingers slipped under your chin, delicately tipping your head up. And after a second, he leaned in, pressing his soft lips to yours so carefully and lovingly it made you want to cry.

He'd waited for you. And you intended to make up for lost time.

[young7711]

Unspoken Attraction — Sebastian Sallow x Reader

PLOT SUMMARY:

The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year. You wonder why?

DISCLAIMER:

gossip gossip hihi, imelda being the best and just roasts every1 esp seb, seb being down bad, realizations, friends 2 lovers, kiss kiss fall in love, gender neutral reader, readers house is up to u, fluff disgusting fluff, i love u sallow boy.

"I think Amit is quite handsome. I suppose he'd be a good conversation partner." Natty hums as she rests her chin on the palm of her hand. Imelda looks at her with disgust.

"He'd probably love astronomy more than you in your relationship. I'd punch him on the first date." Imelda scoffs, rolling her eyes. Poppy just gives the Slytherin gal a glare for her unkind words.

The four of you were lounging in the empty Beasts classroom, relaxing in the cool breeze coming from the forest. Professor Howin had allowed the four of you (originally you and Poppy, but Imelda and Natty had passed by and decided to tag along) to stay in the classroom in hopes of teaching the new 5th year (a.k.a You) more about Beasts but all you've done in the past hour is sit on one of the tables and talk about the most random of things. Now you were talking about who to date in Hogwarts.

"What about Yrma?" Poppy suggests. "She's nice."

"Stop suggesting Ravenclaws. I physically cannot handle it." Imelda grunts. You shoot her a sympathetic look to which she flips you off. "Also, she's a third year. I'd die if you pair me up with someone younger. A journalist, too, she'd know every step I'll do, and I'll just have an aneurysm because of it."

"Alright, what about Weasley?" You suggest. Natty makes a look, considering the option. Poppy sighs and shakes her head.

"Which one?" Imelda jokes, to which Natty smacks her arm. Poppy rolls her eyes before answering the question.

"He's cute but too mischievous." Poppy lists. Imelda nods, agreeing with her statement. Poppy pets the Puffskein sleeping on her lap, smiling softly at the cute creature snoring away.

"Eh. He's fun. I can probably handle him." Natty says. You let out a small laugh.

"I'll pass. He's like a brother to me. Probably because Professor Weasley acts too much like a mom." You reply. You lean closer to Poppy, glancing down at the Puffskein to coo at it.

"What about Dale? She's cute." Natty suggests. She then turns to Imelda, who looks like she'd complain once more about a Ravenclaw being listed. "Don't."

"What? I wasn't gonna say anything..."

"It's because her past lover was from Ravenclaw that she's like this." Poppy says with a disappointed look on her face. "Clumping up all Ravenclaws and putting your prejudice that was originally for one person into the general public, huh?"

"Shut it, Sweeting." Imelda glares at her.

"Alright, stop fighting. I know you'd rather date a Hufflepuff, Reyes." You tease. The Slytherin's cheeks flush, and a harsh kick to your knee sends you jolting up against the table with a pained groan. The Puffskein awakens to the sudden harsh movement and jumps off Poppy's lap.

"Imelda!" Poppy whines as she watches the Puffskein hop away to its den. "Look at what you did!"

"How'd you even know it was me?!" Imelda complains. Poppy crosses her arms over her chest.

"You're seated directly in front of Y/N. They'd never jump for no reason, and also, Natty's an angel. Besides, I could feel the kick." Poppy chastised. Imelda looks away with furrowed eyebrows and a pout as she grumbles about it, not being her fault. You look at the two with a smile.

"It's okay, Poppy, let's just continue." You send Imelda a knowing smile to which she scowls at. Natty giggles at the interaction.

"Ooh, what about Gaunt?" Natty wiggles her eyebrows. "He's a young lord. Deemed one of the most handsome in our year. I'd date him."

"Really? You'd get pulverized by his crazy blood status fanatic of a family." Imelda leans forward to place her arms on the table before leaning down to rest her head on it. "But I guess he's decent. The type to defend you against them. A typical romantic cliche."

"Doesn't he have a lover?" Poppy mentions. Imelda immediately rises up at the information.

"Oh yeah. I saw them snogging near DADA. Sebastian looked like he was constipated, muttered about when it was his turn to be happy or something." Imelda cringes at the memory. At the mention of the Sallow boy's name, Natty and Poppy glance at each other with knowing looks. Suddenly, their attention is on you.

"What about you, Y/N? Will you date Ominis?" Poppy smiles knowingly. There's something about the two's stare that puts you in an uncomfortable position.

"Uh..." You purse your lips in thought. Ominis was one of your best friends. He had been with you through thick and thin, but that's all he ever was. Besides, he was happily in love with someone else. "Not really? Same answer with Gareth's."

Natty nods in understanding. Imelda glances at the two in confusion. "Why do you two look like you're the one who's constipated?"

"Shut it, Reyes." Poppy rolls her eyes. You laugh at their bickering. At this point, there was one person who definitely should be mentioned in this conversation. He was already well known in the school for his charming personality and handsome looks. People always gossip about him. You let out a shaky breath before nervously glancing at the three.

"What about Sebastian?" You suggest. The three fall in silence, not responding to the question. It didn't even look like they were contemplating about it. "Hello? Did you not hear me or what—"

"Oh no, we heard you." Imelda chuckles as she smirks at her. When Imelda smirks, you know it's not good. "I just don't think we can claim him."

"Claim him?" You tilt your head in confusion. "You make it sound like he's already dating someone."

"Ehh..." Natty shrugs her shoulders. "Aren't you?"

"Aren't I what? Huh?" You sat, baffled at their curious looks. "I'm not dating Sebastian?"

The three look at each other before laughing. It wasn't even a casual laugh, it's full on stomach grabbing, tear inducing, I'm-gonna-pee what the fuck laugh. You look at them in confusion.

"Merlin, I can't take this seriously." Natty wipes a tear from her eyes as she continues to laugh.

"I'm really not dating him!?"

"You're so funny!" Imelda pats your shoulder. "Don't tell me kissing each other everywhere except the lips counts as friendly. Who the fuck kisses their friend on the neck?"

"Uh, she has a point." Poppy shrugs. "He walks you to class, holds your hand, and not even in a normal way. It's the intertwined one, and if looks could kill, Garreth Weasley had already been buried months ago."

"Also, he always touches you. An arm on your waist, hugging you from behind, fixing your hair, looking at you like you're the Messiah yourself." Natty lists on, continuing Poppy's evidence. Surely not?

You stare at them with wide eyes and an unreadable look. You and Sebastian had always had a strong bond. Ominis often commented about feeling left out whenever you two were together. You always thought that he was just teasing you about it. The things that you've gone through had eliminated all barriers between the two of you, so physical affection had seem normal for you. Had the line between friends and more than friends became too blurred already?

"Merlin's beard. You don't know!" Natty gasps in shock. "Rafiki, that is more than just friendship."

"But I'm really not..." You try to defend yourself, but the more that they stare at you, the more you start to realize how obvious it should've been. Before you could try and convince yourself about how ludicrous it is all, Imelda delivers the final blow.

"Love, everyone knows Sebastian is yours."

Heat rises to your cheeks, and as if things couldn't get any worse, a familiar voice calls out to your little group.

"There you are!" Sebastian Sallow, the devil himself, grins as he approches your little group with Ominis trailing behind. The three cough at his sudden appearance and you freeze in your seat.

He makes his way behind you, grasping your shoulder firmly before leaning down close to your face. "Hey, I'm here. No greeting?"

You turn your head towards him, glancing at the three girls who look away, trying to contain their laughter. You look back at Sebastian, who smiles, expecting something. You sigh, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. He lights up like a Christmas tree.

At the sight of affection, the three suddenly stand up, collecting their things. "O-oh I just remembered I forgot to water the chinese cabbages again, haha! Silly me! I better go get it!" Natty says with a poorly concealed smile. Sebastian looks at her, confused.

"Uh? Okay?" Sebastian awkwardly laughs. You glared at her as she grabbed Imelda and Poppy who make haste in gathering their things.

"I also have to bring them and Ominis because of ... uh... safety." Natty bullshits her way through as Imelda grabs the young Gaunt's arm, pulling him with them.

"Huh what? I didn't get a say in th—" Poppy covers his mouth as they walk away, dragging him along. Natty gives her a final thumbs up of encouragement as the two of you watch in confusion. You watch as their figures disappear before the boy beside you finally breaks the silence.

"There they go." Sebastian sighs. "I was hoping I'd get to hang out, but oh well. I don't really have complaints with just us here."

You flush at his bluntness as he sits down beside you, pulling your figure to his arms. He hugs you tightly before resting his head on your shoulder. "History of Magic felt like forever. I swear I'd never be able to stay awake in that class. Binns must've put something in the air."

You couldn't focus. He's so close.

"Lucky that you and Ominis get to share that class. At least you'd have someone to suffer with." He jokes as he raises his head. Silence engulfs you both as he stares at your face.

"Stop." You groan as you try to push his face away, but he only grasps your hand in his palm.

"Why? You look like you're about to explode." He laughs softly. You still couldn't look at him, eyes trained at the table in front of you. To make things worse, he grabs your chin before softly turning your head towards him.

"I'm talking to you. Look at me." He mumbles lowly in a deep voice. You almost wanted to whimper at how attractive that was.

"Stop doing that, I swear." You whisper as you look at him, nervousness creeping. He smirks, leaning in.

"Why? You seem so quiet today." He chuckles, pulling you closer as he tucks a stray hair away from your face. "What's got your pretty little head busy, hm?"

"You." You admit as your eyes admire his features. He lets out a soft smile.

"Me?"

"Yeah." You raise your hands to cup his cheeks. The two of you had been sitting so close that if you just lean a little bit forward, you'd be able to kiss him.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows in amusement as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips.

"You're so annoying." You pout. He bites his lip before dropping his head on your shoulder. Your fingers then softly scratch his scalp and twirling his curls. He raises his head back up before unashamedly stares at your lips.

"I don't need to tell you what's going to happen, right?" He whispers. You gulp nervously as your arms slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Mhm." You hum before placing a chaste kiss on his lips, testing the waters. He lets out a shaky breath at the sudden action. You look up at his eyes, trying to discern if what you did was okay before he grins fully and leans back down to kiss you again.

Your body unconsciously pushes against him, craving his touch. You tenderly kiss him back, hands occuppied with his soft hair. His hands rub your lower back gently as he continues to kiss you. You don't know how much time has passed before you pull away. You both smile at each other before Sebastian leans forward to give you more pecks on the lips. You giggle at his behavior.

"I like you." He whispers, nudging his nose against yours. You smile at his confession, palms now cupping his cheeks. You press a firm kiss on his lips before staring at him in adoration.

"I like you too."

A/N: IM DEAD i love this. Also im not sure if I said friend in Swahili right ,,, lmk if its correct 🫶

____________________________________________

[young7711]

Friends Don't

Word Count: 4.2k

Themes: fluff, pining

Summary: Y/N comes to a startling revelation when brewing Amortentia in potions class

Warnings: All characters aged up to 18+. Potential spoilers for HL

Meet me in the Common Room, midnight - S 

Y/N looked across the cauldrons at Sebastian and nodded once, a small smile on her face. He grinned back, before turning to face Professor Sharp before he could get caught not paying attention. 

“Is that a love letter from Sallow?” Imelda leant forward, a teasing smirk on her face.

“Come off it,” Y/N rolled her eyes and tucked the note into her textbook. “You know we’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at friends that way,” she shot a look over at Sebastian, who was standing over his cauldron with a confused look on his face. His brow was furrowed as he looked between his textbook and the potion he was making, which was supposed to be a teal colour, but was currently navy blue. “Point proven.” Y/N turned back to her with an unimpressed glare as she stirred her own potion (which was the correct shade of teal).

“You need a new hobby. Clearly Quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough.”

“Watching you and Sallow pine after each other like lovesick Crup puppies is my new hobby.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re in denial,” Imelda smiled sweetly as Y/N and turned back to her potion as Professor Sharp made his rounds by their station. He stopped by Sebastian’s smoking cauldron with a sigh and quiet reprimand (You’re usually better than this Mr Sallow) before moving onto the next group of students.

“If you’ve been following the instructions in your books,” Professor Sharp called out, “your potions should start turning pink as you stir it. Once it’s the right shade you may place the final ingredient in.”

Y/N watched in fascination as the contents of her cauldron began to change colour with every clockwise rotation of her wand. Although she had now been attending Hogwarts for two years, magic never failed to amaze her. She couldn’t believe she had gone the majority of her life not knowing it existed. The colour eventually shifted to the pale pink that Professor Sharp had spoken about and Y/N added the crushed moonstone and watched it take on a pearlescent sheen. 

“Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Y/L/N. Would you care to share with the class?” Sharp loomed over her shoulder, peering into her cauldron. Y/N watched as the class looked over curiously and caught Sebastian’s eye. He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with her, and looked down at her potion as if to say well, go on then. She leant forward to smell the contents of the cauldron, trying to decipher the scents coming from in front of her. Petrichor, wildflowers and…oh. Y/N blinked and leant back so she could pick up the coffee beans Sharp had left on each station so they had a palate cleanser. After a quick smell of the bitter grounds she turned to her cauldron again. Oh.

“Well?” Imelda asked her.

“If it’s all the same, Professor. I’d rather not,” Y/N muttered, her face flaming. The class broke into a chorus of whispers, all trying to guess what scent had turned the Hero of Hogwarts a pretty shade of pink. Although it was hidden well, Y/N watched as Sharp’s mouth twitched up in amusement before he moved on from her.

“What did you smell?” Imelda whispered to her. Y/N shook her head, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn’t tell anyone she had smelled Sebastian’s smoky cologne, the one that seemed to stick to him all day even though he barely used it. Imelda looked between Y/N’s red face and her cauldron before looking across the station to Sebastian and a knowing smirk fell on her features. “Sebastian…” Y/N shot her a warning look, which Imelda pointedly ignored. “What do you smell?”

“Nice try, Imelda,” he chuckled and stirred his own potion. “I’m not falling for that.”

“You’re both no fun.”

“Just because yours is probably something predictable like broom polish doesn’t mean we’re not fun for not wanting to share,” Y/N shot. Imelda let out a laugh and patted her friend’s hand. 

“Careful there Y/L/N, I’ve still got some cards up my sleeve for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Y/N glared at the girl next to her, stomach churning nervously. Imelda just grinned at her before adding her own crushed moonstone to her cauldron, signalling the end of the conversation. Y/N was vaguely aware of Sebastian watching them curiously from across the potions station and turned to face the raven-haired girl next to her, clutching the sleeve of her robes. “Imelda.”

“Calm down,” she laughed quietly and leant in so no one else could hear. “Your not-so-secret crush on Sallow is safe with me. I actually quite enjoy watching you two act like you don’t have feelings for each other.” With a wave of her wand, Imelda tidied her potions station and left the class swiftly, just as the bell rang outside. Y/N cursed the day she met the girl, and more specifically, became friends with her after completing all of her stupid broom trials, and quickly cleaned her own station before leaving the classroom. It wasn’t until she was halfway to the Great Hall for dinner that she realised what Imelda had implied with her parting words. 

Sebastian couldn’t have feelings for me, she wondered, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, could he? No, that’s ridiculous, she shook her head to rid herself of the assumption.

“Careful, Y/N,” a hand grabbed the back of her robes and gently tugged her back a couple of steps before she could fall off the Grand Staircase. “You’re usually more aware than this, where did you go?” Sebastian looked concerned and pulled her away from a crowd of students that was walking their way. Y/N looked up at him, craning her neck more than she used to when they met in fifth year. Sometime in the summer between fifth and sixth year Sebastian had really come into his own. He had always been attractive, but somewhere along the way, without her really noticing, he had suddenly shot up and filled out. The jumper he wore to fight the perpetual chill in the dungeons did little to cover up the muscle that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 

“Dinner, I’m starving,” she lied, freeing her robes from his grasp so she could continue to walk towards the Great Hall. “How’s Ominis? I haven’t heard from him much since he went on his unsanctioned visit to see Anne.” Although he grumbled like he was annoyed, Y/N knew deep down Sebastian was a little pleased that his best friend and sister had finally started to court a few months ago. Apparently watching Ominis pretend he hadn’t been in love with her since they were children was sickening to say the least. 

Y/N was relieved when Anne reached out to Sebastian at the beginning of their final year at Hogwarts and extended an olive branch. She watched as Sebastian had read the initial letter, a wide smile on his face and unshed tears in his eyes before he brandished the piece of parchment at her excitedly. The twins weren’t as close as they used to be, but they were slowly mending the bridge that had burned down with their Uncle’s untimely death. 

“Where do you keep going? What are you thinking about?” Sebastian asked her. His hand came out to smooth the crease in between her eyes, lingering for a moment before he pulled away. 

“You.”

“Oh really?” he arched an eyebrow, a sly smile falling on his lips. “Is this where you finally admit I’m the most handsome student at Hogwarts?”

“I thought you had three years worth of self-imposed trophies to say just that.”

“Yes, but none of those mean anything without your agreement.” Something danced behind Sebastian’s eyes, a look Y/N couldn’t quite decipher. She was used to his charming nature and the confidence he seemed to exude, but every so often he said something and paired it with a look that was different. He looked…uncertain? Hopeful, maybe. 

“I didn’t realise my opinions held so much weight for you.” 

“And here I thought it was obvious that I hold you in the highest regard.” The air around them changed. Y/N couldn’t pinpoint it exactly - it wasn’t tense, but she felt a palpable shift in energy. She looked away from him and hoped he couldn’t see the blush that she felt rise to her cheeks as she walked into the Great Hall and made her way to the Slytherin table. She found Poppy seated with Imelda, heads bent together as they chatted quietly. They looked up as Sebastian and Y/N sat down, and a downright devilish grin was plastered on Imelda’s face. 

“The rumours about what you can smell in Amortentia and refused to share in class are already circling.”

“Don’t start,” Y/N groaned as Sebastian filled her plate with food. 

“The majority seem to think you can smell something that relates to Sebastian or Ominis,” Poppy added.

“Ominis?” Sebastian stopped filling Y/N’s glass with pumpkin juice, his tone incredulous. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“How would you know?” Imelda shot at him. “Has Y/N told you what she could smell?”

“This whole conversation is ridiculous,” Y/N cut in, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the large bowl of mashed potatoes and spooned some onto Sebastian’s plate. 

“It’s not that bad, Y/N,” Poppy gave her a reassuring smile. “I think it’s sweet. What you can actually smell, that is.” Y/N paused, the piece of chicken intended for Sebastian’s plate wobbling precariously on the serving spoon.

“How do you know what she can smell?” Sebastian looked up at her sharply, though there was no malice in his voice.

“Imelda told me.”

“Imelda,” Y/N hissed at the girl across the table from her at the same time Sebastian gave her a reproachful look. 

“You told Imelda?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Y/N protested. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. She could hear a few of her classmates around them mutter about her, all supplying options for what she could smell in the love potion. “I think I’m going to grab something from the kitchens instead,” Y/N stood and quickly made her way out of the hall before any of them could follow her. The moment Y/N was out of earshot Imelda leant across the table to hit Sebastian across the back of his head.

“Ow,” he rubbed his head and gave the raven-haired girl a disapproving glare, “what was that for?”

“You’re an absolute idiot, Sebastian Sallow.”

“Imelda…” Poppy nudged the girl gently before offering Sebastian a sympathetic smile. “What she means is - ”

“Oh, I have no doubt she meant it.” Later Sebastian would vehemently deny to anyone that he was pouting like a scolded child after being accosted by Imelda Reyes, but at that current moment all he could do was sulk as he pushed some peas around his plate. 

“I did,” Imelda offered him a saccharine smile and shrugged unapologetically at Poppy, who looked disappointed at the pair. “If you don’t go after what you want, Sallow, others are going to take it from you.”

“Y/N isn’t some belonging that people can just have, least of all me. She’s a person with her own thoughts and feelings.”

“Who said I was talking about Y/N?” Sebastian’s head shot up to meet Imelda’s self-satisfied smirk and let out a low groan. “My point is,” she continued as he (rather dramatically, Imelda thought) lay his head down to rest on the table, “you’re in Slytherin. We’re ambitious to a fault, and when we know what we want we strive to achieve and obtain it. What’s stopping you from going after Y/N?”

“We’re just friends.” The lie Sebastian muttered on a daily basis felt thin to even his ears, and clearly neither Imelda or Poppy was impressed either. 

“Why could you smell her in the Amortentia then?” Poppy asked.

“How did you know I - oh. I’m impressed, Sweeting. That was very Slytherin of you,” Sebastian laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “What would you both have me say then? Y/N I’ve been in love with you since fifth year when we fought a troll together in Hogsmeade?” he asked rhetorically. If his face wasn’t red with embarrassment before, it was now as the words slipped out of his mouth. “I don’t - I mean, I do? I think. I didn’t mean - ” His stammers were interrupted by Poppy’s quiet laugh. 

“Oh Sebastian, you don’t need a pair of working eyes to know that you’re in love with Y/N Y/L/N. I think the only person oblivious to your feelings is Y/N herself.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin our friendship?” he asked quietly. The girls shared a look, and if Sebastian would have looked at either of them he would have noticed a silent conversation happening between the pair.

“Okay, look. I told Y/N I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re behaving like a lovesick second year and it’s making me sick,” Imelda flicked a pea at Sebastian in disdain. “Now, I can’t confirm it, but I strongly suspect that her Amortentia did smell of you.” Sebastian gave her a disbelieving look and sent the pea back across the table at her. “I agree that it lacks proof, but I do happen to know for a fact that she does have feelings for you. She told me herself.”

“She what?” That caught Sebastian’s attention, and that of a few people around them as well. Imelda shot them all a glare and they quickly turned back to their own conversations.

“If you tell her I told you I will hunt you down like the animal you are and use you as target practice for the beaters. I know where you sleep, Sallow.”

“She…” Sebastian was at a loss for words as he looked at Poppy for confirmation, who nodded uncertainly in agreement. “I need to go speak to her,” he muttered, more to himself than the girls in front of him. He continued to murmur quietly to himself as he hauled himself up and out of the Great Hall, his expression wavering between surprise and bliss as he left.

“When did Y/N tell you she liked Sebastian?” Poppy asked once he had left.

“Oh, she didn’t. But I think we can both agree neither of them was going to do anything without a nudge, don’t you? Could you pass the pumpkin juice?”

*

Y/N let out a quiet sigh as she snuck back into the Slytherin Common Room. It was nearing midnight, and although she wanted nothing more than to fall into her bed she trudged through the silent room instead to sit and wait for Sebastian by the fireplace. After leaving the Great Hall, Y/N had trekked her way up to the Room of Requirement to spend some time taking care of the various magical beasts in her vivarium. The animals couldn’t pester her like people did, asking her questions she didn’t want to answer, and worst, ones she didn’t have the answers to. She couldn’t understand why everyone was pushing their way into her business; why did it matter what (or who, she thought dryly) she could smell in the Amortentia? So what if she could smell Sebastian, and who was Imelda freaking Reyes to tell her she had feelings for her best friend.

Well, Y/N chewed on her lower lip as she stared into the dying embers, he was rather handsome. Something he would take great satisfaction in if she admitted it out loud. And she supposed, if she was really thinking about it, he was quite funny, and charming, and smart, and possibly the kindest person she knew, and - oh Merlin, she had feelings for Sebastian Sallow. 

He was her best friend, and hadn’t her aunt always told her those made for the best life partners? Not someone who you just existed with, but someone who knew you, knew every part of you, and would still stand by you. Not that she was thinking about spending the rest of her life with him. Y/N felt a blush rise to her cheeks as an unwarranted image of her in a white dress and Sebastian looking absolutely striking in a suit came to mind. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” A low voice startled her, and Y/N pressed a hand to her chest as she took note of Sebastian sitting in the armchair next to her. He bit his lip in amusement at her shock, but was smart enough to keep his comments to himself.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough to watch you groan to yourself twice and turn the most enticing shade of pink,” he teased. “Where do you keep going today?”he asked, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?” Sebastian offered. Yes, Y/N thought to herself, you can start by bathing in bubotuber pus.

“I’ll be fine, Sebastian. There’s no need to fret.”

“You battle trolls for fun, I think there is some need to fret.”

“You’ve battled more than one troll with me, too.”

“Ah, but there’s the obvious difference. You don’t worry for me the same way.”

“You can’t mean that,” Y/N sat upright in her chair, a withering glare on her features. “Of course I worry about you, you idiot.”

“Why is everyone calling me an idiot tonight?”

“Clearly it’s warranted,” Y/N sniffed in annoyance and sank back down into her seat. How dare he say she didn’t worry for him, all she’s done for the past two years was worry about him.

Sebastian could tell he had said the wrong thing. He knew - of course he knew - that she worried and cared for him. No one else would have witnessed and experienced everything they had together in their fifth year and still stood by him afterwards. It was never a question to Y/N whether he needed forgiving. Even Ominis, who had been with him since before he could remember, needed a while to come back around and speak to Sebastian again, but she didn’t. Granted, it had taken a couple of weeks as things had happened in quick succession, from the death of his uncle, to fighting Harlow, then Rookwood, to finally defeating Ranrok; but there Y/N was, sitting next to him at Professor Fig’s memorial, silent tears running down her face as she clutched his hand tightly for comfort. 

“I apologise,” he reached out to take her hand. “It seems I’m not quite done putting my foot in my mouth whenever you’re around.”

“Yes, it seems so.” Her words were flat, but she squeezed his hand back gently to let him know all was forgiven. Sebastian had the overwhelming urge to take Y/N into his arms and never let go, but also reprimand her at the same time. She was always the first to call him out when he was being a prat - which, he admitted to himself, happened more often than not - but she always forgave him for it moments later.

He took a moment to watch as she stared into the flames once more. His eyes roamed over her features, from her brilliant eyes, down the slope of her nose and rested on her mouth. Y/N could give any Ravenclaw a run for their money with the amount of wit she fired, and even though Sebastian was often on the receiving end, he loved it. He loved the way she rolled her eyes at him when she shot a particularly sarcastic or dry comment his way; he loved when she teased him and made him question his sanity and oh, he adored it when she would shoot him a rare, flirtatious comment.

He loved her.

The thought took his breath from him. He had said it out loud in the Great Hall earlier, but it was unintentional, and he wasn’t quite sure of it then, but now…now he was sure. He was in love with her. Every part. He wanted to share every day, every night, every moment with her. 

“You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied without thinking. He watched as a faint blush dusted Y/N’s cheeks and his heart stuttered in his chest. How could he ever doubt how he felt for her? “What did you smell in the Amortentia?” Sebastian asked, a sudden surge of confidence hitting him.

“Sebastian,” Y/N sighed heavily, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Y/N turned to look at him, a pleading look on her face. She was tired, so tired, at having to pretend she wasn’t irrevocably head over heels for the man next to her. She feared if he asked her any more questions he would see straight through her, and then their friendship would be ruined and he would want nothing more to do with her. No, the logical part of her brain replied, Sebastian is too nice for that. Instead he would let her down gently, with the soft tone one would reserve for an injured animal or a sick child.

“I could smell you,” he blurted out. Y/N blinked once, not quite sure she had heard him properly, before looking over at him slowly. “Your perfume, to be more specific. And the smell of rain, from the night we danced out in it. Also those strawberry tarts you love to eat at breakfast.” He stood from his seat before sinking to his feet so he could kneel in front of her on the stone floor. “All I could smell was you.”

“Sebastian…”

“What did you smell?” he asked her again, a hint of desperation in his eyes. She thought there was nothing more between them but friendship, that he could never look at her the way she wanted him t, but the look in his eyes right now…Merlin, how could she ever think that? Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked down at him and watched as his hands came to rest on her knees gently. She could feel the heat of his skin through the material of her trousers and all she could think of was more. She wanted more. “Darling? I’m putting my heart on the line here.”

“It was you,” she whispered after a moment, afraid to say it much louder. “You, when we danced in the rain. You, when you showed me the clearing full of wildflowers. Just…you. It was all you, Sebastian.” She met his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s always been you, I just didn’t realise it until lately.”

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” he teased lightly. He raised his hand to wipe away a stray tear, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” Y/N let out a sound that was between a sob and a chuckle and slid down so she was kneeling on the floor with Sebastian. “I think I was too scared to tell you before, so I pretended like it didn’t exist. These feelings have been bottled up for so long, only to be let out now…” she wiped away her own tears this time and offered him a rueful smile. 

“Oh darling,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, “it seems we’ve both been a little slow, hm? How could you not see I’m hopelessly head over heels for you?” He rested his forehead on hers, watching with slight satisfaction as her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation and longing. “You have been, and always will be, my one and only.”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” Y/N protested weakly. Sebastian chuckled quietly and brushed a stray hair from her eyes. He watched as the wheels turned in her head, and knew she was deep in thought when she started to chew on her lower lip thoughtfully. 

“Come back to me, what are you thinking?”

“It’s highly improper.”

“My favourite,” he smiled crookedly and ran his thumb across her lower lip. “Tell me.” Instead,  after a brief moment of hesitation, Y/N closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his gently. She pulled away all too soon for Sebastian’s liking, her eyes darting across his face for any reaction he disapproved of - or worst, didn’t enjoy - their chaste kiss. He pulled her back in slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away should she choose to do so, and pressed his lips back to her sweetly. 

From the other end of the Common Room, Imelda watched quietly as the couple kissed each other with stomach-churning sweetness, and as she turned to leave she made a mental note to boast to Poppy first thing in the morning that she was right yet again. 

[young7711]

Since I recently started playing Hogwarts legacy, it has really made me want to write the fanfic I’ve had in my mind wheres there’s an OC character that is placed in the {book} world. I want to make 7 fanfic books that {mostly, kinda} follows the Harry Potter book series.

I seen where someone was doing this in hermiones POV, but I want to be able to put my own twist in things with my own character. Have my character be able to change some events.

Not sure where all I want to go with it, but hopefully it’ll come to me as I go along.

One thing I haven’t decided is whether I want the OC to be in Gryffindor or Slytherin.. also a name for them. Any suggestions?

[young7711]

Lost in the darkness

Summary: Joel wants you. The only problem is you're the on the arm of one of his partners. Mafia!au

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~10.2k

Warnings: angst, on page descriptions of abuse and an abusive relationship (not w Joel), smut (piv, Joel tells you how he tortured someone while he fucks you), biting, insecurity and negative self thought, protective!Joel, anxiety and dissociation, canon typical violence and torture, blood and injuries, death, graphic descriptions of injuries and death, implied (no explicit descriptions) past sexual assault, you and Joel torture your abuser together, reader and Joel are both a lil (a lot) fucked up

A/N: Hi! Please be sure to read the content warnings! They do contain spoilers but, this is not my usual content or style for those of you that are regulars here. If I missed something you think should be included in the warnings, let me know and I'll add it. I'm very nervous about posting it because it's not my usual fare so to anyone who actually reads this: Thank you! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback! I'm not sure where this one came from but I needed to get the idea out of my system so here we are.

“Look,” he says, “I ain’t fuckin’ happy about this, but it’s not like I could say no. Miller wants you there, so you’re there.” 

You watch Robert adjust his tie in the reflection of the dark car window, but don’t answer. The landscape beyond the window is a mystery to you, pitch black as it is. 

When the silence lasts, uncomfortable and thick, he turns to you. You avert your gaze immediately, staring down at your bare legs instead, velvet smooth, polished up in a way that makes you sick. You feel like a doll on strings. 

Humiliation that seems to come with just existing in his presence weighs heavily on your shoulders. You’re sinking into the mud of your life, drowning in it, and you don’t know how to climb out again. 

It’s everywhere. In your bones and between your teeth and nothing will ever be enough to muck it away. 

You make yourself sick, because you don’t know if you just can’t see a way out or if you’re too weak to try. 

“Hey,” his voice is low and dangerous. He grabs your chin and turns your head forcibly, so you have to look at him. “Did you fucking hear me?” 

You swallow the venom that surges up the back of your throat, biting the words down instead, the violence that grips your heart. “Yes,” you say through gritted, aching teeth.

“Okay,” he releases you roughly, shoving your face away. “Fuck. I don’t know why you always have to be so difficult. Lose the attitude.” 

You don’t respond. You aren’t meant to. 

Lights appear in the distance, marking the end of the private drive up to the estate. 

When the car eventually stops, the driver opens Robert’s door, but not yours. You take a few deep breaths, alone in the cab for a moment. Your heart beats hard against your ribs, anxiety tearing a hole through your lungs. 

Your heart rate slows, until you can breathe without your chest hitching, until your hands stop shaking. 

Steadied, you open the door and step out of the car. Robert shakes his head at you, his mouth a violent downward twist. His thoughts are clear by the tense, impatient lines of him. 

Fucking useless. Can’t do anything right. 

You hurry around the car, and take his hand when he extends it to you.

His grip tightens on yours until it becomes painful, the bone and tendons in your fingers grinding together. You’re reminded again of all your mistakes, of how violent the man next to you is, how you should have known better than to get involved with someone like him, that you should have heeded your instincts. 

“You’re not going to embarass me are you, baby?” he hisses in your ear. “You’re going to be a quiet, pretty thing tonight, aren’t you? Just like I asked?” 

You nod and his hand loosens on yours. “Good,” he pats your ass. It’s both patronizing and possessive in a way that you don’t like, in a way that makes you feel more like a thing than human. Hatred infects you like a disease, grows thick and dense inside your skin, like moss over the bark of an ancient tree.  

You imagine breaking his fingers, cutting them off one at a time. 

“Don’t want you getting confused about who you belong to again,” he continues, his hand drifting lower until the tips of his fingers brush the back of your thigh.

Not for the first time, you imagine what it would be like to drive a knife into his skull, to slowly press one deep between his ribs, straight into his heart. You wonder what it would feel like to have his blood rush over your fingers. Would his blood smell like iron and salt? You can only imagine it stinks. Like garbage, like piss. 

The inside of the estate still surprises you, even though you’ve been there more times than you can count over the last year. 

Though the house is huge, it isn’t opulent. The styling of it is more western, down to earth, even comfortable. It’s impressive nonetheless, and certainly bigger than any home you’ve ever stepped foot in. The tones of it are softer, less glass and steel and more wood and earth tones. 

You’d heard rumors that Joel kept horses somewhere on the property. Sheep, too. 

Rumors eventually confirmed to you by the man himself. A little secret. 

Robert hands his jacket over to an attendant in the foyer, while you wait, shivering in the air conditioning that blasts from a vent overhead. You fidget with the edge of your dress. It’s incredibly short. It’s something you never would have worn before you met Robert. The neckline of it is off the shoulder, though the sleeves trail to your wrists and drip from your hands. 

It makes your tits look good, he had said when you tried it on for the first time. 

It’s a dress that you’ll be easy to fuck in, he had said. 

You have never been able to enjoy these events, these self-congratulatory little parties. You aren’t allowed to. You are pretty eye candy, voiceless, for Robert. 

Or, you had been at first. Until he figured out he could leave you to your own devices and find other women to fuck. 

You had dreaded these parties, until Joel took more than a passing interest in you.

Robert might have been blind to it, but you hadn’t been. Joel Miller’s attention had lingered on you from the very first night you met, his gaze heavy from across the room. His hand had been warm and large over yours when you were formally introduced just that once.  

He hadn’t spoken to you again until Robert started leaving you on your own, though that didn’t stop him from looking. Brown eyes that cast nearly black in the low lighting had met yours over and over, and even when you didn’t look back, you could feel the heaviness of his stare. 

And unlike with Robert’s attention, Joel’s didn’t feel like a threat. 

Inexplicably, Joel had started spending most of his time lingering by your side when you were eventually left alone. It went on like that for months before Robert noticed. Before he’d noticed someone being kind to you, before he noticed you actually enjoying yourself. 

The first time Robert left you on your own Joel had approached you almost immediately. He had complimented your dress, his voice a raspy drawl that made something in your chest twinge and your pussy throb. He had been magnetic, something both incredibly dangerous and safe lingering around him like a balm, his cologne sharp and familiar and consuming. “Just wonderin’ how you’re gettin’ on,” he’d said. “You’re always here but you never make any friends. Robert doesn’t let y’do much talkin’ to other folks.” 

“I didn’t know this was the sort of place to make friends.” 

Joel had grinned. “Well,” he’d glanced around. “You might have a point there.” When his gaze slid back to yours, heat erupted under your skin. He’d looked at you like he could see right to the middle of you, to the dark soul that lived between the slats of your ribs, like creatures in the deep, dark earth. “We can be friends though.” 

And despite his tone, the low cut of his voice, something told you he meant it. Joel would be your friend. 

He’d stood there and talked to you for much longer than he should have as the host, as the most powerful man in the room. 

Each occasion, he spent more time by your side, until you came to look forward to those parties because it meant Joel would spend his entire night by your side. 

When Robert finally noticed, the night he struck out with some other woman and went looking for you, things hadn’t turned out well. 

You can’t remember now what you’d talked about that final evening, all you know is that you’d laughed, felt comfortable, smiled and smiled. 

Probably the same things you and Joel always talked about. 

Music, usually. You talked about music a lot with Joel. About his favorite artists and yours. You remember finding out the penchant he shared with you for old country music, and thinking it must be something like divine intervention that brought you before him. Linda Ronstadt. Willie Nelson. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams. All common favorites. 

He used to play guitar, he’d revealed to you eventually, and you swore the tips of his ears went pink. He sings, he’d said another time, but only when no one could hear. 

He’d talked about his daughters a lot, one from a previous marriage that had lasted less than a year, and the other adopted, the child of a friend who had passed too soon. Her mother was a woman he spoke of with great respect in his voice. He’d never mentioned their names, or any major details about them, and you knew why. His wasn’t a world where people could be easily trusted. 

You hadn’t known if you trusted him either, but you had felt safe with him. Until one day, you realized you did. 

You trust Joel. 

Joel had told you all kinds of things that some part of you suspected he didn’t tell anyone else at those parties, that he didn’t want to tell anyone else. 

You found out that he did, in fact, keep horses and sheep. That he called his mother when he needed advice and that his girls stayed with her on the nights he hosted these events. That, really, he took all his cues from a woman named Tess. “Robert ain’t as important as he thinks,” he’d said to you, his arm along the sofa behind you, carefully not touching you. “Sorry to say it like that. But really, it’s me and Tess.”  

That last fateful night, he had touched you — your cheek, the corner of your jaw, his eyes dark and focused. He had cupped one large hand against the side of your head and examined you, hungry gaze sliding over your face. Breath caught in your lungs, you hadn’t dared lean into it, not sure who was watching. 

His hand had drifted down the side of your throat, skimmed your collarbone, and you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t wanted to, not even when his fingers brushed the skin just above the neckline of your dress. 

Joel is older than you, and viciously handsome. He’s broad shouldered, the muscle in his forearms thick and scarred, sleeves rolled to his elbows, biceps straining against the material of his shirt. 

He always wears the same thing, black trousers and a white button up with too many of the buttons left undone, the vein that runs down the side of his neck on display, the arches of his collarbone. He’s golden skinned and dark eyed and the gray in his hair and beard makes you weak. 

He always has a gun tucked in his belt, and on more than one occasion the knuckles of those broad, veined hands, have been laden with bruises, the scars outlined starkly against the newly broken skin. 

The sight of the bruises, the blood, always made your mouth water, your throat dry. You’d wondered what was wrong with you, that the sight made you hungry. 

“You’re stunnin’, bright eyes,” he’d said, hand sliding away almost reluctantly to pick up his glass. “Hope Robert knows what he’s got.” 

He doesn’t, you’d wanted to say, and he never would. 

“Is that a Bonnie Tyler reference?” You’d asked instead. “Never would have expected that from you.” 

“One of my daughters is in an 80s pop phase,” he’d said with a shrug, an explanation for his familiarity. “Some of it’s pretty good. And, well, if it fits, y’know? And I say it does.”

Butterflies had erupted in your stomach, like you were a school girl with a crush. 

It was a pleasant feeling. 

It hadn’t mattered. You don’t know what Robert had seen, just that it had been enough to condemn you. 

All you know is that the car ride home had been particularly painful that night, an onslaught of harsh words and threats. Robert in your face, his hand gripping the back of your neck, jealousy lashing against you like a storm wind. 

“He’d eat you alive. You have no idea what kind of man that is. How fuckin’ dangerous. The people he’s killed. How he kills ‘em. Don’t ever let me catch you talking to him again.” His grip had tightened, “You think you can fuckin’ cheat on me?” 

You think it had less to do with how dangerous he was and more to do with his attention, his very kind attention. The bruises you sported the next day were proof of that as Robert laid out photos on the dining room table and forced you to look at Joel’s work. People he’d tortured, murdered, hurt. 

According to Robert, at least. 

“You don’t get where he is without blood on your hands. That the kind of man you want? Huh?” His breath had been hot against the back of your neck, sour in your nose, his palm forcing the back of your head down so you couldn’t look away. “Doesn't matter. You’re never going back there.”

He’d released you with a hard shake, leaving you alone with the photos.  

But all you’d really been able to wonder, as you stared at the pictures, is what those people did to deserve it. And if Joel might do the same to Robert. 

You’d imagined it for just a moment. His corpse. Blood on Joel’s hands, between his teeth, a snarl on his mouth. 

For you. 

It’s a delusion that sustains you, even if you know it would never happen. 

You can’t imagine, anyway, that Joel would care, if he knew what was happening. He’s kind to you because he’s attracted to you, because of the slutty little dresses you wear. He wouldn’t upset whatever delicate balance his business partnership with Robert rested on, for you. 

There’s nothing beyond that, you tell yourself, there can’t be. The only reason he hadn’t tried to fuck you, and relegated himself to looking and talking, is because his business is tied up with your boyfriend. 

You haven’t been back to the estate since that night, months ago. 

And apparently Joel has been asking after you for all that time. Which is what has brought you back tonight. 

Robert likes you to believe that he and his partner are equals, but if Joel could demand something like this, and Robert listened, you know exactly who’s really in charge. 

Not that you hadn’t known that before and not that it matters for you. You’re under his thumb no matter who’s in charge. 

You’re afraid of Robert, afraid he’ll do something worse than he has already. You’re reminded of it everyday. His house is littered with other womens’ things. There were others before you, there will be others after. And you’re terrified that something worse might happen before you get a chance to figure out how to leave. If you can figure it out. 

Now, Robert offers you his arm, covering your hand with his. You relax despite yourself, because for the next few hours at least, you are safe. He’ll be distracted, he’ll pay you very little mind. So long as you can avoid Joel, the evening might be a relatively peaceful one. 

He leads you up a winding staircase, where you note the absence of pictures or art on the wall, though there are clearly studs where something had been hung. You imagine the staff taking pictures of his daughters down, covering them carefully, storing them away somewhere safe. At the top of the landing, you’re pulled through a door into a large living room, currently converted into an event space. 

Robert’s mouth presses to your ear beneath the low yellow lighting. “Remember what I said.” 

He pulls away and leaves you alone in a sea of veritable strangers. 

You swallow and move toward the bar, unsure what else you could do, very carefully not looking around or at anyone for too long, afraid your gaze might meet his, that you might attract his attention. 

Your efforts are wasted. 

It doesn’t take long for the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. 

When you turn, Joel is watching you from across the room. You can’t read his gaze, and so you turn away without acknowledging him, without ordering a drink. 

You silently beg any entity that might be listening not to let him approach you. And though you can feel the weight of his eyes, he doesn’t. 

You find yourself wandering further into the house, past dining rooms and low couches and chandeliers that somehow manage to fit the aesthetic. Away from his watchful, heavy gaze. 

Lucky for you, there’s plenty of room to wander, away from both of them. 

There’s a balcony, and though the night is balmy and warm, no one has slipped through the parted doors.

So you do. 

Joel trails you through the living room, past the sitting rooms and the dining room. 

You tug at the edge of your dress as you walk. It’s short, like it always is. It barely covers your ass and anyone that looks at you could tell that you’re uncomfortable in it. 

That first day he’d seen you, you had been wearing something similar, something that left little to his imagination. A dress that accentuated every dip and curve of you — your plush thighs, the soft of your belly, your ass. 

You’d looked vaguely uneasy, like you weren’t sure how you'd ended up there. 

But he had to give you credit where it was due, because you kept your chin tipped up. 

Even if your eyes were round with anxiety and you seemed wary of the man whose arm your hand rested on. 

When your eyes had met his, you hadn’t looked away. You hadn’t even blinked. 

He’d tried to brush it off, the desire that ripped through him at the mere sight of you. It had happened before. Sometimes the fuckers that work for him got luckier than they deserved, and dragged an unsuspectingly beautiful woman through his door.

This one though, you, had seemed different. 

He had known pretty much from the moment he’d seen you that he wanted you. 

He hadn’t wanted to keep his eyes off you, and had briefly entertained the fantasy of stabbing your dirtbag boyfriend in the throat to sweep you off your feet. Just so he could have you.  

He hadn’t been sure you’d appreciate the sentiment though. 

But there was something special about you, and he wanted you to want him. So, he watched you come and go from the parties he hosted, always on Robert’s arm. You lasted far longer than any of the others he’d ever brought along. 

He’d let you catch him watching you, let you watch him look at you. Your eyes were steady, vivid in a way he hadn’t encountered before. 

You hadn’t squirmed under his gaze, you’d looked back, because Robert was never paying attention to you and when he was you looked uneasy. 

Joel could never quite put his finger on what you were thinking in those moments, when Robert looked at you, whispered something in your ear, just that he thought you looked afraid.

It worried him, but he was never sure where to place it. If he was seeing something that wasn’t there because he wanted you. 

And when he finally spoke to you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, waiting for the next time he might get the chance. Just to get to sit close to you and listen to you talk about music, or your job, or any other mundane thing. 

You had a way of loosening his tongue, just by looking up at him with those pretty eyes, shining beneath thick lashes that dusted your cheeks when you glanced down. Somehow he’d told you about Sarah and Ellie, about his ex-wife, about playing the fucking guitar when he hasn’t played or even spoken about playing outside his girls for years. 

There’s a darkness in you too, one that he’d glanced a few times. Usually when he sported bruises and cuts on his hands, sometimes his forearms. He knows you know where he gets them. 

He shouldn’t have touched you the last night he saw you. He suspects that was the reason for your absence, that Robert had seen something. 

It was a stupid move, even if he’d wanted to do more. He’s wanted to pull you into his lap, kiss you until his lungs burned, tug down the hem of that pretty dress, fuck you in front of everyone in that room.  

And since that night, all he’s been able to think about is you. Worried you might disappear and not sure why. 

Now, he watches you slip out onto the empty balcony. 

Joel follows you, closing the doors firmly behind him. You lean against the stone balustrade. You don’t turn at the sound of the doors closing, but your shoulders go stiff. 

The balcony is lit in warm yellow light, moths swarming and fluttering against the lamps. 

“Joel,” you say, your voice strangely flat. “Don’t you have guests to entertain?” 

“They’re mighty good at entertainin’ themselves. Samplin’ the product and all.” 

You turn to meet his eyes. “Right.” Your voice is humorless.  

“Haven’t seen you around, bright eyes. What’s kept you away?” He approaches and leans next to you. 

Your chest hitches at the proximity, and he lets himself drink you in for a moment. 

Maybe he should feel bad about looking at another man’s girl, but he can’t bring himself to. “Maybe your parties are boring.” 

You don’t smile when you say it. Usually, you smile at him. He’s gotten good at getting you to smile. 

But there’s a distance in your eyes today. You don’t quite meet his gaze. 

“I don’t think it's that,” he says. “You look real pretty though.” He lifts a hand, touches the hinge of your jaw, the pulse point in your throat, because he can’t help himself. You look soft, ethereal, in the faint light, glowing from the inside out. Your heart beats against his fingers before he moves his hand to the base of your neck, your clavicle, to the top of your dress. 

Your skin is like velvet against the calloused pads of his fingers. Vanilla floats in the air around you, thick and sweet, lingering. 

He flirts with the silk material of your dress, toys with it between his fingers, your nipples peaked against the delicate material. You suck in a sharp breath and your hand circles his wrist to push his hand down. “You have to stop,” your voice trembles. “You can’t. I can’t.” 

Joel looks at you again, but you still aren’t looking at him, head turned to the side. 

Your eyes dart around the balcony, to the windows and the door. Fear rolls off you in an acrid wave. 

“Why are you with him, sweetheart?” He steps closer to you. “Your boyfriend is in there tongue fucking another girl right this second. You know he is.” 

You swallow thickly and Joel brushes his hand along your collarbone when you don’t move away. “Joel—” 

“Look at me,” he says, gripping your jaw lightly. You could move away if you wanted but you don’t, bright eyes finally meeting his. The familiar edge of fear lingers around you, and uncertainty flashes through him as it always does about what you’re really afraid of. 

“What’s he holdin’ over you, huh? You can tell me. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. I was goin’ crazy waitin’ for you to come back here.” 

“Nothing,” you reach up for his hand, and try to push him away. 

He tightens his grip just a fraction, and you flinch. Joel freezes, a sense of dread burrowing into his chest. 

He frowns, carefully turning your head so he can look into your eyes, when he sees it. Your makeup has smudged under his grip, there’s a patch of discolored skin on the base of your neck. It extends onto the top of your shoulder. 

It becomes apparent it's a bruise when he shifts his hand to depress his thumb against the discoloration and you wince. 

“Joel,” your voice is low, begging. “Stop.” 

Panic flickers in his gut, followed by fear that turns almost instantly into rage, into bloodlust. He sees red. He sees that fucker’s head on a pike. 

“Did he do this to you?”

You jerk away from him and step back. “Stop.” 

“Yeah? He listen to you when you tell him to stop?” 

You blink at him. There’s nothing in your expression, your face blank. “Stop telling him to bring me here,” you say, like nothing happened, like he hadn't seen what he just did. “It’ll be easier for both of us.” 

He reaches for you but you step back out of his reach, staring down at your toes. You shake your head, “You’ll just make it worse.” 

“Make what worse?” He growls. 

You don’t answer, and shake your head again, pressing your lips firmly together. “Darlin’,” he takes a step closer. “Make what worse?” 

You swallow and meet Joel’s eyes. There’s violence brewing there that makes you want to flinch away, cower. And maybe you would, if it weren’t Joel. “You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Right now he thinks you wanna fuck me and that’s bad enough. If he…if he thinks I—” 

“I’m gonna ask one more time, honey,” he reaches for you, cups your face between gentle hands, so different to how Robert had held you in the car. He holds you like you’re glass, like you’re delicate and precious. 

Anger pours off him in hot waves, but it’s not directed at you, never at you. For you. 

Some primal part of you reacts to that, likes the protective warm cut of it. 

“Make what worse?” He brings your face close to his, thumbs stroking over the apples of your cheeks. “What’s he doin’ to you?” 

You swallow thickly and close your eyes. 

“Look at me,” he says and waits until your eyes flick open. “He won’t leave here alive. You just have to say the word. He’ll never touch you again.” 

You have a feeling that if you confirm it, he wouldn’t let him leave alive anyway.

You wonder if it's wise to trust Joel. To be again the helpless little maiden that needed saving. It was how you’d fallen in with Robert in the first place after all. 

But some part of you had known about Robert from the very beginning, that he would only ever want and take from you.

But Joel…he’s the right hand of a woman. He calls his mother for advice. His daughters are his world.

“I owed money to the wrong people,” you say suddenly. “Loan sharks because I was behind on rent. And he got me out of it. Made me feel safe.” You pull out of Joel’s grip and cross your arms over your chest. “But that didn’t last. And if I — if I step out of line, he’s gonna—” 

“What? Get his money back? Tell ‘em to go after you instead?” 

It’s not what you’re worried about. The loan sharks are no longer what you worry about. 

But hearing Joel say it like that makes you feel stupid, hearing him think you’d be that stupid hurts. But he doesn’t know about the other womens’ things you’d found at Robert’s place. Things they wouldn’t have left behind. 

“Fuck you,” you spit. “No. I’m afraid he’s gonna fucking kill me if I try to — if I — I don’t have anywhere to go. And I think there were others before me. I’m stuck. I don’t have family or money or a huge fucking house somewhere in the middle of nowhere to hide in.” Your hands are trembling but you clench them into fists. “Stop asking me to come back here,” you snarl. “It just hurts me.” 

You only make it half a step backwards when his hand curls around your wrist again. His grip is loose. “He ain’t walkin’ outta here tonight, sweetheart.” 

“Joel—”

“No.” He tugs you back and you can’t find it in yourself to resist him. “See sense. I can help you. I can protect you.” His hands travel to the sleeve of your dress, the material pushed gently down your arm. “It’s alright,” his voice is almost a coo, like you’re a startled animal. 

You glance away, blinking back the tears that threaten to line your eyes, when his breath hisses from between his teeth. 

There’s no way to lie your way out of those marks, so you don’t. “He was mad because you looked at me. Because you touched me,” you explain instead. 

“Because of me,” he says flatly, forcibly calm. Guilt bobs beneath the surface, the still rocky dregs of violence. “Was this the first time?” 

You don’t answer, which is answer enough. It’s an answer he knew before he asked. 

Joel tenderly pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger and tilts your head back. His eyes are sincere, dark vows. “He ain’t gonna touch you or anyone else again. Never. That’s a promise.”

Joel’s bedroom is vast. You’ve been there for hours.

Shortly after depositing you there, the music in the main part of the house had stopped. You could hear the guests leaving in droves.

From the wide windows and the balcony doors in his room, you’d watched the cars disappear down the drive, tail lights burning red into the distance. 

One of the members of staff had dropped off something for you to eat, more than you could ever hope to consume in one sitting, in fact. And then you’re alone again. 

You wonder what’s happening. Joel hadn’t said what he planned to do, you just know that you’d relished in the calculating look in his eyes, the violence lacing the tension in his shoulders, while his hands were gentle with you, guiding you to sit on the edge of sofa in the sitting area of his room, telling you nothing was off limits, to use whatever you’d like. 

“But stay in this room for now,” he’d said. “Just for now. Clear?” 

“Clear.” 

And so you did. 

To pass the time, after all the cars seemed to have gone, the house eerily silent and still, you explore his room. 

You think about Robert, his hands around your throat, the bruises that litter your arms and torso. He was usually good about striking where it wouldn’t be seen, but something in him had broken and never recovered that night he saw Joel with his hands on you.

You think about that as you paw through Joel’s closet and then his dresser and then through the ensuite bathroom. 

He keeps several pairs of reading glasses in his bedside table. Next to the lamp is a book about constellations with a bookmark in the shape of a butterfly marking his page. 

It’s pink and purple. 

Joel has a pink and purple butterfly bookmark in a book on stars next to where he sleeps. 

On his dresser, there are a few framed photos. Joel with two smiling teens who must be his daughters. In another one of the girls stands with a woman who you figure must be her mother for all their similarities. The two girls in matching soccer uniforms. Joel and a man you don’t recognize, but figure might be his brother or a cousin. The girls, younger and childlike, with an older woman that could only be Joel’s mother. 

You trace the outline of one of the fames and think about how Joel said he’d told his girls about you. That ain’t usual. I don’t talk about this side of things with them. But you don’t really count as bein’ on this side do you? They wanna meet you sometime. 

You flick through the stack of records on the console below the TV, next to an ancient record player. Something in your chest loosens when you recognize all the titles, all the music you and Joel talked about, that he hadn’t just been saying whatever he thought you wanted to hear. 

The 80s pop one of the girls is into at the moment is there too. And you think about how much time they must spend together as you pluck at the string of a guitar propped on a stand below one window. 

Eventually, you decide to take a shower. You use every one of Joel’s products and even though they smell like him, it’s somehow not like him at all, not good enough, not like his skin, like his breath. 

You pull your panties back on afterwards because you don’t have much of a choice but leave your dress on the floor and pull on one of Joel’s flannels instead. 

It's one that’s particularly worn, and though it smells sharply like detergent, you imagine it's something he wears when he tends to the horses, the sheep. You imagine you can smell hay and leather if you breathe in hard enough. 

Joel’s vast closet is mostly flannels and t-shirts and blue jeans. It suits him better, you think. 

You pace, flick the TV on then immediately off when the noise of it startles you. 

Eventually you curl on the bed, what must be Joel’s side of the bed, on top of the covers. You feel like it would be too much fuss, too familiar, to get beneath the sheets, despite having gone through all his things and left them strewn around. 

Then, as the purple light of dawn starts to spill over the horizon, the doubt starts to creep it. 

Had things really been that bad between you and Robert? Maybe you were making something out of nothing. It wasn’t wrong for a man not to want someone else to look at what was his, and you’d been all too eager to lean into it. 

If Joel had kissed you that last night, you would have kissed him back, you would have let him devour you. He could have asked to fuck you in that room full of people and you probably would have agreed. 

Worse yet, maybe Robert would tell Joel exactly what he thinks of you, each and every fault that warranted a reminder on your skin that you were not perfect and never could be. You’d never be good enough. And maybe Joel would believe him, storm back into this room, the darkness you saw swirling in his eyes directed at you, and tell you to get out, to go back to your boyfriend and learn to be good, better. 

You fall asleep somewhere between the threads of dawn and your worries, tucked between the two like the maw of something hungry is pressing down on you. 

The soft sound of the door snapping closed wakes you. 

You sit upright so quickly your vision spins. Joel stands there, between the little sitting area and the bed. 

You scramble off the bed as he comes closer, suddenly aware of the true mess you’d made and how you’re in nothing but his shirt and your underwear. 

Embarrassment floods your system. The pictures are askew and out of the order they’d originally been in, some of his clothes are still scattered on the floor, the book on constellations is open to a random page, butterfly bookmark tucked into the cover so it didn’t get lost. 

Joel approaches you slowly. 

His face is creased, eyes sharp as they take you in. His forearms glisten with sweat, his neck too. You can see the pearl of it at the hollow of his pretty throat. 

His shirt and arms and face are covered in flecks of blood. 

He yanks a blanket off the back of the sofa he passes, and when he unfolds it and lifts it to curl around your shoulders, you flinch. 

His hands still. 

Hands that are still bleeding and so raw it's a wonder that you can’t see bone.

“Hey,” he says, his voice that soft drawl it’s always been. “You just look mighty cold. I know this is gonna sound empty after goin’ through all you have,” he says, tucking the blanket around your shoulders. “And I’m sorry, honey, so sorry, I didn’t realize before. But I will never hurt you that way. Never. I know it’ll take time for that to feel true.” 

You blink at him, only realizing then that you’re shivering, that you’re cold and that’s why he’s wrapping you in a blanket. Your gaze shifts from his face to his hands again. 

You don’t know how to answer him, how to ask what happened. 

Instead, you cup his hand in yours. 

He hisses through his teeth when your palm brushes against the bloody flesh, the open, still weeping wound. 

His skin is slick with sweat beneath your hand when you lift the other to the side of his face. Though Joel has touched you plenty of times, you’ve never touched him in return. Too afraid of, too loyal to someone who treated you like shit. 

He closes his eyes for only a second and leans into your touch. 

“Is he dead?” 

Joel sucks in a sharp breath, gaze darkening. “Not yet.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, not really sure if you want him to be or not, still running your thumb over his abused flesh, though Joel doesn’t make a sound of protest. 

It’s gross, probably. It’s certainly unsanitary but you can’t seem to stop. 

It’s Joel’s blood, but the drops of it further up his arms and splattered on his face and shirt, that’s definitely not his. That is definitely the blood of a man who’d made your life a living hell for over a year. 

You get the insane urge to kiss his knuckles. You want his blood on your mouth. 

Instead you keep a steady pressure there until he suddenly grunts, the only indication that you’re causing him pain. 

You don’t say anything, just hold the blanket closed against your chest with one hand and drag him to the bathroom with the other. He snags a first aid kit from one of the cabinets you pass and hands it to you without comment. 

The bathroom is cooler than the bedroom, Joel’s gaze lingering on your discarded dress on the floor, the shower you left in disarray. 

You stand so close together that just breathing is enough to bring you together. 

“You hate those, don't you? The dresses?”  

“Yes,” you answer viciously and set about cleaning the wounds on his hands. Carefully cleaning and washing out the lacerations before adding an ointment and rolling gauze around his knuckles. “I want you to tell me what you did,” you say. “All of it.”

He hesitates. “Bright eyes—” 

You look into the black depths of his eyes, the faint worry that lines his gaze. Maybe he thinks that now, in the cool calm of the bathroom, with the sun of another day rising, that he’d gone too far in the night, that he strayed and you would condemn him for it. 

“Tell me,” you say again. 

He breathes out through his nose and nods. 

You finish wrapping both his hands and then wait. Joel anchors his hands on your hips and gently maneuvers you so that your back is to the counter. 

He leans over you, his body a solid wall against yours. 

He dips his head next to yours, his nose skimming against yours. His breath is warm against your lips, mustache tickling your cheek. The sweat that had been beading on his skin is drying now, leaving the hair at the base of his neck a mess. 

“I made him tell me what he did to you,” he says, his voice low. “Every single thing.” 

“Why?” You want to drop the blanket and push yourself against him, to feel the heat burning off him in torrential waves melt into you, turn you into something buttery and malleable. He smells like all the things in his shower, like motor oil, like sweat and something that’s uniquely Joel. Something you want to cover yourself in. 

Just so everyone knows there’s a heart you belong in. 

It surprises you again, that feral clawing need that’s making you fucking drip. He’s going to tell you about beating someone and you’re wet over it. You think about his blood on your mouth again, about knives stuck between ribs. 

“Because I wanted to be angry,” his voice is a snarl against your mouth. “I was already — I was already mad. But I wanted to know, because I didn’t want to hold back from wonderin’. Wanted him to admit it and I wanted to hear it straight from the horse's fuckin’ mouth.” 

You shiver and Joel moves his hands from the counter to the blanket. He pushes it off your shoulders. The thick material pools at your feet. His hands hesitate around your waist, so you cover them with your own and press them to your hips. 

Joel falls into you with a groan, hands squeezing the supple flesh. “And he told me. Took a little convincin’.” 

His voice is more wrecked by the second, thick fingers tracing inside the flannel you wear.

But you need to know. You want him to tell you what he did. What he did for you, just as you’d imagined in your own violent daydreams. 

He’s panting against your mouth. The vein in his neck strains against his skin when he grits his teeth. “‘M sorry, darlin’. You wanna know why he’s not dead?” 

You nod frantically as he works the buttons open on the flannel and pushes that off your body too. You decide to shove your panties down yourself, letting them tangle around your ankles. He pulls back just enough. Enough to see your body, the bruises that still linger, the other marks you hadn’t dared hint at.

He licks his bottom lip and then gnashes his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw when he meets your eyes. “Tell me.” He only looks at you, big hands spanning over your back, tracing up to your shoulder blades and then back down to your hips until you’re covered in goosebumps and your nipples tighten painfully. 

“Because I thought you might wanna do it.” 

You breath hitches, and your eyes go wide. 

The world narrows down to just the two of you, the way your chest rises and falls, the way he doesn’t look away from you, waiting for your response. 

You’re crossing some fucked up boundry together, that you can never come back from, and you don’t care. 

“You can think on it,” he says, voice velvet soft and smooth, just for you, lips brushing your temple when he tilts his head again, breaking away from your eyes. 

You can’t find your voice, can’t trust it not to break. Something hot clutches at your throat. If you open your mouth, you might scream, you might beg. 

For what, you aren’t entirely sure. 

Joel’s fingers trail down your body, pause against your lower belly. “Can I, sweet girl?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, turning your face against his cheek, your nose pressing delicately into the skin there. “Yes.”

Joel runs the tips of his fingers through your folds. You’re embarrassingly slick with want, but you don’t have a chance to feel embarrassed because he groans into you, hitches your ass up onto the counter behind you.

It's cold and you jump but quickly hook your arms around his shoulders and hitch your knees against his hips. His free hand undoes his belt, you hear the zipper, feel the rough tug of the fabric of his trousers against the insides of your thighs, all while he patiently draws tight little circles around your clit. 

Desperate to feel his skin, some part of the molten lava of him, you shove one hand into the collar of his shirt. His skin has erupted in sweat again, the push of you together seeming to drive him mad. 

You press your face to his throat and inhale, licking over his salty skin, suddenly very aware of the fact that he hasn’t even kissed you. 

He’s never kissed you and you don’t care. 

The slick sound of Joel fucking his own fist fills the air, burning up all the oxygen in the room. “Joel—” 

“Tell me you want it,” he moans. “I need to be sure.” 

“Yes.” 

“More than that, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your cheek, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, the edge of your throat. “He told me everythin’ he did to you.” 

You pause, but only for half a second. “Joel, I want you to fuck me. And I want you to tell me what you did to him.” 

The head of his cock nudges at your folds, brushes against your bundle of nerves, before you reach between you and notch him at your entrance. 

He’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and it takes a moment despite how wet you are, to get him all the way in. 

“Will it fit?” You wonder out loud. Your voice sounds far away to your own ears but the groan it pulls out of Joel is almost too close, loud in your ears like his voice is trying to find a way to live inside you. 

“It’ll fit,” he murmurs, sinking into you. “You’ll take it.”

It burns, stretches you open, but you don’t mind. You like it, you want it. He waits, his chest heaving against yours. 

You can’t quite suppress the urge to scrape your teeth along the tendon in his throat. You want to bite him, to dig your teeth into him and leave a mark. “Relax,” Joel soothes. You can feel the bandages you’d so carefully wound around his knuckles brush softly against the ridge of your spine, the divots at the base of your back, the plush curve of your ass. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, squeezin me so goddamn hard.”

His thumb traces over your clit again, his other hand continuing to rub your spine until the tension in your body releases, your cunt pulsing around him. “There ya go, honey,” he coos. “So good. Good girl.” 

You clutch him harder, clenching your eyes closed as the burn turns from pain to pleasure. The heavy weight of him inside you nearly choking you. 

“I’m splittin’ you in two, ain’t I, honey?” He coos, a little condescending. 

“Yes,” you breathe in his skin, the salt and tang of his body. 

You’re falling apart but it’s comforting, somehow. 

Maybe because you know he holds the pieces. 

“Move, Joel,” you croak, not lifting your face from his shoulder. 

It’s slow at first, his hips rocking against yours more than anything. His hands move to your hips when you rake your nails down his clothed back, digging your heels into the backs of his thighs. 

You do bite him then, sinking your teeth into the space just above his collarbone. He groans and snaps his hips roughly against yours. Joel pulls away, tilts your head back with one palm as he fucks into you, his thumb slipping over your lips, dipping only briefly into your mouth when it falls open, trailing spit across your cheek. 

“You wanted to hear it, didn’t ya?” he pants. “You want me to tell you how I fucked somebody up for you?” 

“Yes, Joel.” 

He grunts, eyes roving over you. You watch color rise in his cheeks, the bloodlust you like returning to his gaze. “I made him tell me. Everythin’,” he punctuates the word with a thrust that makes you see stars. “He’s sittin’ down in my fuckin’ garage covered in his own blood, baby,” he says. “For you. I didn’t wanna make it quick.” 

Joel keeps fucking you, his body warm and heavy against yours, tilting you back until your head collides with the mirror over the counter. His hand supports your lower back, his mouth by your ear so you can’t see his eyes. 

“I popped his knee cap outta place. He’s missin’ a couple fingers. Leg is probably shattered.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Everytime he told me somethin’ new, I gave him somethin’ to cry about. I saw red. I told you, I wanted to be mad. I wanted the excuse. I wanted to kill him the first time I saw you, jus’ to have you but now—” 

You keep your arms tight around him, clinging to him. He slows his pace, pulling out almost all the way just to slam back into you. He hits something deep inside you that you swear has never been touched before, it sends you careening right to the edge, on the precipice of bliss. “—now I want it to hurt.” 

Blood on his hands, blood between his teeth. For you. 

Just like you dreamed. 

It’s sick, maybe, but you don’t care. “I broke his fuckin’ nose,” Joel grunts. “Cut my knuckles on his teeth. Knocked ‘em down his throat.” 

He pulls back from you, to look into your eyes, one hand pressing to the back of your neck while the other goes to your clit again. “You gonna come like that, bright eyes? While I tell you how I fucked somebody up for you?” 

Your eyes roll back and then flutter closed. 

His thumb slips through your folds, circles your clit again, pushing you ever closer to the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, a sob breaking past your lips. “Yeah, you like that,” he mumbles, kissing down your neck and over your chest, sucking one nipple into his mouth.

It doesn’t matter because Joel’s fucking you hard again the slap of his skin against yours loud in the otherwise silent house. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you despite the heat coiled in your belly, Joel’s voice in your ear again, his voice a rasp that makes you shiver against the cold mirror pressed to your shoulders. 

Pleasure pulses through you in waves, your mind going fuzzy when the euphoric feeling never really reaches an end, prolonged by his fingers until you whine and push his hand away. You curl your fingers around the base of his cock, feel the way he slides into you, how you drenched him. 

His skin is burning hot, slick with sweat under the fingertips of your other hand still on the back of his neck. You shutter against him, clutching so hard at his shoulders and then his hair he groans. “Fuck you’re tight, sweetheart,” he mutters. 

His arm is firm around your hips, shifting you, using you, the way he wants. You comb your hands through his hair, slide the other beneath his shirt, feeling the flex of the muscle in his back, the damp skin. “Come inside, Joel,” you say. “It’s okay.” 

He lets out another pained moan, hitting something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. It only takes a few more thrusts before he comes, his cock pulsing inside you. 

“I got you, I got you” he mutters under his breath, cradling you to him, not stopping, fucking himself deeper into you. “You got another one for me, I know it.” 

When your second orgasm racks through you it's from his cock and words alone. 

You bite him again and this time you taste blood on his skin. 

It’s midday when you and Joel finally lie down together. 

He had helped you clean up before tucking you into his bed, still entirely nude. You’d watched him change after he took a quick shower, then listened as he made several phone calls — to the security that kept a vigilant watch night and day, to a couple of associates to take care of the oncoming mess that would come with what he’d done to Robert, to Tess, and then finally to his girls. 

His voice changes when he talks to them, softer and mellowed, apologizing that they can’t come home for another day. He promises to make it up to them. 

When he finally slips in behind you, you’re exhausted. From the rush of adrenaline you’d been running on, the panic, the fear, then him everywhere, everything. With blood on his hands for you. 

Not just anyone’s blood. Your abuser’s blood. 

You settle down against his firm chest, his belly is soft against your back, his facial hair scrapes against the skin of your shoulder when he kisses you there. 

He fucks you again like that, his hands roaming your body, his cock nestled inside you from behind. You’re both careful of the ways your bodies are hurt unlike before. 

It’s quiet, this time there are no words. 

Joel stays inside you. 

And just before you fall asleep, you think this is what being safe must feel like.

Someone brings you a pair of jeans, clean underwear, a bra, a t-shirt, and sneakers. You recognize them as your own articles of clothing from Robert’s place. 

You don’t ask how they’d been procured for you. 

You don’t bother with the t-shirt, hunting down the old flannel of Joel’s from the night before instead. 

Joel stares at you for a moment when he sees you, and you do the same to him. You’ve never seen each other in clothes that weren’t —

Well.

Uncomfortable, and not entirely you. 

He’s wearing jeans and boots and a t-shirt beneath a flannel. His hair is clean, soft gray waves. 

“I meant what I said,” he drawls quietly. “I want to give you the choice.” 

“What if I said I want to let him live?” 

Joel’s jaw goes tight and he glances away. It’s clear he thinks you’re judging him, now, with rest and the clean light of day to show the dirt on his soul. “Well, I said I’d give ya the choice.”  

You almost consider it. But you remember the other women and you know you can’t. 

“Can we — Can I see him?” 

Joel gives a curt nod and leads you through the house that seems more like a family home than it ever has. Somehow, someway, all the elegance of the previous night has been stripped away. Replaced with kids soccer and archery trophies and badly drawn art and photos of family members. 

You don’t pause, figuring you’ll have time for that later. 

Maybe. 

If Joel doesn’t send you away once you’ve dealt with Robert, and now that he’s had your cunt. 

It’s the same treacherous thought from before, that he only ever wanted to fuck you. 

Elaborate thing to go through for pussy, though you don’t doubt people have done crazier things to get laid. 

The garage is vast. 

It smells like iron and salt. It smells like motor oil and piss. 

Robert laughs when he sees you, the sound a wheeze that turns into a cough. 

“She’s a dick jumper, I fucking told you,” he says, spitting blood onto the floor from the chair he’s bound to. “You deserved everything I ever fuckin’ gave you,” he spits at you. “All of it was to make you better.” 

Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze boring into the side of your head. Assessing, waiting.

He's given you a gift, and thinks you might reject it, that he might have gone too far, that is might scare you.

It doesn't.

“Better?” you ask curiously. “How?” 

He coughs and grins through his broken teeth and his broken nose, the matted watery blond hair stuck to his forehead. His wrist looks broken, his leg too. There’s blood seeping slowly from a stab wound on the top of his knee. He’s missing fingers. 

Joel hadn’t been lying about the work he’d put in.

His face is broken, covered in dried, crusted blood. Eyes blackened, nearly swollen shut. He's missing a patch of hair on the right side of his head.

“Made you know your place,” he slurs as you get closer. 

You grab a fist full of his hair and yank his head back, depressing your other hand on his broken wrist. He screams and you relish in the sound. “Is that what I sounded like when you were teaching me to be better? Maybe I get it. It’s a nice sound.” 

You do it again, listening to something crunch. You let him recover and he laughs again, the sound pained this time. “He’s gonna be just the same as me, bitch.” He spits at your feet. The glob of it lands next to your sneaker. “He’ll be worse.” 

Joel’s by your side in an instant. You hear a rib crack when his fist collides into Robert’s side. “You’ll mind your manners,” he growls as a scream lances the air. “Ain’t very gentlemanly of you.” 

“Fuck…you…Miller,” he pants, each word a struggle. 

“Oh, I get it,” Joel says. “You think you’re gettin’ outta this.”

Something shines in your peripheral vision and you turn to find Joel offering you a switchblade. Despite what he’d just said to Robert, his gaze softens when you meet his eyes. “It’s still your choice. You ain’t gotta.” 

But you want to.  

You can taste it. His bloodlust and yours. It's in the air. It’s heady. 

You reach out and curl your fingers around the hilt. “Together,” you say. 

Joel doesn’t even blink, just slides his hand over yours. “You’re both fuckin’ crazy,” Robert says, his voice hoarse, real fear starting to leak into his voice. 

You step closer, moving your hand from his hair to brace on the back of his chair. Joel mirrors you, silent. 

You guide the blade to the base of his throat, watching a prick of blood slide down his skin. “You took everything from me. It’s only right I take it back.” 

“No—” he chokes off when you press the blade closer. 

You stare at him. “Everyday,” you say, “For more than a year. You beat me. You told me how to dress. You fucked me whenever you wanted, even if I didn’t want to. You made me feel alone. You told me what to do, what not to do.” 

Joel’s hand tightens over yours on the knife. 

Robert garbles out your name and Joel leans his knee into his broken leg until something snaps, the howl he emits terrifying in its pain. “You don’t get to say her fuckin’ name.” 

“Were there others before me?” 

“What?” His face is snotty with tears. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Were there?” 

He’s crying now, sobbing, fingernails scrabbling at the wood of the chair, his wrists rubbed raw from the bonds. “You have all this power. You help good little girls out when they’re in a tough spot and no one to remember them and do whatever you want with them. Were there others like me?” 

You tighten your hand on the knife and Joel leans into his knee again until he screams “Yes! Yes, yes, please, fuck, please—” 

“What happened to them?” You dig the knife into his throat, blood trailing over his chest in a thin line, darkening his already filthy shirt.

You have to know. 

He doesn’t know, he says. Just turned them out eventually with nothing when he got bored. You know it's a lie, that at least some of them died, by his hand or someone else’s when he got bored. “How long did I have left?” You ask.  

The fucker laughs. “You were better behaved than the others,” his head lolls. “Was thinkin’ of keepin’ you.” 

You’ve heard enough. You grit your teeth and jam the knife forward, blood spurts over you and Joel’s joined fingers. He chokes on it and you don’t blink, watching the life leave his eyes. It burbles for a long sickening moment, still dripping over your hands. 

It feels better than you thought it would. Thick and warm and liberating. 

Joel pulls you away from him and the knife stays stuck in Robert’s throat. 

Your fingers are sticky with blood when you cup Joel’s jaw. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood. You stare at him for a long moment, shaking, not able to breathe. “It’s over,” he says. 

You finally release the air in your lungs, still trembling as he tugs you away, through the garage and back into the hall. The air is cleaner there, cool in the air conditioning. 

“Does that make me like him?” You dare to ask. “Does that make me worse?”

“No.” His voice is hard with conviction. 

There’s blood on your face too now from the way he’s cradling you. You don’t mind either. 

Joel leans in slowly. And when he finally kisses you, it’s so tenderly that something in your chest aches. It burns and burns and then expels itself from you violently. 

You hold onto Joel hard, kiss harder, and he lets you. 

When he sinks into you, his body pulses with a heat that makes you ache, even if the floor is cold. 

Woo! What a ride! If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕

[young7711]

Steve, reprimanding Peter: Don't be part of the problem.

Bucky: Steve's right. Be the whole problem.

[young7711]

love and mandrakes

sirius black x gn!reader

word count: 5,220

warnings: swearing, fluff, i think that's literally it, but let me know if it's not

a/n: hi! so this is new!!! a new character!! sirius black is the loml, and i've been working on this for what feels like forever. i'm really proud of it, and i hope that maybe some of you will like it. it's been very fun to explore a new universe and the marauders as a whole. i hope you enjoy this!! love you 3000 <333

————

The greenhouse windows are frosty this morning, and you can feel the chill seeping in through the thin glass panes. You fight the urge to lift your finger, using the tip to draw a face in the condensation gathering on the one nearest you. 

You’re stood at the back of the greenhouse, like always. You’ve never liked to be very close to Professor Sprout–certainly not because of any disdain towards the woman–but for the fear that she’d have something negative to say about your work. This is despite the fact that she’s been nothing but kind to you regarding every plant that’s ever been in your care.

Really it’s just that you’d beat yourself up if you killed a plant that makes you so determined to do well.

You’re twenty minutes early for class today. Early enough that it’s just you and Professor Sprout in the greenhouse. Everyone else likes to stumble in within the five minutes before class begins.

But clearly, that’s not quite the case this morning. The greenhouse doors open, both rather than just one, and Professor Sprout turns to greet whoever it is.

“Good morning, Mr. Black.”

You look up. Sirius Black is never early to class. If anything, he’s usually either not there at all, or the absolute last one to find his way in, perhaps a half hour late, if not more. He sidles up to Remus Lupin, and suddenly they've got a lovely little group project on their hands.

“Remus won’t be in today, Professor.” Sirius gives her a look that you assume is supposed to induce sympathy on her part. “Seems he’s got a cold.”

Pomona has never found it in herself to be frustrated with the boy, unlike the majority of her colleagues. She’s one of the few professors at the school to not harbor particularly malicious feelings towards the boy. He might be a troublemaker, but who isn’t at that age? 

She’s been briefed on what his home life is like, too, and who he has to put up with. And since she was a young girl, Pomona has been determined to give everyone a fair chance.

"Thank you for letting me know," she tells him.

You watch as Professor Sprout heads to a supply closet and begins to pull out heaps of gloves and what look to be earmuffs, messily tossing away the things she doesn’t need. You're lost in observing her, so consequently the voice sounding a few inches from your ear startles you.

"You always in this early?" Sirius has materialized next to you, the beginnings of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. 

You glance at his hand where it lingers over the stem of a plant you’re not sure he should dare to touch. He’s got a ring on every finger excepting his thumb.

“Usually,” you say. It occurs to you that these are some of the first words you've ever spoken to the boy, if you don’t count bare minimum exchanges in the odd class. “I like it back here.”

You like it back there because less people can look at you. Because having to sit somewhere else stresses you out, not to mention throws you off. You feel safe in your little corner. 

Sirius withdraws his hand from the questionable plant and raises his head. His eyes bore into yours. They’re the strangest shade of blue. It seems to shift in the light, and sometimes they look almost gray. He grins, and then begins to scan the area around the both of you.

“Suppose it is nice. Maybe I’ll stay back here with you. Wouldn’t want you to be lonely, you know.” 

You snort at that and he quirks a brow at your amusement. Sirius pushes his hair behind his ear and you realize he’s got a silver industrial piercing.

“That hurt too bad?” You ask, gesturing towards the jewelry and hoping he knows what you mean. He does.

His thumb skips over the metal ball at one end, coming back to fiddle with a section of his robes. He leans forward, grinning at you. His smile is wide. The corners of his mouth tick up mischievously, smile lines conveying layers of mischief you know he must have hidden in that mind of his. 

“Probably wouldn’t have as much if I’d gone to a shop.”

You gasp lightly, thinking about it getting infected and Sirius having a bloody mess on his hands.

“You did it yourself?” You ask, eyes wide and full of concern.

He laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, deep and friendly. Warm.

“I was prohibited,” he says, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest. “Remus did it for me over break, while my brother played nurse.”

“Well it looks nice,” you tell him, palms beginning to sweat. You find his presence to be slightly overwhelming. “I mean I think so.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He bends slightly at the waist, hand over his stomach, and it’s a gesture you might take as being that of an asshole, if it weren’t for his voice being so kind.

You hum in place of a you’re welcome, trying to will away the swarm of butterflies in your tummy. They’re being rather aggressive. 

“And for the record,” he adds, “Remus was very strict with my cleaning regimen, so I did not get any infections if that’s what you’ve been contemplating.”

“That’s good.” You smile. You’re not sure it’s anywhere near as pretty as his.

Professor Sprout claps her hands, startling you. Today is really not your day. Sirius snorts at your jolt, but when you glance at him he’s pretending to be intensely focused on your instructor.

“Morning, everyone!” she begins. “Today, as you may have guessed, we will start our lessons on Mandrakes. This particular lesson will focus on basic knowledge, as well as care, but come next class, your actual project will begin.”

“You’re going to need a partner, so I’ll give you a few minutes now to choose, that way you can prepare with one another prior to the main exercise.”

All at once, everyone turns to this person and that, chattering and deliberating. It seems everyone has someone.

Your heart starts to pound, and you wonder if maybe Professor Sprout might let you work independently. Pairs are forming, and you can feel yourself being left out, pushed to the edges of society. Maybe that’s dramatic, but it’s how you feel. 

You lean against the table behind you, hoping that she won’t call you out for not having a partner. That is until there’s a figure in front of you.

“What’d you think, huh? Shall we work together?” Sirius stands so that you have no other choice but to look back at him. It’d come off rude to not maintain eye contact at this distance. 

You feel yourself burn and can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of cruel joke.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait and join Remus?” You ask, fingernails picking at the wooden underside of the table.

“You think I’m using you as a fill-in?”

You shrug, rubbing your nose. “We’ve quite literally never spoken an actual conversation before today. I just thought you’d want to work with your friend and not some stranger.”

“Well there’s a first for everything, isn’t there? And you’re not a stranger. I see you all the time.” 

You sigh. He grins, ever pleased with himself. 

“You don’t want to be friends with me?” He teases.

“I—”

“No, it’s quite alright. I’ll see if good ‘ol Mona will help me out.” He turns like he’s going to march away, though his feet barely move. He’s not going anywhere and you both know it. 

“Holy shit,” you start. “Just shut up. Go and get the gloves then.”

Sirius grins. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

He does go and get them though, returning with two sets of gloves and a pair of shears, as Professor Sprout had instructed.

“Today, we will focus on tending to your Mandrakes. I want you, in your pairs, to check the soil and water as needed. I also want you to trim the leaves, as these have been left to run amok for a while. To work!”

Chatter erupts around you, bouncing against the glass walls of the greenhouse.

You fetch a watering can while the area is still free, and Sirius fills it up for you. You notice that your Mandrake is severely lacking the soil it needs. It’s not very well off at all.

“Do you see this?” You ask him, gesturing towards where the roots are showing, clearly dehydrated and with nowhere to sprawl out and grow. “She’s got us treating the wounded.”

Sirius crosses his arms. “That’s a damn shame now, isn’t it? Guess we better heal this thing then.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You ask, eyes darting up to meet his.

“No, I swear. I can tell you’re into this. It’s not my best subject.”

“Well you know what they say.”

“What do they say?” His eyes are gleaming. That’s the best word you can think to use for it. 

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

He rolls the very same eyes. “I’d like a new partner after that one.”

You laugh, and Sirius feels a pang in his chest. Like he’s taken a blade to the heart, and he can’t do anything but let it happen. Your laugh is such a sweet sound and he worries it might be the death of him.

You slip your gloves on and start trimming the leaves that have to go. There’s quite a few of them, but luckily they seem to be towards the bottom of the stem, and you think once you’re able to water it, the Mandrake might have a chance.

You finish with the shears, and set them down. You look up at Sirius, and your eyes catch a group of buttons on the shoulder of his robes. His hair had been covering them before. You find yourself feeling warm inside, as one in particular tickles your fancy.

“I like your pin,” you say.

His brows shoot up, “Which?”

You use your pinky and tap the glossy finish. He watches. “That one.”

“The Queen one?”

You nod, shoving some more soil into your pot to try and save the roots.

“You listen to them?” Sirius leans down so that his face is next to the Mandrake and in your line of sight. He’s got this brilliant grin. It’s worrying you. For a moment you think he might say something cruel, but the look in his eye is almost boyish.

“Yeah,” you say. “My mom is a muggle. Fell for a dorky wizard boy. So she’s raised me on loads of good stuff.”

“Lucky duck, you.”

You snort and then look up at him, though he's already been looking at you. His eyes haven't left you the whole time you've been working. He finds the way you treat the plant as if it has feelings to be charming. He wonders if you take care of everyone like that. Or maybe even yourself.

You move the soil pouch towards him. "You gonna help me?"

He slips his gloves back on. They really don't match anything he's wearing, and frankly it bothers him a bit. "Of course, of course."

He starts tending to the plant and you watch, noticing the bumps left in the gloves where his rings are hiding underneath.

"Feed her, Seymour," you say, and Sirius whips his head towards you.

"Who the fuck is Seymour?"

"Muggle film. Musical actually. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for exposing your nerdiness. What's the film about? Talk to me," he proclaims, wincing at the state of his soil work.

“This guy, Seymour, finds a plant, and he tries to take care of it, you know, as you do, but he figures out it only wants blood and meat to eat and that’s what he feeds it, so it keeps growing and growing until it’s big enough that it starts eating people.”

Sirius looks at you with wonder in his eyes, and starts to laugh. "Are you fucking with me, love?"

You start to smile, one that you at first try to suppress, but it ends up spreading across your face, softening your features. Sirius thinks maybe it's the prettiest smile he's ever seen. He can't get over the way the lines around your mouth form, or the way your cheeks bunch and your eyes light up.

"No, I promise."

The boy tugs his gloves off, having finished salvaging the soil for your plant. "Killer plants, huh?"

"Indeed," you say. "You know Mandrakes are killer too, right?"

"Stop."

You start to water the plant, trying your best not to drown the damn thing. "What do you think the earmuffs are for, dumbass?"

You immediately regret calling him a dumbass, thinking you may have crossed a line--it's not like you know him all that well, you've only been speaking for this one class period--but he only smiles at you.

For some reason, you find him easy to be around. He doesn't scare you.

"It's cold."

"Because it's cold? No. After we save the plants we have to re-pot them, and when we take them out they're going to scream. Their cries are fatal, Sirius."

He stares at you. Remus did not tell him this. Technically he could've read his textbook, but clearly he didn't.

"That seems highly uncalled for."

You chuckle and he grins again.

"I agree,” you say. “Have you got the time?”

Sirius pushes his sleeve up, glancing at the watch tight around his left wrist. “We’ve got five minutes left.”

You look up, and notice Professor Sprout removing her gloves. If you’d waited to ask for just a moment longer, she would’ve begun her everyone-get-your-shit-together-and-get-out-of-here speech. 

“Students, your attention please!” Professor Sprout’s cheeks are rosy, tufts of curls sticking out from under the brim of her hat. 

“Next class we’ll try and get the Mandrakes repotted, so that they may grow to their full potential and can then be used as needed for Madam Pomphrey. You’ll need to come and water your plants periodically throughout the week, as these tend to drink rather quickly, so I suggest you alternate days with your companion.”

When you’ve finished and you’re outside once again, it’s misty, your skin dampening with each step you take. 

You feel a hand on your elbow, and Sirius has appeared next to you. Frankly, you hadn’t expected him to continue contact with you. 

The both of you had discussed what days you’d water you plant, and you assumed that was that. 

“I’ve realized we’re co-parenting a Mandrake,” he starts, “and I feel as though I should at least know a little something about the mother of my child.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “You know, to ensure that they don’t grow up lacking proper guardianship.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, hopping over a puddle. 

He tosses his head back, laughing, and you feel your insides go all warm and gooey at how his hair moves with the motion. You can’t help but wonder what it feels like. 

“First, you don’t want to be friends, and now, you want our child to be one of divorce.”

You stop, resting your forehead against the cool stone of one of the courtyard walls. 

“Sirius, we haven’t even been married.”

He presses his forehead against the stone next to you, and you turn to look at him. “I’m pretty sure there are a good bit of people who’ve been married and know less about each other than we do,” he says. 

You smile at the wall and he catches it. 

“Besides, we’ve got the same music taste, and that means I’ve got to keep you around.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works. Didn’t you know?”

You brush at the side of your robes where you’ve now gotten moss remains on them. “I was not aware, no.”

“Haven’t you got class or something?” You ask him. His cheeks are pink from the cold, a stark contrast from the chill of his eyes, the sharp black of his hair. 

“Not for another hour. You?” 

“Yeah, actually.”

“So tell me something quick.” He spins a ring around his finger, a chunky silver one with something set into the center. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

He smiles. It’s gorgeous and full-fledged. You can’t believe he’s looking at you like that. It feels like some big error. 

“Sorry I set myself up for that one,” you say. “Um, it’s green.”

“Lovely. Now what shade of green are we talking?”

“Sirius.” You pout. 

“Come on now, chop chop.” He snaps his fingers. “Thought you had an excuse to ditch me or something?”

You roll your eyes. It seems that cocky ass grin never leaves his face. “Like a forest green. Trees and such.”

Sirius claps his hands together, metal clinking. “That’s fantastic. I’ll be sure to remember it. Mine’s purple, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“I bet you look stunning in purple, Sirius.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. You grab for his wrist and push his sleeve up to peer at his watch. 

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, Sirius Black hasn’t got shit to say. No one ever makes him blush. 

————

“I don’t come to class one day, and you’ve made a new friend? Why couldn’t you have made a new one any other day? I think I need some time off. Maybe even early retirement.” 

Sirius smacks Remus on the shoulder where the latter lays stretched out in bed. The curtains are drawn one one side so that the only person they’re visible to is James, who is half asleep in the neighboring bed, glasses askew and tie on the brink of choking him. 

“It’s rude to abuse the wounded.” 

“You’re off your rocker, Lupin.”

Remus rubs his face, though he winces, his arms much too sore for any sort of activity. “Tell me about it.” 

“Feeling any better today?” 

“Yes, Sirius. I’m feeling fucking wonderful.”

“He’s being sarcastic.” James’ voice is muffled by the pillow he’s collapsed into. 

Sirius turns to look at his friend. “Yeah, no shit, Prongs. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

James raises a weak arm, flipping him off. “Eat me.”

“You say that as if I won’t do it.”

James sits up, but only enough so that he may rearrange himself into a poorly structured child’s pose. “Stop being such fucking tease and do it then, babe.”

Remus rubs his eyes aggressively, like it might somehow rid him of his ever permanent longing for sleep. “Shove it, you two.” He peeks out from between his fingers at Sirius. “I thought you were saying how you’ve made someone else miserable with the joys of your friendship.” 

“Fuck you,” Sirius says.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I did make a new friend. In herbology, since you decided to have a go with the moon and left me to perish.” Remus rolls his eyes. “They’re very kind, if you must know. We are co-parenting a Mandrake.”

James snorts into the mattress. 

“Is it really co-parenting if you’ll make them do all of the work?” Remus asks. 

James snorts again and Sirius leans over to smack him against the back. He lets out a pathetic cry that both of the other boys ignore. 

“I’m helping, asshole,” Sirius begins. “I’m supposed to go water the fucking thing in a bit if either of you need proof of life.” 

“Of your friend or of your child?” Remus reaches his arm out to grab hold of one of the bedposts and heave himself up. 

“Both.”

James slides off of his bed and starts to stretch, and a cacophony of cracking sounds follows, which is slightly concerning considering his age. “Sorry. I’m supposed to go and see Lils. But I expect a full report back, Moons.” He strips off his tie and pulls on a coat. The other two boys watch him bound across the room like they’re at a tennis match.  

James is gone so quickly you’d be amazed that he was half-asleep minutes before. 

“What a prick,” Sirius says from where he sits at the foot of Remus’ bed. He looks away from the door and at his friend. 

Sirius sets his hand on Remus’ knee. “You get any sleep this morning?” 

“Some. Not enough. Though it’s never enough, or whatever.” Sirius gets a pang in his chest. He wishes he could make it all better. 

“You want to get some fresh air? You can come with me to the greenhouses if you want, but you can stay here too. I’ll sneak down to the kitchens and get you something.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you. Sun’s not out, is it? It’ll kill my head.”

Sirius stands and peers beneath the drawn curtains. It’s cloudy, like it might storm, a thick layer of cloud lying over the grounds. “Nope. She’s hiding from you today.”

Remus nods and his friend walks back over to his bedside. “Come on, Rem.” 

He removes the blankets from over his lap and scoots to the edge of his mattress. Sirius holds out his hands for Remus to take. Sometimes he gets really woozy when he has to stand after nights like the last. His knees shake, but he’s steady once he’s up. Sirius keeps an arm around his back when there isn’t anyone in the halls to question Remus’ condition, but has to settle for watching his friends footing otherwise. 

Sirius gets Remus on a bench and makes a stop by Madam Pomphrey on the way, feigning a headache. She gives him a little bottle of these chewable tablets with instructions on how often to take them and tells him to come back if the ache persists. 

He hands the bottle to Remus when he’s finished, and the boy’s had the medicine for an entire four seconds before he’s chewing. It’s one of those headaches that stays dull, but any sudden movement and your entire skull is throbbing and he thinks he might just die. Remus thinks this every full moon. He is not dead. 

The trip to the greenhouse takes longer than usual, mainly because of Sirius’ tendency to baby Remus during his moon hangovers. He claims it’s because he doesn’t want a death on his hands, something about living up to the Black name, but Remus knows it’s really because Sirius is much more caring than he’d ever admit. 

“See? Look at this fucker. My child.” Sirius gestures dramatically at the potted plant. Remus leans up against one of the tables, only slightly amused, much more out of breath. 

He’s only just gone digging for a watering can when he hears the door open and glances up, assuming it’s another student having to monitor their own dirt ball. 

But it’s you. 

“What’s up, love?”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t realized when Sirius said he made a friend he actually meant friend. He’s never really seen Sirius look at someone that way. 

You stand by the doors, kicking the one you came through shut behind you. Sirius pretends like he’s not attracted to the movement. 

“Hi,” you say. You step a little further into the room. “I know it’s not my day to water, but frankly I was kind of worried you’d forget to do it.”

Remus turns to face you and laughs, full on. You grin at him. He’s never really looked at you before, but there’s no denying how sweet you look. He bets you could kick Sirius’ ass if you wanted. He also thinks Sirius might let you do it. 

Sirius straightens and flips his hair back as he does so. “You wound me.”

You shrug. “I was also slightly panicked you’d drown the thing, so there’s that.” 

Sirius walks over to the sinks, filling up his watering can, though you both know he could easily use a spell to do it instead. “So you came to supervise?”

“‘Fraid so.” You chew on the inside of your lip. 

“I don’t blame you,” Remus says. “He’s kind of a flake.”

“Fuck you, Rem.”

“Yeah, sure.” Remus pushes off of the table, moving in the direction of you and the doors. His head is starting to feel better. He leans in next to you, though his voice is anything but a whisper. “I don’t know why you’re putting up with him. Would’ve asked for a different partner myself.”

“She picked me!” You laugh, seeing Sirius put his hands on his hips out of the corner of your eye. 

Remus raises a brow at you. “Oh yeah?” He smiles at you. It’s a knowing expression, an understanding one. He keeps his eyes on you, but speaks to Sirius. “I’m gonna go for a walk, Pads. Come and retrieve me when you’re finished.” 

The squeeze Remus gives to your shoulder is kind. It tells you you’re safe with Sirius. With him. That you’re welcome. The glass door rattles as it shuts. 

“You really have no faith in me?” Sirius asks, spritzing the Mandrakes leaves. You peer into the pot, noticing he’s watered it just right. It’s not going to drown after all. 

“No, I’ve got plenty. Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” 

Sirius sets the bottle he’s holding down. “No shit.”

“Well you see, last time you asked me a question, and I didn’t get to ask you one of my own, and I figured I’d better do that if I want to keep the friendship alive, you know?”

Sirius is smiling at you. He can’t believe this–your teasing. 

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. “So what’s the question?”

“Do you like pie?” you question.

“I do.”

“That’s good. Because I feel the same way, and rumor has it you can get into the kitchens, so I thought we could work together on this...and get pie. It’s like a reward. I put up with you and you put up with me kind of thing, so we get something to eat.”

Sirius tosses his head back, letting out a bark of a laugh. Your eyes linger on his neck for a second longer than they should. 

“Well the rumors are indeed true,” he says. “Guess we’ll have to ditch Remus, then. Make it a proper date and whatnot.”

“That seems unkind,” you chuckle.

“He’ll live.”

————

“What’s happening here?” Sirius throws himself into one of the chairs on the other side of the table where you and Remus sit. 

“We’re reading,” Remus tells him. “Go away.”

Remus had shown you to this table. Said it was his favorite. There are a small group of them in the very back of the library, behind one of the last rows of shelves. You wouldn’t know they were there unless you went looking. 

He said it’s where he goes to hide when James and Sirius won’t shut up and let him work, which is more often than not. 

“You whined about me making new friends,” Sirius says, “so that I’d leave you alone, and now you’ve taken it upon yourself to steal said friend from me?” 

You cover your face with your book, sliding deeper into your chair and trying your very best to fight off a giggle. 

Sirius reaches across the table and snatches the book from your hands. He wants to see the shit-eating grin you’re hiding. He stands and moves in front of you just when you bury your face in your sleeve. 

He tugs on the fabric of your shirt. “Traded me out then, have you?”

You snort into your sweater, and Sirius watched the way your shoulders shake. Remus eyes his friend’s hand, trying to make sure he didn’t lose your page with his frenzied antics. He didn’t though, pale thumb tucked into the paper.

Remus sets his own book down, stretching over the back of the chair. He’s thinking about going to bed. 

Instead of looking at Sirius like you know he wants, you turn to Remus.

“Leavin’ me, Rem?”

Sirius scoffs. Rem his ass. 

Remus lowers his head so that it’s level with yours. “Sleepy,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. You look at the scar that runs through his brow and across his eyelid. There’s another by his ear. You wonder if he’ll tell you about them someday. 

He bumps his forehead—the gentlest of taps—with yours, and then he’s standing. Sometimes you forget how lanky he is when he’s always so hunched over. 

“Goodnight, Lupin,” you say. 

“Goodnight, you two. Don’t get too wild. This is still a library.”

Sirius takes the chair Remus had been occupying. You look at him, and reach for his hand. He wouldn’t even think about denying you taking it, even if he is being a grump. 

“I have not traded you out, Sirius.” He glares at you, though his eyes are still much too soft for it to be anything malicious. He’s not sure he could ever look at you in a hateful way. 

“You could’ve read with me,” he argues, tickling your palm. You try and wriggle your hand away, but he only presses his fingers firmly into your skin, keeping you there. 

“Come on.”

“No, you could have,” he continues. “I can be very well behaved, if need be.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re the one smirking now. Sirius is afraid he might never get this image of you out of his head. 

“Yeah.” He leans in, nuzzling his nose against your temple. When he pulls away, you realize he has a smattering of freckles under one eye. You have the urge to touch them, and so you do. 

He relaxes against your hand. “You’re very pretty, Sirius.”

“Thank you.” He kisses your knuckle. “You’re very pretty, too, sweets.”

“Thank you.”

In the weeks since your Mandrake project has finished—and the plant did indeed survive—Sirius has grown increasingly attached to you. Frankly he finds himself shocked that you’re willing to deal with him at all, let alone that his friends like you so much. He wasn’t even a little upset that you’re spending time with Remus. You have a lot in common, actually. 

He just likes to tease you. And he’s very good at it. 

“So you come looking for me because you need something? Or are you perhaps attention starved?” You question, taking your hand away from his face, though your other is still within his grasp. 

“Most definitely the latter.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

He speaks close to your ear as if he’s about to spill the world’s most confidential information. “Is this a safe space?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him. 

“I want you to play with my hair,” Sirius says. 

You gasp, clutching at your nonexistent pearls. 

Your moment's pause makes him a little nervous. “Well let’s get on with it then,” you tell him.

You take Sirius up to your common room, it being much too late for anyone to be up. You slip your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp until he’s falling asleep and you’ve made promises of braiding it sooner or later. Eventually, you have to wake him, send him off to bed.

And he pouts. God, does he pout. But it’s okay. He’ll get you to do it again tomorrow.

————

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