#Ive had a problem with it looking WAY too smooth

[viaphni]

Just got a nice new stylus for drawing. Here are my first couple pieces with it!

[damneddamsy]

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

MINIMUM VIABLE HOPE—The smallest form of belief, enough to go on.

summary: It's a day out on the town, and Jackson has much more to offer than just a home and traded goods. Perspective, comfort, and a nice helping of lovesickness—all of which catch Joel's eye.

a/n: did you know you can only mention fifty people in a post? that's just plain boring. and no more than five people in a comment? RUDE. and did anyone else see that SNL episode with Pedro and his hip thrusts, and just fucking die? yeah, me too. also - i had so much FUN writing this chapter, the feels, the angst, the yearning, the loooove. thank you all so much, and I hope you like this long ass chapter!

Joel didn’t like looking in the mirror for too long.

It wasn’t vanity—never had been—but it showed too much. Told the truth in ways he didn’t much care for. The deep lines, the greying scruff, the years stacked on top of each other like weathered wood, each one heftier than the last. He preferred the delusion, the easy forgetfulness that came with living day to day, not thinking too hard about the good ol' days or how much he wished time hadn't gotten his hands on him. But today?

Well, today he damn near felt good in his own skin.

The clothes, that Leela generously offered, helped. Goddamn, they smelled amazing. Fresh. Worn but not ragged. The denim was sturdy but soft, the fleece underlayer warm and snug. The shearling jacket fit like something out of another life—one where he had more time, where he cared about how he looked. Even his boots, though a little tight, made him feel like he was standing taller. He couldn't even pronounce the brand of the damn thing—French apostrophes, all that fancy bullshit—but whatever it was, it smelled nice, felt nice.

Oh, for sure: Ellie was bound to give him shit. Tommy even more so.

But really... he couldn't give a flying fuck. Today he felt like he was Joel from Texas again. Like he wasn’t some worn-down relic with a bad knee and a worse past.

On the note of Leela, the big, white house across the street was officially back in order. Finally functional after hours of wrestling with the complex fucking wiring, one of the few cons of such a massive home. Not that it had been much of a fight after the resident brainiac showed up—Leela had already pinpointed the problem in minutes and quietly rattled it off like it was second nature. All he had to do was be her muscle, follow along and weld it. It was more attractive than any love or sex this world had to offer.

Catching his reflection again in the front mirror of Leela's home, Joel ruffled the front of his hair, combing down the longer strands at the back, brushing at his jaw, at the scruff that had grown heavier these days, adjusting the collar, smoothing out the sleeve.

He hadn’t meant to get this caught up in it, hadn’t meant to feel this—what, good? Yeah, good. Christ, what a joke.

He’d just turned to grab Maya's baby blanket off the couch, the breathy voice from the stairs made him stiffen.

“Jesus, Joel.”

He looked up.

Leela was halfway down the staircase, cradling Maya against her chest. She wasn’t wearing the usual loose nightgowns or sweats she’d holed herself up in for months. No, this time, she was in clean, fitted jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt in that same soft blue he liked on her. Her hair was brushed smooth down her back, tucked behind her ears, not tangled and loose like usual.

For the first time, he really saw her. Not just the soft, exhausted mother. Not just the lonely woman who never let anyone too close. Her. Tall and breathtaking. Arch calves, thighs, the swell of her hips, the softness at her love handles that hadn’t quite gone away after childbirth.

And because life had a twisted sense of humour, because the moment was already damn near suffocating from seeing her, she had to go and hit him with—

“I thought you were my dad from the back.”

Joel took that one like a sucker punch straight to the gut. He had to fight the instinct to wince, to let it show. At least she didn’t say granddad, he reasoned, trying to patch up what little was left of his dignity. Small mercies.

He exhaled, fixing his fist into the coat pockets, forcing himself to smirk. “Yeah? He must’ve been one hell of a good-lookin’ guy.”

Leela huffed out a laugh, resting the baby’s cheek against her shoulder. “He loved suede. A huge show-off.”

“Well,” he drawled, tugging at the sleeve, “that's where we disagree. At least the man had taste.”

“He also loved polka-dots,” she pointed out.

He clicked his tongue. “I take the fifth, thanks.”

That earned him another laugh, light and easy, like he’d actually said something funny. He didn’t think too hard about how that was probably all he was to her—just some seasoned guy lending a hand. A reliable acquaintance. Nothing more, nothing less.

But then, feeling excluded, Maya let out a breathless little giggle—one of those soft, airy sounds she always seemed to save just for him—and he feared for whatever was left of his soul, crushing.

Maya was grinning up at him, tiny fists wriggling in her mittens, legs kicking against Leela’s side, looking like a baby worth a thousand pictures in a camera. Bundled up in a white cotton onesie, all warm and snug, her beanie perched on her head with those stupid little ears sticking up like a baby bear. Everything was a size too big like she was still growing into the world.

Joel clutched at his chest, mock-staggering back. “You’re breakin’ my goddamned heart, doll,” he murmured, unable to resist a toothy grin, as he held out his arms for her. “Look at you. C’mere, beautiful girl. G'morning.”

Maya squirmed excitedly, tiny mitten-clad hands grasping the air, and as Joel habitually pressed a warm kiss into her cheek, tempted to steal four more, he caught a glimpse of the gold ‘L’ embroidered on the chest of the onesie. Leela’s old hand-me-down that had survived the test of time.

“Lost an eardrum trying to get her into that,” Leela admitted.

She shook her head but passed Maya over, cracking her knuckles absently as she stretched out her arms, unease becoming her. He adjusted Maya against his side, settling her little weight against him. That was her seat for the rest of the day today.

Then, as if debating something, she asked, “Do you really think it’s fine? Bringing her outside? I'm worried she'll fall sick or...”

Joel arched a brow. “I told you. You’re not goin’ there without me, and Maya’s not goin’ anywhere without either of us.”

Leela chewed on that, still unsure.

Maria had been insistent about her showing up, about giving her insight into the lightning harvester with workers—the innovation she’d designed, the one they were planning to station right outside the dam. The whole quadrant was already in progress, groundwork was being laid, and people getting involved. The biggest project Jackson had taken on in a long while.

Even after Joel had warned Maria that Leela was banged up and still on the mend, she'd cherry-picked the argument and cornered him by labelling him an 'overbearing son of a bitch who was getting on her last nerve'. He'd essentially shut up after that since Maria still scared him witless.

"Look, I've got the kid. You do your thing," Joel said, adjusting Maya as she wriggled against him. "I'll just hang back at the square with Tommy and the rest, stay close by. I'll check up on you after."

Leela pressed her lips together, clearly thinking it over.

Joel tried his hand at persuasion. “Y'know, you've been holed up here for three months.”

Leela blinked. Like she was only just realizing it. Her brows furrowed, fingers lifting as she counted—one, two, three. Each number dropped a new rock in Joel’s stomach.

“More, actually.” Her voice was distant like she was doing the math in real time. “I delivered Maya at home. Nearly... eight months now.”

Eight months. Eight months since she’d stepped beyond these walls, since she’d breathed fresh air, and been around people.

He hadn’t let himself think about it before—hadn’t wanted to—but now the image was there, unshakable. Leela, alone. Covered in sweat, spasming in pain. Bloody, weak, feeling like she was dying, like the walls were closing in, like no one in the world could help her. The raw struggle of it.

His stomach turned. No—Maria would’ve made sure she had someone. She had to have. Someone must've heard her.

Joel was aware of what that kind of loneliness did to a person. How it made you shrink, made you start believing that was all there was—that the world outside didn’t need you anymore. And she’d stayed in here. For eight goddamn months. That wasn’t living.

He cleared his throat, forcing the thought away. No use stewing in it.

“Well,” he muttered, his hand reaching for the door handle, “’nuff said. Let’s get this show on the road.”

X

People in Jackson knew Joel Miller.

Same as Maria. Same as Tommy. They knew him for his angry brow, the way his mouth rarely broke from that grim, set line. They knew the sharpness in his eyes, the way he cut through a room without saying a word. They knew he was a hardass bastard. He didn’t make small talk. Didn’t go out of his way to be liked. He knew he scared off plenty of folks just by standing there, arms crossed, expression set like granite. And that suited him just fine. People left him be.

So seeing him now—walking through town cradling a baby instead of a rifle, with a woman most thought was a ghost at his side—that was gonna be the topic of the damn day.

He could feel the looks, hear the murmurs, the way conversations stuttered as he passed. And he did not give a shit. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em wonder.

It wasn’t like he was breaking news—his neighbours saw him come and go from her big white house as he pleased. Enough times that people could put two and two together. But this? Out in broad daylight, baby in tow? Now what the hell was going on?

Joel wasn’t the kind of man people expected to be carrying a baby. Much less one that looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And yet, here was Maya, snug against his chest, her tiny fingers curled into his fleece collar, drooling on his coat like it belonged to her.

And Leela—well. She was another matter entirely. She wasn’t just quiet. She was tense. She kept close, but not close enough to touch. Her shoulders were drawn up, her hands flexing and unflexing like she was trying to shake off the feeling of being watched.

And it wasn’t hard to guess why.

People hadn’t seen her in months. Half of Jackson had probably forgotten she even existed. The other half had started whispering about why. Joel had heard it in passing, plenty of rumours. Theories. That she was still sick. That she was holed up with her baby because she was too ashamed to be seen alone. That she was broken, not quite right in the head.

He knew better. He knew she was just trying to get by. Trying to put herself together while holding onto a child that didn’t feel quite like hers yet. And this? Being out here? This was the most out of her comfort zone she’d been in a long time.

Joel kept a steady pace, letting Leela take in what she hadn’t seen in months. He pointed things out as they walked—the grocery store with the fresh carrots now, thanks to the greenhouse. The bar with the good music. The repair shop he visited often. The little barbecue place that always smelled so mouthwatering it was damn near criminal.

He did it all for her. To keep her focused on something else—something that wasn’t the way people watched her. Wasn’t the way she was already winding herself up, bracing for something bad that wasn’t coming.

Joel kept a close eye on her, shifting Maya in his arms, pretending not to notice the way her breathing went uneven. The way she stiffened every time someone got too close. The way she gripped Joel’s elbow a little tighter like she had to remind herself he was still there.

Then, like it was nothing, like this was any other day, he muttered, “Y’ever had barbecue before?”

Leela blinked, like the question startled her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” He echoed with a smirk, shifting Maya higher in his arms who was listening to his voice drum in his chest. “That didn’t sound real confident.”

She let out a breath, still gripping his jacket tight. “I have, just… not in a very long time.”

“Well,” he drawled, eyes on the path ahead like this was already settled, “when you’re done with work, I’m takin’ you out. Get you a nice smoked brisket. A big slice of pecan pie with cream. How 'bout it?”

Leela glanced at him, agape. “I don’t... you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cut in. “I want to.”

She didn’t say anything. A moment later, he felt her hand slip lower, brushing against his wrist. Just a light touch, nothing much. But Joel knew what it meant. The world around her was too much, too fast, too loud. Drowning in the noise of it all.

So, soft and low, he asked, “D’you wanna head inside for a bit?”

Leela barely hesitated. Just nodded once, fast, reaching for Maya like she needed something to anchor herself.

But Maya wasn't having it at all. She whined a stubborn noise, little hands grasping at Joel’s coat, face burrowing into the material, refusing to be handed off when she had just gotten cosy.

And maybe Joel imagined it—but he thought he saw something in Leela’s eyes splinter, that little rejection cutting deeper than it should’ve. A flicker in her dark eyes she buried quick. It looked a hell of a lot like hurt.

But she didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. Just let her hands fall, face blank and turned for the closest door.

Joel followed without a word, close enough, an arm outstretched around her, never touching, his presence simply a buffer between her and the rest of the world.

Inside, it was quiet. The clothing store, he quickly realized. The shelves were full but mismatched, stocked with whatever could be traded, salvaged, or repurposed. Nothing had price tags—Jackson ran on barter. Jackets, boots, canned food, and old records. Everything was up for negotiation. You talked it out with the shopkeep and settled on a fair deal.

Leela didn’t say a word. Just let out a slow, shuddering breath, stepping into a corner aisle, hidden away, and pressing her slick palms against the wooden shelf.

Joel watched her quietly, stroking Maya's back. Eight months locked up in that house, barely speaking to a soul. Now, she is back in the thick of it, remembering how to breathe in open air. No wonder, she looked like she was trying to find her footing. It made sense; people forgot how to be around people.

It was something he'd seen before. The way a person stepped out of the dark after too long, how the world suddenly felt like it could swallow them whole. Some folks got jumpy. Some shut down. Leela was somewhere in between—standing still, silent, stiff as a board, like she was trying to keep herself from bolting.

He’d seen that before, too.

Her fingers curled into the edge of the shelf at her back, grip tightening, knuckles white. She shut her eyes, breathing slow, deliberate—like she was trying to disappear inside herself. Trying to access some space within herself where the world wasn’t pressing in on her.

Yeah. He knew that look all too well now. She was trying not to cry.

Joel shifted his weight, glancing down at Maya, who was blissfully unaware, busy gumming the edge of a scarf she’d pulled off the shelf.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Leela flinched—not much, just a little twitch of her shoulders—but it was enough to tell him that, for a second, she’d forgotten where she was. She blinked, pulling back from wherever she’d gone in her head, and looked at him.

Joel didn’t do the whole let's-address-this-nonsense, so he reached for the first thing that might pull her back. He grabbed an old record from the shelf and held it up. “Wanna put that fancy record player to use?”

Her expression softened instantly. She reached for the record, fingers tracing the edges like she was handling something precious. He eventually noticed the label—The Beach Boys, Wild Honey. What was with him, her and the sixties music?

“I have this one,” she mumbled.

An unsurprising turn of events. “’Course you do.” Joel sighed, sliding it back onto the shelf. "Hard to spoil a rich girl.”

She huffed out a laugh, tired, but at least it was real. She picked up a cloudy snow globe next, giving it a shake, eyes tracking the upending snow inside. “Don’t care for money anymore.”

Joel watched her, watched the way her fingers moved over the glass, trying to wipe away the dust. The way her shoulders had started to relax, just a little. He figured now was a good time for a distraction.

He tipped his chin at her. “You’re sittin’ on a gold mine, darlin'. You got salt. Basil or whatever.”

Her head tilted. "Seasoning makes me rich?"

"You ever eaten twenty years’ worth of QZ ration packs?" He scoffed, thumbing through the record covers. "Tryin’ to remember what real food tastes like while chewing expired crap they call 'dehydrated bolognese'?"

She actually laughed at that—not a breathy little huff, but a real laugh, short and amused. Then her eyes picked up that spark, a sharpness brightening her. “I make my own salt, actually. It’s a chemical reaction. It's fascinating, the sedimentation from caustic soda and—”

Joel lifted a hand to interrupt her, making a 'whoosh' motion over his head. “Alright, you lost me at ‘chemical.’ But if you got some to spare, I'd love to start saltin' my eggs in the morning.”

Her grin widened, but before she could respond, the door clattered open.

Maria swept in like a windstorm, hardly stepping inside, just enough to hold the door open. Clipboard in hand, she scanned the shelves, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, already onto whatever task she had next.

When she finally spotted Leela, she barely paused. “C’mon, kid, people are waiting for you. Let’s go.”

Leela stiffened, a shallow breath catching in her throat.

Joel caught the way her fingers tightened around the snow globe. The way her gaze flickered toward the door, then away just as fast—like she couldn’t look at it too long like it was something too bright, too overwhelming. She had just started breathing again.

He was about to say something—tell Maria to give her a damn minute, at least—but Leela nodded at her before he could get a word out. “I’ll be right there.”

But he saw the way her throat worked, how her hands wouldn’t quite let go of the shelf behind her. Then, she glanced back at him. A flicker. Hesitation. Like she was searching for something—a push, a reason to stall.

Joel had no goddamn clue what to do with that. Flash her a thumbs-up? Offer some dopey, generic shit like, “You got this”? None of it seemed right.

Maya—still happily oblivious, still gnawing on that damp, probably filthy scarf—grinned up at her mother with a gurgle, all gums and trouble. Her small hand finally reached out to her mama like her own little vote of confidence.

Leela’s expression softened, melting at that. She pressed a kiss to Maya's mitten, cupped her cheeks, and pressed another kiss to her head, lingering for a moment, breathing her in. “Don’t miss me too much, baby girl.”

And Joel—who was just holding the kid, who had nothing to do with that kiss—felt it all the way to his goddamn toes, until he curled them tight.

His throat closed when Leela straightened, and before he could react, she reached out, squeezing his shoulder. A quick thing, warm, shocking and grounding, there and gone.

“Take care of her, Joel,” she murmured.

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t hesitate this time. Just turned and walked toward the door, already steeling herself for whatever was waiting outside. Maria scarcely gave Joel a second glance as she hooked an arm around Leela’s shoulder, guiding her down the street, toward the dam.

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, shifting Maya in his arms. Take care of her. Like that was even a question.

X

So, this was it. Joel hadn’t done something like this in a long time.

Running errands. Moving through town without it being about work, about survival, about making sure no one was about to freeze or starve. Just walking, going slow, letting himself ease into the rhythm of a day.

It was stupid how much he liked it. Maybe it was Maya in her room that was his arms, the warmth of her little body tucked up against him, the soft sighs and quiet sounds she made as she drifted in and out of sleep on his chest. Maybe it was the feeling of just being—going from place to place with no rush, no urgency, no reason to keep his hand near a weapon. It had been a while since he felt this liberated.

And yet, for all that, it was also the most uncomfortable he’d ever been. Because everywhere he went, people noticed him.

Or more specifically, they noticed her.

Maya was the newest baby in town, and in a place like Jackson—where everyone kept track of every fucking thing—that meant she was an instant celebrity.

It started at the main square. Joel had barely stepped inside before an older woman behind the counter lit up, clasping her hands together. “Oh, well, would you look at that.” She leaned forward, peering at Maya like she was a new puppy. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?”

Joel braced. He was never good at shit like this—casual conversation, polite interactions. But he was prepared to nod, maybe mutter something noncommittal. Didn’t get the chance.

Before he could step away, the woman moved in.

“Can I see her?” She was already reaching like she might touch her, and instinct had Joel stepping back, moving Maya’s weight against his chest, his free hand flexing at his side.

The handsy woman noticed, laughing lightly. “Don’t worry, hon, I won’t take her from you.” But then she looked up, past Maya and her face dropped like a corpse wearing boots. “Oh. Joel.”

Yeah. Exactly. People never approached him. They let him pass, they let him do what he needed to do, and they didn’t ask for more than what was necessary. But now? Now he had her snug to his chest, and people suddenly thought they could get in his space, that they could smile at him like he was one of them.

“Right,” Joel muttered, clearing his throat. He took a step back, putting more space between them. “Gotta—uh. Got things to do.”

And he left before she could say anything else.

But it kept happening. Like having a baby made you instantly likeable. Erased everything that people deemed you unlikeable for.

A pair of young women on the street whispered to each other behind their hands. The Miller baby. Even some guy he didn’t know—a carpenter or a repairman or something—told over his shoulder to his friend while passing him, “Is that the little Miller baby?”

He didn’t answer. It wasn’t. But he hated how the words stuck to his skin, how they lingered. Feeding him false truths.

Maya, for her part, handled the attention in the same way she handled everything. She stared, wide-eyed, for a few seconds before burying her face in his chest, hiding against him.

Which—fair. Joel had the same damn instinct.

After a while, he just stopped slowing down, stopped making eye contact, and stopped acknowledging the people trying to grab his attention. By the time he hit the shop that traded in home goods, his patience was running thin.

He bartered for his coffee first. Priorities. He was low on supply, and he didn’t feel right starting a morning without it. Then, a stop at the shelf where he found some candles. The kind that a hifalutin name, like lavender or some other flower he couldn’t name. He wasn’t proud of what he’d had to trade to get them, but if they helped Leela sleep, he figured it was worth it.

Then, while shifting the baby bag on his shoulder, he saw it—some worn-down, wooden playthings on one of the shelves, a sad little collection of toys no one had much use for.

The kid had nothing. Leela didn’t seem to know enough to engage her in play. Honestly, Maya’s biggest laughs came from him, from just seeing him come in through the door and the way he bounced her when no one was looking. She didn’t have a stuffed animal to chew on, a rattle to shake, nothing. That sat wrong with him.

He reached out, fingers brushing over a carved horse with rounded edges. But before he could test it in his palms, Maya twisted in his arms, a tiny frown forming on her face.

The warning signs.

Joel sighed. “Ah, shit. Really, sweetheart?”

The fussing started slow—grunts, little unhappy noises, fidgeting with her mittens. It was hunger, he knew that much, and he hadn’t exactly planned on stopping somewhere good for it.

He glanced around, eyes landing on the worst place he could think of to feed a baby. He looked up to the sky instead, hoping for some cosmic assistance. Test him, test him, and test him again.

The fucking bar.

Well, then. It should be empty at this time of day. He'll take what is given.

Joel stepped in, scanning the dimly lit space for judgmental stares, the door swinging shut behind him. No one. It smelled like old wood and stale beer, the kind of place that felt settled into itself, like it had been standing for a hundred years and would stand for a hundred more. Even Tommy was behind the counter, rummaging through shelves, looking for something that clearly wasn’t there.

Joel exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Caught you at the right time.”

Tommy barely glanced up. “Look who it is. Papa Joel.” Then he did look, properly this time, and his smirk widened. “And look at you. Hell, you wearin’ cologne?”

Joel grunted, shifting Maya higher in his arms. “Shut up.”

“Not my fault you look—” Tommy gestured vaguely at all of him, “—like you popped outta Sears catalogue.”

Joel scowled. The swanky clothes. Right. But leave it to Tommy to make a damn thing of it.

Instead of answering, he settled onto a stool, already halfway to getting Maya’s bottle ready. She'd gone quiet, watching him move, which was never a good sign. Not for long, anyway.

Joel gently adjusted her in the crook of his arm, tucking the bottle against her lips, and that was it. The instant it was him feeding her, the second she got comfortable, her hands started roaming. She did this thing every single time. Feeling. Grabbing. Claiming.

And today, like always, they landed on the scar on his wrist. That big, pale line that ran jagged up his wrist into his forearm, from a blade that had nearly done more than nick him. A raider that he'd shivved in less than two seconds once the bleeding started.

In cruel irony, Maya was obsessed with it. She smoothed her tiny mitten over it, again and again, like she was trying to figure it out, her hand bare speck against the scar. Then she started digging her little hand into it, gripping it like she could peel it off him like it was something separate from his skin.

If Joel took his arm away when she got her claws in, her hands floated after it, waiting. A small whine, and she even gave up on the bottle.

“What?” he asked her, a single brow arched. “Aren't you hungry?”

She moved her head when he tried to push the sipper against her lips. Little smartass. A small, give-it-back-coo, brows furrowed, fists still waiting within her mittens. He missed seeing those little fingers already.

“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby girl,” he sighed, letting her have his hand again. His voice was barely above a rasp, more to himself than anything. Not like she could understand, anyway. But talking to her—talking at her—had become something natural. Like breathing.

Immediately, she latched onto it again, tiny fingers curling around the scar like it belonged to her. Just let it happen. Couldn’t do a damn thing with her around. She had all his attention.

The silence between them stretched, like something Joel could settle into. Maya kept her hold on him, even as she finished eating, even as her round eyelids drooped with sleep.

His free hand, the one that had been absently nursing the cold whiskey glass, came up to trace down her nose. That tiny little twitching nose. She scrunched it at the sensation, gave the smallest little sigh—then she was out. Just like that.

Ahead, Tommy took a sip of his drink, still watching. Not saying anything. Not yet.

Then, after a beat, he sighed. “So, you’re really gonna do this?”

Joel blinked, caught mid-motion, his fingers coming up against the cool glass of his drink. He knew what Tommy's 'this' implied, he didn't even have to point it out. Joel hadn’t thought about it, not in words. Not in the way Tommy was asking. But the question hung there between them, waiting to be acknowledged.

His first instinct was to scoff. Shake his head. Deflect. Like he always did.

But instead, he just sat there.

Maya was still curled against him, warm and impossibly small. Her fingers had loosened in sleep, no longer gripping his wrist so fiercely, but every now and then, she’d twitch, like she was reaching for him even in dreams. Like she knew exactly where she belonged, in the arms that were always ready to catch her.

Joel swallowed, jaw working, eyes fixed on the grain of the counter. He could feel Tommy watching him, waiting.

Then came the shrug. That half-assed, useless shrug. A non-answer, because he wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

“Ain’t that simple. You know how it is with her mom.” The words came out rougher than Joel intended like he was trying to shove them between himself and whatever his shitty brother was about to say next.

Tommy, of course, wasn’t buying it. He leaned against the bar, arms folded, giving Joel that look—the one that said he was already ten steps ahead, already seeing straight through the seven layers of crap. Joel hated that damn look.

“It’s already simple,” Tommy said, voice even. “You just don’t wanna admit it.”

Joel scowled, shifting Maya higher in his arms, adjusting her like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t the thing anchoring him in place.

“The hell does that mean?”

Tommy huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Then he just gestured—a lazy flick of his fingers toward Maya, toward the way she was curled into Joel’s chest, tiny and warm and completely at home.

It made Joel pause. The way Tommy was looking at him. The way he didn’t say what he meant, just let the silence speak for itself.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening.

“It means you already decided,” Tommy finally said. “You’re just waitin’ on someone else to say it first, you pussy.”

Joel’s fingers curled tighter around his drink. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Because Tommy wasn’t wrong. He fucking hated that Tommy wasn’t wrong.

This was what he did. This was how it always went. With Ellie. With Sarah. He didn’t decide—he just let it happen. Let them carve out their space in his life, let them claim him before he ever had the guts to admit it. Because once you said it—really said it—that was it. No taking it back. No pretending you could walk away.

And Maya… she was already there. Already in. And fuck. Tommy must’ve caught the shift in his expression, because his posture eased, his voice dropping into something quieter, something real.

“Y’know,” he said, softer this time. “I’ve missed seein’ you like this.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose. “Like what?”

Tommy tilted his head, studying him. “Like you still give a damn.”

Joel scoffed. “That’s real cute, Tommy.”

“I’m serious.”

And Joel knew he was. Could hear it in the way Tommy’s voice had lost its usual sharpness, in the way he wasn’t teasing anymore.

Tommy wasn’t just looking at him now—he was seeing him.

The way Joel had melted into this. How he hadn’t put her down, hadn’t even tried. How his hand, scarred and mangled, still rested against the small of Maya’s back, gently rubbing circles as if he needed to make sure she was still there.

Joel looked away. Something crawled up his spine, sharp and unnameable. He didn’t like being seen. Not like this. Not even by Tommy. So he went for the easiest thing—the simplest way to cut the tension.

A half-hearted mutter. A low, unconvincing, “Yeah, well.”

Tommy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. “Poetic,” he drawled.

Joel shook his head, finally taking a drink. “You talk too damn much.”

Tommy chuckled, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Yeah, well,” he mimicked before his voice softened again. “You don’t gotta say it, Joel.” He gestured toward Maya, still curled against his chest, safe, home. “You’re already doin’ it. Even if you got fuckin’ old.”

“Guess I had to, didn’t I?” he muttered, adjusting Maya against his chest, making sure her head rested easy against his chest.

Tommy didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. They both knew the truth of it.

Joel had aged in ways Tommy never would, in ways no one who hadn’t lived what he lived could understand. His life had been gunpowder, dirt and blood. But still—there was something about this, about sitting here, not rushing anywhere, not killing anything, not surviving, just existing.

Something about her. She had her little hands on his shirt, curled tight in sleep, and he knew without a doubt that when she woke up, she'd reach for him again.

Yeah, this was what getting old was.

X

It wasn’t so abnormal anymore, Joel thought, being here like this. A weekend evening, in nice clothes, at a restaurant, beer in hand, sitting around a table with family. Nothing left to rock the boat.

For a long time, this kind of thing had felt impossible. Something for other people. Other lives. Even in Jackson, even after all these years, he still sometimes caught himself expecting the old rhythm—always waiting for something to go wrong.

But here he was. Sitting in a booth at the barbecue joint, letting the warmth of the moment settle in. Maria was talking a mile a minute, Tommy was stretched out beside her, looking half in disbelief, and across from him—Leela cradling Maya, quiet as ever.

Joel took a slow sip of his beer, tearing his eyes off her, half-listening as Maria went off, excitement lighting up her face.

“—seriously, I’ve never seen anything like it,” she was saying, gesturing so wildly she nearly knocked over Tommy’s drink. “Fixed the whole irrigation backup in minutes, Joel! Got the system running smoother than it ever has, and on top of that—this little Einstein somehow managed to work out a whole fucking ration adjustment in the same damn hour.”

Leela’s face went warm. She waved a hand, dismissing it. “It wasn’t that complicated. The whole system just needed a pressure bypass to reduce cavitation in the main feed lines. And the rationing—honestly, it was just a matter of optimizing caloric allotments based on intake efficiency per household.”

A stunned hush.

Tommy blinked. Joel just stared in amazement. Maria narrowed her eyes like she was trying to do the math in her head.

“Right,” Tommy finally muttered, dragging his drink closer to safety. “I totally knew what all that meant.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. And a little proud of her. “Christ.”

Leela frowned, looking between them. “It's all just calibration.”

Maria snorted, nudging Tommy. “I think that just proved her point.”

She was surpassing expectations with Maria fuckin' Miller. That had got to count for something. It was rare, too, to watch her this spirited, this excited. Even rarer that Tommy wasn’t the loudest one at the table.

"Well," Tommy said, smirking as he raised his glass. "Guess it's good to have a genius in your corner sometimes."

Joel smirked too, but his gaze flickered sideways again, back to Leela. He couldn't help himself to another look, and another, and another. Total headcase conduct.

But she wasn’t looking at any of them. She sat beside him, holding Maya close, not engaging much, just keeping her eyes down, drifting between the door and Maya in her bouncing lap. Every now and then, she’d offer a thin, polite smile—one of those distant ones, not real, not reaching her eyes. Present, but not fully there.

Joel noticed it all. The way she sat just a little too stiff, the way her fingers fidgeted lightly against Maya’s back. The way her shoulders didn’t fully relax, even though she was surrounded by people she trusted. She was clearly still agitated with something. Maybe the attention? The restaurant? The smell of the food? Perhaps Maya? Or was it himself?

Joel sipped his beer and let his eyes linger on her for a second longer, about to change the subject, before Tommy—that big-mouthed bastard—broke the moment.

“Leela’s birthday’s comin’ up in a few days, right?” he said, nodding toward Joel like he expected him to confirm. “You two got plans?”

Joel damn near choked. He shot Tommy a glare so sharp it could’ve gutted a man. Wanted to kick him square in the balls. What was this little shit implying? And her birthday? He didn’t even know. Then again, he wasn't big on celebrations anyway.

Leela, to his relief, didn’t seem to care much. She just shook her head. “No plans.”

Maria, of course, had other ideas. Plans. To put that unused, exquisite dining room in her home to good use.

“Dinner, then,” she announced, already scheming, her face bright with it. “Your place. You don't have to lift a finger, the menu’s on me.”

Leela hesitated. “Um...”

Joel was ready to witness Maria take a licking for the first time ever. He could see the wheels turning in Leela's head, the way her fingers curled into Maya’s blanket. She looked down at the baby, who was happily slapping her little hands against the table, amusing herself, laughing that hiccuping laugh, at the sound.

Joel couldn’t help but smile. He reached out, brushing his knuckles over Maya’s chin, and she let out a delighted squeal, and tried to catch his hand before he returned it to his glass.

Leela exhaled, barely a smile on her lips, blindsiding him with: "I think that'd be nice. I could make something, too. With seasoning." And she flashed a knowing grin at Joel.

He bit his smile into the rim of his beer glass, meeting her eye. "Amen."

“Sweet,” Tommy grinned. “I’ll let Ellie know.”

When the food arrived in a leering waitress's arms, Joel didn’t touch his plate right away. He was too busy looking at Tommy’s. A full rack of ribs, juicy, glistening with sauce, looking like the best damn thing on the table. Regret burned in his gut.

Tommy, the smug shithead, was already smirking, rolling back his sleeves. “Something wrong, big brother?”

Joel grunted, reaching for his beer instead of dignifying that with an answer. His brother had no one to impress, Maria was well-versed in Tommy-isms. Joel had played it safe. Ribs were messy. Hands-on. Fucking delicious. If he were alone, or if it was just Tommy, he’d be going to town on them.

But with Maya switching from his lap to Leela's lap half the time? With Leela, this smart, stunning girl, sitting beside him, barely eating, her shoulder brushing his every now and then? He’d gone for the safe, decent option. A nice slab of brisket. Neater. Quieter. Civil. Less of a goddamn spectacle.

Across from him, Maria was already chatting about something—town expansion, hydroponics for the greenhouse, that kind of thing. Leela was listening, but not really. Not engaging entirely. Her gaze stayed down, distracted.

And then there was Maya. For all her adorableness, she was being an absolute menace. Squirming. Reaching. Grabbing. Her big eyes were all stubborn, yet curious. Joel felt her shifting in Leela’s lap, wiggling against her arm, determined to smack her little hands onto her mother's plate.

“Maya, please,” Leela whispered, exasperated, nudging her hands away. Even positioning her farther on her lap.

Of course, it didn’t work. Maya let out a loud, insistent whine—real dramatic-like. Another scream of objection, fists squeezed like she was throwing a fit, and smacking for the plate again.

Maria chuckled. “Kid’s got some lungs on her.”

Leela huffed a small, tired laugh, but Joel could see her struggle even if it was hilarious. Trying to keep handsy Maya at bay while attempting to cut her steak one-handed. She wasn’t doing a great job of it. Fork in one hand, knife awkwardly angled in the other, barely making progress.

Joel didn’t think about it. Didn’t need to.

He just reached over and swapped their plates. Simple. Quiet. Didn’t make a thing of it. Just slid his brisket—already cut—toward her, nudging it a little farther from Maya’s reach.

Leela stilled. And glanced up at him, astonished.

Joel kept his eyes on his own plate, reaching for his knife. Shrugged, like it was nothing. “Go on,” he urged. “The best thing you'll put in your mouth.”

Tommy cleared his throat, catching onto the innuendo. Joel imagined sticking his knife into his eye.

Leela hesitated. Then, after a beat, he heard the soft clink of her fork against the plate as she speared a piece. A grateful smile came alive on her face while she chewed, a genuine one. He'd learned to tell the difference now.

“Thank you, Joel,” she nodded.

Joel nodded back, a tight smile stretching on his lips. Took a bite from his plate. There was nothing else to be said. The message was clear: I've got you.

Oh, Joel didn’t miss the looks either. Maria’s subtle smirk behind her glass. Tommy’s full-blown, shit-eating grin. The two of them watched like they were studying a goddamn exhibit every time Joel so much as glanced at Leela or reached out for Maya.

Fuck them. He ignored it all, chewing through another bite of steak, keeping his focus where it needed to be. Maya was calm now. Full belly, busy little hands—playing with his own hand now, like it was her favourite toy in the world. Leela, finally eating without interruption, though still too quiet.

Joel didn’t say a damn word about any of it. Even when Maria started up again.

“What I'm saying is, that the town’s growing,” she said, wiping her mouth. “More people settling in every month. It’s getting to the point where we’re running low on homes.”

That got Joel’s attention. His chewing slowed, a sliver of suspicion creeping in. Tommy wasn’t looking at him. That was the first red flag that he'd learned from one of the more recent dinners in the Miller household.

“Couple of new families coming in next week,” Maria continued. “One’s got three kids. You believe that? Haven’t had that many young ones in Jackson in a long time.”

Joel grunted. More people. More mouths to feed. Meant the town was growing, sure—but also meant more risk. Running this place with a tight ship was already starting to show. And Maria wasn’t done.

“Thing is, if we keep expanding at this rate, we’ll have to start repurposing old homes.”

There it was. Joel was halfway through his beer when he heard more of this.

“You know, Joel,” Tommy started his tone too goddamn casual to be anything but questionable. “If push comes to shove, we could always put your place up for new tenants.”

Joel’s grip tightened on his glass. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look at Tommy right away. Just kept chewing slow, steady, like he hadn’t heard a thing.

Because he knew what this was. He knew Tommy and that arrogant little edge in his voice, the way Maria was staying too quiet, swirling her drink like she wasn’t waiting for impact.

It was a set-up. Fishing. Looking for a reaction. Confirming some inside hunches. And Maria took the shot before he could load his own.

“We’d put you up at ours, sure enough,” she said, breezy, easy.

“No kidding. You're family, can't just chuck you on the street as much as I want to,” Tommy added, mockingly, grinning like a jackass.

Joel set his drink down with a little too much pressure, the sound a noisy thud. Finally, finally, he levelled a look at Tommy. He didn't need to say a damn thing. Because whatever was on his face? It was enough.

Tommy coughed, glancing away as if he felt the heat of it. He knew what would follow if he spoke another word. Maria, to her credit, held his stare, only raising an eyebrow.

Joel’s jaw flexed, real slow. The urge to tell them both to go straight to hell was right there, burning at the back of his throat. And he would have. Would’ve shut the whole damn thing down, hard. But before he could, Leela beat him to it with—

“I have spare rooms in my place,” she said, casually. Like she was discussing the weather. “If that happens, Joel could take one. Stay as long as he wants.” She used Maya's arm to motion a wave. “Maya would love that, too.”

More silence. She was just full of surprises today, wasn't she?

Tommy, who had been bracing for impact, looked like he’d tripped over his own damn feet. Maria, mid-drink, paused. Chewed on her cheeks. Like she was recalibrating the entire situation.

And Joel? He didn't even know what to do with that. For a second, all he could do was stare at Leela, completely gobsmacked. What she'd suggested was to take it to the next level, in the most casual way. Yeah, just stay with me and my kid, forever, I guess. Doesn't matter.

Leela didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice what she’d said. She just kept wiping at Maya's mouth and hands who'd started to entertain herself by blowing raspberries, and bouncing her gently like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel exhaled through his nose. A slow, heavy thing. “It's all a big 'if',” he muttered, edged with finality.

Maria recovered first. Pulled a face that said she was perfectly fine with it. “Yep.”

Tommy, still catching up, pressed his lips together. “Just wanted to make sure of something,” he muttered. “Pretty sure now.”

Joel didn’t ask what. Just picked up his beer again, and took a slow, measured sip. His glare at Tommy, though? Firmly in place.

They left the restaurant together, in cackles of laughter that was at the expense of Joel's face, making their way up the same street where their homes resided, boots crunching against the frozen dirt road. The air was sharp, biting, but Joel barely felt it.

Maya had run herself ragged. After all her theatrics inside—her constant wriggling, the battle for the damn steak, the way she’d made herself known to the entire damn restaurant—she’d finally given in.

“You feelin' cold, baby?” he murmured.

She was in his arms now, bundled up and warm, her bunny-ear beanie snug over her head. Her tiny nose was red from the cold, her cheek pressed against the fabric of his jacket, picking at a loose lint on his sweater. He tucked closer, safer, pressing a warming kiss into her sleepy head.

Joel caught up with Maria before she could reach Tommy and Leela ahead. His breath came out in slow, even puffs, but inside, he felt a little less steady. Hadn’t planned on asking. Hadn’t even realized it was sitting there, coiled tight in his chest, until the words were already forming.

"Hey," he said lowly, his voice carrying that weighted kind of hesitation. "Can we talk?"

Maria arched a brow before smirking. "If you’re about to chew me out, it was Tommy’s idea. You know we haven’t had new people settle in for months."

Joel barely registered it. Just shook his head. Not about that.

His gaze flicked toward Leela’s back—small, quiet steps beside Tommy’s like she wasn’t all the way there. His jaw tightened before he spoke. Carefully.

"At the dam today." He paused, feeling the words thick on his tongue. "Did she seem… alright to you? Seem a little off?"

That smirk faded. Maria exhaled, her face shifting into something more careful. "Wouldn’t stay in the room with all the workers," she admitted. "Spooked her out. After that, I just let her stick by my side in the office."

Joel frowned.

"Must’ve been a trigger," Maria added, quieter now.

He only nodded. He didn't need to say what they both already knew.

He watched Leela a little longer, the way her hands stayed tucked inside her coat sleeves, the way she wasn’t engaging much with Tommy’s easy conversation. There was something… too still about her.

"She’s been quiet all night," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Maria nudged him lightly. "She’ll be fine, Joel. Baby steps."

Joel pressed his lips together. He wasn't a believer in the process of baby steps. Either you healed or you rotted in the filth of guilt or devastation for the rest of your life.

Maria gave him a sideways glance, one of those knowing looks. "You look good together."

Joel let out a breath. Not quite a scoff. Not quite anything. "Thought lawyers didn’t bullshit," he muttered.

Maria shrugged easily. "I don't. Sure, you’re," she cleared her throat, shooting him a look. "Let’s say ‘well into your prime’—and she’s… not. But I can tell she trusts you absolutely."

Joel said nothing. Only bit down the small grin that broke through his lips, staring at his boots. Coming from Maria, point-blank like that, it meant a lot.

Up ahead, Tommy was acting like he hadn’t just pulled that shit back in the restaurant, talking easy, hands in his pockets, like he was the picture of innocence.

Joel narrowed his eyes. Yeah, alright. That jagoff needed to be put in his place.

He picked up his pace, stepping just ahead of Tommy, and without breaking stride, swept his leg out.

Tommy didn’t even get a chance to balance before he was airborne—arms flailing, momentum carrying him forward—a sad, "What the fuck!"—then crashing face-first into the snow with a solid thud.

Maria burst out laughing. Full-on, bent-over, hands-on-her-knees laughing. Leela, though—she gasped, her eyes going wide, clearly more horrified than she needed to be.

Joel just kept walking, adjusting Maya, who let out a startled little giggle like she understood the exact kind of justice that had just been served.

"Fuckin' deserved it," he grumbled.

X

Maya was bawling at the big white house’s door, tiny fists clutching his shirt like letting go might break her little heart. And maybe it would—maybe that’s why Joel hesitated, his hands hovering at her back, torn between unwinding her grip and holding her tighter. Damn it, he didn’t want to go, either.

If he peeled her off him and stepped away, she’d do the sweetest thing that always got him—cover her eyes with her hands like she’d seen her mother do, weeping like his leaving was the greatest tragedy of her small world.

“He’ll come back tomorrow, Maya,” Leela tried, rubbing absently at her belly. “He has to sleep, too.”

Maya wasn’t convinced. She wriggled in her mother’s hold, stretching her arms out toward Joel, demanding, no—pleading—to be held. Then she wailed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of cry that could bring a whole street to a standstill.

Joel exhaled, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. God, this girl was breaking his heart.

Leela shifted Maya against her chest and patted her back. “Do you want to stay a while?” Her voice was softer now. “Until she falls asleep?”

Joel didn’t even pretend to hesitate. His arms were already reaching for Maya, lifting her effortlessly out of Leela’s hold. The moment she settled against his chest, her tiny hands fisting into his shirt, her cries turned to hiccups, then sniffles.

“Gonna be a handful when she gets older,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek.

Leela rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, stifling a yawn. “Gosh, please don’t remind me.” She nodded toward the stairs. “I’m gonna get changed. Help yourself to anything.”

Joel watched her retreat up the steps, back hunched with exhaustion. At the landing, she disappeared into the hallway, and he found himself standing there a moment longer than necessary, listening to the creak of the floorboards as she moved through the house. He liked that about her—the way she kept reminding him to make himself at home like she knew he hadn’t quite figured out how to.

Maya was still sniffling, the last remnants of her earlier tears damp against Joel’s shirt. She stirred against him, adjusting in his arms like she was making herself right at home. Safe. Where she belonged.

Joel smoothed his palm over her back and felt the way she breaths puffed against his collar, her little chest rising and falling in a slower rhythm now. She was alright. He did that.

"You missed me already?" he murmured, rubbing a thumb under her damp eye.

She didn’t answer, just breathed out a soft, shuddering coo.

Yeah. That was about what he thought.

He bounced her gently as he moved through the living room, shifting his weight as he glanced around, looking for something to keep her mind off whatever had gotten her so worked up in the first place. His eyes caught on something up on the shelf, half-forgotten.

That record player he'd been gawking at for weeks. Not just any old thing, either. Glass case. Dark mahogany. Expensive. Fancy, like the rest of Leela’s place.

There was already a record inside. Percy Sledge. Gold, fucking gold. The glossy cover sat neatly on the side like someone had meant to come back to it and never did.

Joel exhaled, dusting off the lid before flipping it open. “Haven’t heard this in a long time,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, glancing down at Maya, "You wanna hear some music, baby girl?"

Maya blinked up at him, her earlier tears forgotten, and let out that breathless little panting laugh she did when she was excited. Her small hands clapped together in that uncoordinated, barbed motion that made her look like she was still figuring out how her own fingers worked.

Joel grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

He brushed away the dust, set the needle down, and let the music cut through the quiet.

The room filled with the low, honeyed croon of Percy Sledge, velvet-smooth, drifting through the air like something out of a different time.

Joel felt her still in his arms, eyes going wide as she stared at the record player, completely awestruck. Like she was trying to make sense of where the sound was coming from.

He poked a finger into her squishy thigh. “Never heard real music before? You like it?”

Maya was so curious, watching the record spin, producing music, head tilting in that goddamned adorable way of hers, like she was putting all her baby brainpower into figuring it out.

Joel’s chest ached. It was a deep, familiar thing, the kind of ache that came from having too much and knowing it was, perhaps now, all his to keep.

He shifted Maya in his arms, kissing the top of her bunny-eared beanie. She smelled like warm blankets, like home, even though he’d never had a home quite like this before.

"You wanna dance with me, darlin’?"

She gasped, her whole body jerking in excitement, arms flailing like she couldn’t believe her luck. Then came that breathless, hitching laugh—the one that made her whole face crinkle, her tiny chest heaving like she could barely keep up with herself.

He’d never heard her laugh like this before. Was that the first?

So he lifted her high into the air, listening to the way she squealed, legs kicking like she was soaring. That same laugh again—bright, bubbling over, pure sunshine—rang through the room as he pulled her back into his chest, then did it again. Twice. Thrice. Oh, his back was going to pay the piper, but for that laugh, it was fucking worth it.

She was weightless, and for a moment, so was he. The world didn’t feel so heavy when he had her in his arms like this.

His eyes caught on something in the doorway.

Leela. She was watching.

She had changed into that same white nightdress, the one with the pearl buttons he liked more than he should. Loose fabric brushing just above her ankles, a sleeve slipping off her shoulders. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, fingers touching her lips like she was trying to trap the smile already there.

Joel didn’t stop moving, just slowed a little, swaying Maya in his arms, pretending his breaths weren't constricting at the look on Leela’s face. If he stopped, the moment might end, and he wasn’t ready.

Leela wasn’t looking at him, not exactly. Her eyes were on Maya, wondering, at the way she was still laughing, still catching her breath, little fingers clinging to the fabric of Joel’s shirt like her whole world was nothing but him and the feeling of flying.

He'd never had anything like this. Complete, natural, all his. Could this moment get any more perfect? And then he had the thought—

He wanted to dance with Leela.

It settled deep in his chest, curling between the cracks. Maybe he’d wanted that for a while now. Maybe that was why his hands always hoped to reach for her when it was without Maya, why his pulse kicked up when she got too close, why he always noticed when she was around—gentle, cautious, like someone who didn’t want to take up too much space.

He huffed, dipping his head to whisper against Maya’s temple—"Gotta give your mama a turn, huh?"

He lowered Maya onto the couch, kissing her nose, making sure she was snug, and safe between the sunken cushions. She was already grabbing for her baby blanket, nibbling on the edge of it, still watching him with that shining little grin. That was enough confidence to power him up.

Look, Joel knew better than to ask Leela. Knew better than to give in to his wants. She’d probably turn him down. Politely. And somehow, that would hurt worse, brushing him off like a stranger.

But he asked anyway. He turned around and didn’t say a word—just held out his hands, halfway to her. Not a grand gesture, nothing obvious, just enough that she’d see it and she’d know. He wants her close.

Leela’s gaze flickered, something changing. Her lips parted, just barely, and for a moment—a long, slow, aching moment—he thought she might step forward, might meet him where he stood. A silly pipedream.

Yeah, Joel was too goddamn old for his heart to be pounding like this. Like some stupid kid, all restless hands and reckless hope, hoping the girl he liked would share that feeling with him. It had been a long time since someone made him feel like this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he ever had—not like this. Not with a girl this soft, a life this easy, a feeling this whole.

He blamed that when she looked away, the moment unravelling.

Blamed the gap, the years that stretched between them, the life he’d already lived, the losses already burned into his bones. The grey in his hair, the angry brow, the lines on his face. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Ever. Not for him, not anymore.

Then—why did he still want? Why, after all these years, after everything, did he still feel this?

The way the muscles between his ribs fluttered when she hesitated. The way his palms itched, waiting, wanting for their other half. The way he caught himself hoping—hoping like some love-struck fool that she might step forward.

He exhaled slowly, convincing himself it was fine. Telling himself he was being ridiculous and she didn’t owe him anything. He should’ve known better, should’ve kept his hands where they belonged, brought his anticipations down a notch... anyways, what else could he offer this stunning girl? His cold, dead heart? His bloodstained hands?

And then she did. She moved a little, leaned off the doorway. She took a few slow, quiet steps forward. Hands knotted behind her back, shoulders tense, reluctant to give in.

His breath hitched in his throat.

She wasn’t looking at him—not at first. Her eyes dipped downward to the boots on his feet, flickering uncertainly, almost like she was working up the nerve to do something.

And then she glimpsed his hands. The callouses. The mangled skin. The years of work, of war, of violence. Of a life that had been anything but easy. The way his fingers curled just slightly, as if he wasn’t sure if he should be offering them in the first place.

For another moment, she hesitated. And he thought, yeah, that’s about right.

And then—oh-so-slowly—she slipped her hands into his. Her fingers were slender against his, lean bones cradled, swallowed within his own, her skin cool and soft where his were rough, ruined. It had been so long since anyone had reached for him first.

He didn’t move right away. He took his time to feel this, remember this as if the next moment she'd vanish into mist. The way she fit there, the shape of her hands in his, like it wasn’t a mistake. Like she wasn’t regretting anything.

All those lifetimes, chipping away parts of him, making space for her hands to be there. If that didn’t scare him more than anything.

The scratchy record spun on, Percy Sledge’s voice melting into the room, velvet-smooth. What am I living for, he sang on, if not for you?

Joel swallowed thickly.

Slowly, he guided her hand to his bicep, barely pressing down. She was tense, wound tight like she’d bolt if he moved too fast. So he didn’t.

"You good?" he checked in.

She nodded, glancing up, baring a gentle smile.

His own hand skimmed her hip—ginger, mindful—before settling there. He let her other hand hang from his grasp, mid-air, not forcing it, not demanding more than she was willing to give. Leela was stiff against him because evidently, this was too much for her. As if it had been too long for her, too. Perhaps she was afraid of him. Of this. My god, it burned.

So he eased. Dipped his head, rested his nose against her hairline, and began to sway to the tempo. Joel couldn't cut a rug or shake his hips to save his damn life, but he could feel. Shit, he felt so good.

Leela was right there. Right where he wanted her, but not as close as he wanted, although he completely dwarfed her. He could feel the tension in her frame, that deep-rooted hesitance like she wasn’t sure she was allowed this.

Joel knew that feeling all too well. So he let her lead without leading. Let her find the pace. Even if it was fucking killing him.

Even though his body ached to pull her closer. Even though his fingers jolted where they rested against her hip, wanting to dig in, to hold, to keep. He wanted her warmth squeezed to him, her weight resting against his chest until he couldn't breathe.

He’d spent years running on instinct, relying on his gut, making quick decisions with deadly precision. But he’d never been this meticulous about anything before.

And then—he felt it. The shift. It wasn’t big, not something he would've noticed a while ago, but now he did. The way her breath came just a little easier. The way her grip steadied, not quite clinging but not pulling away either. She was letting herself be here.

And for the first time in some time—Joel wanted to feel, too.

So he let himself move with her. Not well, not smooth, not anything he’d want anyone else to see.

She laughed like he'd cracked something open in her, when he pulled her in, twirling her under his arm, snaring her against his chest before she could stumble. She laughed again when he spun her out, her head tipping back, black hair spilling like a dark halo.

"Never been spun around, my ass," he muttered against her hair as he spun her back into him, arms curling around her waist, anchoring her to him. "You're a natural."

Leela laughed, breathless, cheeks lifted high into her eyes. "Practice. Mom and I used to spin around for hours when it got lonely."

Joel stilled for just a second. He could picture it then—little Leela, small hands clutching at her mother’s as she twirled, all giggles and untamed joy. A warm, glowing memory, but edged with the kind of happiness you cling to when there’s nothing else.

He hummed low in his throat, muffling a smile. Leela’s fingers curled against his back.

"Joel?"

"Mhm?"

She hesitated, just a beat. "I think you look really handsome today."

He stopped moving altogether. A strange, sharp sensation twisted behind his ribs—maybe arrhythmia or some shit, might as well happen—akin to surprise, confusion, and too damn soft to name.

He was handsome to her. Not tired, crude, or old. Joel Miller was handsome to her. The prickling memory from that morning, her mistaking him for her father went up in smoke.

For a second, he considered brushing it off, making some dry remark, giving himself an out. He wasn’t careful about much or the kind of man who tiptoed around what he wanted. Life had burned that out of him long ago. But right now, he was careful.

So, Joel did what he could; he held her tighter, closer. Let her know he’d heard her.

And when he finally spoke, it was a little rough around the edges. "Thank you, darlin'."

Leela smiled up at him. And Joel—he let himself smile back.

As Percy crooned about his love growing stronger and his lover becoming a habit, they actually danced. However slow it was, there was a wildness to the way she moved, arms outstretched, the hem of her nightdress catching air, cheeks catching the low lamplight. The sharp pivot of her foot against the floorboards, the way her body dipped and twisted, loose and natural. She looked so young, so different from the woman he’d met all those weeks ago, that quiet, anxious thing who always kept herself tucked away.

This was the Leela he was falling for.

And he was so fucked. But for the first time in a long time—he was glad he was.

Joel barely had time to react before she was in his arms, knocking the wind out of his chest. Not swaying anymore, not laughing—just holding.

Her arms locked tight around his waist, cheek pressed firm against his chest like she was bracing herself. Like something in her had finally tipped over, finally let go, and she needed something to catch her.

Goddamn it, Joel wasn’t sure what to do. How to process this. She didn’t do things like this. Not the Leela he’d come to know. She was cautious, always. Kept her distance. Kept everything measured. Even when she let people in, it was guarded. Always one foot out the door, always ready to pull away.

Now, she was holding on. Holding onto him.

Joel hesitated, feeling all of her against all of him, the heat, the muscle, the softness, the realness.

Then, slow and steady, he let himself move. One arm curled around her waist, the other settled at the back of her head. His fingers slid into her hair, clutching her close—not just to comfort her, but to reassure himself. She was here. He was here. They were here.

She wasn’t trembling, but she was tense. Her grip on him was taut, almost desperate. Holding onto something bigger than just this moment, nails digging into his sweater, something that must’ve been clawing at her for God knows how long.

"I needed this a lot," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper, muffled against his chest.

Joel swallowed. Shifted just enough to angle his chin over the crown of her head. "Anytime."

That was all he could say. Because what else was there?

He didn’t know how to tell her that she could stay like this for as long as she wanted. All night, all day, that whatever had been weighing her down before—whatever had kept her small, kept her afraid—it wasn’t going to touch her here. Not while he was holding her.

Although he wished the song could last forever, reality came a-knocking, and they answered. There was nothing awkward left to pick up, just a dreaming baby girl on the couch cushions.

After placing Maya in her crib and squeezing three deep goodnight kisses into her head, Joel left to cross the street. He turned around to see Leela by the big oak door, watching him go, a meaningful smile alive on her face. She waved him goodnight.

The heat in his cabin hit him first as he entered, sighing. Thick and suffocating. The fire in the hearth had burned too hot again, filling the place with a sticky kind of warmth that made his skin prickle.

Joel shrugged off that expensive shearling jacket, tossed it somewhere, and rubbed a hand down his face. It was too damn quiet. No soft breaths ghosted across his skin. No little palms clung to the fabric of his shirt.

Just the crackle of fire. Empty arms. The twisted sheets on his bed. And himself.

Joel sat down at the edge of the mattress, forearms braced against his knees, head in his hands. A million hazy thoughts swirled, smouldering, yet all he could look upon clearly was wanting to close the gap and kiss that girl in her living room.

Was this what he wanted? Would he really go through with it? If it all went to shit—if he fucked it up, if they got hurt, if she regretted letting him in—there’d be no one else to blame, but him. He would have done this to himself, some sort of screwed-up self-sabotage he thought he earned. Someday, when he kicks the bucket, all he is going to leave to that family is grief. Or not even that? Was he worth the suffering? Would they spare him a thought?

His fingers unconsciously drifted down, brushing against the cracked leather of his watch strap. That old, broken dial. The last thing Sarah had ever given him, the last vestige of her memory, hanging off his defeated body.

The hands were still stuck in place—frozen, unmoving. Just like he’d been for all those years. Until now.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, dragging a hand down his face. He was already in too deep.

And maybe—maybe he didn’t want to climb back out.

X

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[aphroditesmoon]

smoke signals (part iv)

lighthouse keeper!sevika x selkie!reader

summary: sevika is content with her life, the loneliness that comes with her job is inevitable. but then one day, as she reaches the peak of mundanity, almost turning into insanity, you appeared. cold, quiet, clueless, sea-sent you, like a wish fulfilment for her.

warnings: selkie!reader, reader has selective mutism in beginning. makeout (no smut yet)

a/n: a long awaited chapter, idk who will read this still but if you've been an og, thank you for your patience <3

taglist: @lilredbird101 , @djstinkyfartz @vellichor-and-flowerpetals

wc: 6k

part 1 part 2 part 3

---

Your whole life has been spent disregarding the feeling of fear that crept in your heart as you travelled. Because that's just the way you were. Ghosts could lurk beyond closed doors, and you'd find yourself kicking them open and challenging them upfront despite the fact that your heart is beating outside of your chest.

Little bird, your mother use to call you. The irony of being compared to an animal of the sky as you remained below wasn't lost on you. But that was how she saw you. Free, unafraid to soar.

And so that was how you continued to live as you cherished the memories of her, untethered to anyone or any place, uncommitted. And the freedom feels oh so good for a while. But as it goes for anything you do for too long, it will start to hurt soon enough.

But now that you've had a taste for stability, you're not sure if you could live without it anymore. It was inevitable, you know. The way you had imposed yourself on Sevika was so sudden, your presence had existed without any sort of grounding. Floating around her, making yourself fit in places you shouldn't. You'd be as easy to get rid of just as you were as easy to be taken in.

You're not so sure when the eviction would be due, but what you do know is that today, the process had begun.

You can hear Sevika conversing with the old man, Vander, as you remain seated at the corner of the boat, letting them unload her stuff in. The waves are peaceful today, the sailing would be smooth and wind gentle, you predicted.

Casting a quick glance behind you, you found that the older woman had already been focusing on the back of your head. Her piercing eyes don't move after being noticed but instead intensify. Whatever words being said by the man next to her was clearly being ignored.

In this very moment, you wished you could read her mind. While she assumes that you could already.

Sevika turns back to Vander once he finished asking his question, leaving you to the sea again. "What?" She asks him.

Vander sighed and shook his head in a fatherly manner before repeating himself. "I said, what the hell have you gotten yourself into, woman?"

Sevika responded with her usual annoyed grunt and looked away from him.

"I left you alone for a month and you've already found yourself in new trouble."

"She's no trouble, and I'm in no shit. So check yourself, Vander." She didn't mean to sound so defensive, and it wasn't like she didn't understand what he had meant with 'trouble', but she's also actively trying to avoid the facts that are currently staring right at her face.

"Oh, no? So when we get to land, you'll be handing her over to the arms of those wretches with no problem, aye?" Sevika shoots him a glare.

"I...have not come to a definite conclusion."

Vander raises a brow at her.

"You can't keep her Vika, that's kidnapping." He says matter of factly.

She snorted at the possibility of you ever being her unwilling captive. "Never said anything about that."

Vander relented and dropped the subject with another defeated sigh. She knew she was acting like a child, avoiding the truth and refusing to make the call.

She doesn't know why its so hard, she had come to this decision weeks ago when you had first appeared outside her door, and the fact that you had given her little to no information about yourself since then, just makes this issue even more complicated.

But how can she give you up to the enforcers when she knows that even they won't make an effort to really return you to wherever you came from? At first, the plan was to get you out of her hands. But now, the idea of sending you straight into the lion's den is absolutely unbearable.

The only person she'll ever really care about, and now she's forced to let you down?

She wonders if you know what this trip would really mean, you seem to be lost in your own thoughts for more than expected and she isn't sure if it's because of the change of scenery or the addition of another person in your presence that will soon be multiplied overwhelmingly.

A part of her wants to go over to you and wrap a comforting arm around your shoulder, but she's not sure if she should. im fact, she's not sure on how she's supposed to act around you at all, feeling like no matter what angle she tries to come from, the killing blow of her oncoming betrayal will be seen as just as traitorous in your eyes.

But god, what else is she supposed to do? Sevika's mind has reached a blank wall.

Impulsively, Sevika approached Vander with a question. "Say old man, you don't mind if we stay over at your place for a night or two, do you?"

Vander seemed surprised but not displeased. "Uh, sure. Why not?"

Sevika thanks him in a whisper and feels relief in her lungs as she's gifted with more time to come up with something better.

"The kids will be glad to see you." Vander added with a short laugh.

"The kids." Sevika breathed out, reminiscing about the last time she saw them, which was 2 months ago. "How are they?"

Vander shrugged, "They're well, and stubborn as usual." Vi and Jinx are your typical growing young adult and teenager. They had somehow inherited both Vander's bravery and stupidity despite not really being his children.

"The bar however, suffered many losses because of those damned pirates from last month. The kids have been helping me fix things up, but it just hasn't been the same." And that was the other issue when it came to the town, the random and consistent attacks from the pirates.

Thieving is a repetitive crime in town, but the damage that these pirates have done is incomparable.

The Black Fury pirates are notorious for their crimes all over the map and some might even call them legendary. They had only recently been invading Zaun during their little pit stops. They are well armed and not afraid to use their weapons. Even the enforcers have been unable to do anything about the sudden attacks.

Sevika can only hope that they won't be back here anytime soon.

She watches as you turn to face a different direction as the boat is finally reaching land. The silence of the journey is now being replaced by loud chattering voices of fishermen, sailors and townsfolk.

Once Vander managed to tie up the roads as the bottom of the boat meets the sandy ground.

People looked, but not at any particular interest towards the three of you as you cleared up your bags and tools out of the vehicle and made your way deeper into the crowd of lively people.

You survey your surroundings with an eager but patient manner, finding comfort in the way the voices mesh together, overlapping over eachother to the point that you wouldn't be able to make clear on anything.

You enjoyed calmness and peace, especially for these last couple of weeks. But anyone who knew you (not that there are many), would know that you truly thrived in loudness and bustling spaces that most humans find themselves in.

You jolted when you felt Sevika slip her fingers around yours, clasping your hands together. When you looked up to her as you continued to move behind Vander, she only cocked her head at the crowd and said; "can't lose you now."

You continue to gawk at corner shops and messy stalls selling cheap jewelry and greased up food as she leads you on. You could still feel her turning around every few seconds to look at you, as if afraid that you'd somehow disappear despite already being in her grip.

You didn't mind it at all. In fact, you were kind of glad for it. You were glad that she deemed you worthy enough to look back for. And you also seemed to enjoy the feeling of her strong calloused palms holding onto your colder, and much smaller ones. Buzzing warmth spread all over your body from the contact.

Although she tugged on your arms, she never pulled on it and let you walk at your own pace while you regarded the people with a keen eye, frowning deeply when you came upon a spray painted symbol of the Black Fury pirates on the passing walls.

The image had seemed to spook you for a little bit as Sevika noticed that your admiration for the dirty streets has been overtaken by something else. Your focus now shifted on arriving safely to Vander's home.

"We're almost there." Sevika mutters to you, translating your sudden gloominess to being tired and overwhelmed.

Sevika herself is not that big of a fan of chaos in the town. She favors bars and restaurants, sure. But the idea of having to be around so many people for too long have always put her on edge and increased her irritability.

She's more of a homebody, she'd say. But seeing how in awe you were of the vibrant streets and market had somehow forced her to see certain things from your point of view.

She took note of certain things that you looked at for longer than usual. The way your lips part open in pleasant surprise when being offered fresh fruits by stall sellers you've passed by in a flash, the way your eyes crinkle at the sight of rock-kicking children chasing around a dusty black cat.

And of course, the way your eyes lit up as you're met with the holy fish market, all in it's glory of sea water smell and middle aged mothers doing grocery shopping for their families.

The bar was much less full than you expected, probably because it was still morning. Only very few and sober customers were inside by the back booths being sheltered by the dim yellow lights above them. The moment you set your foot inside, you were greeted by two teenagers that came from the counter seats, welcoming the old man and Sevika with expecting smiles.

"Oh, well if it isn't the scary big shark coming to grace us with her prsence." The shorter, blue haired girl spoke.

She gave a half hug to Sevika before she slowly noticed your existence, quiet and careful behind her. "And, who's this?"

"A friend." Sevika spoke, too quickly for her own liking.

"Oh that can't be true, I thought Vander's your only friend." The redhead, who you assumed is the blue hatred girl's sister, responded.

Sevika rolled her eyes and dropped her bag on the floor before walking away with you still holding her hand. "I need a drink." She called out to the bartender as she seated herself down on the stools with you. “Of course you do.” The red head snorted.

"Whiskey neat for me and uh-" She glanced over at you and back at the bartender. "Do you got...juice-?" The bartender cringed. "Apple juice, that's it." He answers.

"Sure." Sevika sighed and nodded her head.

You didn't argue, but when your drinks came, you had slyly grabbed for hers first and tipped it over your lips before she could stop you.

Sevika stared at you with horror, watching you slam the glass back on the counter and began tearing out your throat with a violent and continous cough, hunching your back.

"Great." She groaned aloud. "Get me some water." She demanded from the bartender.

She lightly patted your back as you continued coughing up, amusement painted all over her face. "Your stubbornness is admirable, but it'll also be the cause of your death."

You chugged down the glass of water with relief while ignoring her words.

After enough time have passed, Sevika forced through the obvious elephant in the room and spoke first. "We'll be staying over here for tonight."

That part was clear to you. You looked widened your eyes in question, and then what?

Sevika wasn't sure either.

So instead of answering you, she changes the subject. standing up and clearing her throat, she then says; “I'm going to go put our stuff upstairs. But then after that. I was thinking that I could show you around, give you a little tour. How about that?"

You were unresponsive at first, mouth agape and brows furrowed in confusion. But then after a minute, you purse your lips close and gave a single nod. Sevika moved around you and grabbed the bags from the floor before disappearing up the stairs and away from your sight.

---

You're not sure how to feel at this very moment. It wasn't just Sevika and the impending doom of knowing you're about to be removed from her life. It was also the stupid symbol painted red on the fading pale walls you had witnessed a few minutes ago.

Sometimes it felt like no matter wherever you went, no matter how far you're willing to travel, the symbol will always follow from behind, haunting you for the rest for your life.

The last time you had a run in with the pirates was a year ago, at an unpopular island far away from Zaun. The incident has no significance to you.

What had really shaped your life was your first run in with them, as a baby.

There is truly no running from your past. Your mother had only managed to escape your father through death.

It was the classic selkie tale. Your poor mother had been kidnapped and forced into marriage with the pirate king of the Black Fury as he held onto her coat, making sure she'd be unable to escape.

She suffered for years by his side, and even after you came along, the sorrow and yearning for the sea never ended for her. And when the opportunity to snatch back her coat and her freedom appeared, your mother did not wait to claim the waves as hers again with little you following along.

Your peace didn't last long though, for they were relentless in tracking her down to the very ends of the worlds. And found her, they did.

You still remember pushing into the pulsing wound on your mother's chest as blood swims out freely after you've managed to remove the arrow from her skin.

He never tried to come for you. You're both glad and offended for that. You're glad that there's no target on your back, but you're offended that he perceives your existence as having so little value, being able to be so unaffected by the fact that he had robbed a child of its mother.

Sometimes it even feels like mockery when you keep bumping into them in every crook and corner of the earth you run to.

A wicked reminder of what he had ripped off of your arms. And even now, your father somehow manages to find his way into your life, mocking you as you're about to lose another person you care about.

You try to play it off for the whole damn time, but as you're sat at this squeaky stool, throat sore and apple juice untouched, all you really want to do is break down into tears.

You hear Sevika's faint footsteps nearing you and felt her hand on your shoulder seconds after.

Tilting your head up towards the woman, you're met with a certain softness in her face that she only reserves for you. She is silent at first, analysing your expression and trying to figure something out but not knowing what it exactly is.

"You ready?" She asks you then. You lifted yourself off the seat and beckoned at her to lead the way as a response.

You don't miss how she made sure to keep you on her right side and away from the open street. You noticed the flex of her palms and almost reached out for her hand first but managed to hold yourself back.

You would rather die than show to anyone else but yourself on how truly desperate for connection you really are on the inside. And so you waited for her fingers to find yours, but disappointingly, they don't.

"I thought I'd take you to the market first." Sevika says, breaking the silence. "It's less hectic this hour. If you think it's full now, wait till you see how it gets in the afternoon." It wasn't often that you'd get to see a nervous Sevika, and it was even less often that you'd get to see her rambling.

"It has like a shit ton of stuff you'd like- not that I really know what you like besides fish." She added with a short laugh. "But you're a girl, and girls usually like jewelry and sweet treats and shit, so yeah.",

“Shit” You repeated after her quietly before humming to yourself while keeping up with her steady pace. It hasn't even hit 12pm yet, but the sun is already scorching, it's heat being so strong that you're sure your skin could stretch and break under the direct streak of it.

You were grateful for the worn out roof shielding you and Sevika from the sun momentarily, but as you begin sweating from your forehead down to your back, reminiscence of the cold and welcoming sea comes in flashbacks at the back of your mind.

Being able to be one with the water again seems to be your only source of comfort for today. You find yourself peeking your head out to search for the sea once you reach the market entrance that's close to the shore.

Sevika waits for you to enter first, keeping herself close from behind. It was honestly hard for you to truly be immersed in the little shops when you can't help being incredibly aware of her presence.

It had never mattered before if she was watching you. But as of right now, you just couldn't shake off the feeling of having your every little movement be judged under her observation.

You wondered if the version of you she saw in her eyes, is the real you. You wondered if she truly sees you or if she's just seeing a skewered, misinterpreted version of you.

Well, at this point, it doesn't really matter now, does it?

Slowing down your steps, you start to notice a pattern in the stalls. They all are selling around the some thing for different prices.

One thing that looks attractive in this stall, will surely be found in a couple stalls upfront in a more expensive pricing range and maybe more choices of colour.

You lingered at the small jewelry stall that focuses on beaded bracelets and charms as a small purple bracelet attracts itself to you. It has a small seashell shaped charm in the middle with lilac and white beads around it.

The old lady selling it only offers you a warm smile as you window shopped on her collection.

"Do you want it?" Sevika asks. You quickly shook your head no but saw that she had already pulled out a few coins out of her left pocket before pouring them onto the old woman's hand.

"Take it." She cocked her head to the bracelet hanging right by your eyes. You pulled it off its hook and slipped it around your wrist with ease, grinning to yourself as it fits you perfectly.

"It's your color." Sevika complimented as she guided you forward, her hand stays on the small of your back.

"Thank you." You whispered gratuitously. She doesn't react as she doesn't hear you, but it doesn't matter as she will always know the words you never speak through the way you look at her. It's almost like you're interlinked with her.

---

The two of you spent the next 2 hours just walking hand in hand, trying out fruits on a stick and testing cheap perfumes on your wrists before picking your favourites and not buying any of them at all.

The conversations are kept short between you two, but it remained intimate somehow, real and vulnerable in a world that is anything but.

Sevika tells you about her favourite foods and how this market has been standing tall for over 30 years since she was still a child.

She had even graced you with a story on how she used to participate in thieving activities, pickpocketing topsiders that roamed the street and didn't know any better.

"Sometimes they don't even realise anything's missing." She tells you with a snort.

"It was all fun and games until one of them catches you in the act, though. These topsiders, they like to get the law involved. And contrary to popular belief, those ass kissers don't perform based on fairness."

You frowned at yourself. "You got caught?" You ask her, each syllables sounding mouthy as you spoke them. You can’t imagine Sevika ever getting caught with anything.

Sevika snickered. You don't miss the way her eyes widened slightly when she heard your voice, it always takes her by surprise. "The real question here is, how many times did I get caught?" By the bitterness in her tone, you're gonna assume it was a lot.

You feel your feet ache while walking on the street, exiting the market as it starts to get more crowded at the hour.

Sevika mentioned lunch and you could hear your stomach growl at the mention of grilled fish.

Bending down to rub the soles of your feet, Sevika stops at her tracks when she notices that you're no longer beside her. She sees you and poses a questioning look. "You good?" She asks.

You hummed lightly and decided to take the oversized slippers completely off. They never fit right since they belonged to Sevika, but either way, it has always been your nature to be barefeet.

You let out a relieved sigh and smiled at the feeling of your feet being met with the hot pavement that has been sunbathed for hours.

Sevika is amused at your antics but says nothing when you shoved the slippers into her arms before resuming your journey.

The place she takes you to next is familiar to Vander's bar, but has more space and people inside. The door rings with a small bell as she pushes it open. Sevika leads you to a small booth before heading over to the counter to order for you. It’s almost instinctive at this point. The need to take care of you. The ability to know your needs before you do. She came back soon after, sliding into the seat next to you instead of sitting opposite you.

“I um, got you the seafood set.” You nodded absentmindedly, pretending to care. There is an intense silence and awkwardness that builds itself between you and her. Sevika cracks her knuckles in anxiety, avoiding looking at you for a solid 4 minutes before eventually tilting her body to face you. You turn to face her too, pursing your lips into a small line as you wait for her to speak.Sevika opens her mouth and stutters. “I-I_” her mouth closes again, this time with her eyes too as she winces at her verbal failure. Your hand reaches out to lightly trace over her left hand that sat on the edge of the table.

Her eyes reopened as she lets out a deep exhale. “Hi.” You mumbled, starting the conversation for her. Her nose flared as a choked laugh escapes her. “Hey.” She responded.

“Do you know why we’re here?” She asks gently as she tries to read you. You say nothing, your whole body freezing at the question. Sevika lets the silence lingers for a few moments before she starts again. “I need to get you back home, sweetheart. I can’t keep you with me forever.”

Why not? You wanted to cry out to her. But instead you just stare at her, reactionless.

She keeps looking at you like she’s waiting for you to break, and when you don’t, she’s even more scared because she can’t tell how you’re feeling.

“Can you tell me anything? I could just give you to the enforcers, but I'd rather not do that.” It sounded like a threat, Sevika thought and silently cursed herself for it.

You turned your gaze downwards towards your lap, thinking to yourself. Then, you looked back at her and imitated writing on paper. Sevika got the message instantly and scrambled off her seat to find a piece of paper and a pencil. She returns victorious and slides the material towards you.

You hesitated with the pencil in your hands, knowing that whatever comes next will be a direct result of your confession. But you’ve reached the end of your rope, there’s nothing to grasp on anymore at this point anyways.

Sevika frowned as she watched you drawing a circle instead of writing. Her confusion fully formed into terror as you finished your sketch and slid the paper back to her.

She felt her throat tighten as she stares down at the drawing. “Do you know what this symbol means?” She asks, meeting your darkened gaze. You raised a brow as if to ask back; “do you?”

Sevika then pulled the paper into her hand before scrunching it into a ball, squeezing it with her fingers. “You’re with them? The pirates?” You shook your head and made an expression of disgust. “No? So you ran away from them?” She attempts again. “That’s how you ended up in the waters? Because you tried swimming away from them.”

Obviously that wasn’t an accurate representation of what happened, but that would be the easiest way to explain it to her. “I escaped.” You whispered out, voice cracking. Sevika’s intense look faltered as she stuffs the ball of paper into her jacket pocket and moved closer to you. She wanted to say something comforting, reassuring, but she wasn’t even sure if she was in a place to promise you anything at all.

The moment abruptly ended when the waiter appeared out of nowhere, placing two plates of hot meals before the both of you. In a flash, Sevika recollects herself, calming herself down as she returned to her initial seat and insisted you eat first before any more discussion is continued.

You were starving, and the sight of well cooked fish distracted you as quickly as a shark does its prey. Sevika had to force herself through every chew, her appetite had disappeared at the sight of the Black Fury symbol you had drawn out. She had so many questions, so many worries. Were you a fugitive then? Would you be killed if anyone from the crew spotted you? Would she?

Sevika watches as you devour the meal in such a short amount of time. How long had you been in the sea before you reached her lighthouse?

The ship couldn’t have been sailing anywhere near it, she would’ve seen it if it had. Your entire existence is a fucking mystery. She was intrigued as well as concerned. She has this strong nagging feeling in her chest that begs for her to protect you, a part of her that has long known what she refuses to admit. And that is the fact that she cared for you, more than one should for a stranger, or even a friend.

She wanted you too. Gods, she wanted you like nothing else. And that feeling scares the shit out of her.

And yet, attraction and all things emotional and possessive aside, the survival focused part of her is whispering in her ear to let you go. To give you up as soon as she could.

You have brought colors back into her life. You made her feel things she wasn’t sure she could still feel.

Think of all you’d lose if they discovered that you’ve been harbouring a fugitive. She urges herself.

Nothing much. She argues back. And it’s true. Sevika has already lost everything important to her. Everything except…you.

To know the exact shape of your hand against hers and never be able to feel the vreases of your palm and grip of your fingers again would feel like death itself. Even now, considering the idea of giving you up, made her feel broken, like all the air in her lungs have been ripped out of her chest. The Gods have already taken everything from her.

Once the heart is sure of what the mind isn’t, the pull would be hard to stray away from. How would she live now, in the cold and unwelcoming walls of the lighthouse?

Now that she has experienced what it was like to be warm again. Now that she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Because isn’t that what life is all about? To finally have wants again, and to live for the hope of it all.

Would it be selfish for her to ask for this one damned thing?

Just to be able to have you at arms length, always. To never know what it’s like waking up everyday being sure of your absence. I’m not asking for the whole world. She thought to herself.

But losing her would be the equivalent of losing herself and all the parts she have just learned existed in all the shabby, worn out corners of her deep and dark heart. It would break her. Is she so truly and very sinful that she deserved that?

The conversation was not brought up again by either of you once you were done eating, and the walk back was quiet as her hand held onto yours for the whole time. Her tired heart could not carry the conversation again, it would have to wait for the next day to come.

Now all she wanted was to hold you, to never see a world without you in it. And it is as if you feel the same way, with the way you lean into her touch and lets her keep you close.

—

Midnight strikes on the clock as Sevika wakes up with a gasp. Her arm reaches for you instinctively but finds only emptiness by her side on the small bed.

Her paranoia is halted as she finds you by the window. As you always are, even in the lighthouse. Sevika smiled to herself as she admired her view. She gently pushes herself the covers off and walks herself to your small standing figure.

Once you two arrived back at Vander's place, you had quickly went upstairs while she discussed the new information with Vander.

His face turned grim once he saw what was drawn on the crumpled piece of paper she had pulled out of her pocket.

Sevika knew Vander. He would never tell her to give you up, and yet she could still see through his facade and knew that he was afraid.

Neither of them had a solid answer on what the right thing to do is. It's all about perspective at the end of the day, isn't it?

Right and wrong. It all depends on whose perspective you're seeing it from.

You didn't flinch when she grasped your shoulder and remained unmoving as you stared off at the small view of the sea. There’s longing in your eyes. Your brows are knitted together as you stare away. “You miss it don’t you?” She mutters softly, snaking an arm around your waist.

Sevika sighed out softly as your back fell against her chest. “I miss it too.” And she did. She especially missed the mundane days of daily cleaning and fixing while you lurked near her like a little shadow, thinking you're subtle when you're not.

Your fingers wrap around hers as they remain on your waist, an acknowledgment.

“You know, at first I only ever took the job as a way to punish myself.” You frowned at her words, still looking out.

“I wasn’t a good person before you, never claimed I was” She murmured against your shoulder, grazing her lips gently on the cotton of your shirt. “I don't even think I'm a good person now.” She's not. She's selfish with the way she refuses to let you go.

“The lightkeeper before me went mad.” Sevika spoke.

“A shipwreck happened by the rocks, and no boats or help came until only two months later. He tried to find survivors by himself but failed. The bodies, their mangled and bloody state, it haunted him.” You tilted your head slightly, your gazes connecting as her head found safe haven in the crook of your neck.

“The stench…they said it covered the whole tower. And when they finally found him, he was just a shell of a man, out of his fucking wits.”

Your chest tightened at the visual imagery of her story. “When they explained what happened, I thought to myself; oh that’s perfect, just what I need.” A bitter laugh followed after her words. Your frown deepened as you felt sadness enter your heart.

“What a masochist, I know.”

“But then, as the months passed and routine formed, I realized it wasn’t so bad after all. It's isolating, sure. But I've always managed to feel alone even in a room full of people. The only difference now is I can see it as much as I feel it.”

“And then…” She trails off. “And then my first body appeared. You.” You twisted your neck up to lock eyes with her. “And gods did you haunt me as much as that poor man was haunted.”

There was sadness in the way she carried herself tonight. The way she held onto you like she'd never see you again. Was that the plan, then?

To lay everything out in the open one last time, in case the opportunity doesn't present itself anytime in the future?

You couldn't say anything even if you wanted to. There was desperation in the way you gawked up at her, yearning that clawed on your chest. And so you did the second best thing you could next to talking and closed the distance between you two.

Sevika had no hesitation once you’ve captured her lips with yours. Her metal hand found its place on the side of your face, cradling your cheek softly as her right arm brought you closer to her, gripping your waist with need.

The kiss was hot and passionate. You fit against her like she’s been moulded specifically for your body. Her tongue darted out and wetted your bottom lip. Gasping out softly and melting into her arms, Sevika snuck her tongue inside your mouth. You held onto the back of her head like holding onto reins and pulled on her hair. making her groan into the kiss.

Sevika is tireless now, her craving for you is carnal. Turning you to the side until you back bet the glass window, Sevika only broke off the kiss to attach herself on your neck instead. Her arms travel lower until she’s able to lift you higher and position herself in between your thighs as your legs wrap against her waist easily. Her grip on you is bruising, but you wanted all of it, the pain and intensity, everything that came with her.

Sevika tries to be gentle as her teeth finds the sensitive point of your neck, but as you whine against her, all of her composure fell apart. She bit into your neck and sucked into it, eager to mark you. Your nails dig into her back, making her moan into your skin.

She needed to become one with you, needed to be the one to make you fall apart. Needed to be the only one who knew how you'd look and sounded like in such a vulnerable position.

And she knew that you needed it too. Sevika would give you what you wanted, even if it's the last thing she'd do.

The next day, Sevika was woken up by the harsh streak of sunlight and you were nowhere to be found.

[k-aemi]

Hi Miu!!! Hope you doing well><

May I request a Reo x collegestudent!reader where she's having trouble making money and was getting frustrated so she went to a bar to drink her frustrations and get completely drunk, all she's blabbering is about making money then went to go to the bathroom but bumps into Reo and he can't can't helped but be amused by her and proposed that he'll give her 10,000 everytime she cums.

If you're able to write this, I give my biggest thanks to you!!❤️

mikage reo ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lets make a deal.

smut, praise, overstim, unprotected sex, squirt, some bdsm :>

it was pointless. everything was really. youre broke, cant even afford to buy your supplies and the amount of work weighted heavy on you which didnt help at all. seriously what were you thinking attending college without any financial aid?

you just needed something to get your mind off of it. youre broke, but not broke for a time at the bar. you just needed to relieve some stress, what better way to do it than to get drunk? not like you had any friends at the college anyways.

you slouch at the bar with your oversized hoodie, scrolling through your cracked phone, with a cheap drink on the other hand. bills looming, assignments just piling, and sleep? nonexistent. you sigh, cheek hitting the cold bar table, not caring if anyone was judging you at the moment.

eyes hazy, just little mumbles coming from you followed by hiccups. before you get up, a voice speaks.

"rough night?" a smooth voice interrupts. a guy couple stools away from you speaks. you had to squint your eyes to really get a glance at him, and damn was he handsome.

hes striking—designer clothes, hair too perfect, like he just walked out of a magazine. he stood out from everyone in the bar, now you felt self conscious about how you dressed.

"yeah, drinking my problems away." your arm rolls on the bar table as you bump your forehead on it.

"you look like you just lost a fortune." he takes a sip of his martini glass cup as he smirked looking down at you.

"youre probably right about that. failing a class, and i think my landlord wants to fight me." you grumbled. and the handsome man can only chuckle with a curious smirk.

"i swear—if i can just do something, a favor or whatever, i can clean their house, kiss their feet, do whatever weird kinks they got, i dont care. i just need that money." you put your head down with a loud thud while the bartender refills your drink.

the purple-haired man sips his drink before spinning the glass in his hand around before your head shots up at the realization. why did he even come up to talk to you?

"wait—do you know me...or do i know you..?" you raise an eyebrow. he glances at you with an amused look again.

"nope. but looking miserable enough for me to know your entire life story." and you scoff. you sat up with you elbow hitting the bar table, taking a shot of the vodka.

"didnt mean to make you part of my downfall." and he lets out a laugh.

"kind of entertaining. ive never seen someone as miserable as you. most people here drink and flirt."

"i dont flirt with strangers who look like they own stock in hair gel." you laid your head on your palm.

"i do own stock."

"well unless youre here to give me money, i dont think youre much help." you hiccup in between your words as you took another shot in one full gulp. slamming the cup down with a sigh of refreshment.

"and if i did?" he sat on the stool next to you, leaning closer.

"right. and what, in return i sell you my soul?" he chuckled. breath tickling your earlobe. you dont push him away, this stranger intrigued you. who would give out money like its candy?

"of course not. just a little something. 10000 yen each time you finish under my touch." his hand stroked your thigh in an unexpectedly endearing way—one that made your breath hitch and your body go still. this flirt was making you feel… strange.

you said youd do anything for the money, but that was clearly so unexpected. this random was offering you money for...a weird favor and were you to accept or decline that? still, the money was tempting...maybe too tempting to walk away from.

"im sorry, what did you say your name was again...?" your gaze shifts to his purple irises. with graceful ease, his finger lifts your chin—grinning from ear to ear.

"mikage reo princess."

"o-oh my god fuck—" you pull on the restraints that were tied to the bed post. your legs and thighs quivered from the amount of stimulating he made you go through. you dont know what you had signed yourself up for.

"doing so good f'me princess." he rubbed your sides, applying more pressure to your bud. the vibrator was at its maximum and he was making sure you feel every single bit of it.

your senses were heightened, with the blindfold covering you, you couldnt see anything. thus making it hard to anticipate where hed touch you next. it was weird, but in an exciting way.

you threw your head back at the immediate touch of his fingers that curled up inside your gummy walls. he inserted in with such ease you felt like you were going to cum on the spot. his fingers were long and reached so deep, just the lewd squelching sounds and your moans echoed throughout the room, and it fueled reos drive to continue.

"feel good?" he chuckled, staring at the way your body trembled. with the stimulation of the clit vibrator and his fingers, youll be coming in no time. just make sure to keep up with him.

you nod eagerly, moving your hips in a circular like motion. he loved the way your juices spilled onto his sheets and fingers, it was so sticky and the smell was intoxicating too. probably the best pussy he ever played with, your walls were warm, and youre so fucking wet<3

unexpectedly, you come. you didnt even register you did until he drags his fingers out of your cunt, but its like sucking him back in, just wanting more and more. the vibrator just overstimulated you so much, he wouldnt take it off. its like hes a sadist and wants to see you beg for him to stop.

"thats a 10000 right there." he cooed, licking a stripe up your cheek. the wet muscle made you wince while you tried to control your breathing. it felt so intense, you dont even know if you could withstand anymore, even after coming once.

"think you can handle my cock?" he slapped the tip of his cock onto your cunt, rubbing it against the vibrator. he bit his lips, almost drawing out blood. you just looked so hot under him, he definitely would of regret it if he hadnt strike up a conversation, or else he would of missed out on best pussy of the year.

he lets out a low growl, prodding his tip at your entrance, god you were so slippery he can just insert it in now. but he wanted to hear your sweet voice beg for his cock.

"n-need it." you mumbled out. you were referring to the money he said (thats what you told yourself) hed give you every time you came, but he took it as your neediness for him.

and just like you said, he sheathed himself in your velvety walls. he bottoms out inside of you with a whine he thought he never knew could come out of him. shit, the way your walls pulsed around his cock like it had a mind of its own made him feel incredible. he feels like hes going to cum this instant.

"oh, did you cum again—?" he raised his eyebrow at your fucked out face, he felt your cunt tighten around him and the way your breathing became heavy again indicated your second time. no way you just came twice in the span of two minutes. you didnt know sex could get this good.

you grind yourself onto him, you need more. his touch was so addicting you cant get enough of it. he can feel the vibrator from the outside and it just added more to the pleasure to him and you. the smell of sweat filled the room and two horny fucks getting it on.

he leans down to your neck, marking you up and planting light kisses on the skin. your nails dug into yourself from the intensity of everything.

"shiiitt, can i come inside?" he pleaded, he wasnt going to miss this opportunity to do it inside of yours. his thrusts gradually becomes faster but sloppier, losing that rhythm he had set before. he loved the sound of your ass clapping against his balls, it was so hot.

"yes, yes please." your breath hitched as your breathing became erratic. the third time youre going to come alone from this mikage guy. you dont even know what youre saying right now, you werent on pills or anything, you just needed to feel him fill you up.

he latches his lips onto yours, tasting the drool that slipped out from the corner of your mouth. it was filthy, tongues fighting each other while you both exchange saliva, creating a string whenever you broke the kiss.

his tip kissed your cervix and your back arched at an impossible angle. youre at your breaking point by now.

"f-fuck!" you squirt on his cock, your juices flying everywhere and reo came inside, painting your gummy walls white with his seed. your thighs quivered and your toes curled.

"s-shit that was so hot. keep it up okay?" he stared in awe how his cum seeped out of your pussy even with his cock intact. you were definitely in for a long night if you wanted the money.

hi so sorry i no posttt! so busy but i will start posting more now c: i will try to get all requests done! have so many so i am sorry!

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @theirlimerence 

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect built for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Yoichi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[moonlitrapture]

Clean Hands, Dirty Mouth 1/2

Black! Nurse Reader x Smoke x Remmick Modern Au

Summary: By day, you’re a nurse in the underfunded, overburdened psych ward of Saint Ashcroft Hospital. The fluorescent lights flicker. The walls sweat secrets. And the patients? Some stare right through you—others see too much.

You tell yourself you’re just here to help people. But it’s not enough. Rent’s high, and your past has left you buried in debt. So by night, you disappear into alleyways, neon-lit motel rooms, and backseat encounters—selling what’s left of your body to keep your life from caving in.

And then he arrives—

A new patient. Or someone claiming they just got “lost” in the ward’s labyrinthine halls. You’re not sure what’s real anymore. He stares too long. He says things no one should know.

“You carry death in your scent,” he says, brushing past you in the hallway.

You’re unraveling. You’re not sleeping. Your night clients whisper the same strange names your patients scream in their sleep. And when you try to quit, leave it all behind—

You find a note in your locker.

“You were never just a nurse.”

The hospital smells like bleach, sweat, and something rotting just beneath the surface.

They say you stop noticing it after a while. That’s a lie. You just learn to breathe through your mouth and pretend your uniform doesn’t cling to you like a second skin soaked in ghosts.

Room 4C/5C is humming again.

It always hums when the new patient is inside.

I don’t ask why. The other nurses know better, too. We draw straws, whisper bets, and laugh just a little too loud when we pass him in the hallway. Because the alternative is admitting that none of us sleep right anymore.

I enter quietly. He’s sitting up this time—back straight, eyes empty. But they track me.

“Rough night?” His voice is smooth, disarming. Like a lullaby laced with static.

“You could say that.”

My fingers fumble at the tray of meds. I don’t flinch when he stands. I’ve learned not to. Predators love a flinch.

“You’ve got city on your skin,” he says, stepping closer. “Perfume and sin. You shouldn’t come here smelling like that.”

I look up, meet his stare dead-on. “And what do you smell like, Remmick?”

He grins. “Graves.”

⸻

I don’t see Smoke until my shift ends.

He’s waiting outside, leaning against a streetlight like he’s part of the night. Black Nike hoodie, half-lit cigarette dangling from his fingers, Black Jordans , scuffed like they’ve walked through every wrong part of the city and liked it.

“Long shift?” he asks, voice like gravel and heat.

“You here for work or for me?”

His smile never reaches his eyes. “Same thing, ain’t it?”

He walks me further down the block, where the red lights start flashing again . Where my second life begins. We don’t talk much on the way. We never do. But his presence says what words can’t—he sees me. Not the nurse. Not the girl on her knees. Me.

At the curb, he turns to face me, steps in close.

“I saw the new guy , watching you again.”

“So?”

“So,” he says, voice low, “you think you’re running this little double-life of yours, but you’re not. You’ve got wolves at both doors now.”

I should be scared.

But I’m not.

Because the truth is—I don’t know which part of me they’re chasing.

The nurse.

The whore.

Or something even darker in between.

Smoke pulls a long drag from his cigarette, eyes cutting sideways at me. “You’re late.”

“I had to clean up after Remmick again. He’s getting bolder.”

He exhales slowly, smoke curling around his face like a veil. “He’s not your problem past 7 PM. I am.”

There’s no cruelty in his voice—just fact. Cold, familiar, intimate.

By day, Smoke hands me IV bags and charts. He helps restrain patients when they get violent. He slips me pills when I need to numb out. But once the clock ticks over, he’s the one who handles the cash. The one who picks the clients. The one who reminds me what surviving costs.

His hand grazes my lower back. Not tender. Possessive.

“You’ve got three tonight. No nonsense. One’s a regular. The other two are new.”

I nod without looking at him. My stomach twists.

“Don’t make me come looking for you,” he murmurs.

“I never make you look.”

He laughs, low and tired. “Not yet.”

Smoke turns and walks off into the dark, his shadow swallowing the street behind him. I stay still, waiting for the moment I can become someone else again. Not a nurse. Not a whore.

Just something that survives.

——————

By the time the ride-share drops you at the second location—a sagging apartment building with graffiti-covered mailboxes and the smell of weed clinging to the stairwell—you already feel like a ghost in your own skin.

Smoke’s waiting by the stairs, arms folded, hoodie pulled over his head.

“You’re early,” you murmur, brushing past him.

He stops you with a hand on your arm—gentle, but firm.

“Clients canceled. Still paid the deposit.”

He shrugs. “Your lucky night.”

You laugh, brittle. “Yeah. Lucky.”

Smoke tilts his head, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to read past the makeup, past the mask.

“You’re tired,” he says.

“I’m always tired.”

There’s no pity in his face—just understanding. That quiet, hard-edged kind that doesn’t ask for explanations. He exhales slow through his nose and tugs you toward the concrete steps.

“Come inside,” he says. “Five minutes. Just sit. That’s it.”

You hesitate, then follow.

The apartment isn’t much. Peeling paint, a stained couch, the hum of something broken in the walls. But it’s quiet. Warm. Dim. And for five minutes, you let yourself melt into it.

Smoke doesn’t say anything. But pulls out his phone and , sits next to you on the couch, and lets your head fall onto his shoulder. His hand finds your thigh—steady, grounding. Not asking for anything. Just there.

You close your eyes.

You don’t cry.

But if you did, he’d pretend not to notice. That’s his way of showing love as your pimp.

The next shift at the hospital is brutal.

You’re running on two hours of sleep and a bottle of flat vending machine Coke. Your scrubs smell like disinfectant and city sweat. A patient in 3B tried to swallow her own tongue. Another one smeared blood across the walls like a warning no one’s willing to read.

You smile through rounds. You pass pills with shaking hands. You nod when the supervisor talks about cutbacks like they aren’t bleeding you dry already.

By the time noon hits, your vision blurs when you blink too long. But you don’t stop.

Because you’re not allowed to stop.

And because somewhere between exhaustion and numbness…

Smoke’s voice is still in your head.

“Just sit. That’s it.”

You wish that was enough.

But it never is.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as you grab your clipboard from the nurses’ station. It’s just past shift change, and the ward hums with tired conversations and footsteps echoing through the sterile halls.

“You ready for the new guy again “? Mary asks, sliding her coffee cup onto the counter with a sigh.

You nod, pulling on your gloves. “He’s been here less than 48 hours, right? What’s his story?”

“Supposedly some kind of breakdown. No real history yet. Quiet, but watchful.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “Word is, he’s got a temper. Not like the usual flare-ups—more… cold.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Cold how?”

“Like he’s always measuring you, weighing if you’re worth his time.”

Mary shrugs and sips her coffee. “He’s got to take his meds in the next half hour. I’ll come with you, just in case.”

You head down the hall toward 4C, the sound of distant TVs and muffled voices growing louder. The door to the room is cracked open, and you peek inside.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond the room. His hands are clenched loosely in his lap, fingers twitching.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping inside. “I’m here to help you with your meds.”

He doesn’t respond, but his eyes flick to you, sharp and assessing.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you add, keeping your tone light. “We’ve all been new here once.”

His jaw tightens. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

You pull the medication tray closer, and Mary slips in behind you with a reassuring smile.

As you hand him the pills, you can’t shake the feeling that this one’s story is just beginning — and that the quiet ones are always the most dangerous.

Mary’s radio crackles.

“All available nurses, ER wing. We’ve got a code red incoming—multiple.”

She meets your eyes with a silent question. You nod once.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, already moving. “You got this?”

“I’m fine.”

And then she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor, swallowed by the chaos erupting beyond.

The door to 4C clicks softly shut behind you. You’re alone with him now.

The patient still sits on the edge of the bed, watching you—not like you’re staff, not like you’re an authority. No. Like you’re a puzzle. A mirror. Something that might show him who he is if he stares long enough.

The silence stretches, thick and warm. The kind that settles on your skin like something alive.

“Rough night?” he says finally, voice low and calm.

You glance at him, surprised. Most patients this early in intake don’t bother with small talk.

“You could say that,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. “It usually is.”

He tilts his head. “You don’t seem like someone who minds the rough stuff.”

Your spine stiffens just slightly. Professional wall back up.

“I’m here to help you take your meds,” you say. “That’s all.”

He smiles—not wide, not cruel. Just enough to show he’s been studying people longer than he should’ve.

“You’ve got that tired look,” he murmurs. “The kind of tired that doesn’t go away with sleep.”

You don’t answer. He doesn’t need confirmation.

“Let me guess,” he continues. “You work doubles. You take extra shifts. You pretend it’s for the paycheck, but it’s not really. It’s because the silence outside these walls is worse than the noise inside them.”

You cross your arms. “Do you always try to dissect people who bring you medicine?”

He chuckles. “Only the ones who walk in looking like they’ve been chewed up by the world and still came back for more.”

His gaze lingers too long, too deep. Not sexual. Not exactly. But intimate in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says, softer now. “I just… I see things. In people. And I think I see it in you too. That thing you keep buried.”

You step back, reaching for the door. “Take your pills. I’ll check back later.”

His voice stops you. “You don’t have to keep pretending you’re alone.”

You glance over your shoulder. And for a second—just a second—you wonder how he knows exactly what to say to crack the ice from the inside.

But you shut the door behind you, harder than necessary.

And still, you feel his eyes on you long after you’ve left the room.

——————

Smoke’s at the front desk, one foot propped against the filing cabinet, typing slowly into the patient database. His fingers tap with deliberate boredom, the monitor casting a cold blue light across his sharp features. He doesn’t look up when you walk in.

“You look like hell,” he mutters.

“Feels worse,” you reply, dropping into the squeaky chair next to him.

A beat of silence. You glance at the screen—new intake paperwork, standard protocol—but you can tell he’s already tuned into you. Smoke always listens before you start speaking.

“That guy in 5C. New one.”

You pause. “He said some things. Personal things.”

Now he looks at you, one brow arching.

“Patients say weird shit. Comes with the job.”

“Yeah, but this wasn’t just weird,” you say, lowering your voice. “He… knew things. About me. About how I feel when I’m not here. The kind of stuff I don’t even tell you.”

Smoke leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. For a second, something flickers behind his eyes. Not concern. Calculation.

“Name?” he asks.

You glance down at his screen. “Already in there.”

He swivels the monitor toward you. You scan the info. Standard red tape. Nothing that screams danger. Nothing that explains what he said.

“See?” Smoke shrugs. “Sometimes they guess right. Sometimes it’s coincidence.”

“Or sometimes,” a new voice cuts in, “they’re just looking for someone to latch onto.”

You both turn. Mary stands in the doorway, balancing a tray of med cups, chewing gum like she hasn’t slept in days. She walks past you, doesn’t stop.

“Don’t give it too much air, hon,” she says. “These guys? They sniff out cracks in your head and pour gasoline into ’em. Nothing personal.”

Then she’s gone, hips swaying, the scent of her perfume trailing behind like static.

Smoke watches her go, then looks back at you.

“You gonna let it go?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Because you know what he wants you to say.

But when your next shift starts, the first room on your rotation is 4C.

And behind that door, you can already feel the tension waiting—like something holding its breath.

——————

Your called again soon to the inevitable , Room 5C. Again.

The lights flicker as you push the door open.

Remmick sits cross-legged on the bed, hair a tangle of copper flame, wrists tucked neatly against his knees. He looks up like he’s been waiting all day just for you.

“You’re late,” he says, with a faint smile. Irish lilt curling under every word.

You check the clock. You’re on time.

He tilts his head. “But time doesn’t mean much in here, does it?”

You don’t answer. Just hand him the cup with his meds. He takes it slow, fingers brushing yours too long.

“Don’t let them break you,” he says, suddenly quiet.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re already cracked. I can hear it in your breath.”

Before you can respond, he swallows the pills dry, lies back, and closes his eyes like nothing ever happened.

——————

By the time your shift ends, you can’t feel your legs. Your chest hums with static. The walls whisper when you lean too close.

You press your forehead to the break room mirror, eyes bloodshot, teeth clenched.

Maybe Remmick’s right. Maybe you are cracked.

You haven’t slept in two days.

Smoke hasn’t looked you in the eye since yesterday.

Mary laughs too loud now, like she’s trying to drown something out.

You dig your fingers into your scalp until it hurts. Just to feel something.

And still, when you walk out of the hospital, your shadow feels just a little too long behind you.

——————

The shower does nothing.

You stand under the boiling water until your skin is blotchy and raw, but the hospital still clings to you—the stink of bleach, the sound of restraints snapping shut, the distant screams echoing long after they stop.

You dry off with shaking hands. Your phone buzzes.

Smoke: You got the heels or am I grabbing them?

You sigh, thumb out a reply.

You: Already in the bag. Be down in 10.

⸻

The car ride is silent at first. Just the low throb of a bass-heavy beat from Smoke’s shitty speakers and the occasional sound of him lighting a cigarette. He glances over when you rub your eyes too long at a red light.

“Long day , My Heart ?”

You scoff. “Define long.”

He nods like he already knew. Like he’s always known. “Remmick again?”

You don’t answer.

⸻

The apartment is dim, reeking faintly of weed and old perfume. Smoke empties his jacket onto the table—condoms, gum, a burner phone, and a wad of cash.

He starts counting.

You slump onto the couch, heels kicked off, your thighs still sticky from someone else’s sweat.

“Two clients,” he mutters. “Rich assholes. Good tippers. Nine hundred, all in.”

You swallow thickly. “Smoke…”

He stops counting. Looks at you. Waits.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

The words fall out of you before you can catch them. “The hospital’s killing me. This—this is killing me. It’s all starting to feel the same. The screaming. The staring. The pretending.”

Smoke sits on the edge of the coffee table, bills still in his hands. He leans in close, voice low and steady.

“This city doesn’t care what kills you. It only cares what you’re willing to do to stay above it.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

“You think you can make rent on nurse pay? You think the kind of life you want just happens if you work hard enough?” He laughs, bitter and short. “You’re smarter than that.”

You stare at the cash. Neatly stacked. Tangible. Real.

“This is the only way,” he says, quieter now. “It’s ugly. But it’s ours.”

You want to fight him. You want to scream. You want to throw the cash in his face.

But you don’t.

Instead, you just nod—once.

And when Smoke touches your chin, when he kisses you like it means something, you let him.

Because at least here, in this rotting apartment with its flickering light and greasy floors—you know the rules.

And you’re too tired to try and change the game.

Somewhere between clock-ins and code blues, I stop feeling real.

I forget if I brushed my teeth. I wear my ID badge like a noose. The fluorescent lights hum a little louder every day, like they’re telling secrets in a language I’m too tired to learn.

Mary catches me staring too long at the wall.

“You need sleep,” she says.

I nod, but I don’t go home.

⸻

The new patient, Remmick, watches me like I’m a burning church.

Sometimes I find him already sitting at the door before I open it. He never knocks. Never calls for help. He just waits.

Like he knows I’ll come.

“You look different,” he murmurs one night, eyes gleaming like split emeralds. “Something inside you’s started shifting.”

“I’m tired,” I say, like that’s all it is.

But I’m lying.

Because it started three nights ago.

The first time he moved something without touching it.

It was subtle—barely a whisper of movement. A med cart inching sideways when I looked away. A pen rolling uphill. My lanyard lifting off my chest like a breeze passed through me, though the air stood still.

I told myself it was stress. Hallucination.

A trick of light.

But I felt it in my bones.

The old kind of fear. The kind children know before they have words for it.

⸻

Then came the night I opened his door and he was standing in the middle of the room—arms spread, eyes shut—and everything around him was floating.

Bedframe, lamp, pillow, pills—suspended in air like a saint mid-miracle or a man caught in a dream.

“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop it.”

He opened his eyes.

And everything dropped at once.

⸻

No one believes me.

They call it burnout. They call it trauma.

They say I need time off.

But Remmick only smiles when I pass his room, and sometimes, I hear his voice in my head without him ever speaking.

“You’re not insane,” it says.

“You’re awakening.”

⸻

Now the clocks tick backward in his room.

The glass doesn’t reflect my face.

My hands tremble when I try to pray.

And still—I show up.

Because somewhere between the blood and the whispers, I feel myself being drawn to him like tide to moon.

And I don’t know if I’m falling into madness…

Or being called home.

The whispering starts in the breakroom.

Not mouths. Not words.

Just this pressure behind my ears, like I’m underwater in a place where sound remembers how to bleed.

Mary offers me coffee. I flinch like she’s holding a knife.

She raises her brows. “You good?”

I lie. Again.

But her face is different lately—warmer than usual. Too warm. Too practiced. Like it’s a mask sewn to her skin.

They’re watching you.

The thought slips into my head so smoothly I forget it isn’t mine.

⸻

Later, Remmick presses his palm to the glass in his door.

“You think you’re cracking,” he says. “But maybe this is you unfolding.”

“You’re manipulating me.”

“I’m reminding you,” he purrs. “Of who you are beneath the flesh. You think this pain, this night work, this rotting hospital… you think that’s all you are?”

I try to turn, but my legs betray me.

I stay. Listening.

Breathing him in like smoke off a fire I should’ve put out.

———-

The break room is dim, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

You and Mary lean against the worn counter, sharing a moment stolen between grueling shifts.

“He’s a strange one, that Remmick,” Mary says, voice low, eyes flickering with curiosity and caution.

You nod, stirring your lukewarm coffee. “Yeah. I heard he was dropped off by the police last week. Just… left there, like a package.”

Mary snorts. “Right? No family, no friends, nothing. Just this wild Irish redhead with a past darker than the ward’s basement.”

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting him to be lurking nearby.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” you ask, biting your lip.

Mary shrugs, but there’s an edge to it.

“Dangerous? Maybe. But he’s more than that. Heard he was involved in some serious mess back home—something about a cult, disappearances, maybe even murder.”

Your skin prickles.

“Jesus. No wonder the cops didn’t want him.”

Mary leans closer, whispering, “They say he’s not just crazy. There’s something… else. Something nobody can explain.”

You swallow hard.

“Like what?”

Mary’s eyes glint with mischief—or warning.

“Like he’s not really human.”

The words hang between you, heavy as the night.

You both laugh, a little too forced, a little too loud.

But deep down, you know something’s off.

And Remmick’s arrival is only the beginning.

Smoke notices , the weird strange behaviours you start to display .

He leans in the apartment doorway one night as I undressed. My scrubs hit the floor like a discarded skin.

“You’ve been different,” he says, tone flat.

I look over. “Different how?”

He shrugs. Lights a cigarette. Doesn’t inhale. “You don’t flinch when I touch you anymore.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

His eyes narrow. “Depends on what made it stop.”

He tosses a stack of twenties onto the counter. “That new patient messing with you?”

I don’t answer.

He steps in front of me, lifts my chin with two fingers.

“I don’t care if he’s crazy or cursed or part of your damn imagination.” His voice is low, heavy with something like fear. “If he’s changing you, I want him gone.”

⸻

But it’s already too late.

Remmick visits me in dreams now.

He speaks in riddles. In memories I never lived.

He shows me blood-soaked hands I swear are mine.

He whispers, “They don’t see what you are because they only see what you give them.”

⸻

The next morning, I forget Mary’s name.

The pills rattle louder.

The clocks in Remmick’s room stop.

And Smoke watches me like I’m slipping through his fingers.

Because I am.

—————

It starts with Bow Chow’s coffee.

Lukewarm, cheap, always half full and sticky with sugar on the rim. He’s talking too much again, not paying attention—his laugh big and grating as he sets the cup down right on top of the central controller unit.

The one marked:

DO NOT PLACE OBJECTS ON SURFACE.

“Dude, move that—” you start, too late.

The coffee tips. A slow-motion arc of caramel brown, seeping down into circuits with a faint, almost delicate sizzle.

The system whines.

Lights flicker.

Then the alarms begin to scream.

The coffee tips. A slow-motion arc of caramel brown, seeping down into circuits with a faint, almost delicate sizzle.

The system whines.

Lights flicker.

Then the alarms begin to scream.

⸻

Patient Room 5C: OPEN.

Patient Room 7D: OPEN.

PATIENT ROOM 3A: CODE RED.

Doors that should stay locked slam open. Screams echo up the hallway like a choir from Hell.

Bow Chow drops the cup. “Shit—oh, shit, oh—”

You’re already running.

Mary’s voice bursts through the intercom, frantic:

“Security to East Wing. NOW.”

You pass Remmick’s room—and he’s standing in the middle of the hall, calm, serene, untouched by the storm.

He meets your eyes.

“I told you it would come.”

⸻

Nurses are tackled. Blood hits tile.

A patient rips a defibrillator off the wall.

Another crawls across the ceiling like a spider, eyes wide with too many pupils.

You try to help—try to ground yourself in the chaos—but the lines blur. Screams layer over beeping monitors. Time doesn’t move forward. It circles.

Someone is crying your name.

You don’t know if it’s real.

⸻

Later—hours, maybe—you’re back in the locker room, covered in bruises and dried adrenaline. You’re shaking.

Smoke calls you on your break. You answer on the third ring.

“Turn on the TV,” he says.

You don’t.

He exhales on the line. “Come home.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re not safe there anymore.”

He’s right. But safety isn’t the issue anymore.

Smoke had already handed in his two weeks the moment they offered him something bigger—another hospital, another city. A cleaner title to cover the same dirty hands. When he said come home, he didn’t mean to the apartment. He meant to the life. His life. Full-time. No more pretending this was temporary. No more pretending you could leave it behind. The streets.

You meet Remmick again after the floor is cleared and the survivors are sedated. He stands beside a shattered mirror, no reflection.

“You think this was an accident?” he asks, gently.

“No.”

His hand touches your cheek. Cold. Familiar.

“You weren’t made for small lives, little nurse.”

⸻

That night, you pack a bag.

Your keys feel foreign in your hand.

You don’t even lock the door.

You just walk—out of the hospital, out of the life that’s rotting from the inside—and disappear into the city’s dark mouth.

Smoke meets you at the edge of the street.

He doesn’t ask questions.

He just lights a cigarette and starts walking beside you, to his car.

And you realize, This isn’t just a breaking point. It’s a second beginning.

Something old and buried, something not entirely yours, begins to stir beneath your skin. It stretches slow, like a limb shaking off sleep, coiled and ancient in its hunger.

One minute, it’s charts and vitals and the soft hiss of sedatives.

The next—screaming.

Not human. Not really.

It slices through the ward like a blade through wet paper. A sound so sharp it vibrates in your spine, lodges behind your eyes. Reflex kicks in before thought—your body flinching from something it hasn’t evolved to survive.

This isn’t madness.

This isn’t a mistake in dosage or a lapse in protocol.

This is wrong—

In the way rotting meat smells wrong,

In the way mirrors sometimes don’t feel empty,

In the way something looks at you from inside a man’s eyes,

and doesn’t blink.

All that fell was silence as he opened the car door for you—

Not a word, not a glance, just the hollow creak of the hinge cutting through the dark like a warning.

The kind of silence that isn’t empty.

The kind that waits.

⸻

[eleu22]

Sweaty Palms - Prologue

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

tags: none

masterlist

——————

The pub was quiet, save for the light crystalline chime as the bartender wipes down the pint glasses. The warm glow of the flickering headlights cascade down through John’s bourbon, it refracts a brown sheen onto the file in front of him.

Kate’s eyes don’t leave him as his eyes scan the document, rhythmic tapping against her glass awaits his response.

Finally, John lets out a sigh. “She’s good.” he muses as he flicks the page with his index finger. “But, you know as well as I do, good isn’t enough. We’re… particular.”

Kate smiles, her sharp expression still trained onto him. “Particular? That’s a polite way of saying you’ve got a team of hardened bastards who don’t trust anyone outside your circle.”

John sighs again, raising his free hand to smooth the crease in between his brows, still looking over the file. “Look Kate, we both know-“

”Know what? That you’ve had too many close calls and enough complaints from the medical staff to fill my entire office?” Kate interjects sternly. “John, what we both know is that your team only works within your little…” Kate waves her hands around in an exasperated circular motion before leaning in. “So, having someone within reach to make sure none of you bleed out on the field could be… beneficial.” Kate tilts her head to John meaningfully.

John looks up at Kate and back down to the file again, as if trying to find some type of flaw that would warrant him opting out of this not so optional suggestion from Laswell.

John then looks back up to Kate defeated. “Well, what can you tell me about her at least?” tilting the paper back to Kate.

“She’s more than just a medic,” Kate leans back in her chair, taking a sip from her drink before swirling it, the clinking of ice against her glass accompanies them. “Her squad went dark on an op about three months ago. Ambushed by insurgents. She dragged one of my operatives out under fire, stabilised him with half a medkit and kept the rest of the squad alive until extraction.”

Price raises his eyebrows “so, she’s tough?”

”Tougher than she looks.” Kate replies. “There’s more to her though, Honey’s got… a way of keeping people together. She’s not just stitching up wounds; she keeps morale alive in the field.”

Price mouth twitches in amusement “Oh, and we need a morale-boost?”

Kate fixes John with an unimpressed look “no, but you need someone to keep you guys out of the dark.”

Price hums thoughtfully “well, I can’t promise they’ll be too pleased about this.”

Kate chuckles. “Well that’s your problem, all I’m saying is, give her a chance. She’s worth it.”

Price raises his glass to his lips, taking one last cursory glance at the file

“we’ll see.”

——————

OKKKK this is my first time properly writing a fic to lmk what u think !!!

ive got a fun lil story set out for this so hold onto ur horses

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort, emotional!Toji // wc: 1.3k // [ao3] // Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The first thing Toji thought when he opened his eyes was that absolutely everything hurt. It felt like he’d been run over by a bus. The second thing Toji thought was that he had died and against all odds, ended up in heaven, with an angel sitting right in front of him. The third thing Toji thought was that he was a dumbass.

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” You, the angel in question, lean forward with wide eyes that tell him more about his condition than any aches and pains.

“Damn, I scared ya that bad, huh?” Toji tries to smile, but it slides off his face and lands somewhere next to the bed.

You attempt to soften your face into neutrality. “Scared me? Nah, of course not. But you weren’t looking too good for a while there.” Your eyebrows pinch and you trail off, lost in the memory of the last two days.

When he collapsed, you’d managed to drag a semi-conscious Toji to your bed and install him with every pillow and blanket you had. You had hardly slept, changing his bandages when he bled through and watching anxiously for signs of infection. You called in a favor owned by a friend from school and set your unwilling patient up with an IV drip and a heart monitor, making your bedroom into a makeshift hospital room. You knew it would be too risky to take the man to a real one.

He was lucid very rarely, croaking apologies and curses while trying to pull out the IV like he was some action movie hero. Thankfully he slept most of the time, and you found yourself staring at the way everything about him softened in sleep, the sardonic lines of his face smoothed into a gentleness that took years off him.

Playing nurse, even without his gratitude, threatened to pull you back into the complicated mess of feelings you’d had for your boyfriend, before he made himself an ex. It was easier when he was helpless, as fucked up as that was. Some tiny, guilty part of you was reassured by the fact that he couldn’t possibly get into worse trouble, that he was relatively safe while confined to your apartment and a saline drip.

The thoughts churned through your mind all at once, and Toji mustered up the strength to wave a hand in front of your unfocused eyes. “You okay there, doll?”

You jumped and looked back at him. “Of course. How are you feeling? Are you feverish, or in pain anywhere? New pain, I mean. Besides where you were stabbed.”

He’s still looking at you like you have a screw loose, but he gingerly shifts in the bed and takes inventory of himself. One bruised, battered body, one new hole in the gut, a monster of a headache, a dry throat, and a shame at being caught here that was crushing his chest. He decided quickly to offer you the easiest problem. “Just a little thirsty.”

”I can fix that, at least.” You grin a little manically, relieved to be given a task that got you out of the room, and leave to pour him a glass of water. By the time you return to the sickroom, he’s hoisted himself up against the pillows in a sitting position.

You move to hold the glass to his lips as you have for the last few days and nights, but he rolls his eyes and reaches for it himself. His strong hands tremble with the weight of the glass, and water sloshes onto his chin and chest. You quickly catch the bottom of the glass and tip it back up, helping him aim the water down his throat until the glass is emptied and set down.

Toji stares at his shaking hands like he can’t believe they’ve betrayed him. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he mumbles, “Thanks.” He closes his eyes and turns his face to the wall, poorly faking sleep.

“Toji, don’t feel bad, you’re still recovering-” he cuts you off with a loud snore and you stifle a laugh. “I don’t mind taking care of you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but you catch the slight loosening of his shoulders at the reassurance. “I’m glad you came back to me,” you continue hesitantly. “Really glad. I missed you, Toji.” The confession hangs heavy between your bodies.

He opens his eyes cautiously, like you’re a bright light. “I missed you too. But I’m not glad I’m back. Not like this.” His hands are still shaking as he drags them down his face, hiding a trembling lip. “I’m sorry.” You sense that he’s not done talking, and stay quiet.

“I’m sorry for everything. Sorry I’m here now, and that I wasn’t before. Sorry I couldn’t be someone else.” A bitter smirk twists his scarred lips. “I tried, and this is where it got me.”

As if on cue, his phone vibrates on the bedside table, Shiu Kong’s name blazing across the screen. You both watch it buzz until it goes dark again. Toji lifts his eyebrows at you. “See, doll? I’m sorry, but this is all I am.” His raised hands encompass his battered body and the plaintive beeps of the heart monitor.

You step closer and sit down on the edge of the bed, nervous hands smoothing the sheets over his torso. “I know. I’ve always known. You never hid that from me. I just…it’s hard to watch someone you love get hurt, over and over. Hard to wonder if they’ll make it home each night.”

”Someone you…love?” Toji struggles further upright so he can look you in the eyes, incredulous and shaky from the effort. You don’t answer, barreling on with your speech as his heart monitor ticks faster.

“But if that’s what it means to be with you, if I’m the one you’re coming home to…Toji, I’ll do it.”

His face twists silently, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that Toji Fushiguro is crying. The whole world seems to tilt, the ground slipping out from underneath you. Before you can speak, he reaches up and pulls you to his chest in a crushing embrace. You feel his broad shoulders shake as he holds you, tears falling into your hair. He’s as warm as you remember, a human space heater smelling like cheap, smoky cologne.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you murmur into his shirt, not sure if he can even hear you. You want to drown in him, to stretch this moment out forever so neither of you have to figure out what comes next.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he said raggedly. “Wanna be good for you, mama. You deserve so much better than me.”

You pull reluctantly out of his grasp and take his face in your hands, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks. “You’re what I want, Toji.”

He’s never been touched like this, never let anyone touch him like this. The Sorcerer Killer is breaking down in your hands, in your bed.

“I love you.” He says the words like they’re the only true thing in the universe.

“I love you.” You lean him back against the pillows, careful to keep his IV from catching on the tangled sheets. “I love you, Toji.”

He closes his eyes, his breath gradually steadying. You stroke his choppy hair as he falls asleep, hoping he’ll still feel comforted in unconsciousness.

When you’re sure that he’s sleeping soundly, you gently get up from the bed and make your way to the kitchen. You dial the number quickly, glancing over your shoulder as if there’s any chance Toji could get out of bed on his own in this state.

“Shiu? It’s me. He’s awake. Well, asleep again, but- yeah. Come now.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

requested tags: @haydensjw @planetxella

[l0velynalani]

CAN YOU DO A REIGEN X READER WHERE READER IS A FANGIRL OF REIGEN'S WORK? IVE BEEN READING UR WORK FOR A LONG TIME AND I LOVE EVERYTHING U WRITE !!!

"UNEXPECTED FEELINGS!?"

You’ve always admired Reigen Arataka, the "self-proclaimed" psychic, from afar. His confidence, charm, and ability to deal with any supernatural situation never failed to leave you starstruck. It didn’t matter if people said he was a fraud (He is...)But to you, he was brilliant.

Today, you had the rare chance to finally meet him. You nervously held your phone, checking and rechecking the location of Spirits and Such Consultation Office. After a deep breath, you gathered the courage to push open the door.

A chime sounded as you entered, and there he was — Reigen Arataka himself, sitting casually behind his desk, flipping through paperwork like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Oh, a new client?” Reigen’s voice was smooth and charismatic. His eyes locked onto yours, and your heart nearly stopped. He gave you a welcoming smile, the kind that would make anyone feel at ease.

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered, trying to keep your cool. “I’ve…heard a lot about you, Reigen Arataka.”

Reigen stood up, approaching with that signature confident stride. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised! People come from all over to seek my services,” he said with a wink. “What kind of spirit problem are we dealing with?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing you hadn’t prepared any fake ghost story to tell. “Oh, um… I don’t actually have a ghost problem. I’m here because I, uh, admire your work.”

Reigen paused, eyebrows raised. “Admire my work, huh? You mean, like a fan?”

Your cheeks heated up, and you nodded. “Yeah… I’ve been following your cases for a while. I think you’re incredible.”

For a second, he looked caught off guard, then quickly regained his composure. “Well, well, I guess my fame has finally caught up to me,” he joked. “But I appreciate the admiration. It’s not every day I get to meet a fan.”

You smiled sheepishly, feeling both excited and embarrassed. “Yeah, you’re really amazing. The way you handle spirits and help people—it’s just inspiring.”

Reigen chuckled. “Inspiring, huh? I’ve heard a lot of things, but that’s a new one. You’ve got good taste, Y/N.”

He leaned casually against the desk, closer than you expected, and you could feel your heartbeat quicken. The office felt smaller all of a sudden, and you realized you were standing just a little too close to him. Before you could back away, Reigen's expression shifted, softening as his playful tone faded.

“You know,” he said quietly, “most people don’t see this side of me. They see the psychic, the con man, maybe even a hero—but not many take the time to appreciate the person behind it all.”

You blinked. Was he being serious right now? “I see you,” you said, almost in a whisper. “I think you're a lot more than just the show you put on.”

For once, Reigen seemed genuinely caught off guard. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside that little office disappeared. It was just the two of you, standing close, with unspoken words hanging between you.

Then, in a move that surprised you both, Reigen reached out and gently took your hand. “Y/N… I’m not usually the one who says this kind of thing, but… maybe I’ve been too busy putting on a show to notice what’s right in front of me.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Are you… saying what I think you’re saying?”

Reigen gave a soft laugh, his usual bravado fading into something more sincere. “I guess I am. What do you say, Y/N? Maybe we could figure this whole thing out together.”

Your heart leaped in your chest as you smiled back at him. “I’d like that.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

I know this feels rushed i just saw this request and I felt bad cause this was long overdue....

P.S: I wrote this on the toliet

[jealousmartini]

"Haven't you ever seen skin like mine?" A vault

Skin clarity + glow | Skin tone | skin clarity

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

⋆.˚ Skin clarity .𖥔˚

My skin is just so clear and beautiful, I can't help staring and feeling it. I am just in awe at how wonderfully blessed I am to be born with such perfect ideal skin. It is so gorgeously smooth, and while its firmness keeps me looking young and perfect, it is still supple and has a slight bounce to the touch.

I mean my skin is so perfect some friends ask me what brand of skin care I use to get my skin so even and glowing like it does, but truth be told.. genetics and positive assumptions about myself I guess😭?? I've never had any reason to use skin products because my skin has always been naturally flawless, and ive never had any reason to doubt myself because literally look at me- i am the proof. That's just my nature. But every now and then, I'll get gifted high-quality skin korean care sets and expensive most wanted skin moisturisers with the most delicious and entising scents by my mum "just in case" but also because the process is fun😋

It's also so fun being able to eat whatever I want without ever having to worry about my skin because nothing could ever affect its perfectness. I just eat what I want, and the after-effects are like a couple of crumbs on my lips and still looking pretty😭

But some people do be jealous tho🙄. "There is no way she can eat what she likes and still look that good" one says and "what about the acne? Has she even gotten a spot once?" another says. And it's even better when I post pictures or videos cus haters really be out here doing there best to convince themselves and everyone around them (like the clowns they are) that skin is impossible to look that perfect and it HAS to be makeup or it HAS to be a filter or she MUST have gotten some surgery of a kind and they all couldn't be more wrong lmao. I just be existing and nothing else and i am just that naturally radiant😂

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

⋆.˚ Skin colour.𖥔˚

I've had people pointing out how dewy and golden like my skin is like all my life and I never even thought about it until now. Well, I kind of always knew that I have the most gorgeous, jaw dropping skin colour that ranged between a deep caramel tan in the light and like a golden brown in the dark; I've been getting remarkable amounts of compliments both in person and on social media about how glorious my skin colour looks. It's kind of overwhelming but ive been fighting though it.

skin colour in the dark | skin colour in bright lightings

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

1 dimple is ♡shaped | I sweat= I shimmer | cutest mole marks

⋆.˚ Unique features.𖥔˚

— Glittery skin when I sweat

I have a rare phenomenon that only 0.0001 in the entire human population have, with my skin where if I am to sweat, my skin will have a light glittery coat. Scientists have recently come to find out that the glittery coat left behind by the sweat is a natural skin protecting barrier. This is incredibly useful for preventing skin problems like rashes, strawberry skin, and uneven skin texture. Scientists have not found a name for this yet (im scientists and don't know what to call it)

— ♡Shaped Dimple

Another rare phenomenon for people to get is dimples. Only 0.01 of the entire human population have dimples, and an even smaller number of people (me) have a heart-shaped dimple. There is nothing scientific about this tho, it's just fun to look at

— Beauty marks / moles

I have a couple of cute beauty marks on my body and face. Also somewhat rare, somewhat not lol. Nothing more to add😊

@theshifterbear @livingmydreamlife5555 @4ellieluv

This was lowkey entertaining to script especially the unique features one too. ONTO THE NEXT!

[gamesimp]

Smooth Operator (Mafia 3 Fanfiction-Donovan X Reader)

After being a manager, assassin, muscle, and cleaner in Lincoln's organization, I began to assist him and the under bosses. I managed assets and territories, business started to flow well. Unfortunately, it meant that my work would be busier than usual, and we can't let inconveniences stop the cash from flowing.

At this point, I was left to manage a club and bar. For a night, it was busy and people were ready to watch the performances by local artists, stand up comedians, and performers.

"Sir... We have a problem!"

The bartender ran towards me. I turned around from a customer I was assisting annoyed with the employee calling me.

"What now?! Is the dispenser failing again?"

"No! Even worse, The drag queen got into an accident!"

"wait... WHAT! Fuck no! It's not that bad right?!"

I began to get even more annoyed and frustrated.

"Well he is in the ICU right now..."

"Fuck it, im gonna get a replacement!"

I marched into the backstage of the club.

"Ahem! Girls!"

They seem to be preoccupied with their own thing. They barely noticed me walk in.

"Girls!"

I say in a much more enthusiastic feminine way. They finally noticed me.

"Guys too by the way! We need a replacement for the drag queen, does anyone else know the choreography of "I've Never Been To Me"?"

"Hell nah! I don't know!"

Everyone began to panic and clamour. I had to make a quick decision since the last performance was about to finish. Then out of nowhere they all forced me out of the backstage before telling me "You go do it! You memorize it by the way!"

Without makeup, a wig, or anything fancy, just in my suit and casual outfit, I Improvised the choreography.

(close to the choreography from the intro of the movie "Priscilla: Queen of the Desert" but with a slightly more masculine twist)

Everyone was staring at the stage confused as It wasn't the usual drag queen on the stage, but the manager himself. I began to feel a little embarrassed but if this is what it meant to keep business running, and the stage alive, I had to do it.

As the Song Began, I started to do the performance reluctantly but with a maculine-ish twist. At the line "Took the hand of a preacher man and we made love in the sun", out of anger on the actors, I grabbed the actor dressed as a priest and spun him really quick then threw him hard aside unlike the original drag queen does by simply spinning the actor.

At the second verse, I was supposed to converse with a "Lady", another drag queen. I held his hand tighter than usual making him panick and groan in pain. He tries to back up but at the line "i can see so much of me, still living in your eyes" i softly poked his eyes out of frustration before shoving him off the stage making him crash at a table full of food at the line "Ooh ive been to Nice..".

At the cheezy monologue part, Instead of saying it normally, I angrily yelled at the audience.

After the performance, I bowed down. And looked at the stunned expression of the crowd. I was about to apologise. And just when I thought it was all ruined. But suddenly, people began to clap and cheer. In the middle of the crowd, I saw Donovan staring at me confused about why I was on the stage.

I got to the backstage and sprinted towards Donovan.

"sorry back there!"

I sheepishly laughed before explaining the entire situation. Donovan began to laugh hysterically.

"Shit! Is this what you fucking learnt from East Germany?"

he was wheezing, barely able to keep his composure.

"You know how much I give a shit about these businesses, these are one of the things that fund us!"

"Alright kid... I found a lead to the next guy, lets talk about it at my office..."

He says catching his breath. I lead him to my car which was parked outside. I approach my tiny car which appeared to be an orange Yugo.

"What is this car? I've never heard of it."

Donovan had no idea what my car was.

"It's a Yugo! From Yugo-slavia!"

Donovan was dumbfounded by the idea of me, an ex CIA, driving a communist made car. He stared at it, then turned around facing me and then just stood there, before bursting out laughing.

"So this is one of those shitty communist cars they were talking about? I thought you were fuckin ex CIA! The look of this thing already feels so damn communist! You made me laugh a lot today kid!"

Donovan could barely form his words. And I was left there frowning, annoyed, unable to do anything.

"C'mon get over it! I will soon be able to afford one of those good Japanese cars, or maybe a Berkley (Volkswagen) soon!"

I retorted trying to stop Donovan from laughing.

"Ok, ok... Lets go now"

Donovan catches his breath before getting into the passenger seat. I go in and start the engine before going for a drive.

We soon reached a pothole and as soon as the front wheel hit it, the terrible suspension made us nearly feel every angle and shape of the pothole. Donovan and I then looked at each other, before both of us burst out laughing.

"alright! It's a bad car! But c'mon, the suspension feels like a toy!"

I say before laughing again.

As I drove to our destination, I noticed Donovan scanning me from time to time. I act like i didn't notice. It was the same look he gave me back in Saigon. He used to scan me up and down. Whenever I noticed him, he moved his attention to something else. However he seemed strict towards me when he gave me orders on the battlefield. This behaviour of his went on during our drive. At first, it was somewhat bearable, but it became more frequent.

"Alright, Donovan, why is it you're kind of addicted to looking at me huh?"

I lift one of my eyebrows as I ask him about it. I just want to know, why my ex-superior looks at me all the time. Is it envy of my somewhat better skills especially when it came to espionage, was it because I became a top agent? Wait, no, he looked at me like this before I was recruited to the IA.

Donovan turns his head facing me before playing dumb.

"What do you mean lookin? I'm not looking at any-"

"Cut the shit. It's the same look since Nam."

I cut him off, with a calm, and cold demeanor.

"I'm telling you I wasn't!"

"I'm not the same naive little private you used to always push around, I'm no longer afraid of you! Now tell my WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS GIVE ME THAT STARE?!"

"I SAID I WASN'T!"

Donovan and I yell at each other, and in less than a second I ran a red light and made it across but caused a big accident. I slam on the brakes and check my mirrors to see the accidents I've caused. I immediately drive off before anyone can take a close look at my car.

"I- Im-"

Donovan tries to apologise but I shut him up before he could even finish.

"Just stop! I don't wanna hear anything from you!"

My breath becomes heavier. Donovan just looks out of the window seemingly hurt. I make a left to the new building where Donovan's new office is located. I pulled the key out from the ignition and observed Donovan

I look at Donovan, and I feel bad about what I've done... What I've said. He isn't usually this soft but this is new. I began to somehow regret yelling at him.

"Actually, I'm sorry Sir- I mean... Donovan."

"I feel bad about what I've done..."

Donovan begins to get sentimental, which is rare to see. For me at least.

"I know, war is terrible."

"I mean what I've done to you."

Donovan countered me in his unusually soft tone.

"Why, what did you do to me?"

"I... Pushed you around, I treated you like shit, and now... You don't act or even sound like who you we're back then."

I slowly reach for his shoulder before placing my hand on it.

"I met your mother when I broke the news that you were going to join the CIA and that she won't get updates for a really long while... She told me you were a sweet young man who supported not going to war, you were full of dreams, you even wanted to be a therapist and support people's mental health. But now, I realise that I've turned you into a cold-blooded desensitized sociopath who gained a short temper."

Donovan reveals his concern about realising what he thinks he turned me into. I smiled a bit, remembering my time in the IA before i began comforting him.

"Donovan, you didn't just turn me into a cold person. You also made me a hero, I have done breakthrough operations for the CIA! For America! From the American perspective at least... You made me stronger. Hell, maybe if you were with me in the IA, you might have beat me to save my career instead of selling my 'services' to crime organisations."

Donovan turned away from the window and faced me. He saw that light smile he used to see on the younger me. He can't help but smile too.

"Alright, enough drama, let's get to the briefing."

Donovan says in a serious tone. His energy seems a little better somewhat. We entered his office and began to tell me about the case of the Russian Mafia's dominance in New York and Empire bay especially at Brighton Beach. They might not be affecting Lincoln's business but it definitely affects the trade with allied organizations like the Kowloon boys, and certain Italian crime families. Additionally, there is an alert about a very important cargo from Siberia which was being hauled through Empire Bay by the Russian Mafia.

After the short briefing I began to leave the room. I reached for the knob and pulled the door open.

"Hey..."

I call Donovan's attention before walking out

"get some rest sir!"

I said before giving him a salute. And he saluted me back with a chuckle. I get out and shut the door behind me. As I walked outside towards my car, I was still left thinking why he looked at me like that... Does he like me? Oh no way! He is literally the one who always pushed me around in the military days... "I must be tired if I manage to think about stuff like this!". I think to myself.

[monalovesstarsz]

Maybe we could

Genre: Non idol au and idk what else to say 😭

Pairings: Shy sick sunghoonxchronic illness shy y/n (I clearly don't know how to do this)

Summary: Y/n starts to spend a lot of time in a hospital due to her health and its super lonely until she meets sunghoon and they agree to try their best to live as regular teens.

Warnings: uhh I'm not totally sure but illnesses, thoughts of death, hospitals, depression, mentions of death (probably)

Not proof read 🙈

Chapter 2

"Uhm uh-Hi Sunghoon!"

'shit' you mentally cursed. You have never met him ever but you just said you just said his name. Why would you say his name oh my gosh!!! No way no way you had just messed up so hard. Had he known you had been following him all this time? No right? You're thoughts were interrupted by his voice

"Uhm hi it seems like you were struggling with that ?" His index finger pointed to your wheelchair. You knew he was tall but this was the first time you saw him standing up. He had always he sitting in his chair. As bad as it sounds you didn't think he could walk.

"Ohh yeah I um haven't really mastered how to use a wheelchair, My nurse wants me to learn how to use one on my own but I'm kinda tired so" you ended your sentence with a shrug.

"Ohh I can take you back to your room if you want." He smiled awkwardly again.

"Oh no you don't have to it's okay!!"

"No it's fine I insist"

"Okay thanks."

"So uh how did you know my name?"

So close. You were so close to your room. You almost made it before he had asked that question. Quick come up with something and excuse anything!

"Oh I-uh I well.. Oh! Giselle is my nurse and she something about mentioned you!!" Not smooth at all but it was okay he seemed like he believed you.

"Ohh she was one of my nurses but what did she say?"

'shit'

"Oh uhm she said that you and I were alike because we're both shy!" Not smooth once again but he believed you once again.

"Oh she told you that? I guess I can be sorta shy sometimes."

After he said that you guys had made it to your room.

"Uhm thanks for taking me back to my room oh and sorry for bumping into you earlier."

"Yeah it was no problem I don't have much to do anyway, and don't worry about earlier I couldn't get it at first either. Oh and I never asked your name?"

"Oh I'm y/n! And uh if you're as bored as me would you like to hangout with me in my room?" You don't know how you got the balls to ask him that but you did and you didn't question it. If he rejected your hangout you would switch hospitals for sure though.

"Yes I would like that haha" he showed off his smile and this time it wasn't an awkward one.

"So how old are you? You don't look older any older than me?" Asked sunghoon after sitting on the couch that was attached to the wall under your window.

"mhm? Oh I turned 16 this this year what about you?"

"Ohh we're both 16! But I'm about to turn 17 so I'm your elder." He giggled and teased you.

"Yeah yeah but we're the same age so it doesn't really count" you shrugged

"I'm still your elder though so yes it does."

"Okay fine" you said while you teasingly rolled your eyes

"If you want I can try to teach you how to maneuver a wheelchair. I didn't get it at first either and it gets pretty tiring."

"Oh yeah you should please I really need it."

"I could tell."

You shove him jokingly and rolled around in your wheelchair.

"I can drive it but I just can't turn that well."

"Oh that's tricky but I can show you how to later."

"deal!"

"How long have you been here Y/n?"

"Ohh it's been about three or four weeks, but I'm supposed to stay for awhile. What about you?" You saw sunghoons eyes gleamed as you said that.

"Oh I've been here for about almost 7 years. I moved here from south Korea when I was about 10 years old"

"mmm so you've been here for awhile then"

"yeah but back then I wasn't always spending most of my time here.I was a figure skater and im pretty good at it too!"

"Wowww an actual figure skater? Ive never met one before!! That's literally so cool dude you have to teach me some time!"

"Okay okay sure bro" he said the last word teasingly and you couldn't help but let a little laugh out.

"But only if you teach me how to draw as well as you." You figured he had seen your drawing book that was on your bed and the page was flipped onto your last drawing which was of two butterflies flying around together.

"Okay sure dude!" You had emphasized the last word.

You guys talked for two whole hours after that and about the most random things. You guys shared a lot in common but we're two completely different people. After that you heard a knock on your door

"Come in." You yelled quietly.

Gisellse walked in with a tray of really really bad hospital food.

"Hey Y/n it's time for dinner- Oh Heyy sunghoon!" She winked at you. 'Finally' she thought

"Oh yeah it's already 6" You said kinda sad knowing sunghoon would have to leave soon

"Oh I should probably get going now but remember our deal okay?"

"Yeah I will! I'll walk you to the elevator then."

"Hey y/n you know what Mr.lee said. You have to use your wheelchair,try to get used to it." Gisellse mostly said that so she could see you two interact. She was so curious about it. She honestly thought you two would be great friends but you both would be super duper awkward at least at first. Oh boy was she wrong. You both kinda clicked I mean it was kinda awkward at times but both of you didn't mind.

"We should hangout tomorrow again then" Sunghoon said excitedly walking into the elevator while Giselle wheeled you right in front of the elevator.

"Oh then where should we meet and what time?"

"Mhmm what about 2:30?" He said while opening your rooms door. He had a mischievous look on his face. Odd

"Sure but where?"

"I think you already know where I'll be around 2:30 you follow me like everyday y/n." He said it with a mischievous smirk as the elevator doors were about to close.

"WHAT??" You and Giselle in perfect unison.

w⁠(⁠°⁠ｏ⁠°⁠)⁠w

[cerastes]

What the fuck is blue archive if you know. I got 3 friends trying to pull me into it. Game looks pretty but not a fan of it being literally schoolgirls.

If you're not a fan of that then you're really not going to like it, yeah.

I played it a few months as a side game, for reference:

It's an autobattler that's nnnnnot really fun or good in terms of gameplay and I'd say it's boring, to be frank. However, the main draw of Blue Archive is not its gameplay, it is in fact everything surrounding it, it's got production values up the wazoo, including stellar music, great graphics, excellent animations, crisp and smooth effects, and overall it's a truly gorgeous package and wrapping. Basically, BA doesn't really care about having gameplay worth talking about and instead focuses on everything else presentation-wise and when it comes to its cutscenes, bond cutscenes, Live2D animations for characters, and all that. I'm told that it has a solid plot but I've also been told gullible is written on the ceiling so I'm just relaying that info but I'm not putting my name behind it. From what I played, I can tell you it had fun writing in a wacky way (I still hold Aru and Problem Solver dear, they are Team Rocket, basically), but that's the extent of my praise for (and my knowledge of) its writing.

It is unapologetically catastrophically horny for school girls so if that's a no-no for you, then that's THE no-no for you and you should not even consider it, yeah. You'll hear "um there's teachers too", which is true in the same way that the cheap delicious sandwich you ate at that joint last week was totally not rat meat because it had 2% ground beef in the patty.

So if you're looking for a game with great presentation, worth a look, if you want a game with fun gameplay, ActRaiser for the SNES is right there and it's very easy to emulate, you can play as an angel in that one and it's real fun and ambitious for its time, also it's got a real Castlevania-ass vibe going on with its music, and if you want a game in which you don't go googoogaga over schoolgirls, then you already stopped reading a few paragraphs ago, because, again, BA's absolutely not the game for you, so I'll take the chance to say that maybe look for a guide for ActRaiser before starting for the builder sections but JUST to see what things do, try to figure things out yourself from there on, trust me, it's a fun game. Super Castlevania IV is also good tbh you could try that one too, it's challenging but REAL solid. Listen to ActRaiser Stage 1.

[f0point5]

im never been much of a hater but soon i will be with how much im getting tired by some teams and drivers.

charles is good but madly inconsistent whether it him or the car and i dont think that combination would ever win a championship

ive always been annoyed by daniel but his return just made it all go tenfold, especially with how theyre treating yuki. i dont have much feeling towards yuki anyway but the blatant disrespect from the driver that has consistently beaten all of his teams since pierre

ferrari is turning me into a sainz fan. speaking from someone that had the ick from him all year last year. his revenge era is coming and ferrari is gonna be hiding in their garage and such

I’m a recreational hater. Like, I’m a hater, but it’s not that deep.

But I am starting to dislike people I never did before, which is weird.

Like I used to find Carlos and his “smooth operator” thing so annoying. He seemed so petulant and just such a daddy’s boy and so childish. But since he’s been dropped he’s conducted himself with such Grace under fire it’s been really endearing. And he is so focused on getting the job done and expressing himself so well…love that for him.

Yeah…Charles. I know the car is always the problem with his bad luck but also…how is the car always the problem? Carlos was also dealing with a brake issue during the race. How is it that Charles’s is always worse. How is it that there is always something stopping him from putting together a good weekend? Maybe it is just bad lack and he broke a mirror a few years ago. But it gets pretty tiring to hear the fanatics singing his praises based on drives from 2019. He didn’t want to leave Ferrari when he had the chance so at this point, it’s kind of on him.

New Daniel is really making me dislike Daniel. Old Daniel was fun, smiley, and just a good time. New Daniel talks too much, and not in the fun way. Every time he is interviewed it’s “yeah there were some positives but also you know some negatives and I have some idea of what to do but also some not quite ideas so obviously I’m disappointed and I don’t feel like I did my best but we’re just going to have to see”. What is that? It’s like a watered down version of Lando’s “I’m the worst I know it should have been pole” but Daniel’s is somehow more disingenuous and smarmy. I think he is under a hell of a lot of pressure and I get that the RB seat is weighing on him but he’s irritating me.

I am not a Yuki, in a driving capacity. He shouldn’t be in that team imo. I think it’s up to the team to decide if they want to prioritise Daniel because he’s first choice for RB but I think they should at least be honest and clear about that choice. Daniel biding his time in Toro Rosso isn’t looking like the world’s smartest idea right now. Idk what’s going on there but one of Daniel’s main strengths was being a peach to work with and a good teammate, and the vibes between him and Yuki aren’t saying that.

[natureplay]

୨୧Chapter IV • Drinking

୨୧Masterlist

↫Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↬

Word count: 1.5k

The week flew by and before you knew it, it was already Friday. Your colleagues welcomed you onboard in their own unique ways - some more than others. You were pleasantly surprised by how quickly the new job had become second nature for you as if you had been doing this for years. You felt comfortable around your coworkers.

You couldn’t say you made any friends so far, but you could feel the start of some friendships. Two people that have awfully nice to you the past week are Ingrid Hunnigan and Eric Williams.

Eric is a field agent but that doesn’t stop him from visiting the HQ whenever he can.

An honourable mention would be Leon Kennedy himself. You haven’t had the pleasure of seeing him around much. Hunnigan said he left for a mission a couple of days ago and you can’t help but wonder how they usually go for him. She said they’re usually paired up together, but for this mission, another soul has the pleasure of working with him.

Over the week, you personalized your desk. There’s a photo of you and your family at your high school graduation—you’re smiling, probably because you were finally leaving that hellhole—and a succulent plant.

  It’s 6 PM and you know what that means. Everything has become routine for you by now. You start gathering your things and shove them in your bag. Everybody else is going out to have drinks, you were as well.

You join Ingrid and the others as they enter a bar they selected, and take a seat around a table. Inside, you find yourself surrounded by six or seven other people. Ingrid says that this particular bar is usually teeming with more people during the evenings but tonight it's relatively quiet.

There is a lot of chatter around you. You chime in with comments here and there, but mostly keep to yourself and drink the cocktail you ordered; a cosmopolitan.

“So, new kid,” Eric says. He calls you ‘kid’ even though he’s only a few years older than you. At first, it annoyed you, but then Ingrid said not to get too upset because he calls anyone that’s even a year younger than him a kid.

“How are you enjoying things so far? Did you have a good week?” he continues. His question prompted everyone at the table to look at you. It makes you feel a little shy.

You nod, “It was great, actually,” You take a sip of your drink and continue, “It’s been a smooth transition for me. Everyone has been really helpful and welcoming.”

Ingrid nods in agreement, “That’s good to hear. We try to make it as comfortable as possible for new recruits.”

Eric grins, “Well, we’re glad to have you on board. We could use some fresh blood around here.”

The group laughs, and you feel a sense of belonging wash over you. As the night goes on, the group orders more drinks and the conversation flows easily. You find yourself laughing and joking with your colleagues, feeling more at ease around them.

Ingrid ended up having one too many drinks and she needed your help to even walk. She has one arm draped over your shoulder and you have one arm wrapped around her torso.

“Let me help you with that” You hear Eric say and grab Hunnigan by her other hand., “Do you gals have a ride home?” He’s now fully carrying Hunnigan.

“No, I was going to call a taxi...”

“I can drive you, no problem”

You wanted to deny it...

“Sure”

All three of you walk to Eric’s car. Well, only you and Eric walk, Hunnigan is being dragged along. You manage to settle her in the back seat and get in next to her. Hunnigan leans her head against your shoulder.

“She’ll definitely have a hang-over in the morning” Eric jokes. You smile.

“Are you feeling okay?” you ask Hunnigan.

“I’m fine,” she says with a grin, “Just a little too much to drink.”

You chuckle softly, “It happens to the best of us.”

The car ride is quiet, with only the sound of the radio in the background. You can feel Hunnigan's breaths slow down as she starts to drift off to sleep. You can't help but smile as you watch her.

“Do you know where she lives?” you ask Eric. You’ve only been to Hunnigan’s place once before to meet her babies; her two cats Treat and Sponge.

“It’s not the first time this happened” Eric looks at you through the rearview.

You nod and rest your head on top of Ingrids. Her usual perfume is taken over by the booze.

As the car approaches her apartment building, you softly shake Hunnigan awake. Her eyes slowly open, and for a moment she looks a bit confused. You can see the gears in her brain slowly turning as the previous events come back to her in blurs of colour and emotion.

“We’re here,” you say softly. Eric gets out of the driver’s seat and opens the backseat door. You get out and gently help Hunigan out.

“I’ll help her get to her apartment. You can go, I’ll find a taxi to take me home,” you say.

You couldn’t be more grateful that it was on the second floor.

After ensuring your friend was safe, warm and comfortable in her bed, you walked out of the apartment building. You weren't expecting to see Eric outside waiting for you as he leaned against his car smoking a cigarette. The smell of smoke filled the air as he exhaled deeply before turning to face you. His eyes were fixed on you, staring intently with a look of confusion and curiosity that made it nearly impossible for you to look away. He seemed tired and worn.

“You sure took your time, huh?” he says.

“Only because I wasn’t expecting you to wait; You didn’t have to wait for me, really”

“Just making sure my dear colleagues are getting home safe” He drops the cigarette butt on the ground and steps on it “And that includes you too”

You get in the passenger side and buckle your seatbelt. Eric starts the car.

You look at his feature closer. He’s tan with freckles all over his face. His hair is dark brown and curly. You quickly look away once you catch yourself staring. You liked Eric, of course, but you didn’t him to get the wrong idea. You would never date a co-worker. Not after your last relationship.

You explain to him where to drop you off.

The car rides on in silence, with only the sound of the engine and nothing else to fill the void. The radio remains off and neither you nor Eric say anything to break the tranquillity. You’re lost in your thoughts, doing your best to keep your eyes open, even though each passing second feels like an eternity. You focus on the road ahead ready to tell Eric the next turn.

After what feels like hours, you finally arrive at your destination. You take a deep breath before turning to face Eric. He’s looking out the window, staring off into the night sky with an expression you can’t place.

“Thank you,” and with that you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. You take a moment to look at Eric again.

“Good night,”

“Good night, kid”

You dive into your purse searching for your keys, feeling the exhaustion deep in your bones and weighing down your eyelids. After what seems like an eternity, you find them tucked away between some old receipts and a tube of lip balm.

Leon arrives home completely exhausted, feeling the after-effects of his recent missions. He's been pushing himself too hard, and he knows he needs a break. He longs to just take some time to himself, to relax and unwind away and not worry for a little while. Maybe a vacation somewhere secluded where can get away from everything.

Thankfully now, he is home. He doesn’t even bother to go to his bedroom and just plops on the couch. He kicks off his boots and gets in a more comfortable position. The lights aren’t even on. The only light is coming from the outside streetlamps and the moon.

He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. A drama that Ingrid talked to him about is being aired. He only recognises it because she was adamant of showing him photos of the characters she thought were the best looking.

The world and its worries forgotten, he drifts off to sleep, succumbing to the beckoning of slumber before the episode finished. Even after all this time, learning how to relax was still something he needs a lot of work on.

As he drifted off to a deep sleep, his thoughts suddenly turned to you and where you might be at this very moment. The two of you hadn't really spoken since your brief interaction on Monday; if that could even be classified as an interaction. 

Leon ended up having a dream that night. A good dream snuck its way through the ocean of lingering nightmares he still gets. A good dream he couldn’t remember what it was about in the morning.

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[auroraescritora]

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME - PERCY/NICO AU HIGH SCHOOL - CHAPTER IX

Hi, how's everyone? It's been a while, hasn't it? I'll try to get back to normal, but I can't promise anything. But what I can promise is that this story will be concluded when the time is right. Thank you in advance to those who have been worried. I'm happy to know that I'm making a difference to someone's life, even if it's just through entertainment. Short chapter, but as soon as I can I'll bring you another part. And thank you for your understanding.

Previous chapters: CHAPTER I / CHAPTER II / CHAPTER III / CHAPTER IV / CHAPTER V / CHAPTER VI / CHAPTER VII / CHAPTER VIII

Percy admitted that he wasn't being fair to Nico. It wasn't planned at all, he wasn't even thinking about having sex with Nico anytime soon. One moment Nico was all aroused and the next, he was pushing him away, like he did thousands of times before everything went to hell. But this time... this time Percy had decided to do exactly what Nico did to him. It was a last minute decision driven by frustration and desperation. If he made Nico feel the way he felt, Nico would stop torturing him, right?

First, Percy tried it slow and unhurried, strolling around town and stopping at Nico's favorite ice cream shop, then he drove Nico home, and kissed him only when they had privacy. Percy swore he didn't intend to do more than kiss Nico and have a peaceful night, the problem came when Nico kissed him back, all needy, and turned onto his back, rubbing that perky little ass against his groin.

There went his self-control down the drain, Nico smelled so good Percy had to kiss that soft skin, nibbling on the back of Nico's neck and nape until he found the bitten, reddened mouth, getting lost in him, undoing the buttons on Nico's shirt and then the his own to find smooth, hairless skin, flat stomach and prickly, pointy nipples, forcing him to play with them at length. He couldn't stop playing with them, hearing little gasped moans, Nico curling up against him until well…you can imagine, Nico tensed up all over and he had to stop, trying to reason through the dense fog of excitement that was coursing through his brain.

He tried to talk and tried to calm down, that irritation creeping up his spine. Percy wouldn't accept being made a fool of again. He didn't think, threw Nico on the bed, pressed him against it and held his hands above his head where Nico couldn't use them to distract him. What felt like a mistake, though the confession and the half truths slipped from Nico's lips like a waterfall.

Now, how did he know Nico was lying? Nico looked away and tried to break free in an attempt to escape. Nico didn't even realize what he was doing, still not wanting to face him. Because that was what happened when Nico felt he couldn't tell the truth, he would lie, try to distract him or run away, as he had did two years ago and as he had since they were children; when the world got too hard for Nico to handle, he hid, and it was always up to Percy to find him and make him face the reality. It was fine when Nico ran away from the rest of the world, but when things were between them? Who would go after Nico to make sure everything was okay?

Sincerely? Percy didn't want to hear any of that. He didn't want to know who had made Nico decide to want sex or who had traumatized him to the point where Nico was so closed off that he was forced to extract the truth from the one person who he never needed to have secrets. Percy was so tired that... he just decided to give Nico space, watching him cry on the bed as if he had offended Nico's dead mother.

It was too much for him when Nico said a "Don't you love me anymore?" How could he not love him? A few boys and sexual escapades wouldn't be enough to destroy an entire decade of dedication and commitment. However, worst of all was hearing “I just… don't like being tied down and…” Another sob, “It was awful when he tried… tried to penetrate me and…”, you know why that was awful to hear? Nico was lying again! His face was so...so...excited! In a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment so great that nothing Nico said at the moment Percy would be able to believe.

Unfortunately, Percy didn't have many options. He took a deep breath and said the only correct, rational thing he could, trying to calm Nico down, which seemed to make things worse. Desperate, Nico crawled to his side of the bed and straddled his lap, right on top of his erection and looked at him with those eyes full of crocodile tears that excited, rather than worried him, despite the anxious and anguished way Nico acted was a more accurate indicator of what was going on in the mind of his sweet and no longer innocent little boy.

Percy was trying to do the right thing, wasn't he? But it looked like Nico didn't want that. With them it was all or nothing, Nico's next line just made it all clearer: “I want you to touch me! I want you to fuck me until I can't walk, but… it hurt so bad! I don't want it to hurt. I want only you to touch me! Only you kiss me! Only you!" and who was he to deny what his dramatic, manipulative baby wanted? Not that Nico was fooling anyone there, but if that was what Nico needed to say to choking out the words, he would make Nico's wish come true; which resulted in something he could never predict: spanking, screaming and confessions that this time came out much more sincere, although he had the impression that Nico still kept things inside his chest.

Well, he wasn't worried. He would rip out every single one of those little secrets that Nico thought he could keep from him. Not because he wanted to know, but because Nico looked so relieved as every single word slipped out of his mouth that he knew their relationship would never be perfect until Nico confessed everything to him, exactly like it always had been.

He admitted that he wasn't ready for what came next, and he admitted that he wanted to make Nico suffer a little, which wasn't even close to what Nico did to him, even if squeezing that perky little ass was effective. Now he understood why Nico had run away from sex for so long, the little boy was so sensitive that in a few touches he was moaning like he was about to die and so tight that he finally believed when Nico claimed to be a virgin. Percy was patient and careful to get him to relax and then…well, do his best not to come as he slid into that tight, hot channel.

From that moment on it was fast. Nico could only moan and barely complete what he wanted to say, panting and whimpering, sprawled on the bed. Not that he had it any better, Percy gripped Nico's hair, holding him in place as he felt Nico shudder from head to toe, nearly throwing him off the bed. In the end, Percy hadn't been able to move much, trying to think of Nico's comfort, but it had been enough. A few moments later it was his turn, coming deep inside the most important person in his life.

***

"Good boy.” Percy had said, still inside Nico. He allowed himself to enjoy the moment, but when the sensitivity kicked in, he was forced to slide away, watching the semen trickle over his tanned skin.

He was still angry, slightly annoyed by the way Nico had made him lose control. But now, seeing Nico sprawled on the mattress as if he had run a marathon and still with tears streaming down his black eyes, Percy had made up his mind, he would never again let his feelings interfere with their relationship; he loved his little liar who preferred to hide what he really wanted if it was to ensure that people liked him.

Percy took a deep breath and let his hands leave Nico's hair, laying down next to him, about to get out of bed in search of something to clean Nico up with. That is, he would have gotten up if Nico hadn't whimpered, clutching at his arm.

"Where are you going? Am I forgiven?” Nico blinked slowly, looking like he was going to burst into tears if he didn't hear what he wanted.

What could he say? In the end, crocodile tears always worked.

He smiled, because he knew that always soothed his sweet baby, and leaned closer, kissing him softly on the lips.

"There is nothing to forgive.”

“Per.”

"Beautiful.” Percy kissed him again and again until Nico went back to relaxing on the bed, still on his stomach.

"Don’t leave me.”

"Not even to go to the bathroom?"

Nico denied, burying his face in the pillow. But he took Percy's hand and brought it to his own hair, in the exact spot where he had held it moments ago.

Percy understood everything and started petting him there, slowly and gently, listening to Nico purring like a sly kitten.

“We're not done talking yet.”

"Sorry.” Nico muttered, his voice coming out muffled.

“What do you hide that makes you hesitate so much?”

“How can you love me after this? How could anyone?" Nico finally lifted his head and faced him all tearful.

“Nico.”

“I feel like a dirty bitch who doesn't need to charge for sex but I do because I like it.”

"What's wrong with liking it?"

"I'm a sham! Everyone thinks I'm this... this pure being... and look at me now!" Nico went back to burying his face in the pillow and complaining, but it looked like his tears were ending. He must have been very relaxed to be able to get angry.

“Nico!” Percy ended up laughing and Nico whimpered back indignantly. He then caressed Nico's bare back and Nico surrendered, melting in his hands.

"That's not fair! You never take me seriously." Nico turned his back to the bed and faced him with an adorable pout, and realizing his state, he tried to pull the covers over himself. He would have made it if Percy hadn't stopped him, grabbed him by the shoulder, sliding his hands until they reached the back of Nico's neck, getting closer to him, putting their foreheads together.

"I do, I swear I do. I actually wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have treated you like that.”

“Treated me how?”

"Don't you see the problem?"

“Hm?”

“Nico, I hit you, threw you on the bed. I did something you didn't want.”

"I…" Nico blinked slowly, and it surprised him when Nico didn’t looked away from him. "I liked. It just… it wasn't a good experience when they tried to tie me down. I don't mind trying that with you. I got scared, you were never violent with me. I liked, though. I really liked.

“Don't do this to me.” Percy pleaded, trying to stop those ideas from forming in his head.

“I want you to hit me again. You can throw me on the bed as many times as you like. Just promise me you'll always love me.” Nico said, his expression all open and vulnerable, and unfortunately Percy knew, Nico wasn't lying this time.

"I love you. Ever. Even when you drive me crazy.”

Nico looked away from him for a moment and when he looked back at him, he was biting his lips, as if he wasn't sure of something.

“I want… want to please you… and if… if making me cry or making me scream is what pleases you… I don't care.”

Percy gasped, trying not to show how his body was reacting to those words, but how could he resist when Nico spoke in that almost innocent way and in the sweetest, most affable voice?

“I don't want to make you cry.”

“Liar.” Nico said, a smile beginning to creep across his smooth features. “I don't want you to hold back on my account.”

“You have to do the same.

Nico bit his lip and seemed to think it over, his small hands coming to rest on Percy's shoulders.

“I don't know if I can. How could I say these things?”

“You seem to have no problems at the moment.”

“It's because I'm… I'm floating on endorphins. I don't know how long it will last.”

"What would make you feel better?"

“I love it when you touch me anywhere.”

"Where?”

"In the neck. In my hand. The wrist. In the… in the waist.”

"Like this?” Percy slid his lips across Nico's face and kissed the side of his neck, applying light pressure there.

“Hmhmm.” Nico sighed, closing his eyes.

"I want you to know. You can tell me anything. I will be jealous, but I will never judge you.”

Nico chuckled all happy and sly and turned towards Percy, resting his head on Percy’s shoulder.

"Only if you tell me too."

"It's a deal, then."

He kissed Nico's cheek, got up and went to the bathroom. When he returned with a warm, damp towel, Nico was finally asleep, curled up on his side of the bed with a sweet smile on his lips.

Another scene from the past, when Percy and Nico first met. - Extra  - Getting to know each other

Percy looked around, making sure no one was following him, and left the empty classroom. Ever since his family's restaurant had become five"star, the stalking had begun. People who had never spoken to him now wanted to be his friend, his best friends started treating him like royalty. No matter where he went, everyone knew his name, trying to get a reservation on behalf of other adults. He had learned very quickly how to avoid these people who were now almost everyone he knew. And you know what was worse? These people weren't interested in his mother's food, they were interested in who frequented the restaurant. It was so unfair! Even to go to the bathroom the crowds followed him without giving him a minute's peace. Tyson was so lucky! He’d already finished high school and was about to graduate from college. Percy had no choice but to deal with the gossip and greedy, self"centered people.

Looking once again at the empty corridor, he put his cell phone back in his pocket and went into the bathroom.

Ah, finally. Silence. Just him and the urinal. He unzipped his pants and...he heard a moan. Right next to him. Percy turned his face and there were three boys in a circle. He saw that one of them was unzipping his pants and the others were already without them.

Well, that was none of his business.

"No, please. I… I…"

"You what? Are you going to tell your little sister? Your Dad?"

"Please!"

Percy sighed and walked towards them. His mother hadn't raised him to watch someone being abused.

He stopped behind them, in front of the mirror, and saw what was happening. A boy with the softest, most feminine features he had ever seen was trying to cover his face and was cowering against the wall, he was so small that reacting against those boys would have been stupid. The problem was that he was so distracted by the boy's beauty that Percy ended up missing when one of the boys grabbed his own member and pointed it towards the boy on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Percy finally said. The boys were startled and jumped away, covering themselves as best as they could.

"We... hey, aren't you that rich kid?"

Just what he needed.

"I said, what are you doing?"

"It's not what it seems."

"Oh, is not? How do you explain that?"

The three boys and Percy looked at the little boy on the ground, who was hiding his face and crying pitifully.

"You know what? I don't want to know. If I catch you doing it again…"

"You have no proof!"

"Are you sure?"

The boys looked at each other and after a few moments, ran off. And Percy Finally could do what he needed to do and leave.

That is, if the little boy hadn't lifted his face and looked at him with those deep black eyes, swollen and shining from crying. Slightly curly black waves of hair and the most beautiful red lips he had ever seen. Percy admitted that he had frozen, enjoying the sight. He, who had never been interested in anyone in his eleven years of life, found himself enchanted. And even when the little boy bit his lips and looked at him, still lying on the bathroom floor, Percy couldn't stop staring.

"You didn't have to." The little boy mumbled, shrinking further against the wall near the sink.

"I... was the right thing to do." That was the truth, it was the right thing to do, but what wasn't right was to admire the beautiful little boy, especially in a situation like that. He felt like a monster. "What's your name?"

"Nico. Niccolas."

Hmm... Italian. They say it's the language of love.

"Percy Jackson."

"Oh." Nico said, looking him up and down, his high cheeks getting hotter. "You're not going to do what those boys wanted to do... are you?”

"What they wanted to do?”

Nico looked down and Percy followed his gaze.

Oh, actually, his zipper was still open, but now there was a certain... volume there.

"I'm nothing like those boys.”

"Aren't you?" Nico still looked doubtful, even though he himself had a bulge in his pants. A much smaller one that Percy seemed to be analyzing more closely than he should.

"I'm not." Percy turned around, trying to convince himself, and walked to the urinal again.

He pulled down his underwear and tried to concentrate. No one had warned him that it would be so difficult to relieve himself with an erection on the way. Percy took a deep breath, relaxing, and finally succeeded. When he returned to the sink, intending to wash his hand, he saw that the little boy was still on the floor, watching him get close.

Nico had been watching him... go to the bathroom? Since the area was wide open, it was impossible not to see.

"Do you need help?" He said as he washed his hands, staring at their reflections in the mirror. Nico looked scared and embarrassed, while he himself was serious and almost absent, showing no emotion.

"No! I mean, I'm fine. Thank you very much.”

"All right, then.”

Percy dried his hand and turned towards the exit. He had offered to help, hadn't he? From then on, it wasn't his responsibility what happened to Nico.

***

Percy had never realized how big that school was. Two indoor and two outdoor courts, fifty classrooms, ten laboratories. Swimming pools, jogging trails and even a forest with a variety of plantations. It was a good place for anyone looking for a well-rounded education, but also for anyone looking for a place to hide. Luckily, Percy had found just the perfect place; deserted and quiet, right in front of one of the open courts. Best of all, the view from the stands was very limited, preventing people from finding him easily.

He walked calmly through the school corridors and arrived at his favorite spot, determined to make a few baskets on the court and eat something quick before the next class. Percy intended to join the team and didn't want it to be out of sheer favoritism. That is, he was just about to enter the court when he saw a black head of hair on the far side of the bleachers. Now, he needed to know who it was, and only then would Percy know if it was still a safe place or not.

Percy hurried over and saw that it was the same little boy as last time. He had a cut in his lip and the right side of his face was purple. Percy had the impulse to ask who had done this to him, but remembered it was none of his business. Especially since Nico seemed to be fine, apart from his bruised face, and seeing that Nico was eating a small feast. Percy could see at least four different kinds of dishes, all arranged in little bowls, the sight warming his heart for some reason. It must have been the way Nico cowered, trying to hide from him, but he still stared at him, smiling.

Percy watched Nico pick up one of the lunchboxes and, as shyly as possible, offer it to him, saying: "Do you want some?”

Percy found himself walking the rest of the distance to Nico, abandoning his backpack and basketball at the foot of the bleachers, and sat down in front of Nico.

"I brought it too. My mother is a cook.”

"Ah." Nico muttered and shrugged, picking up his fork. "I always make a lot. See?”

Nico then opened the other two lunchboxes and showed them to him. Vegetable pie with cheese. Meatballs. Calabrian bread. Cake, too.

"Do you? And your mother?”

"I don't have one. She's dead.”

That's when Percy realized what he was doing. Like a weirdo, he watched Nico eat as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world while the boy ate alone, having to make his own food.

"Your father? You must have one, right?”

Nico denied it and stuffed another piece of pie into his mouth, ignoring all the other dishes. "Dad's always traveling.”

"So...?”

"I learned from Mama before she died. Her food was the best!" But Nico said it so happily that Percy felt better.

"Who looks after you?”

"I have a nanny. My sister, too! She's the best sister in the world." Nico continued eating happily and Percy felt something in his eyes. What was going on? This boy couldn't be so naive, could he? So... happy? How old was he? Nine? Ten? He must be younger than himself.

"You really don't want to? I did it all by myself!”

"Everything? Did you even reach the stove?”

"Yes, I did! The nanny just turned on the stove. I have a ladder near the table and…”

"Yeah?”

"You're very mean. I don't want to talk to you anymore!”

Percy couldn't stand it, he put his hand around his belly and laughed. It had been a long time since he had seen something so cute and funny. Nico's chubby cheeks inflating like a balloon, his arms crossed, his lips in an even cuter pout.

"How old are you, eh?”

"I’m eleven! What's the problem?”

"You're so short and small. Who's feeding you?”

And again, Percy couldn't take it. Laughing at his own joke, he let himself fall backwards onto the bleachers, laughing and laughing until his breath died away and then came back, a happy smile remaining on his lips long after his crisis had passed.

"Are you okay?” Nico asked in a small, soft voice, making his heart melt.

Percy opened his eyes to see that Nico had approached where he was laing, sitting on his knees, all worried, his black eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

"So…" Percy said, trying to stop smiling. "We're in the same year. Why haven't I see you around?

"I saw you.” Nico said and lowered his eyes to his lap. "It's hard not to when people only talk about you.”

"What they say?”

"You get the best grades. You're the best at sports. You have the best girlfriend. That sort of thing.”

"Who is that girlfriend?”

"I think… Annabeth Chase? I'm not sure. I arrived a few weeks ago.”

"That's good to know.”

"Know what?”

"That I have a girlfriend.”

"You… don't know?" Nico tilted his head like a confused puppy and that got another laugh out of him. This time, Nico laughed along. He seemed to be holding back his laughter, but when Percy didn't stop, Nico found himself with no escape, joining in.

"You're funny.” Nico told him.

"No, you are.”

And like third-graders, which they both were, they laughed again as they heard the bell ring. Percy hadn't even realized that half an hour had passed, which was more time than he usually spent with his old friends. And what that said about him, hm?

"We have to go." He heard Nico say.

They really did.

In a hurry, he helped Nico collect the lunch boxes and accompanied him to his next class, discovering that Nico was in fact in the same class as him. Was Percy so distracted by trying to hide that he couldn't see what was going on around him? Well, that would change from that moment on.

***

"Nico”

"Hm.”

"It's time to wake up.”

Nico grumbled and snuggled further under the covers. He was so tired that he felt like he would need a whole week to recover. 

He moved again, about to put the blanket over his head when he felt strong arms surround his waist, but what made him open his eyes was the kiss on his neck, on that little spot near the nape of his neck that was now making him react more intensely than he thought he should. It was all Percy's fault,  his fault for the way Percy had touched him the night before and all those words.

Gods! What had he done? Had Nico really said all that things to Percy? Nico couldn't believe it! He sat up and looked around. He was still in his room, and Percy? Well, the idiot was stillnext to him, leaning against the headboard and with such a satisfied smile on his face that it made him wonder: Had he said something he couldn't remember in the night before?

"So, do you like being spanked?”

"Percy!”

"I thought I was the only one you allowed to fu-"

"Don't you dare!" Okay, Nico admitted that he was panicking. 

"I wonder where is the boy who wanted to take things slow, hmm?”

In another leap, Nico threw himself on top of Percy and covered his mouth with his hands.

"I take back everything I said. All of it!”

Percy licked his hand and kept smiling at him until Nico gave up and let Percy speak:

"It's a shame. We could’ve had so much fun…”

"I… I don't know." Nico had to look away, maybe he didn't want to take anything back, no matter how humiliating it was.

"Baby. Come here.”

Nico went, of course. 

Percy grabbed him around the waist and made him lie down on his chest, one of Percy's hands immediately going to his hair. Nico didn't understand why that gesture calmed him down so much, or why this feeling of tenderness made him want to tell Percy everything he hadn't said the night before. It's just that... he felt conditioned to never to lie to Percy, and he had already said so much… Nico wished he had a time machine to make sure none of it had happened, because only then he would be sure that nothing between them would ever change.

"I'm so sorry.”

"Nico.”

"I shouldn't have left. But when you told me to meet other people, I thought... I thought we would never have a chance. So why wait for something that's never going to happen?”

"It's all right. It's my fault.”

"I don't care who's fault it is. I want you to say that you forgive me and that this won't affect things in the future.”

"I forgive you and that won't change anything.”

Nico knew that Percy was only saying this because he had asked, but even so, the knot in his stomach seemed to loosen a little bit.

"Promise?”

"I promise.”

Nico pulled away enough so he could look into Percy's face and touched him there gently, caressing the sides of his neck.

"You know I love you, don't you? For real?" Nico forced himself to say, seeing a small smile appear on Percy's lips.

"Why those words now?

"I realized... I thought I liked you because you were my first friend. But when I was in Italy, it felt like something was missing. I tried to find it in other people, you know?”

"What were you looking for?" That's when Percy touched his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

Ahg, he couldn't look at Percy when Percy acted so kind.

"I don't know!" It was a lie, of course. And Percy knew it. “It's hard to express how much you mean to me. So when I don't tell you things, it's because I can't, not because I don't want to.

"I know that. But I need you to tell me anyway. I need you to give me permission." Then, Percy touched the back of his neck, pulling his head up to face him. And yet, when Nico refused and kept his eyes closed, Percy insisted: "Beautiful. Look at me.”

Nico did it, he did it because it was impossible to resist when Percy spoke to him in that firm, and at the same time, reassuring tone.

"I understand. You don't have to force yourself.” 

"I'm sorry.”

"No, Nico. It's not your fault.”

"I don't want to make you worry.

Because that was the truth. He'd always liked to go through life quietly and unnoticed, except that Percy had taken note of him and hadn't let him go ever since. No matter how much time passed, he would never get used to the attention Percy gave him and even after a decade, it still was strange, it was like  he was in a dream and at any moment Nico would wake up, realizing that Percy had been his imagination playing tricks on him.

"This won't happen again.”

"What are you talking about?" Nico asked, not understanding.

" I won't force you. Just… just tell me if you need to. Anything.

"Anything?”

"Of course.”

"Then, tell me you love me.”

"I love you.”

"Again”.

"I love you.”

"Again.”

"Nico." Percy smiled and kissed Nico, interrupting him. "What's going on? It’s about last night?”

"It's nothing.”

"I promise I won't do that again.”

"That...?”

"I'm not going to be... so intense or... you know.”

Why did Nico felt his face getting hot? And since that was the case...

"Why not?”

This was the moment Nico feared the most. Percy remained silent and stared at him for long seconds, giving him no choice but to stare back. He dreaded these silences so much because this was the moment when he couldn't lie, and if he couldn't speak, then he'd have no way of diverting the attention away from the truth. 

Yes, that was the reality, no matter how much he tried to hide it, Percy would always know everything in the end.

"Is this all because of shame? It’s the humiliation too much for you? Or is it because you like the feeling?

Nico didn't know how Percy managed to say all this in such a serious and composed way. Well, Percy was more right than he thought. However, when Nico got nervous, these feelings only came out in two ways: tears of anxiety or laughter. So imagine the scene where he started laughing out of nowhere while Percy remained serious and stern.

"Do you think I'm a joke?" Percy said and puffed out his chest, pretending to be offended.

"I would never think that.”

"I love you." Percy said, then hugged him tightly and stroked his back. “No matter what this thing is between us, we'll get through it together.”

That's what Nico expected. 

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So, how was it? I almost deleted the first scene, but since I liked Percy's POV, I left it like that. Thanks for everything so far. Good feedback is always welcome. Until next time.