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pomegranate-eater · 8 days ago

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WHAT A FOOL CANNOT KNOW ABOUT ﾉ YANDERE DR. RATIO

Summary: Trying to break up with Veritas proves to be impossible to accomplish. You provide sound arguments, but he knows how to shoot them down. Unfortunately, he needs you, just as much as you need him — whether you have yet to discover this truth or not.

cw: gn!reader, controlling relationship, dubcon-esque touch, manipulation and coercion, coddling and overprotectiveness, possessiveness, love bombing, diet restrictions, suggestiveness. word count: 5.5k.

Note: Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

“You ought to do what?” Veritas’s stern voice expresses derision, as if scolding you for yet another idiotic idea of yours.

“I want to break up with you, Veritas,” you repeat yourself grimly. Your arms are crossed as you try to keep yourself standing, feet firmly glued to the floor to demonstrate your oath to your decision and avoid susceptibility to his upcoming counterarguments. The light colors of your living room, carefully designed to be a peaceful mood maker, are also incapable of soothing your ‘wrath.’

He knows what you’re doing – spilling on the floor in front of you are packed bags, you have your shoes on, those two things meant to signal you are supposedly unswerving in your conviction about leaving. All because of one suggestion your closest friend has made: something about your genius boyfriend Veritas Ratio being controlling. He finds your delusions to be laughable, but also in need of being eradicated by a firm hand.

“Well, in such predicaments, one usually provides enough arguments explaining their decision. Care to elaborate?” the taunt in his voice is sufficient enough to amplify your angry fervent.

You inhale deeply through your nose; you are well aware of the obligation to argue your case well enough for it to be taken seriously, based upon logic — not foolish. Your first thought is to make an (objectively reasonable) accusation, but you know better than make yourself appear hasty. “I’ve been concerned about the way you treat me. I cannot help but fee—notice that you tend to make a lot of choices for me or question my own. It feels like I am deprived of autonomy and am being patronized. I recognize your good intentions,” no, you don’t, “but there’s still limits of mine, that if they are being crossed, they will make your behavior unhealthy.”

His behaviour is pretty confusing to your person who’s supposed to know him well as his partner. It is pretty much the antithesis of his persona — the real Dr. Ratio doesn’t serve answers on the silver platter. He’s used to steering people towards right directions by putting them through challenges so they can actually digest their situation, derive conclusions, and learn.

With you, it’s as if he views your independence differently — you stubbornly stick to your ideas, have your own ways of dealing with issues, faulty or not, as they make you, so there’s not much hope for your improvement. You don’t want to be perfect or participate in some unspoken race — and so he makes ideal choices for you, so as to not let his ‘ignorant’ partner lose on any opportunity, or even hurt themselves.

(From what you eat, and wear for the weather; through checking your locations and asking overly intimate questions; to speaking for you during bigger decisions and choosing which activities are better for your brain.)

This ‘guidance’ is a form of benevolence in his dictionary, as he’d typically judge any other individual like you a lost cause, and unworthy of his patronage. To you, it’s only about being in the palm of his hand, and you’ve suffered enough from his iron grip in the last couple of months — you felt trapped, caged, and so out of control it made you claustrophobic.

Veritas sighs with exasperation; it’s evident he doesn’t share your precarious sentiment, and while you don’t know that, needs to breathe the same air you do. “When I take the wheel, it is not inaugurated with the intention to control you, as you probably assume. The blame about you needing it so often is not to be placed on me, but your disinclination to self-realization, and tendency to risk taking and sacrificing your health. And when I debate the choices you’ve made, it’s out of worry and care. I can shape the delineation of the consequences of your decisions before they’re even made,” he informs you with a rather… chiding tone.

“Oh, so you think you always know better than me, about you?” you finally snap with indignation. This is all so… humiliating and infantilizing to hear — perhaps he can’t accept you for who you are, or is overprotective — as you can’t possibly be such a failure of a person! You make no more mistakes than others, and not willing to incessantly think about a better life is you saving yourself from the stressful pressure; you’re just being a human.

“Statistically, I’ve managed to reach safer conclusions in the past than you would,” he smiles a little as he says that. He sits down on the couch, subtly showing you he’s still in control, as he’s not scared of putting himself in a vulnerable spot. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were to pull out some sheet with such statistics right now and put his doctorates to a good use.

You have enough of his murky righteousness, walking to be in front of him and shove your accusatory finger in his face. “You can’t know me better than I know myself! And regardless of your supposedly caring intentions, are you going to ignore the unhealthy part? How all of this is coddling, patronizing, dehumanizing about basic freedom?! Because even if I make bad choices and mistakes, this is how I learn!”

You’ve been feeling so suffocated in this relationship, and you find his treatment detestable; if there’s anyone ignorant, it’s him not acknowledging your suffering and anxiety.

He scoffs. “You are also no child. You had your entire life frame to ponder over your mistakes and align yourself to do better. If you still make minor and, frankly speaking, blunders on a daily basis, I’m afraid you might be the problem, and so it becomes my responsibility as your boyfriend to safekeep you from such.

You put yourself in unnecessary stressful situations, make choices that are bad for your health, and refuse to see outside of your stubborn scope, obstructing better opportunities — all which I help you avoid when I lead you.”

You are no child yet he treats you like one.

You decide to trail off of the wagon of logic. This isn’t even logic. OF COURSE you are not a perfect human with no fault, yet so is anyone else! Perhaps you do create mishaps and cling to what’s not good sometimes; however, you doubt this ever justifies the controlling and coddling dynamic he’s been serving you for the duration of your entire relationship, foretelling you reaching anti-mundane, anti-ignorant magnificence, in a safe environment. That’s why the universe allows you to operate every right to unleash your dissatisfaction — simply cut him off and leave.

“I’m leaving. I have enough of you, of your reign, of your superiority—” you seethe when you turn around to pick up your bags and march out of the living room on your way to the new life, but then arms wrap around your torso and draw you close to the autonomy sucking ghoul’s chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” surprisingly, your theoretically ex-boyfriend doesn’t sound angry when he murmurs this question into your ear — it’s more like a velvet, comforting whisper of a peaceful sea. Your back is pressed against his chest and he keeps you caged to him.

“Let me go, Veritas!” you exclaim all ardent with panic, struggling in his arms.

“I’m afraid my lover isn’t in the right headspace to be using their mind with dexterity. You’re making a big decision when you’re upset at me — not to mention addled with the agitation — whilst without trying to resolve the issue first… even you can admit it’s not the wisest idea, hm?” his voice speaks egregiously for him softly, the juxtaposition to his previous spitfire-scholar manner and vernacular vocabulary.

You don’t like where this farce is heading — he’s not usually this lenient, even if he’s not necessarily cold like a bad boyfriend would be (he does realize the inclination to be affectionate), and his temper eager to prove you wrong is gone…

“Veri, this decision has been made based on many accumulated memories, not just now,” you deflect, the craving to indulge in his warmth keeping you somewhat calmer. You still squirm in his arms but he doesn’t budge.

“Yes, but even those moments you recall have been potent with big emotions. Since you came to me to express your issue with me only just now, about the break up, I had never seen a chance to fix it. I don’t think such an omission is fair.”

As you stare at the spacious window facing the darkening evening sky busying itself with lighting on the awful neons only overstimulating your muzzy mind, you think he’s partially correct — you haven’t been most straightforward about his overwhelming behavior, but what was there to discuss? If he proclaims to know you well, so you possess knowledge about his game: as long as you wouldn’t try to leave him, he’d do nothing about your complaints, only hold a clincher over your head to say you’re ungrateful.

If someone is willing to control you for all there is about you, grabbing your stems to make you grow towards completely different directions, you doubt this gardener can ever change. His feelings about how you live come first, ignoring your angst that comes from the dehumanization and your relationship’s enclosure of control has been bringing.

“There’s nothing to fix! You’re just stuck up on being as much in control of my life as possible! I don’t care whether choices I make are more or less stupid than the ones I’d make! You can’t take away my autonomy because you’re bothered by me not being perfect! Do you know how suffocating and overbearing you were to me lately!” the volume of your voice is raised to almost deafening decibels. You trash in his arms again, finally hitting his body with yours so hard that he trips and falls back onto the couch… with you — a mishandled move, as you’re now trapped again, on his lap.

Veritas is momentarily taken aback by the new position, but he then proceeds to take advantage of it, also soaking in your misapprehension of his character. “Being perfect?” his arms tighten around your midriff, and one of his hands cups your throat, not yet squeezing. If he was angry before, he’s raging now.

Your interpretation of his intentions, whether objectively correct or not, feels like the biggest insult to his feelings and ambitions. He’s assured he hasn’t been trying to make you perfect or control you — instead, his goal was to protect you from your own stupidity and to take care of you and your health… if it helps you reach the best of your potentials, that’s only a bonus. “What you claim is utterly disrespectful, and for how shameful it makes you, expresses your lack of gratitude,” he hisses, as his fingers are beginning to dig into your neck a bit too hard to be considered safe. No, you’re not allowed to leave—

He realizes his mistake when you stiffen up under him and from the angle of his eyes, he can observe some fear — his mind tells himself how asinine he is to let his emotions control him, even if he’s actually afraid of losing you. He lets go of your throat and cups your face instead, the other hand soothing your waist, this time opting for a more gentle voice again, “Look at me.”

He delicately cranes your head to the side, until you’re meeting with a sight of his face and are resting the back of your head on his shoulder — he peers at you with something pensive yet of lover’s ownership it’s unsettling to witness. His breath is grazing your skin and you feel inappropriate (involuntary included) for this situation’s arousal.

“What do you want from me? I have told you, your intentions don’t conceal or fix the unhealthy effects your leadership causes,” you heave a sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted, to the point where you no longer are trying to leave his unwelcome hold — you’re assuming he’ll get weary eventually as well. You really wish you could just grab your things that are now taunting you by lying just a few feet away, but are so unreachable in your position. “You’re too damn pushy. I can’t even eat what I want.” You know you’ll binge on nice snacks once you’re gone.

“Have I ever hurt you?” he asks smoothly, the husky voice spreading vibrations down your torso. You don’t like how the forced proximity is built with the suave tone falling straight into your ear canal. His thumb moves away from your jaw to stroke your lower lip, causing it to tremble against your good conscience.

The question still manages to throw you off, and is not incentivizing you when he’s ignoring your main concern. “Not in the most straightforward way. You haven’t physically or verbally abused me; however, this doesn’t mean I feel comfortable or happy with what you do to me,” you say hesitantly, staying vigilant.

“I see. Does your unhappiness imply you weren’t content with me for our entire relationship?” there’s an odd sadness in his tone and eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in him before, even in his rare but happening moments of failure; you have to dig your feet hard into the floor to not let it sway your perception and make you pity him.

Unlike him, you’re not heartless.

“Of course not,” you scoff, not realizing you’re subconsciously resting your body on his with less tension in your muscles. “I’m not saying you were a bad or neglectful partner. But it wasn’t rainbows and unicorns in the moments I highlighted!”

Your words seem to create something even more wistful in him, a force powerful enough he glides your hair back with a gentle hand. His voice gets even quieter, “I never intended them to feel that way. However, can anyone postulate about their relationship out there having its moments be one hundred percent idyllic?”

You can’t gauge if his proposed perspective is manipulative or he genuinely feels sorry. The question makes you assess your previously stated claims again for a second, but you’re still not giving up. “No, that’d be an utopian dream. Still… if there’s behavior that can be described as unhealthy, it should be taken care of. For me to stay with you, you’d have to leave my own choices for me. You should be allowed to go no further than to counsel me.”

There’s an almost indistinguishable twitch in his eye, but he doesn’t let go of his disposition. He finally grants his hand a fall back onto your waist again, and you look ahead of yourself, not willing to strain your neck. It is when you try to pry off his arms once more, wanting to at once face him properly.

He stops you, infuriating as he ignores your lack of consent to be held for nth momentum; this time it’s worse, as his hands wander across your hips and stroke them, as if possessively. If you could see his face, you’d notice the slightly obsessive hunger for not much of your body, if not keeping you — he really can’t let you get away from him, for he might lose his mind.

(Emotional disturbances due to breaking up would affect his work anyway.)

Your body stills, and you curse him when his action spills sensitivity in that lower area, an unthinking sparkle of something pleasant you are familiar with — he’s always been skilled and dedicated in making you feel good, physically. He also knows how to notice you, all the good parts others can’t, and what sort of worship to indulge them with. Not to mention, his immerse knowledge gives him enough of bargaining chips to manoeuvre your life, body, and mind with ease. “Let me go—” your demand comes with a quiver.

“Haven’t you noticed something?” Veritas interrupts your bewilderment with an inquiry, and his right hand dips under your shirt, teasing the soft skin of your stomach, while the other goes up from your hip till the dip of your waist. Both the touch and question stops you in your tracks, as your skin is ignited and screaming for more.

“N-noticed what?” your tone is of a squeak, embarrassingly highly enough. You force yourself to cover his hands with yours, pausing their work.

He doesn’t swat your hands away; he moves his with yours, slyly forcing you to map your own body. “That the quality of your life has significantly improved after you entered the relationship with me, not degraded. Your health included. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

You realize that he is right, as your life indeed is now technically better than it had been before — you score better opportunities, you have someone you can depend on, your life is quite comfortable financially, you feel good physically, and you are loved. He doesn’t do worse things than those occasional instances of dictating. For a moment, your motivation wavers; but then you remember how he’s made you feel for past months, and also, your friend’s words.

(“Some men are like this. They lure you in with affection, undivided attention, and luxuries, so once they know you’re too attached to leave, they can do anything to you.”)

Right, his suggestive touch — it has no place to exist when you’re having such an important conversation! You trash with all the vigor you could muster. “You’re just manipulating me! You’re suddenly being all soft and groping me when I’m trying to talk to you seriously!”

Veritas only sighs, exasperated, muttering, “It was to help you relax, so you can take a more conscious approach. But if you insist…” Surprisingly, he lets you go — even that is up to be questioned, if him respecting your boundaries isn’t some scheme either.

You quickly stand up back on your feet and turn around, not hiding that you’re fuming again. He stands up too and your heart skips a beat. What he says next throws you off.

“Please, give me your hand,” Veritas requests politely, using proper etiquette. So unusual. Typically, his requests are orders, as he finds them to be absolute in their vital importance.

Is he trying to be nicer to you, for you? Is he finally regretting his treatment, once you scared him with the possibility of leaving?

“For what?” you ask with suspicion, tapping your foot with impatience. Perhaps you should just make a run for the door and leave, even if it wouldn’t be most mature-sounding. You’re further dissatisfied at the thought of running into him as your ex at your workplace.

“I want to show you something. It might clear any false conjectures that you seemingly have about me,” he informs curtly. It raises your interest just as he anticipated — of course curiosity can be a strong force, that is, a useful tool for his grasp over you.

He thrives with satisfaction when you submit by raising your hand in the air. He cups it in his, gently as if it’s a brittle porcelain (affectionately like he knows you secretly crave him to be), and places it over his heart — it’s a horse running a race, thrumming and threatening to escape his chest. “Can you palpate how fast my heart is under your fingers? Does that sound like the heart of a man indifferent to you or your misery?”

Your stance on accusing him of malicious conduct has been slightly faltering the entire conversation, as you can’t deny that Veritas is a good debater, knowing how to make you look at things from a different angle — his proof is extremely flattering to you especially. Or rather not as much flattering, as romantically gratifying — to be loved is a most wonderful feeling. The little show is made to be even better when you’re the only person he ever becomes vulnerable with — starting with something simple as you having a chance to see him without his plaster head on, daily at that.

Your friend’s words still ring in your head, however. Your almost-ex is still a genius and he’d definitely know all about what heart tempo expresses what; therefore, maybe know how to adjust its pace to the perfect tune… “You… could be faking it. To make me forgive you.” Yet your fingers twitch on his chest, desperate to give him some pleasure too.

You want to touch him. It is easy to dream of being back in his arms, safe and loved, saved and loving, be the fool indifferent to his misbehaving — it’s the only way a heart knows how to protect itself from being shattered.

It is only just now that you realize how scared you are to be on your own in the wild again — the truth about how he had made you dependent on him for choosing the safest and most convenient life is terrifying and disturbing. You were forcefully ripped away from the feeling of danger or bigger perturbation in your daily situations, it is easy to feel out of tune with the rhythm of the world. It’s as if you need to go back to baby steps to know how to function properly again.

Going to work, you can handle it. Shopping, you can handle it. But what if one day, you’ll somehow mess up filling the tax form, and you’ll be accused of fraud, and then thrown into jail— you need him to keep you protected. Or something happens at the guild, and you need him to vouch for you.

You don’t even think it’s his fault you feel that way — you’ve been manipulated into thinking you were simply living in the dark, your back turned against those dangers, and he has opened your eyes to notice what could have happened due to your irresponsible choices.

Veritas’s eagle eyes notice your discernment and irrationality; still, he only lets out a sigh for what feels like a thousandth time, knowing admitting he has this advantage over you will further frighten you. His hand squeezes on your and actually trembles, unused to being so open, and afraid to let it go should you choose to walk away from his life. “What will it take for you to believe me? Should I ask another genius, maybe Ruan Mei, to prepare a truth serum for me to confess, no matter how… embarrassing it could be for me? Because a lie detector certainly is faulty.”

Your face scrunches and you barely hit his chest as a protest. Lower in the hierarchy of the Intelligentsia Guild, you still had a (dis)pleasure of working with that shady woman too many times. “I wouldn’t trust that woman, so I would have no guarantee you’re not making some deal behind my back,” you rebut.

“Then Screwllum. You find that man to be trustworthy, no?” his fingers steeple together with yours and your heart jumps — it’s such a feeble and shaky movement you cannot believe he’s being soft. And him willing to make himself exposed in his proposed method…

You do trust Screwllum. He’s strict but fair.

“You… you’re serious, aren’t you? You would go that far in order to prove your affections for me?” you can no longer hide your hopes in your voice. Amid your anger and wanting to leave, it was easy for not-at-all-old feelings to resurface, mixing into poison with your fear of dealing with things on your own — new for you separation anxiety. Leaving is easy, but dealing with the sadness and paranoia after isn’t. While his questionable behavior is not making you happy, you can’t say the latter of the two is worse.

Maybe, you really have been too harsh on him. Maybe he can compromise about his control, if he does care.

“Yes. If this is the only way, I won’t hesitate to do it, no matter how hard it could be for me to attempt something so… hazardous,” he claims with determination.

You exhale out a shaky and overly carbonated with the previous concerns breath; if he would subject himself to being under the influence of some truth substance, your logic tells you there’s no reason to doubt his love, especially with his heart’s behavior around you. If he wanted you trapped, wouldn’t he have done so easily a long time ago?

“No… you don’t need to. I believe you, Veritas,” you admit with a forced smile. There’s still something that feels off about the situation, the lingering intensity of his gaze, pushiness, and aversion to acknowledging less healthy monuments of your relationship; but you also have more arguments towards pro than against, and assume he’s willing to ease on his tendencies, as he did admit he didn’t mean to be controlling. A man who loves you, would he really want to hurt you so much? He’s never outright hurt you — and what made you uncomfortable can be negotiated.

You see a tension disappear in his shoulders and he lets go of your hand in pursuit of your face. With that, it’s clear he doesn’t want to say anything else that’s embarrassing, assuming you’re back in his arm — or rather, have never left. But as he’s leaning in for a kiss to seal the deal and let it speak for him and his vulnerable soul, you stop him, “But can you promise me you’ll interfere with my decisions less from now on? It’s still overwhelming.”

Your voice sounds awfully positive, as if you think you’ve got him wrapped around your fingers now, enough for him to regret his actions; it irks him. “Love, we have just discussed that. I’m not doing this to control you nor patronize you. The issue instead is you not being used to being taken care of and stubbornly clinging to your independence,” his voice becomes stern again, but he’s making sure to maintain understanding and some warmth in it. You’re much more volatile now.

“What? No! It’s not a matter of independence but you stealing my autonomy,” you’re up in arms again and he knows he has to soothe you. “I could be more dependent on you and I’d still want you to let me choose. It’s about the principle, a basic human right—”

“Which one of your friends has filled your head with such crafty and repugnant designs?” he suddenly asks and your eyes widen.

“Huh? It’s my own conclusion…” you say defensively. It’s true that it was your friend’s bystander perspective that allowed you to perceive the mistakes of his you failed to see on your own; however, after this one conversation you had, you couldn’t help but agree. “If others notice that you’re wrong, there must be something true about it…” Sure, some of the choices he’s made for you have improved your life, but it’s about lack of consent here. Not to mention, not allowing you to make errors like any other human is surprisingly more negative than the modus operandi of perfect life, as it takes away from the human experience.

“And I think your friend is just jealous that you are lucky enough to be dating a handsome genius and they aren’t,” he states bluntly.

The suggestion immediately brings up different memories where your friend would have passively joked about how lucky you are, or complaining how there's little of charming, interesting, and intelligent men like Veritas… which contradicts them warning you about him not so much after. Have they been naive at first too, or have they been making you doubt your own partner so they can snatch him for themselves? Sabotaging your relationship?

“I— they wouldn’t do that—” you stutter, desperately chasing to defend your friend’s honor.

“Be honest with me. How many times in our relationship have you truly felt uncomfortable?” he takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his question.

“Well, there were a few instances, and you even control my diet—” you take a few more steps, creating sounds too loud with your shoes for your ears now buzzing with trepidation, not realizing you’re about to hit a wall of the living room behind you.

“A few instances. When no one is devoid of being made to be uncomfortable every so often, me included. What you eat is both nutritious and still tasty. Are you seriously going to let these few, inconsequential moments dim many more positive ones?” You get the message that you are starting to sound ungrateful and spoiled, a bit naive too — yes, him deciding for you doesn’t feel nice, but some sacrifice is necessary for your wellbeing or stability. Relationships aren’t black and white — not every rule will cooperate in every relationship, and not every partner will be perfect. You mustn't create unrealistic standards you’d see only on social media.

As Veritas moves forward again, your back finally hits the wall of the living room, and your only support is with your palms against it. Your breathing rattles when he places his hands on the sides of your head, towering over you and trapping you. It’s the birth of night now, and with no artificial lights yet turned on, you see his irises shine like a molten metal.

His roseate eyes cause you to freeze and turn into a stone as if he’s some god possessing such power, their intensity undeniable — he needs you with him and he’ll have you. For his and your sake.

“Don’t let one fool take away everything from us. You matter to me,” he exclaims his promise with a destructive love and your name, and before you register such, he grabs you by your nape and thigh he slightly lifts, and kisses you to convey and solidify his words.

You don’t reciprocate at first, having your own doubts linger, and you’re further flustered when he steps between your legs; but when his finger rubs that one spot on your neck and his hand wanders up your thigh, it’s easy to sink into his wonders.

You whimper against his lips when his palm on your leg wanders dangerously high, almost seeking out the most pleasurable and sensitive areas. His lips move on yours with undeniable practice, pecking and teasing with a tongue, sucking on your lips; and when you open your mouth to inhale starved air, he inserts his tongue in.

One squeeze on your leg is enough for your arms to finally wrap around his shoulders and your eyes close; although, it’s still him who has to do the most work, as you remain overwhelmed by the entire discussion.

The kiss lasts for what feels like infinity and yet it’s not enough.

When he lets go of your nape and watches your face painted in yearning, he knows that he now has you. He strokes your cheek, letting the magic of his touch deceive your defenses once more. “Will you stay with me? I’m sure we can reach some compromise; albeit, don’t expect me to let you get loose and undisciplined,” he warns calmly, finding difficulty in not sounding giddy.

When you nod, he thinks how much he hates the way you make him feel — this obsession — as instead of feeling just victorious over you, he also feels his own longing. He’s not against the idea of love as a whole — it’s only human and he can’t judge others for being in love, therefore only human — but he’s not a big fan of it participating in his life, messing up with his head, logic, and perfect schedule.

Regardless, he’s also most elated, naturally. His relationship’s end with you has been rescinded, and he can spend his days with you again. The vivid imagery of you with someone else is upmost abhorrent and should be condemned. Not that he’d let you go; he’s smart enough to bring you back, but wouldn’t it create a peril of losing your trust and love.

“Good, excellent even. Go unpack your things and I’ll make us dinner. Perhaps some wine indulgence won’t hurt today…” he murmurs the latter, thinking of rewarding you for being so compliant and saving him from depression. He helps you stand up properly, knowing you’re putty in his arms after the kiss.

You don’t even have time to whine about how his meal will be all healthy and chosen for you again. (He’d tell you it’s about your wellbeing anyway, and is he wrong, when you’ve been feeling more energized lately?)

After you leave, Veritas pulls his phone out of his pocket. Through the spyware he installed on his phone (only a safety concern about you, of course), he watches a new message appear in the log. You accusing your friend and blocking them the next second, as you threaten them so they won’t get in your relationship’s business, is nothing but satisfying to witness.

For the foolish you make him, you also make him feel alive and closer to what being human means, living by your own rules. Stronger than a real fool like you should be, contradicting all he knows about rigorous discipline and logic. You’re the challenge and risk he thrives on and wants to watch develop in real time, the forbidden fruit to feast on; this notion is in some ways also liberating.

Believe it or not, he does care for you — he just cannot see a beloved person’s potential go to waste, any menace and harm to come, or let your health degrade, as he’d feel a failure of a lover. He also can’t deny the inherent, selfish need to possess you, and keep you away from the world, as if only he can truly appreciate you properly — if he needs you, who is to deny him?

He’s not letting you go, even if it’s destined to ruin you both.

#yandere dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #yandere dr ratio #veritas x reader #veritas ratio x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #hsr yandere #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #haniaistic—works.#cw dubcon #cw yandere

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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-One

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, domestic Lamelia, autistic meltdown on page, vaguely referenced public sex.

Notes — Timeline fuckery, as in I seem to have written Silverstone twice, in the last chapter and this one too. Clearly the podium fluff is too much for me to keep track of. So... Enjoy the extra fluffiness.

2023 (Silverstone — Hungary)

The sea was warm and quiet, the waves nothing but a soft hush against the sand.

Amelia sat with her legs tucked under her, an oversized white linen shirt hanging loosely over her bikini. Her hair was wet, curled slightly at the ends from the salt water. She was squinting at the horizon, watching the sunlight paint the beach in a million shades of gold.

Behind her, Lando dropped onto the towel with two icy cold drinks, one for each of them. He pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“This place is fucking amazing,” he said.

She hummed in agreement, leaning her head against his. “Warm, but breezy. The perfect in-between.”

He grinned. “Yeah? You glad I managed to convince you to come then?”

“Yes.” She said. “I’m going to have so much to get done when we get back to the factory, but I needed a break.”

Lando chuckled and stretched out beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Hm. I know. And now you’re relaxed. That’s nice.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t say it like that. I can be relaxed. I relax a lot.”

“…No you don’t.”

She huffed. “Shut up.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon. Don’t get pissed off. It’s true, yeah? You have been stressed, but you’ve also been fucking ace with Oscar. With the team. I know the car isn’t what you want it to be, but it’s a lot bloody better than it was.”

Amelia softened. She leaned down to kiss him. “Thanks, husband.”

Lando’s eyes sparkled. “Say it again.”

“Husband?”

He groaned. “God, that’s hot.”

She laughed. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You married me.”

“I clearly have poor taste.” She teased.

“Liar.”

He sat up and kissed her properly this time — slow and warm and a little lazy. She all but melted into it, fingers curling in the fabric of his swim shorts.

They ended up tangled together on a beach blanket under the slope of the rocks, just out of sight. The rest of the world fell away. It was just them. Skin on skin, hearts in sync, breathless laughter caught in the salt breeze.

Later, Amelia rested her cheek on Lando’s bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I think,” she said softly, “I could stay here forever.”

He smoothed her hair back out of her face. Stared at her, like he was memorising her all over again. “Yeah, baby. Me too.”

—

The design lab was buzzing — a low but constant thrum of voices, keyboard clicks, air vents, printers, someone’s half-muffled phone call. The kind of sensory chaos most people filtered out without effort.

Amelia couldn’t today.

She had her noise-cancelling headphones on, her iPad open to three separate CAD model views, and a mechanical pencil tapping against her knee in a rhythm only she understood.

They were reviewing a mock-up for the 2024 suspension. One of the junior engineers; bright, eager, but careless, had accidentally uploaded an outdated spec into the shared build folder.

It seemed small. A mistake, an easy correction. But it meant the last two days of precision design work she’d done were out of sync with the rest of the development team’s data.

And that meant wasted time. Faulty conclusions. A domino collapse of calculations that had been perfect in her head.

She tried to breathe through it. In. Out. In again. But the wrongness sat in her chest like a ton of bricks.

Someone, Callum, tried to make light of it. “It’s no big deal. We’ve still got time before CFD locks—”

“No,” she said, voice tight. “You don’t understand. It’s wrong now. It’s all wrong.”

Her hands were shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay,” another engineer said carefully. “We’ll fix it. It was just a wrong upload—”

“Stop talking.” Her voice cracked, sharp and sudden. “Please. Just stop. Stop—”

She couldn’t hear them anymore. The hum of the lights had turned into a roar. The feeling of her shirt collar was too much. Her thoughts weren’t lining up right.

She stood up too fast. Knocked over a pen cup. The clatter made her flinch violently.

Then she was breathing hard. Too fast. Too loud. Her eyes stung. Her palms burned.

The room blurred. All noise. Too many people. Too many things out of place.

She left. Walked straight out the door, down the hall, past the glass break room, past a surprised intern holding two coffees. She found an empty office, one of the glass-walled side rooms, and ducked inside.

Lights off. Curtains drawn.

She sat on the floor. Curled into herself, hands pressed to her ears. Shaking.

She didn’t cry, not exactly. But her body trembled with the overload — her nervous system in revolt. All she could do was breathe and wait it out.

—

Ten minutes later, the door opened slowly.

Lando.

He said nothing at first. Just slipped inside and sat down on the floor beside her. Close, but not touching.

She didn't look up.

“Callum came to find me. He’s panicking.” He said.

She let out a half-broken noise. “I hate this. I hate when this happens.”

He shook his head. “Baby—“

Her shoulders curled tighter. "It’s all wrong,” she whispered. “I had it perfect. In my head. And now it’s wrong and I can’t fix it, and they don’t understand why it matters. They think I’m overreacting.”

“You’re not.”

“They think I’m difficult.”

“You’re not.”

She finally looked at him. Her face was pale, eyes glassy. “It felt like… too much. All at once. I couldn't stop it.”

Lando reached out, slow, deliberate, and gently took her hand. “I know, baby.” He said softly. “You don’t have to pretend, though. You know that. And I’m proud of you for walking away when you needed space.”

She gripped his fingers tightly. Grounded. Fiddled with his wedding band.

And little by little, her breathing began to slow.

—

Later, Amelia returned to her desk. The office had quieted. A sticky note sat on her monitor from Oscar, in his neat, blocky handwriting.

YOU’RE ALLOWED TO HAVE BAD DAYS — Ducky

She exhaled a shaky laugh.

Callum brought her tea an hour later and didn’t say a word, just left it on her desk like a peace offering. She nodded her thanks, smile tight but genuine.

She reopened her iPad, fingers steady now. Her brain still hurt, her skin still buzzed with leftover static, but she was here. She was okay.

And she could fix this.

—

The strategy room was windowless, cold, and lit by the slightly too-white fluorescents that made Amelia’s eyes burn.

She sat near the front with her iPad open, stylus twirling between her fingers as various engineers clicked through performance graphs on the large screen. Tyre degradation, pit stop windows, stint lengths, lap delta comparisons. The usual mess of variables before a race.

Oscar was next to her, elbows on the table, listening intently. He never interrupted. Never fidgeted. Just watched. Logged everything.

When the final graph flicked across the screen with the projected optimal strategy, medium-hard-medium, Amelia tilted her head, expression flat.

“No,” she said simply.

A pause.

One of the strategy engineers, Jeremy, looked up. “You don’t agree?”

“No. That doesn’t win us anything. That gives us a decent P6, maybe. P7 if the Mercs behave.”

“And what would you suggest?”

Amelia tapped the stylus against her pad. “Soft-Hard. Big launch, early gain. One stop. Pit window between 14 and 18, if the tyres last. Risky, but Oscar’s tyre management is good enough. He’s not heavy on the fronts.”

Oscar, quiet until now, nodded. “That’s what I felt in FP2. Softs felt clean even on the heavier fuel run. Just needs the rear temps managed early.”

Amelia gave him a slight smile, not warm exactly, but approving. “Driver agrees.”

Jeremy frowned. “If we pit early, we get undercut risk. Traffic.”

“We’re already in traffic,” Amelia replied. “You think anyone’s just going to make room for us? The only way through is to make it past them before the midfield concertina sets in. That means launch tyre, low fuel window, commit to Plan A. We stay reactive. Flexible. But we commit.”

Oscar added, “And if it doesn’t work?”

She looked at him. Direct. “Then it doesn’t. But we’ve learned more than we would’ve finishing behind both Alpines.”

Silence. Then, slowly, Andrea leaned back in his seat and said, “It’s bold.”

“That’s how we race,” Amelia said.

Another pause. Then a nod from Andrea. “Alright. Amelia, prep two versions of the radio calls. One if we need to abort early. One if we push deep into the stint.”

“Already halfway done,” she said, flipping to a new tab.

Oscar leaned toward her, voice low. “You really think we can pull it off?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“I like it,” he said, almost to himself.

She looked at him sideways. “You trust me?”

He blinked. “Yeah. I do.”

She smiled, barely. “Then we’re good. Don’t be late to the grid walk. Make sure Lando’s had some water.”

“Yeah. I will,” Oscar muttered.

As the team filed out, Jeremy passed Amelia with a nod. “You’re not as scary as everyone said you’d be.”

“No,” she shrugged. “Not scary. Just… specific.”

Oscar held the door open, glancing at her. “Will you make me cookies if I finish top five?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “With raspberries. Just don’t tell Kim. He keeps telling me off for giving you treats that aren’t on your meal plan.”

“Mean.” Oscar complained.

“Very mean.” Amelia agreed.

—

The moment Lando stepped off the scale in parc fermé, Amelia launched herself at him.

He barely got his arms up in time to catch her — she collided with his chest like a missile, legs wrapping around his waist, arms tight around his neck.

“You crazy, crazy man,” she whispered fiercely into his ear, smiling so wide it hurt. “You data-defying freak.”

Lando laughed, breathless, still winded from the final laps but suddenly full of adrenaline again. “Hello, my beautiful wife.”

She kissed him hard, not the polished PR kind, but the messy, gleeful, post-race kind that tasted like sweat and relief. Cameras were around them, but neither of them cared. Hadn’t for a long time.

“P2,” he said, dazed.

“Yes,” she said, still clinging to him. “I’m so proud of you.”

He set her down, barely. She kept one hand fisted in his fireproofs, grounding herself.

“That was such an amazing drive,” she said, quieter now. “Every lap. You didn’t put a single foot wrong. And I’m so proud of you, Lando.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes glinting under the brim of his cap. “Thank you, baby. For this. You. The car.”

“Anything for you,” she whispered, leaning up on her tiptoes and brushing their noses together. “I was getting tired of you moping around the apartment and yelling at Gran Turismo.”

He snorted. “You love when I yell at Gran Turismo.”

“I love you,” she said simply.

Someone called his name, an FIA official, maybe, or one of the social team, but he ignored it for a second longer. His thumb brushed her jaw. “Meet me at the podium?”

“I’ll be there.” Watching, always watching, always in awe of the man she loved.

“I want to spray you with champagne.” He told her.

“You’re not allowed to,” she warned. “I’ll be sticky.”

“Don’t care.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, kissed him again, and let him go.

Later, after the podium ceremony, after she did get sprayed, and did yell “Lando Norris, don’t you dare!” on live television, they curled up together in the back of the hospitality unit, him shirtless, her in one of his McLaren hoodies, and split a tiny bottle of celebratory wine Oscar had swiped from the hospitality fridge.

“I missed this,” Lando murmured, head on her shoulder.

She brushed his curls back from his forehead. “Podiums?”

“No,” he said, looking up at her. “You. You being happy. You being here, at McLaren, with me.” He paused, and she leaned closer curiously as he gazed at her, all soft and sweet and so dearly tender. “I kept it, you know? The note you left me before you joined RedBull. The one where you called me an asshole. The booklet too, with the race notes. You were the reason for every podium I got the year after that, you know?”

She swallowed thickly. Stared at him. Reached her hand up to cup his face. “You’re not an asshole.” She whispered. Needed to say it. Needed him to know that she didn’t believe that anymore.

“I am sometimes,” he grinned lopsidedly. “But you love me anyway.”

“I love you anyway.” She whispered.

—

It started with the toaster.

Specifically, with Lando kicking the cupboard under the sink in frustration because where the hell was the toaster? and why is there no bloody counter space anymore?

“I moved it because your smoothie machine was leaking again,” Amelia said from the floor of the living room, surrounded by three open boxes of car telemetry printouts and what looked like half of a sock drawer.

“I fixed the leak.” Lando told her.

She frowned at her pencil. “You fixed it with duct tape.”

“That’s how men do it,” Lando said, crouching to help pick up a stack of papers that had slipped under the coffee table. “Are these important?”

“Yes. They’re the data sheets from Oscar’s last long run simulation—don’t fold them!”

“I wasn’t going to—” He paused. “Okay, I was.”

She snatched them out of his hand, stuffing them back into a manila folder that was already bursting. Over the last few months, their beautiful apartment had started to look less like a home and more like an office. Helmets on shelves, engineering notebooks piled on chairs, printer cables tangled with furniture.

Lando stood up and did a slow 360° in the living room. “Have we… always had this much stuff?” He asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

“No,” Amelia said. “You moved in with a single suitcase of clothes and a sim rig. I had four crates of notebooks, over two hundred pairs of shoes, and a bookshelf. Now you have a room full of gaming stuff, we have two Dyson fans, my office is overflowing, and Max’s cats all-but live here part-time.” She pointed at the cat-tree they had stuffed into a tight corner by the window.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to move?”

“I don’t want to,” she said bluntly, “but we’ve started tripping over each other. Literally. I had to do my work in the bathroom yesterday because you needed to use the extension cord in my office to use your NutriBullet.”

“There was no space in the kitchen.” He argued.

“Yes, I know. It was still a ridiculous solution.” She told him flatly.

He tried not to laugh. “Baby, you’re still mad?” He cooed.

“Lando,” she said, looking up at him, serious now. “We’ve outgrown this place. I love it, and it will always be our first home, but I don’t want to have to think about if I have space in my wardrobe to buy a new pair of shoes when I see ones that I like.” She said, biting her lip. “And I need a bigger office. You need a streaming room that doesn’t double as a spare room. It’s not fair to shove Oscar onto a pull-out bed every time he’s here.”

He flopped down next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. “Suppose we could have a bigger kitchen.” He mumbled against her neck. “A nicer balcony. Maybe a dining room.”

“And plenty of space for guests,” she said.

Lando leaned his head against hers. “Okay. Let’s look. After the triple header.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, letting herself relax into his side. “I want to stay in this neighbourhood. Or close.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” He hummed.

She cracked a smile. “And I want us to start looking for a house in England, too. Not for now… but for later. Somewhere to disappear during off-seasons. With a big garden, and trees, and a big garage for me to play around with some cars again.” She rambled.

He stared at her, hearts in his eyes. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she said softly, and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Carry me into the kitchen. My legs are numb, but I’ll help you find the toaster.”

—

From the pit wall, the view was beautiful.

The sun beat down on the Hungaroring like it was trying to melt the asphalt. The air was thick with it though, and Amelia’s headset slightly with heat distortion.

Oscar was starting from the second row. P4.

Lando P3.

Both of her boys making up the second row.

Her fingers tapped restlessly against her keyboard, eyes flicking between sector deltas and real-time tyre temp data. She barely noticed the world around her, only the voices in her ear and the heartbeat under her skin.

“Oscar, radio check?”

“Radio good.” Calm, sharp. His tone was always a little flat, that’s what everyone said; that he was emotionless. It made them a perfect duo — she never needed to try to unravel his tone. If he was thinking something, feeling something, he said it.

“Copy. Full systems looking good. Expect higher degradation on rear left — we’ll manage it through lift points. Brake temps will spike early. Keep it smooth, ducky.”

“Understood.” He said.

She leaned back in her stool and glance to her left, giving her dad a confident smile. He leaned across to give her a heavy shoulder pat, squeezing hard.

—

The launch was perfect.

Oscar didn’t just hold his position off the line; he gained. He swept into Turn 1 ahead of Lewis, ahead of even his teammate. For one brief, glorious moment, he was P2 behind Max Verstappen, in only his 11th Formula 1 race.

Amelia didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just… hyper focused.

“Amazing job, Oscar. Straight into it. Eyes forward — target delta plus point-three, we’ll manage tyres early.” She said.

“Copy.”

Her hands hovered over the live strategy tools. They were starting on Plan A, soft-to-medium, but she had contingencies mapped like a chess board. She refused to ever resort to a late reaction.

—

By Lap 16, Lando had undercut Oscar and slotted into net P2.

Amelia knew it would happen. Still, she hated how early they’d had to box Oscar, forced into it by track position pressure and the undercut threat from Lewis behind. The window had been tight. And the McLaren pit stop wasn’t their best; 3.8 seconds. Enough to cost.

Oscar rejoined in traffic. Slower cars. Dirty air.

The moment Oscar keyed his mic, she knew he felt it too.

“Tyres feel edgy. Car’s moving around.”

“Yeah. I know. Let’s build up our temps gradually. Try not to fight the dirty air. We’re still advantage three, ducky. Cleaner air will come to us once we’re through this pack.”

He didn’t reply right away. But when he did, it was with full faith in her plan. “Copy. Staying patient.”

She made a note on her pad, already tracking tyre drop-off curves from the medium runners around him. There was still a shot at a P4 finish. Maybe more, if Ferrari made the wrong call. Again.

—

The race stabilised. Max was untouchable up front, but Lando and Oscar were both holding on. Lando ran solidly in P2. Oscar, behind him in P5 with Charles closing. Too slowly to be dangerous yet, but Amelia knew better than to relax.

“Leclerc at 2.2 behind. He’s on slightly newer mediums, but they’ll plateau. You’re doing exactly what I need you to do.”

“Rear left’s starting to slip.” He reported.

Amelia adjusted her headset mic. She didn’t raise her voice, but the sharpness of her tone cut through the heat and static. “We’re monitoring. Keep it tight in 11 and off the kerbs in Sector 2. We’ll be okay.”

Will leaned toward her, murmuring, “You sure we’re not going to lose it to Leclerc?”

She didn’t look away from the screen. “Not if he does exactly what I tell him. And he will.”

—

Leclerc wasn’t fast enough. And Oscar, even with graining tyres, rising temps, and thirty-five laps of non-stop pressure, didn’t put a wheel wrong.

“Last lap. Keep it clean. You’ve broken DRS.”

“Copy.” Calm. Professional. Perfectly Oscar.

When he crossed the line in P5, just behind Lewis, Amelia didn’t outwardly react. But her hand curled into a fist beneath the desk, opening and closing five times in even succession.

It wasn’t a podium. But it was a statement.

—

In the garage, the heat clung to them like a second skin. Amelia handed Oscar a water bottle before he even had to ask.

“You made them work for it,” she said.

Oscar looked at her, face half-smeared with visor marks, and raised a brow. “I was pushing hard.”

“I know,” she said, voice level. “Even after the weak strategy call. You salvaged your position, and it was impressive.”

He tilted his head. “Even that moment in Turn 2 where I had to back off?”

“Especially then,” she said. “That’s when I knew you were supposed to be my driver. You fight hard, but you race clean.”

Oscar snorted, leaning against the garage wall. “You’re very dramatic. And demanding on the radio.”

“You stayed ahead of a Ferrari on thirty-lap-old tyres. So…” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He smirked, then looked at her sideways. “Think we could’ve held that podium if we boxed one lap later?”

Amelia refused to lie. “Maybe. But we don’t deal in maybes. We deal in execution. And yours was great.”

He bumped her arm. “Thanks. I got a bit stressed there, after the first stop. You helped me keep my head.”

She smiled, faint but proud. “I’ll always do that.”

—

It wasn’t victory.

But it was control. It was consistency. It was yet another way of telling the world that Oscar Piastri, under her watch, was going to become something extraordinary.

—

Amelia found her husband sitting on one of the stackable pit wall chairs, half out of his fireproofs, head tipped back, hair damp with sweat. His eyes were closed, not asleep, but close to it. That bone-deep exhaustion that only comes after a truly hard-fought podium.

She nudged his knee with hers.

He cracked an eye open. Smiled when he saw that it was her. “Hey, Mrs. P5.”

She smiled right back at him. “Hi, Mr. P2.”

He let out a slow breath, opened his arms. She fell into them, onto his lap, and let him hold her. Tight. “Felt good today.” He started. “Felt like we were… properly in it. Like we’re not just pretending anymore.”

“You weren’t pretending in Silverstone, either,” she reminded him, sliding into the seat beside him. “But you really earned it today with that middle stint.”

He gazed down at her. “You always manage to do this.”

“What?” She asked, blinking at him.

“Say the exact right thing. Make me feel even better about a result I’m already proper buzzing about.” He explained, with a tilted smile. “Makes me feel like a bit of a muppet, honestly.”

She didn’t respond, just leaned over slightly, drawing something out from the inside of the pocket of her McLaren windbreaker. A thin silver chain, a small pendant strung on it. Lando in cursive letters, cut from a sheet of polished silver.

She held it up between them.

“A fan gave this to me outside the paddock,” she said, tone matter-of-fact. “Asked me to give it to you. I told her I was going to keep it.”

Lando blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Because,” she went on, “it has your name on it. And that’s comforting. Like when I labelled everything in the kitchen drawers so you stopped putting the spoons in the wrong place.”

He started laughing. “You think I’m a drawer?”

“I think you’re mine,” she said plainly. “And this necklace is a tactile reminder. So I’m keeping it. And I’m going to wear it all the time. Until it goes rusty, and then I’m going to have another one made. More permanent. And I’ll wear that one all the time too.”

Lando looked at her for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching with affection. “You’re so romantic.”

“Maybe.” She sighed, like it was the worst thing she’d ever been told.

That earned a full grin from him. Tired, slightly loopy from the adrenaline crash, but full and wide. He reached over and ran his fingers along the chain. “I love you, baby.” He said quietly.

She looked at him, blinked once. “I know.” A beat passed. She gave him the smallest smile, then added, “And I love you too.”

Lando pressed his forehead against hers. “God, I missed you during the cool-down room. Lewis and Max were being so serious. I just wanted to say something dumb and have you roll your eyes at me. Make everything feel fun again.”

“You did great,” she told him earnestly. “You kept Max behind you for more laps than most people have managed all year.”

He pulled her in then, quick and fierce, arms around her back, his mouth warm against hers. “You’re the only podium celebration I actually look forward to.” A pause. A long, lingering kiss. And then, “did you bring the chequered flag underwear?”

She glanced around before tugging at her top.

He peeked down and smirked.

“Fucking class.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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seat-safety-switch · 28 days ago

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When you spend a lot of time on the internet, it's easy to get lured into the dumbest arguments known to humankind. It's just part of our species. Rather than actually solve major problems, it's more fun to isolate a trivial difference and get really angry about it.

As a kid, I remember two things clearly about kindergarten: one, the kid who peed her pants on the first day, and two, the class chicks. They were raised from eggs in an incubator and we got to see them for a couple of weeks until they were big enough to go back to the petting zoo where they came from. I figured this was a shared experience amongst all five-year-olds.

Recently, I spoke to someone who went to a different school. The next one over. Their kindergarten class raised ducklings. Quack-quack, not cheep-cheep. I began to wonder if my memory was faulty. Several sleepless nights later, I realized that I did not truly know if they were chickens and ducks. Did it matter? For my subconscious to be so irritated, it must be important.

I went back to the person who told me about the ducklings. They shrugged, and said they don't really remember, themselves. That's when the real horror began.

"Ducks and chickens are basically the same thing."

How do you argue with such a statement? For me, it consisted of several minutes of yelling, followed by doing a spiteful burnout in their driveway. We'll never speak again. On the internet, we would have argued for several hours before reaching the same conclusion, and I still wouldn't know if I had a cheep-cheep or a quack-quack in my early childhood development. At least I have the pee-pants kid to fall back on as my only remaining rock of truth.

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jamereadsmanga · 4 months ago

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So, according to Damian, his dad stopped the war... very interesting,,, very interesting indeed.

It's a small line, but it says a lot about Damian, his values, and why he looks up to his father. Damian, likely with a limited understanding of politics, believes that his father was responsible for at least the end of the war. Whether or not that is true (to be addressed later), it still helps to clarify why he would look up to such an "evil" man.

Donovan has long had the reputation of being a war mongerer, and Damian is essentially the only character who has anything remotely positive to say about him. It's clear that the reason Damian idolizes his father is because he doesn't really know who his father is. As a result, he idolizes his father based solely on action, not ideology.

And this is where it gets interesting. Damian looking up to his father for stopping the war means that to Damian, the heroic thing to do in this situation is to stop the war. This implies that Damian is, of course, anti-war.

This also indicates that despite his open adoration for his father, no one actually talks to him about him. He only has second-hand information that he was left to interpret by himself; drawing the faulty conclusion that his father stopped the war.

Damian doesn't know his father. He knows a very vague and disjoint version of him. Most of he loves probably isn't even true, and it's just things he projected onto his father to fill the gaps. At his core, he wants to love his father and therefore will find any reason to.

This helps to better explain the disconnect between him and his family. Demetrius is old enough to know and understand his father's role and beliefs with regard to war, and for that reason, he looks down on him. Melinda knew her husband, but at some point, he changed in such a way that he is borderline unrecognizable. With that change comes fear and distrust.

Now for the big question: did Donovan stop the war?

Answer: Assuming Donovan was in office at the time, yes.

Although I don't think the exact conclusion to the war was ever shared, my best guess is that it was some form of mutual agreement, possibly due to an external force. Given the timing of the story, this would be around the time when the UN was formed, and that could have pressured the countries to go about the warfare in more discreet and less destructive ways. Alternatively, there could be a shift in an environmental factor that caused both countries to pull back (eg, limit weaponry, natural disaster, etc).

(It's hard to say how much influence an organization like the UN would have as we still have no context and the political forces that drove the war. But then we will be getting into discussions about colonialism and imperialism, which is such a drag.)

What we do know for sure is that nobody truly won the war. Hence, why they are currently in a cold war.

Leaning more into a treaty or agreement of some sort being used, we can see why the SSS and WISE are still active. Westalis does not trust Ostania to uphold their side of the bargain and therefore are prompted to keep spies in the east to ensure nothing goes wrong. The SSS is reaction to their presence, seeking to pick them out and stop them from reporting back. This might seem suspicious on Ostania's side, but again, we do not know the true intentions of Westalis.

Without any proper understanding of why the two countries fought, it's hard to define "peace" on either side. The story is told from a biased perspective, so I refuse to simply take Twilight's word on the situation.

That being said

Donovan likely was forced to stop the war by signing whatever treaty or agreement was presented to them. So, even if he didn't necessarily want to, he still did. Therefore, he did stop the war. However, the detail that Damian is missing is the why. We know he didn't want to war to end and is clearly up to something in that space ship of his.

We can always refer back to his very not creepy debate from the 17th century:

He does not believe that humans have the capacity to genuinely stop fighting. According to him, someone is always lying, and therefore, no one can be trusted. A deranged take for a 7th grader, but that does explain his behavior. Ironically, he is now the liar who can not be trusted. His own anxiety turned him into the very person he resented.

At least according to Twilight.

Now i can go on and on about the parallels between Twilight and Donovan, but no one cares, so I'll make it short. Twilight is functionally no different from Donovan. They both aid in the cycle of war.

Although I don't think sxf is sophisticated enough to pull this kind of twist, it is still interesting to think about.

In the same way, we as an audience blindly assume Twilight is right, the same way Damian blindly assumes his father is right. In the end, we don't actually know what Donovan wants. The whole point of the mission is to figure it out. And man is he dragging his feet on it its been 100 chapters Twilight...

#spy x family #sxf #donovan desmond #damian desmond #melinda desmond #demetrius desmond #sxf spoilers #sxf analysis #sxf chapter 113 #twilight #loid forger

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luanna801 · 5 months ago

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Despite me joking about Lan Xichen not reading the room re: NMJ and JGY, I actually disagree with the idea that the Sworn Brotherhood was inherently a terrible idea and he should have known it would make things worse. I think it's a classic case where because we as the audience know how it turns out, that outcome seems like an inevitability and the characters end up being called dumb for not predicting it. But I think with the information Lan Xichen had at the time, it wasn't unreasonable for him to think this might work and was at least worth trying.

And I think in a different story, this is the kind of idea that could easily have worked and led to a heartwarming story about redemption and healed relationships. MDZS is just sadly not that story, at least for these characters, but as always fictional characters don't know what story they're living in and can't be expected to predict the future. All they can do is act based on the information available to them, and I would argue Lan Xichen didn't really have enough information to predict how this would turn out:

(1) At this point, the only time Nie Mingjue has tried to kill Jin Guangyao is when he mistakenly thought JGY had actually betrayed them and defected to the Wen side. Once the truth was cleared up, NMJ is still furious but backs down from trying to kill him. (JGY, meanwhile, has made no attempts to kill or even harm NMJ yet, and in fact actually saved his life.)

From Lan Xichen's perspective, he has every reason to think this incident was just an anomaly based on a very extreme situation where NMJ was acting on faulty information. He has no reason to think Nie Mingjue would try to kill Jin Guangyao again, or vice versa, so as far as he knows the worst case scenario for the sworn brotherhood is just... that it won't go great. That maybe they'll never really get along again, but they'll still collaborate politically for the sake of the Sworn Brotherhood, and there will be no real harm done that they tried. There isn't really a way he could have predicted things would escalate to them trying to kill each other.

(2) Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao used to not just tolerate each other but get along/work together EXCEPTIONALLY well, and Lan Xichen saw them during that time. He also knows they're both pretty closed-off people who canonically don't have a lot of friends and are hurt by the way things fell apart. It makes total sense for him to think they might be able to get back to how things used to be if they just got a chance to clear up misunderstandings and be reminded of the things they used to like about each other. And it makes sense that as someone who cares about them both he would want that for them.

(3) Lan Xichen sees both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao as fundamentally good people. We can argue that he's mistaken in one or both of those evaluations, but based on what he knows, and indeed what they're respectively actually guilty of at that time, I don't think it's unreasonable for him to think so.

Most of JGY's worst actions are still in the future at this point. His only real crime (other than the things he did undercover, which LXC doesn't condemn) is killing the captain, which is an ambiguous enough situation that it makes sense for Lan Xichen to not consider it conclusive. Especially when weighed against what for LXC is far more substantial proof of JGY's goodness, like JGY having saved his own life when he was on the run, his time loyally and effectively serving NMJ, his incredibly brave and critical contributions to the war effort, etc.

Likewise, Nie Mingjue has yet to start acting as violent and unhinged as he later will on account of the saber spirit. While he's gotten angry, it was typically in rational ways that are largely proportional to the situation. He isn't doing anything comparable to the way he later flies off the handle at both Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang in largely irrational ways.

(We could argue that LXC should have known that he'd eventually end up there because of how saber cultivation works, but considering even Nie Huaisang apparently didn't know about it, I don't know that a member of another clan would have that kind of in-depth knowledge of the effects of Nie saber-wielding. LXC presumably knows the basic idea, but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows the specifics or how bad it can get.)

Therefore, from LXC's perspective these are two fundamentally kind, good people who all other things being equal should be able to work things out. And on the whole, he has far more evidence backing that up than contradicting it at this point in time.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #three zun #lan xichen #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #analysis #character analysis

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mythronic · 5 months ago

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Wayne Family Persona TIME (Pt 1)

Brucie Wayne thinks he did it best? Nuh uh, his kids are a multitude of little shits who like to one up their father.

Richie Gray:

Hot boy supreme, instagram model, verified on all platforms, spoiled little brat. Dick’s persona revolves around posting shirtless pictures of himself on social media and posting about his lifestyle as an Olympic gymnast and 4-time champion medallist, social media heartbreaker and sexyman of Gotham type shii. He posts GRWM’s while gossiping and complaining while posting about brand deals and promoting products online.

Trust me, he’s absolutely been so absolutely flustered and embarrassed posting all those pictures cause man actually does not know what to do with himself. Golden retriever soft boy he is,,,

He makes friends with other models and influencers, (if anyone imagines Young Justice the show instead of the comics, then Garfield Logan) and would later whine about them to Wally, Donna, and Roy.

Dick: “Why do these wannabe makeup influencers think that promoting faulty product is fine as long as they apologise for when they inevitably get caught? Why??”

Wally: “Money?”

Roy: “Attention.”

Dick: “WhYYYY—“

Jayce Todd-Wayne:

Charity boy from crime alley who’s always trying to help. Jason pre-death went with his persona, genuinely putting money into improving the things that genuinely needed to be improved, like the orphanages and foster care system as well as helping work to eliminate as much homelessness as possible by reinforcing and providing camps and shelters that provide the help they need.

Post Ethiopia I imagine Jason doesn’t go to any galas or anything anymore, content with making change as Red Hood and not wanting to feel his anger flare at interacting with privileged and ungrateful millionaires.

No one in Crime Alley believed that Jayce was his actual personality, growing up on the streets in the Narrows or Crime Alley doesn’t exactly foster naïveté like that, but they understand the necessity and appreciate his help.

Jason, to Blue Hood: “Yeah. These are the good places, they can’t always provide shelter, but they’re always up to date on space, food content, all that stuff.”

Tyler: “Ooh, I heard that Jayce Wayne was the one who made that system.”

Jason: “Ug-ac— Ack- Yeah kid.”

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne:

Business mogul and the genius heir of Wayne Enterprises as its current majority shareholder. Tim went for the fear route. His family choose to stick to the ditzy, air headed natures, Tim went with a cruel ruthlessness that can freeze over hell. Strategic, business savvy, and knows everything about everyone—socialites fear and respect him, and the people appreciate his cold and brutal, but honest and fair method of running the Neon Knights.

Tim in actuality, being a more laidback and sarcastic person, and as Cardinal, the sly, chaotic little brat who makes friends with villains and rogues for fun will never be mistaken for cold hearted Timothy Drake-Wayne.

He’s a messy little shit with a messy relationship history, the media is not surprised when he publicly dates Conner Luthor, the heir of another ruthless businessman. They fear what kind of order these two will create.

Tim: “Bern, Kon, look: ‘Breaking News: Conner Luthor caught in a scandalous kiss with mysterious blonde?’ How do you think we should twist this story, hm?”

Bernard: “Ooh- ooh! You can go to the location and take a picture with you both in that exact position and pose as a selfie, and use that selfie as a claim that the author doctored the picture.”

Kon: “That’ll be fun.”

Cassandra Wayne:

Stuck up rich kid, accomplished Dancer, protective sister. People believe that she and Tim are twins, and therefore, Cass matches his cold energy with an… ‘Entitled sister’ energy. It’s not that hard for her to fake, people at galas were disingenuous and fake, all she needs to do is silently stick her nose up at them and people made their own conclusions. She’s Tim’s other half, and together they would scare the socialites back to their corners.

Although she may be a ‘stuck up brat who mooches off of her little brother’s work, she’s a respected dancer and her media presence doesn’t affect the views on her performances. (Socialite gossip sticks to socialite gossip)

People also have learned never to piss off Cassandra Wayne, especially in the form of insulting or harassing her brothers. You will regret it.

Xanthe: “You punched a politician?”

Cass: “Insulted Tim. I did warn him.”

Xanthe: “How is your persona both so inconvenient and convenient at the same time?”

Cass: *shrug*

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visionsofyouandme · 7 months ago

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it's golden (like daylight)

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Winter is coming, bringing loneliness and shorter days. But Joel still finds he values the daylight (and you) through it all.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 13.6k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Afab!reader w she/her pronouns (but no physical descriptions), fluff, slow burn, pining!Joel, Jackson!Joel, post-outbreak, soft!joel, swearing, some physical violence (not against reader), age gap or no age gap- you decide!, POV switching, alcohol consumption, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), praise kink, Joel talks you through it, p in v sex, apocalypse BC method (pulling out), aftercare. Happy ending! (Moodboard for vibes and vibes only)

𝙰/𝙽: Well, here it is! The full-on, real deal. If you think this is familiar, it's because I originally posted parts 1 & 2 on my other blog, @queeneamidala but this is my new, improved, and SOLELY writing blog. I'm so excited to share the full thing with you guys. This is my first full length, finished fic in so so long. I would love any and all feedback- comments, likes, reblogs, you name it! Anyway, can't wait to share this lil journey with ya'll. Hope you enjoy <3

Read here on AO3 !

Joel was eating idly in the cafeteria when he heard Ellie’s voice. He glanced back, and noticed her talking to a woman he had seen around the town of Jackson. She was a friend of Tommy and Maria’s, he knew that much. Hell, a friend to everyone in town but him, it seemed. Granted, he hadn’t spoken a word to her, or opened the door to conversation in the first place. Some would say it was out of shyness or fear, but really, he just felt unworthy of her attention.

She was beautiful, but that was just a general observation.

You were beautiful, and he had come to this conclusion several times while passing you by in town. He had noticed you speaking to nearly every person in town. You had a very easy-going air about you, friendly. Open.

So, he steered clear. Forming personal connections outside of immediate family was not something he was keen on. He has had a life fraught with grief, seen and done unspeakable things. He wasn’t meant to be loved, not after everything he’s done.

But the way you talked to Tommy, and now Ellie more and more often had Joel at an uncomfortably close proximity to you. Your presence was drawing near, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

He sort of didn’t want to stop it.

But, just when he thought you were going to approach the table to sit, you broke away from Ellie and walked to a different table. He felt something drop in his chest. Was that really, really disappointment that he felt?

“Makin’ friends?” Joel questioned as Ellie sat down, and she snorted.

“Why? Jealous?” She said with a smirk, and Joel cocked up an eyebrow.

“You could use a friend.” Ellie added, and Joel shifted a bit uncomfortably.

“I don’t need anyone.” He said into his food, and Ellie made a face, rolling her eyes.

“Everybody needs at least someone.”

Joel’s eyes shifted to you sitting at the table just across from them. Your smile was radiant, and he felt something twist in his chest.

He wasn’t meant to be loved.

~*~*~

Winter was coming, and the people in town were preparing. You were busy but still managed to make time for people. For everyone, really. Joel was almost envious about how easy you talked to people. He didn’t have the same talent, but he was fine with that.

So, one day, when he was called upon a house to help with some faulty wiring, he was taken aback when it was your house he was called to.

You didn’t need help. Not really. You were fairly self sufficient, and made your own way through town. Joel knew this, and it made him nervous when you called upon him specifically to make sure you were prepared for the wintertime.

But, he took his toolkit and went to your place. The door was open, but…

You weren’t home.

He felt disappointment in his chest again. He shook it off though and walked to the side of the house outside. He opened the box and began to work diligently, his mind wandering to other things. But he tried to fight off the thoughts of you and how disappointed he felt when he found out you weren’t home. However, they just kept coming around again, and again, and again.

“You look so serious.” A voice said, and Joel jerked back like he had been electrocuted. His head swiveled to the side and he saw you standing there, leaning against the side of the house with your arms crossed. You looked so effortless and cool, and-

How long had you been standing there?

“Job’s gotta get done.” Joel said, gesturing to the box, “as you requested.”

You nodded, and a smile creeped into your face that he hadn’t seen before. He had seen you smile plenty of times- laughing and talking with the people in town, with Maria, with Ellie. But this felt different. Or was he just imagining it?

“Yeah, you came highly recommended.” You said, and Joel scoffed, turning back to the box and tried to get back to work. But, he was horrible at multitasking, especially when it came down to you distracting him by your presence alone.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Ellie was insistent that you were the best the town had.” You said, and Joel lost his concentration and nearly dropped the screwdriver he held.

Christ, I’m gonna kill that girl.

He furrowed his brow like nothing happened and kept working. He was definitely going to talk to Ellie later. The last thing he needed was the whole town to be depending on him for maintenance.

But for you…? Well, it wasn’t so bad.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to receive you. Work held me up.” You said, gesturing behind you. Joel finally flicked a switch and the box buzzed to life. He felt himself deflate a bit. Guess it was time for him to go.

“No worries.” He said, putting his tools back in the toolbox and stood straight. He held the box in hand, and regarded you with soft brown eyes. You pushed off the corner of the house, and smiled that bright smile of yours.

“You… let me know if there’s- if there’s anythin’ else.” Joel said, trying to keep it drawn out but it sounded rushed to his ears. He nodded minutely and you stepped out of the way.

“Thank you. It means more to me than you know.” You said, and shifted, your shoulders brushing by accident. Joel simply nodded, and made his way home.

He rubbed his arm after a few minutes of walking, trying to savor the warmth blooming under his skin.

~*~*~

Tommy and Joel were sitting at The Tipsy Bison, talking over a few drinks.

You had requested Joel’s help two more times now. Both small and trivial, but Joel was more than happy to help. You weren’t there the second time he came, but when he was there the third time, you offered him coffee. He was an idiot, and turned you down. But, that smile never wavered.

“Next time.” You said.

Next time, Joel thought. There was going to be a next time? He hoped so.

“I see you’re helping some people out. Good for you to get some socializing in.” Tommy noted after taking a sip of his drink. Joel shrugged,

“It’s fine, I guess. Just doin’ my part.” He said. Tommy nodded, and regarded his brother with a peculiar expression. Joel felt like he was plotting something, but didn’t have time to really think about it before a voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Well, you two look like you’re having fun. Mind if we cut in?” Maria questioned, and Joel barely looked up, until it registered in his mind.

We?

You settled into the seat beside Joel while Maria took the one by Tommy, boxing the boys in. Joel instinctively stiffened, and hoped you didn’t notice. If you did, you didn’t show it.

“What are we drinking tonight, boys?” You questioned, and Joel glanced at you. He cleared his throat, looking down, and held up his glass slightly.

“Whatever they’re trying to pass off as whsikey.” He said, and you looked at him. He felt like a deer in the headlights, watching you look at him. It felt like time was suspended, and he gulped. But, you smiled like it was nothing and turned to the bartender.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You said, jutting your thumb at Joel. The bartender slid the glass into your hand with ease. Joel thought everything you did was effortless. You certainly made it seem so.

It dawned on him that Tommy and Maria were knee-deep in their own conversation, promptly blocking off you two. It felt intentional, causing Joel to be put on the spot, under your eye.

“Thanks for all your help by the way.” You said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. Joel nodded, his brown eyes casting down to his glass.

“Anytime.” He said with a dismissive wave of his hand. It wasn’t lost on you that Joel was slowly becoming a bigger part of the community. He wasn’t just keeping to himself, but helping others with house repairs or such. You hadn't seen him offer such services until you had reached out to him.

But, he didn’t do it for them. He knew that deep down inside.

He did it for you.

“I gotta say, Mr. Miller, you’re an enigma.” You said with a light laugh. Joel’s eyebrows furrowed, and felt his stomach lurched at you saying his name, even if it was his last name. “You know; a mystery, something hard to explain.”

“I ain’t no mystery.” He said, shaking his head. You grinned, and tilted your head to the side. Joel felt his mouth go dry, so he took a sip of his drink to quell it.

“Okay, okay.” You said, shrugging and turned your gaze across the bar. He felt your elbows becoming achingly close. If he just shifted just slightly, he could feel you against him.

“Mind if I stop by tomorrow?” You said so abruptly that it threw his thoughts off.

“Sorry?”

“I got Ellie a new book. Something about space and aliens and shit. Something I think she’d like.” You said. Joel felt a twinge of appreciation there. So, somebody was looking after Ellie besides him. He liked that. It warmed his hardened heart.

“Sure. You can drop it off.” He said, and he stole a glance your way. You were grinning, but trying to hide it. You took a sip of your beer to try to mask it, but he could see the way the corners of your lips quirked up.

“I’ll be there then.”

~*~*~

Joel had waited for you for a day or two. He found reasons to stay home, claiming he wasn’t feeling well, that he was sick. So, when you finally knocked on his door towards the end of the second day, he was surprised to find you holding a dish in your hand as well as the book.

“Heard you weren’t feeling well. Made you a little something.” You said so casually. But, Joel was floored. You heard about him, and went out of your way to do something for him?

He felt bad for faking his illness. But, the fact you did this? It flooded his chest with gratitude, and an ache that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Thank you.” He said, and went to take it but then paused. You laughed,

“I don’t care about getting sick. Here.” You said, and handed him the dish, barely crossing over the threshold. He took it gingerly, and looked down at it. Whatever it was, it looked damn good.

“Do you… would ya want to come in?” He offered. You suddenly beamed, and god, if that wasn’t a sight to see. Joel thought there wouldn’t be anything better in the world.

“Sure.” You responded, and Joel moved to let you inside. As you passed, he could smell your soap, or personal scent- whatever it was, he felt lightheaded in the best way. He closed the door and walked to the kitchen, you following him along.

“I also have the book. Hope Ellie’s not too mad it took me so long.” You laughed and set the book on the kitchen table. Joel walked to the other side, setting down the dish.

“‘M sure she won’t mind.” He said, and his eyes shifted to you. You and all your beauty, your kindness, the way your eyes smiled even while you were sharing a passive look.

“Do you want some coffee?” He questioned, and there he went, sounding rushed again. He just wanted you to stay, to share you sunlight with him just a bit longer. You had a knowing smile, and nodded gently.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” When you agreed to it, he got busy. He nearly knocked off the mugs off the counter trying to prepare everything. You sat at the table, and glanced down at the book. Joel looked back to see your attention on something else other than him, and felt a little more at ease.

“I got a patrol coming up.” You said, and Joel poured the dark liquid into one of the faded mugs. He turned and carried it to you at the table, sitting across from you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They switched up my partner, though. Hannah isn’t feeling well, so they put me with someone else.” You said, and he could see for the first time something else in your expression- anxiety. Fear.

He didn’t like it, to see you facing such emotions. He wished he could wrap them all up and throw them away. Whatever it took to see your smile again.

“Who’ya going with?”

“Jim Harris.” You replied with a nod, and Joel sat up a bit straighter. He didn’t like Jim, he always came off as loud and imposing. He didn’t have the best reputation when it came to women, either. He was rude and disrespectful, and there had been some complaints about harassment made against him.

“I see.” He said. Why did anyone assign you with Jim Harris, of all people? They knew of his ways and his complaints. The last thing they needed was to put him with you, all while alone.

No, he wouldn’t stand for that.

“I’ll get ‘em to switch things around. I’ll go with you.” He said, and nodded with finality. You looked at him, a bit surprised if not shocked.

“Oh. You really don’t have to-“ But he waved you off.

“I can get some strings pulled so you won’t have to deal with him. Besides, I just… I can’t stand someone like him being near y-” but he paused, and tried to recover before he could say something stupid. “ It ain’t right.” He settled, his fingers gripping the coffee mug a bit tighter at the thought of Jim laying even a finger on you. You looked at Joel, the shock really settling in now. Joel was unaware of the gravity of his words in the moment, something he would regret later. Not that he said them, but that he hadn’t said more.

“… Thank you.” You said quietly. Joel looked at you, and felt his chest bloom with warmth. Your words, though short and few, were filled with gratitude and relief that didn’t go unnoticed by Joel.

“Anything you need, darlin’.” He said, the name rolling off his lips before he could stop himself. You smiled, and Joel would have given you the moon right then and there if you asked.

He cleared his throat as if it would clear the air, and he visibly relaxed. Knowing you would be under his care and away from Jim Harris’ whole being made him feel better. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a strong need to be by your side when the time for patrol comes. It just felt right that he would be there to protect you.

“A true southern gentleman.” You mused as you took a sip of your coffee. Joel’s face flushed, and he averted his gaze, and began to speak but you cut him off.

“I like it.”

Joel felt the ghost of a smile on his lips, and he glanced at you, shrugging.

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” He said, and rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel his hair curling under his fingertips as he did so. He needed a haircut, and sorely.

But, the town was lacking a barber, so he figured he would do it himself one of these days.

“A good habit to have.” You said, and he chuckled.

“Whatever you say, da-“ but he quickly cut himself off and hurriedly spoke your name instead. You smiled, regardless of what he called you. He found he liked saying your name. It felt personal, more grounded to reality. He was having a hard time grappling with reality ever since you crossed the threshold of his home. He couldn’t believe you were here, in his kitchen, drinking his coffee. He wanted this moment to last as long as time would allow- he would commit it to memory. Every word, every glance, every piece.

He found he did that often with you- just taking in any bit of you you had to offer, when he was feeling brave enough.

“I gotta get back.” You said, and stood up, rubbing your hands together to conserve the warmth of the coffee mug. Joel stood up, and nodded hurriedly, though he already felt the air grow cold in the absence of your presence.

“Of course. I’ll… I’ll walk you out.” He said, and stood up as well. He walked with you to the door at a snail’s pace, and you talked about your work for the rest of the day. The walk was all too short, and Joel’s hand rested on the doorknob. He looked at you, his brown eyes taking you in before he released you back to the world.

“Take it easy. I’ll see you on patrol. Okay?” He said, and you gave him that gut wrenching smile. Could have brought him to his knees if you so desired.

“Sounds good, Joel.” You said, and he opened the door, the chill coming in as you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself. You smiled and gave him the lightest wave, and headed out into the cold Wyoming winter.

He watched you go, and his name still hung in the air. Despite the door being open, the cold sweeping in, he felt warm.

Oh, he was such a goner.

~*~*~

Joel trudged to the outer part of town, gun slung over his shoulder. He promised he would meet you at the edge, where they traded out patrols. He had been busy with other things that day, and felt horrible that he couldn’t walk with you. But, he knew that a few hours alone with you would make up for that.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

He came up and saw Tommy standing with a few others, talking indistinctly. When Joel approached, Tommy and the others turned. As they did, the group opened up and he could see you standing on the far side. Your face quite literally beamed up when you saw him.

“Ready for another shift?” Tommy chuckled as Joel came up closer. “You’ll have to show the new girl all the ropes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was still evident on your face. Joel nodded, and he couldn’t help it as his lips quirked up on the ends when he met your eyes. This wasn’t lost on you, or Tommy for that matter. No one had seen Joel so much as literally turn his frown upside down, not even in the slightest. So, this was an interesting event for all involved.

“Well, no time like the present.” Joel said, and nodded forward. You bid goodbye to the others and walked with Joel across the town lines into the woods. He could sense your unease, and he glanced down to see a pistol on your hip.

“You know how to use that?” He questioned. You looked over at Joel and followed his gaze to the gun at your side, and then looked forward quickly.

“Unfortunately, yes.” You said. Joel frowned, but said nothing.

As you two reached the outpost where you’d be staying, Joel let you climb up the ladder first. He followed shortly after, his head swiveling around for any signs of life that weren’t supposed to be there. When he was safely inside, he closed the makeshift door and sat down next to you.

It was cold inside. Almost bitterly so. Joel was fine, having his heavy jacket and several layers. He had done this before, so he came prepared, especially in the colder months.

You, on the other hand, were miserable. Not expecting it to be *this* cold, you were wholly unprepared for the coldness that seeped into the wooden outpost about 12 feet off the ground. You sat on the chair and crossed your legs to conserve warmth, shoving your hands between your thighs to keep them from freezing.

Yeah, this was gonna be a long shift.

Joel, ever vigilant, noticed that you were shifting uneasily. But, his thoughts ran elsewhere besides the cold. Were you afraid of him? Was this awkward? Did he make a mistake taking over Jim’s shift with you? Was this overstepping some invisible boundary?

But then, you spoke,

“Can’t believe it’s this fucking cold.”

Your voice trembled a bit, and he watched you closely. His eyes softened a bit, and he took in your form. Yeah, you weren’t nearly as bulked up with layers as him. He set his gun down on the floor, leaning it against the window sill. You looked over at him, and it dawned on you very quickly about what he was about to do.

“Joel, don’t-“

“Can’t have you freezin’ on me, sweetheart. Won’t do much good if you’re an icicle.” He said, and shed his large jacket. Before he knew what he was doing, he stood and draped it over your shoulders. You sat still as he did so, and the warmth flooded you almost immediately. He sat back down, and your face was flushed with red. You cleared your throat, looking down at your hands.

“Thanks.” You said quietly. Joel nodded, like it was something he’d done a million times. He shifted his gaze back to the landscape that sprawled out in front of you.

You sat in a comfortable silence, and you eventually threaded your arms through Joel’s jacket. It smelled of cedar and musk, and you had always wondered what he smelled like. It felt as though he were enveloping you in a warm hug. You wondered if he ever did that sort of thing.

“When did you come here?” Joel questioned after a few minutes. You were surprised at his initiation of the conversation, but certainly not mad about it.

“About 8 months ago. Came from a QZ in Georgia after it fell apart.” You replied. Joel looked over at you, and you continued to look out of the outpost.

“Escaped with a group of good people. We tried to find someplace else, someplace safe. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. Lead them to safety, after my husband died.” You explained, and Joel’s chest twisted. He had never noticed a ring on your finger, but he could see a faded outline of where one used to be.

“But, keeping everyone together was hard. Death followed us everywhere- Clickers, disease, bad food, water. The world seemed to pick us off one by one.” Joel shifted his gaze to outside. He could tell you hadn’t spoken about this often, and he could sense a tremor in your voice.

“Eventually it was just me, wandering the woods. I felt hopeless, without purpose. I began to go kind of… well, insane. I don’t know how long I was out there til Tommy found me. Took me straight to the infirmary where they had to basically take care of me until I was able to be on my own two feet.” You said, and looked down, your hands clasped tightly together so much your knuckles turned white. Joel was stoic, unmoving, but his presence felt comforting. You didn’t know why you felt so comfortable with him, so you didn’t stop from going on.

“I’ve done some… terrible things. I’ve- seen so much… death. Coming here, it was a saving grace. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself much longer had they not found me.” You said. Joel’s heart dropped at this revelation, his eyes were soft with empathy. He knew all about hopelessness, about wanting to give up. About not having anything or anyone to live for. His finger traced the scar on his temple lightly before quickly dropping his hand in his lap.

Had Ellie not come into his life, he would have taken the easy route out, and not missed that time. But, he just hated that you felt like you had to do the same. That wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve to feel like that, not with how caring and kind you were. Not with how you literally made people’s days light up at the sound of your laugh or your smile.

It just wasn’t fair, this world you both lived in.

“I feel like I try to do good things to make up for all the bad I’ve done.” You added, though your voice was so small and quiet. Joel knew that feeling all too well.

“I’m sorry.” Joel could only say, and you looked at him to already see his eyes on you. You smile, but this one was sad, weak. You shrugged, and sighed deeply,

“It’s life, isn’t it? It’s never easy. But, the small things make it better. Good people, especially.” Joel noticed how your smile deepened a bit, and he could see that glint in your eyes. He nodded, and couldn’t imagine you would rope him into the “good people” category. But, he also saw your face, and how you looked at him, that maybe you did.

And it made him feel… nice.

“Yeah, the good ones. Few and far between. But, they exist.” He said, his eyes looking between your own.

“I think there’s good people here.” You said, nodding forward. “You’re good people.”

And Joel, without knowing it, smiled. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t teeth-showing, but it was a smile. One that betrayed him immensely, but he couldn’t stop it now. Even though he disagreed, he couldn’t voice it. Not to you. He couldn’t go against anything you said, it would feel like a personal crime.

“So are you. I hope you know that.” He said, and reached out to take your icy hand within his own. You looked at him, studying his face as you gripped his hand back.

And to Joel, the world just got a little bit brighter.

~*~*~

“Where are you going?” Joel said as he sat on the couch in the living room, feet propped up on the coffee table. Ellie stalked past him to the door, and looked over her shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Out.” She said, and stormed through the door. Joel sighed. Teenagers.

He sat, listening to the crackly turntable in the corner. It played an old jazz record he borrowed from the library. Not his true cup of tea, but it was better than nothing. He needed to trade some other old ones in for new ones, but he had listened to the whole library by now.

He felt at ease for once. He played the time spent with you on patrol over and over. After your conversation, you spoke of happier, better things. Old baseball legends, old music, basically a throwback of pop culture before the world went to shit. You told him a funny story about your job that actually drew a true chuckle from him. He just felt… better around you. Your easy going demeanor and openness was enough to make him want to share with you. Share smiles, laughter, time together.

And god, he loved all three when it came to you.

The record clicked to signal its ending, and he stood up, walking over to turn it over. Just as he put the needle down, there was a knock at the door.

He walked to the door and opened it, seeing you standing there before him, looking chilled to the bone. He gestured for you to come inside quickly, and you shuffled in, huffing into your hands.

“What the hell ya doin’ out there in the cold for?” He said sternly, more concerned than upset, eyebrows furrowing. You shrugged, crossing your arms.

“Wanted to see you.” You said, and his jaw clamped shut.

Well. Okay.

He stood, like an idiot, in silence for a moment, before nodding minutely.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll make coffee.” He said, and hurried to the kitchen. Even though it was nearly 7 in the evening, he needed time to process what you said, and that you were here to see him.

You felt more warmth in Joel’s house than your own, and shed your boots and jacket, hung up the latter and walked to the couch. Sitting down, you tucked your feet under you to make them warm again. You looked around, trying to find the source of the music that was playing. You saw the record player in the corner, and smiled fondly. Of course Joel was a music guy, it just made sense.

He walked back to the living room with two cups of steaming coffee, and walked to the couch. He sat down on the far side, giving you space, but leaned over to hand you the mug.

“Got somethin’ on your mind?” He questioned as he took a sip. You took a hefty gulp and felt the warmth move down your throat and into your stomach. You were beginning to feel again, from your head to your toes. You felt less like an ice cube and more like a human, now.

“Just… wanted to see how you were doing. Been busy these last couple of days, I feel like I’ve neglected my friends.” She said with a light laugh. Joel’s eyebrows shot straight up, and he smiled small. Joel didn’t have friends. He had family. But, he would make an exception for you.

Maybe one day, you’d be family, too.

He liked the idea of that.

“Ellie tells me you’ve been working like crazy, too. People are starting to like you. You better watch out, cause the ladies already fawn over you as is.” You laughed, and Joel regarded you with an unconvinced expression. He didn’t think anyone noticed him, let alone “fawn” over him. He just did his work, day in and day out. He was unaware of the “extra attention” he was drawing from the female crowd.

He didn’t see them, because he only saw you.

“Never noticed them. Didn’t think anybody noticed me.” He said simply, taking a sip of coffee. You shook your head, and smiled into your coffee.

“I noticed you. Always have.” You said, and Joel’s eyes shifted to you as you sat across from him on the couch. He found himself getting closer and closer to you. Not physically, but emotionally. The comfort level was at a steady pace. He wanted to be sitting closer to you, to feel your body heat and drink in your comforting presence.

“Well, it’s hard not to notice you, darlin’.” He said. You blushed, and hid your face in your mug as you took a sip.

Joel was a man of few words. He was never good at them, never entirely graceful or eloquent. But now, he wished he was. He wanted to tell you how he felt, how much he cared, how much he really liked you.

But, he just didn’t know how.

And he hated himself for that.

“What are you listening to?” You teased after a few minutes of silence, a saxophone filling the air. Joel wracked his brain to figure out who the artist was.

“Louis Armstrong, I think. Jazz is the last genre I haven’t listened to at the library.” He said. You raised her eyebrows, then knitting together. And then, you laughed.

“Never would have pegged you for a jazzy guy.” You said, and began to laugh. “Country, maybe. But- but smooth jazz? God.” You covered your face to keep the laughing tears from escaping you as your body shook with giggles.

Normally, Joel would frown upon someone laughing at him. But, it was you. He was making you happy, making you laugh-

Now that. That was true music.

“Yeah, well,” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Yes, yes you are, Joel Miller.” You said, lowering your hand and looking over at him. He looked down at his mug, his pinky finger tapping against the edge lightly.

He wanted to find a reason for you to say his name again. And maybe again. He just wanted to hear you speak about anything under the sun, that would be enough for him.

“Tell you what, Joel,” you said, and shifted on the couch to face him, leaning your elbow along the back of the couch. He shifted as well, turning his body a little towards yours. “You tell me a story, and I’ll tell you a story.”

“A story?”

“Yeah, fictional or true. I don’t care- I just…” you said, and silence followed. Joel waited patiently for you to finish. His heart was hammering in his chest, but on the outside he was calm and collected.

You shrugged, and looked at him with a light smile. You didn’t have to say it. Joel knew. You knew. You just liked each other’s company, you liked the sound of each other’s voices. And it was becoming more and more apparent to the both of you.

“Alright.” Joel agreed, and your soft smile turned into a grin. He took a sip of coffee, and thought for a moment.

“I got one for ya. Not real, but a good story. Ever heard of the movie Smokey and the Bandit?”

“No.” You laughed.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna tell ya all about it.”

~*~*~

The minutes turned to hours that night. You left sometime around midnight. And then you were back two days later, and the conversation struck up again. It turned into you two alternating between each other’s houses. Patrols got more frequent for you, and Joel was insistent that he go with you, not anyone else.

Joel continued helping around the town, fixing broken things but keeping to himself when he wasn’t with you, Ellie, or Tommy. Ellie was making friends, and would visit them often, leaving him alone most evenings.

But there was you, there to fill his time and capture his attention.

You were sitting in Joel’s living room one evening, the fire crackling in the fireplace to offer more warmth. You sat next to Joel, closer than ever before, your coffees already consumed and empty mugs sitting on the coffee table.

Joel’s arm was slung across the back of the sofa instinctively, and you enjoyed the close proximity. Your knee brushed his every so often, leaving you both wanting more. But, things like this take time, and Joel was a gentleman. He wouldn’t press anything, too afraid to mess up whatever relationship was forming between you.

“Jim Harris approached me the other day.” You said, and Joel’s hand clenched at his side. Ever since he took over patrols with you, it seemed Jim was trying to find ways to confront you, but not Joel. Joel wondered why, as he was the one to change things up when it came to patrols. He guessed Jim thought you were an easier target.

“He wanted to talk. I was in the middle of running food to Mrs. March’s house, she’s got a sick kid. I waved him off, but it still felt… weird.” You said and sighed, rubbing your forehead in thought.

“Other people have been acting weird lately, too. They ask about you a lot.” You added, and Joel looked towards the fireplace. While no one outwardly approached him, he could sense some of the womenfolk asking him to come around more often. Simple, almost dumb fixes. Some of them looked like self sabotage, and he was beginning to get his suspicions. He may be old, and sometimes oblivious, but it was getting more apparent that he was being eyed by several of the single (and sometimes even married) women in town.

Joel had seen the occasional man talk to you. They often leaned in to you as they did, or leaned against a wall or building post, trying to come off as cool or suave. You always smiled and talked cordially, not wanting to make any enemies. Some of them made you laugh, and that definitely didn’t make Joel feel jealous.

“Do I need to give a good talkin’ to to anyone?” Joel questioned, and you laughed, shaking your head.

“I think that would make things worse than better. But, I appreciate it all the same.” You said, your hand patting his knee. He glanced down, and your hand lingered for just a second longer than he anticipated, before you drew it away and back into your lap.

“You know I’d do anything for ya. I’m not above roughing up somebody, so long as they leave you alone after.” He said, looking down to his lap, and you smiled lightly. You looked at him, and your faces were close. Closer than they had ever been before. Joel could feel the softness of your breath against his skin, and he felt his heart thrumming in his chest.

He could feel the tension in the air, and could feel your gaze on him. He wondered what you were thinking, and raised his eyes to meet yours.

You had never seen brown eyes so dark, so beautiful, so…

The door was then wrestled open, and Ellie walked inside. She made a face at seeing you and Joel so close, but closed the door behind her. You wanted to move, but you felt Joel’s hand touch your shoulder lightly, subtly inviting you to stay.

“Tommy’s asking around for you.” Ellie said, kicking off her shoes and it made Joel flinch. He sighed, and his arm swung from your shoulders. He stood up, his knees cracking slightly, and silently cursed his older age for catching up with him.

“What’d I tell you about the shoes?” Joel said firmly to Ellie, who rolled her eyes and picked them up, setting them by the door and made an ‘okay?’ gesture. Joel looked over at you, who stood up and grabbed the coffee mugs.

“Duty calls.” You said, and smiled lightly as you carried the mugs to the kitchen. Joel sighed, and walked to the front door, pulling on his jacket and boots. You came out quickly after, and Ellie plopped down on the couch where you two had been sitting, picking up her book from the far side table. You looked as you passed, and tilted your head to the side.

“City of Ember? What’s that?” You questioned, and Ellie sat up, her eyes lighting up, and she grinned.

“One of the coolest books ever. It’s about a civilization underground, and…” she began rambling about it, and opened the book to show you the chapter she was on. You smiled, and looked at Joel.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You said, and Joel couldn’t help but soften at the event unfolding before him. You walked over to the couch and sat next to Ellie, and she eagerly told you about the book. Joel held the doorknob, and just watched for a moment.

It was at times like these that he felt like the future was a little bit brighter for him.

~*~*~

“You’re going soft, old man.” Tommy joked at the bar one night. The snow had come and blanketed the town with white, and there was talk of Christmas celebrations. The town was much more merry than Joel had ever seen it. Or maybe, Joel was just feeling… well, maybe he was feeling a little bit of everything. Everything seemed brighter and warmer, even despite the cold weather.

Joel said nothing to Tommy’s remark. He kept quiet, his eyes always finding their way back to the doors of the bar. He was waiting, hoping, wanting.

And when you walked in, he felt his chest loosen for the first time that day. Tommy followed Joel’s gaze, and then back to his brother.

Suddenly, all the talk around town made sense. Tommy had his questions, but he knew his brother wouldn’t give them willingly. Joel never confided in anyone. Except, it seemed, you.

The talk of the town was that you guys were screwing. Only because you two were alone quite a lot. And at night, for that matter. People talk, it’s a small town, and people get jealous. Rumors swirl, and things are said. Joel had been picking up the pieces, but tried to be the bigger person. It wasn’t anybody’s business as to what you two were behind closed doors.

But, instead of making your way to the bar where Joel sat, a form stepped in your way.

“Jim.” You greeted, and could smell the alcohol on his breath, as he was that close to you.

“Been trying to catch you at a good time.” Jim said, and you feigned a disgusted look. You, like much of the other women in town, did not like Jim.

“Well, now’s still not-“

“Come on, just give me a second. If you can make time for that ancient asshole over there, then you can make time for me.” He said with a cocky air to him, and you tried to step around him, but he stepped with you.

Joel’s fist tightened at his side, and he pushed his beer to the side, beginning to rise. He felt a protective air come over him, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching. Tommy clapped a hand on Joel’s arm,

“He’s just drunk, Joel. She can handle hers-“ but Joel ripped his arm away and began to weave his way through the patrons to where you and Jim stood, and Tommy shook his head.

“Christ.” Tommy muttered, and dragged a hand down his face. He knew better than to sway Joel after he set his mind on something.

And he certainly couldn’t stop him when it came to protecting you.

“… he can share. I’d like to have a round with you, show you how a real man can treat you-“ Jim said, but Joel rounded on him quickly.

“What did you say?” Joel hissed, staring daggers into Jim’s back. Jim swiveled to face Joel, and Joel could see him sway a bit. Drunk or not, he had no right to speak to you that way.

“Fuck off, Miller. You can have her back when I’m through-“

At that, Joel had enough. He swung wide, his fist collided with Jim’s face with a sickening crunch. The crowd reacted with scattered gasps and flinches. Jim was down with one blow, and fell to the floor, his nose beginning to bleed.

“Jesus Christ, Miller! You…” He cried, and held his nose with a shaky hand. Joel bent down, and grabbed him by the collar.

“You keep your mouth shut around her, you understand? Or I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to your fuckin’ dog.” He said, and raised his hand to give him another blow but a hand grabbed his arm. He was about to jerk away, thinking it was Tommy, but-

“Joel. Stop.”

Your commanding voice hung in the air, and Joel froze. He let go of Jim after a few tense seconds, and Jim fell back onto the floor. Standing straight, your hand eased up on his arm and he felt his breathing begin to even out. You still held onto him, and pulled at his sleeve to get him to walk away. He followed dutifully, and exited the bar with you while others watched apprehensively.

“Why did you do that?”

“I-“

“Joel. That’s not-“

“He was just so, so disgusting, and I couldn’t-“

You and Joel stood outside of the bar, the conversation tense following the events from inside. Joel’s hand continued to shake at his side, both from adrenaline and a dull throbbing pain, his ears still slightly ringing.

“He said… awful things. I couldn’t let him get away with that.” Joel said, and your eyes softened. You picked up his hand that he had knocked Jim with, and you could already see the redness forming there. Joel sucked in a breath quickly, and your eyes met his for a moment, thinking he was in pain. But, he was feeling something far from pain. Far, far from it.

“People have been talking.” You said, and Joel frowned.

“They’ve been saying, er… that we have a rather intimate relationship.” You explained, and Joel gulped. While he would want that more than anything, laying accusations of that nature about you was enough to infuriate him. You held his hand within your own, and shook your head.

“But, It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they say. I say, screw it, let them think what they want.” You said flippantly, waving a hand to the side. “It’s not their business, anyway-“

You shook your head vehemently. You were upset that people would talk about Joel like that, after all he’s done for them. You knew it was all out of jealousy, and that it was all talk. It still stung, though.

Joel looked so serious, and normally you would have laughed and pointed it out. But you were so upset that you just couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Besides, they… Their talk is warranted. I see how it looks, but it has nothing to do with them. Only us. Just us.” You said. Joel then took your hand in his with a much more firm grip, even if his knuckles were sore. You watched him for what felt like minutes. Well, there was no going back now.

“I just… I care about you, Joel. A lot. More than- more than I can say. I like hanging out with you, I like seeing you smile, I like hearing your, rather rare, laugh. I want to hear what you have to say, I want to sit with you in silence and drink copious amounts of coffee. I-“ you rambled, and finally shut yourself up for a moment, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

“I just, I want more. I want to be with you. Okay?” You said, forcing the words out, and you looked up at him. He was watching you with those intense brown eyes in silence. You thought he was going to reject it, passing it by, as his grip loosened on your hand. But, his grip became soft, and he lifted your hand to his lips. He kissed your knuckles softly, and his honeyed brown eyes watched you with… adoration.

“Darlin’, you have no idea how much you mean to me.” He said, his lips against your skin. He looked down at you, his eyes soft and sweet like a warm glass of whiskey. He raised a hand to bring his thumb against your cheek.

“I can’t give… I can’t give you much. I ain’t too good at grand, romantic gestures. I just have myself, it’s all I have to offer. You’re too good for me, and you deserve someone who can give you everything you could ask for, give you the world-“

“Joel,” You said, your eyes looking between his own. You your head,

“I don’t want the world. I want you.”

You leaned into his touch, and he let go of your hand to put a hand on your waist and closed the distance between you.

And he kissed you. He kissed you the way he’s always wanted to- gently, cautiously, but full of hope and heart.

You closed your eyes immediately on impact, and returned the kiss with a gentle push. You raised your hand to press against his bearded cheek, his hair tickling your fingertips. He smelled of wood and leather, and a strong smell that you knew was just Joel. He was everything you wanted, and more.

You weren’t sure who pulled away first, but you both needed air. Joel leaned his forehead against yours, and his thumb still gently caressed your cheek. You were too good for him, and he knew that. He didn’t deserve anyone by the likes of you.

And yet, here you were, wrapped up in his arms and returning his kiss. It was something he had only ever dreamed of, only ever thought about late at night.

But now, it was reality.

“Let’s get a cup of coffee. ‘S Fuckin’ cold out here.” Joel laughed, and you grinned, taking his hand and holding it tightly. You lead the way, through the snow and cold air, but you both felt warm from head to toe.

~*~*~

“Why not?”

“I said no.” Joel said firmly.

“Well, you look like a sad, old, shaggy dog.” Ellie said, and eyed the scissors that sat on the bathroom counter next to Joel. Joel looked at her with a raised eyebrow,

“That’s why I’m going to cut it.” he replied. He was feeling a bit self conscious about his hair lately. It was long, overgrown, and curling at the ends. You didn’t say anything about it, but he felt… scraggly.

He kept his beard in good shape. That was easy. But, his hair was a different story. He ran a hand through it, and sighed. He was in a battle with himself. He needed to at least cut the back, but he had no way to look at it or judge how much he should cut.

The door opened and you stepped into the Miller household, calling out your presence. You had been asked to come by after work for some kind of soup Joel attempted. You were practically living in Joel’s house at this point, though you still slept in your own house. It was all about taking it easy, you both agreed. It had only been a few weeks since your kiss, and you and Joel were still learning how to dance around a significant other again. But, it was falling into a rhythm, one that comforted you both.

Ellie’s eyes shifted and stuck her head out the doorway,

“In here!” she called, and you stepped into the way of the downstairs bathroom, assessing the scene. Joel glanced at you before frowning at the scissors.

“‘Sup.” Ellie greeted, and you grinned.

“‘Sup, yourself. What’s going on?” You questioned, a bit of snow still in your hair, and you rubbed your arms to bring warmth to them again. When neither spoke, you cocked up an eyebrow and met Ellie’s gaze.

Ellie grew a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she leaned back on her heels, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“Why don’t you get your girlfriend to do it?” Ellie questioned, and Joel’s eyes shot to her, red flaring up his face. You two hadn’t discussed the intricacies of your relationship, much less as to what label you would have. Joel cleared his throat and leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his arms to try to play it off. Ellie’s grin was apparent, and you stood at the bathroom threshold next to Ellie.

Your eyes cast down to the scissors, and it dawned on you.

“Somebody needs a haircut?” You offered, and Joel looked over at you, his eyes softening. He half shrugged, dragging a hand down his beard.

“Was just thinkin’ about it.” He said, and Ellie looked over at you with an exasperated look.

“He was just about to start until I came in. I offered, but-“

“You ain’t comin’ near me with any sharp objects, kid.” He said, his eyes narrowing at her. Ellie put her hands up in defense, and looked at you.

“See what I mean?”

“I’ll take it from here.” You said, and walked into the batroom and rolled up your sleeves. Joel leaned away slightly,

“You done this before?” He questioned, knowing better than to doubt you. But, this was his head you were talking about, and he didn’t want to look like a fool.

“Yeah. Used to cut hair all the time. I’m not a high end stylist but I get the job done. Now, ge over theret.” You said, picking up the scissors and gesturing for Joel to walk further into the bathroom. He sighed and did as he was told (because who was he to deny you?) and sat on the edge of the tub as you instructed. Ellie watched, that grin still plastered on her face, as she leaned against the doorway.

“Take off your flannel, I don’t wanna get hair everywhere.” You said. Joel was wearing a t- shirt under his flannel, but it still felt… intimate.

But, he undid the buttons and handed it off to you. You folded it and set it on the bathroom sink, and picked up the comb that lay not too far away. You turned to Joel and angled his head to the side and began to snip away slowly. Ellie shifted behind you, and shook her head.

“God, this is stressing me out. Don’t cut off his ears, okay?” Ellie said, and waved before leaving towards the living room. You grinned as you worked at Joel’s hair, using the comb as a line to cut around.

“I think that shows she cares. In her own way.” You laughed, and Joel rolled her eyes.

“She’s still a pain in my ass. And nosy as hell, apparently-” He said, and you heard Ellie shout from the living room,

“I am literally right here!”

You shook your head and continued to cut. Joel sat still as stone, and your eyebrows began to furrow in concentration as you moved all around him. Joel felt more and more relaxed, with your presence so near and the sound of snip snip snip softly in his ear. You moved to the front side, and he held out a hand to place on your waist as if to keep you anchored in the spot. You smiled lightly, reveling in the touch as you continued to cut.

Joel’s hand was warm and steady on your hip, and he began to rub light circles into your side over your shirt. You tilted your head to the side; and he glanced up at you.

“You look so serious.” He said, and you glanced at him with an amused smirk.

“Hey. That’s my line.” You laughed.

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m just trying my damndest to not mess it up, baby.” You said, and moved to chop at the back. You definitely didn’t want your man to have a mullet, knowing the look didn’t really look good on anyone.

“I appreciate that.” Joel said, and meant it. He moved his head this way and that as you adjusted him, and then you finally stood straight. His hand stayed at your side, and he looked up at you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He said, and you smile, running the comb and then your hand through the top of his head.

“Anytime.” You said, your hand trailing down his hair to his neck, then to his cheek. He leaned into your touch instinctively, and your thumb brushed against his beard. You liked the way it felt under your fingertips, and how much he just looked and felt like a man. Your man.

It felt new to think that, but you wouldn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

“You guys better not be getting weird in there!” Ellie called after a few beats of silence, breaking you from the intimate moment. Joel rolled his eyes and stood up, and you set the scissors to the side. He brought you close to his side for a moment and pressed a kiss to your temple. You smiled, leaning into him.

Yes. Your man.

~*~*~

“Why don’t you spend the night?” Joel questioned as you both trudged through the snow after a shift on patrol. You turned your head to him, eyes narrowing.

“So that’s why you’ve been so quiet today.” you said, nodding in realization. Joel breathed out a huff of a chuckle, and shook his head. You could see red creeping on the tip of his ears, and knew it wasn’t just from the cold.

“Ellie’s got a birthday party to go to, said it’s gonna run late. They say it’s gonna get below freezing tonight, and I don’t want you to have to walk home in that-”

“Okay.”

He cleared his throat, and nodded, his gaze moved down to the snow to make sure he didn’t step on anything that would give him trouble. You grinned, and shook your head at his bashfulness. He really was the perfect gentleman- never overstepping or forcing himself, respecting boundaries and even coming up with some of his own. He really was exercising the “taking it slow” rule, too.

Maybe tonight could change that.

When you parted ways, more work waited for you both. With a squeeze of hands and looks of longing, you both made a silent promise to meet up that night.

Joel had managed to get to the house earlier, and began preparing. He had gotten some more soup from the cafeteria to heat up and for you to share. He had coffee at the ready, and his house was as clean as he could make it. After putting Ellie to work before she could escape, she later remarked that “the house had never been so clean,” and “she must be pretty important for you to dust the cabinets.”

She may not have said it outright, but she knew Joel cared for you. Despite their sometimes strained relationship, she was happy he wasn’t completely alone anymore. She could see this heaviness on his shoulders lift from time to time, that line between his eyebrows disappear when he saw you. Ellie couldn’t even tease him about it for much longer, as she had her own budding relationship that Joel would eventually find out about. Then the tables would turn and she would get the incessant teasing.

“Hey,” she said, turning before she left to see Joel sweeping the kitchen one last time. He looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t fuck this up.” she said, giving him a grin. The door shut behind her, and he shook his head.

But, he agreed with her.

~*~*~

The sun had set all too soon, and he waited anxiously for your arrival. He couldn’t sit still, and fiddled with the wood trinkets he had whittled, and looked through his sad excuse of a record collection. He could feel nervousness creeping under his skin, around his heart. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe he was moving too fast. What were you thinking? Did you think that he was just looking to get some when he asked you to stay? He knew that wasn’t the case on his part, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. If anything, he could always take the couch-

A knock on the door sounded, and he nearly gave himself whiplash turning around and heading to the door. When he opened it, you stood with a mason jar in hand, your familiar green jacket pulled around you. Snow flurries dotted the background of where you stood, and Joel couldn’t help but smile.

What was he worried about again?

You stepped in, and when the door shut, you leaned up and gave him a light kiss. He leaned into it, about to raise his hand to touch your face when you pressed something into it instead. He looked down at it, and then to you with a cocked eyebrow.

“Moonshine?”

“Correct. Just a little. Keith said that’s all it takes.” you laughed, and Joel shook his head with a smile. He helped you out of your jacket, and you bent down to remove your boots as Joel walked to the kitchen. He had a small pot to heat up the soup over the fire, and carried that carefully after putting the moonshine down. You walked to the couch as Joel set the pot over the fire, and felt the warmth of Joel’s house seep into your bones. You tugged at the sleeves of your blouse, and Joel noted he hadn’t seen it before as he sat down next to you. It was nice- a little form fitting, beige with some kind of subtle floral pattern.

“Somebody dressed up.” Joel chuckled, and you rolled your eyes. You nudged his shoulder lightly as you settled into the couch, Joel’s arm moving instinctively around the back of the couch to welcome you into his side.

“Figured i’d try at least a little.” you said, and Joel pressed a kiss to your temple gently.

“I like it.” he said quietly, and you leaned your head onto his shoulder, the crackling of the fire and the wind outside being the only music you two listened to.

“Joel?” you questioned, and Joel hummed in response, leaning his head against yours. If he could be stuck in a snowglobe, trapped in time, it would be this moment. “Tell me a story.”

He smiled, and sighed, lifting his head and looking around, eyes narrowed.

“Alright, I got one. It’s dumb, but it was funny.” he said, trying to recall the details of the movie in question. It had been years, though. “I’ve seen it god knows how many times. It was Sarah’s favorite-” he said, but abruptly stopped. You stilled for a moment, and pondered what to say next. Joel had mentioned his daughter a few times in passing. Never for too long, but you had pieced this much together- she was young, died on outbreak day, and Joel couldn’t save her.

You could relate- you had lost your parents in quick succession after the outbreak, leaving you with strangers to survive. Losing your husband a year ago, the last of the familiarity you knew. You had never known true stability… Until now.

“She… she was a good kid-” Joel said, and you lifted your head and could see a misty look in his eyes. You pressed a hand to his cheek, grounding him back to reality.

“With you raising her, she must have been lovely. They learn the best from you, you know.” you said, and smiled gently. Joel’s eyes moved downwards, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek gently. You didn’t want to press it, knowing it was a sensitive subject for him. But, with a shaky breath, he raised his eyes to the ceiling, like he was looking for something. A reason, a comfort, something.

But, his eyes moved back to you. Though weak, he smiled. You were both a reason and a comfort. Two things he needed to finally break the ice on his first daughter.

“She loved reading. Made me read her all sorts of stuff. She knew how to read before other kids her age. I… I’m proud of her. What she did, when she was still here.” he said, swallowing. You nodded, your hand never straying far from him as it sunk from his face to take his free hand.

“She’s still here, Joel. You carry her wherever you go. Memories are good for that- keeping people alive, even when they’re not here next to us.” You said quietly, and Joel’s smile strengthened a little bit more. He nodded, exhaling deeply and shifted on the couch to get a little more comfortable.

“I remember I took her to the library every week, ever since she was little. She loved to walk around the aisles, didn’t care much for the play area. She would come with a stack of books this high,” Joel said, and raised his hand over his knee, and you giggled. “Insisted she would read every single one. And she did.”

~*~*~

When dinner was all said and done, you both nursed your second glass of moonshine, the conversation a bit more light. You recounted some funny stories from working around the commune, and Joel would laugh in amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You loved that sight, and couldn’t help but grin every time.

“No, really! She said she was going to march straight to his house and give him a piece of mind. I mean, I'd do the same thing- you can’t let that shit slide.” You said, and Joel just continued laughing. You rolled your eyes, nudging his leg with your toe. The moonshine was definitely getting to you two. You had a fleeting thought to either thank Keith later or wallop him over the head. This shit was strong.

“Please, darlin’, have mercy on me.” he said, his cheeks rosy with the effects of the alcohol, a hand pressed against his aching stomach from laughing so much. You grinned, happy to see him like this. So free, so comfortable, able to laugh and actually mean it. You leaned forward and took the nearly empty glass from him. He made a noise of protest but didn’t move to stop you as you set your empty glasses on the coffee table in front of you. You nearly fell over and Joel caught you before you could tumble to the floor, both of you giggling for no damn reason. Joel pulled you up, and you were nearly nose to nose, sitting up on your knees next to him.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you suddenly felt hot. You couldn’t tell if it was actually sweat collecting down your back or if it was just a feeling. Your hand rested on Joel’s chest, and your laughter subsided, your gazes on each other turning heavy. Your hand rested on his chest, and Joel’s brown eyes kept moving back and forth to your own. You raised a hand to press against his cheek and before you even had the notion to lean in, he crashed his lips onto yours. The force knocked you back a bit, but you recovered and kissed back, eyes falling shut. Joel hummed against your lips, and your eyebrows knit together in want. In a fit of passion, you swung your leg over his thighs and rested on his lap. This drew a real, true groan from Joel, his hands settling on your hips and gripping them like a vice. You tilted your head down, capturing his lips in a deep kiss that was enough to make your head spin.

Joel began to move your hips in his grasp, and you could feel a tightening of his jeans beneath you. You chased the feeling, beginning to grind against him. You pulled back to only dive into his neck, kissing the column and then to the side, moving to the spot under his ear. A low grumble came from his chest, tilting his head back to revel in your kisses. You began to suck on the spot, your hand moving from his chest to palm at his jeans. Joel’s hand abruptly moved from your hip to your shoulder, pushing you back just a bit before you came up voluntarily.

Looking at Joel with wide, lust-blown eyes, you suddenly felt a wave of doubt cross you. Did you overstep? Was this too much?

“Darlin’,” he began, his chest rising and falling, his dark brown eyes nearly black from what you’ve done to him. He cupped your cheek gently, “If we’re gonna do it, we’re gonna do it right. Somewhere more comfortable for the both of us.”

Your doubts were dashed away like a bolt of lightning, a smile rising to your face and you kissed him deeply. Shuffling off of him clumsily and standing up, you extended your hand to pull him off the couch. He began to lead you to the bedroom up the stairs, a giddy feeling in his chest. When the door swung open, he didn’t give much time to linger on the contents of his room, turning to you and pulling you to his chest and pressed a hot kiss to your lips.

You didn’t know Joel could be so passionate, but you were not complaining. You sighed against his lips, and Joel began to back up until the back of his knees hit the bed. You pushed him and he slowly sat down, breaking away from the kiss to look up at you as you stood over him. His hand reached out and settled on your waist, and you just had to take a second and admire him. Mouth swollen and pink from the kisses, eyes filled with a healthy mixture of lust and adoration, his chest rising and falling to show his anticipation. You could only wonder what you looked like at that moment. Probably a wild and lustful thing, dripping with anticipation.

You began to sink to your knees, but Joel was quick to pull you up with a gentleness and pecked you on the lips.

“Next time.” he mumbled and you began to giggle, feeling the corners of his lips quirk up. You pulled away, shoulders still shaking from your giggles, butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Oh yeah? Next time?”

“Of course.” Joel said, as if it was clear as day. You grinned and moved to kiss him but he took you by the waist and turned you to lay on the bed with you on your back. You bounced on the old springs, and grinned up at Joel, hand moving to his shoulder as he leaned down and kissed you with fervor. Your other hand moved to his flannel, struggling to undo the buttons one-handed and had to have your other hand join in. Joel’s hand decided to busy themselves with the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down. Just as you were about to undo the final button, he pulled away and undid it himself, pulling the flannel off and discarding it somewhere behind him. You pouted at the sight of the undershirt, and he laughed at your expression, pulling it off and threw it back to join his flannel. Suddenly his self-consciousness about being shirtless was left at the door, along with all of your doubts and worries.

You sucked in a breath, and had dreamed of this sight. You knew he was solid, broad, but this was a sight to behold. He was all smooth, freckled, tanned skin, his stomach a little pudgy but meaning it was well loved. It was all you had imagined, and a little more.

“... darlin’? Did you hear me? Lift your hips for me.” he said, bringing you back to reality, and you obeyed as quickly as you could to catch up with him. He pulled your jeans down, and you felt the cool air settle on your skin and realized he took your underwear down too. You whined in anticipation and he paused just as your jeans hit the ground. He looked up at you, a silent question in his eyes and you gave him a strained smile and a subtle nod. He settled on the floor, a hand tracing down your torso to your stomach, then pelvis. He kissed your knees, then your thighs and eased them open gently.

“Jesus,” he murmured as he looked down at your glistening cunt, and you lifted yourself up onto your elbows in a sudden movement to capture his reaction. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With little preamble, he leaned his head down and you lost the support of your arms as you fell back when you felt his tongue give a firm swipe up your folds. Your hands gripped the sheets out of pure bliss. If this is what you felt like now, what was in store for you next?

Joel’s lips pressed to your clit which was already throbbing with need, and your eyebrows knit together as he began to suck on it gently. Your hand itched to thread through his hair, and he did another swipe up and down your cunt before sliding his tongue inside. You both let out a chorus of groans and gasps, your back arching off the bed and his hand moved to press against your lower stomach to keep you in place. He repeated a cycle of licks, kisses, and sucking of your clit that made you see stars. Your hand eventually found the back of his head, and you really didn’t have to do anything as he pressed himself more into your cunt, his nose swiping over your clit as his mouth worked in and out of you.

“Joel-” you whined, feeling the sensation of a tightening in your stomach, your lower back alight with heat. He must feel you were close, as you gasped when two fingers entered you, joining Joel’s mouth as he worked you. “Fuck,” you sighed, trying to turn your head to look down at him. But, it had been so long since you had had a proper orgasm not by your own hand that all you could do was lay back and take it.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby.” he murmured, the words of praise making you exhale sharply before sucking in another breath at a strong suck to your clit. His fingers worked in and out, the sounds of squelching from your wet cunt filling the room. Your body began to wind up, your stomach flexing under his hand that still rested there.

“That’s it. Come for me, darlin’.” he said, not sure if he was actually talking to you or your body to coax you into an orgasm. He then curled his fingers inside you and you tightened around them, body trembling and you let out a whine that turned into a moan, your hand holding onto his hair as the other gripped the sheets for dear life. Your body flooded with endorphins, and you felt a flooding sensation down south as well. Joel pulled out his fingers, lapping up your release with obscene noises. With a few swipes of his tongue and a few swirls around your clit, you had come down gently, eyes closed as black and white danced behind your eyelids.

Feeling him shift, you opened your eyes and he coaxed you into pulling off your shirt and unclasping your bra. Your body felt weightless but heavy all at the same time, but you found the strength to move back on the bed with trembling limbs from your orgasm. Joel undid his jeans and pushed them down before climbing on top of you. You looked down and… god. He was impressive.

He kissed you deeply, bringing you out of your thoughts abruptly once more, tasting yourself on his tongue. He rested a hand on your waist, his hips instinctively grinding against your own and you shivered at the touch, winding a hand through his hair to keep him close. Your hand found his cock and you gave it a few encouraging pumps, finding he was rock solid.

“Shit, sweetheart, if you do that- I’m not gonna last-” he groaned, and you smirked against his lips and pressed him against your folds. Even feeling the head of his cock was enough to send you spiraling and your grip on him loosened. But, he was quick to take it and align himself, mouth moving in tandem with yours. He gave a few swipes of his tip and just when you were about to beg, he slid himself inside, bit by agonizing bit. You sucked in a breath as Joel exhaled with a soft moan, your mouths open and hovering between each other. Your hand moved from his hair to his cheek, and he pressed his forehead against yours as he began to rock his hips.

You were in bliss. It was such an intimate, soft moment as he took his time moving in and out of you. A hand loosening on your waist, his hand explored the expanse of your side, up and down as the other supported his weight next to your head.

“Joel…” you whispered, your other arm abandoning the sheets and curled around his back to keep him close. He rocked back and forth and hit your cervix, once, twice, three times until it became a habit. Your body began to tense again, and he groaned into your neck, your name escaping him with a hiss. He kissed your neck, his hips moving a bit faster, hitting that spot with more force. Your toes began to curl as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he began to stiffen, but didn’t let up his pace.

“Come on, give me another one.” he murmured against your skin, and your cunt twitched at the encouragement, causing him to moan again. You didn’t think he would be this vocal during sex, but god you were loving every bit of it.

“Please, Joel- I wanna-” you whined, and he reached down between you two and began to rub circles on your clit to further encourage you. Your lips parted, eyebrows scrunching up. That’s all it took for you to come undone the second time that night, tightening around him and encouraging his own release. His hips stuttered, giving about three more languid thrusts. He then quickly moved, sitting up slightly as he pulled out and pumped his cock, his sticky release painting your pelvis and stomach with white.

“Fuck.” you whispered, and grinned, Joel panting as he watched his work, and then moved his eyes to you. You couldn’t want to taste that coming down your throat. But, next time.

He leaned down, uncaring that he smeared his release between you as he kissed you deeply. You couldn’t find the strength to meet him halfway, but raised a hand to press against his face to keep him there for a moment.

He pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and mumbled a “be right back,” moving to go down the hall to the bathroom and he came back with a damp washcloth, wiping himself and you down. He set it to the side, and joined you on the bed. His arm moved over your torso, and he propped himself up to look at you with pure adoration in his eyes.

“So… you’ll still stay?” he questioned, his voice soft, questioning. But, you already knew your answer, and gave him a smile, and a gentle nod.

~*~*~

Somewhere in the night, you had to borrow some of Joel’s clothes. The cold draft in the room was a bit more tolerable with a t-shirt and sleep pants on. Luckily Joel had enough for the both of you.

The sunlight peeked through the faded curtains, signaling morning had come. You lay on your side, Joel’s body pressed against your back, an arm around your waist. Your eyes opened slightly, still thick with sleep, but taking in your surroundings. Joel’s room was simple, but cozy. The sunlight filtering in was warming up the area, and you held onto the pillow just a bit tighter, pressing back against Joel to savor his warmth.

When you did, Joel let out a hum, and you felt a kiss on your shoulder, then another. And another.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d wake up.” Joel chuckled, and gave your hip a squeeze. You grinned, turning in his arms and laid on your back, looking over at him.

“Well, having three rounds was enough to knock me the hell out.” you laughed. You really didn’t know how Joel could keep up with the age he was at. But, he was insatiable, like a horny frat boy at a sorority party. And you weren’t complaining.

“Mm. You sound so upset.” he chuckled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then sitting up a bit to kiss your lips. Now that this particular moment in your relationship had happened, Joel seemed a bit less nervous and a bit more giving. You could only wonder what the future had in store.

“Did Ellie come home?” you suddenly questioned, and Joel nodded, his hand running up and down your side, pulling you close.

“She did. Don’t worry.” he said, pressing a kiss to your neck. You wanted to laugh at that- Joel Miller telling you not to worry? That was yet another first.

You sat in silence, the sun growing more and more bright as it rose in the sky. It gave the room a very warm, inviting, and comforting tone. You sighed as Joel leaned his head into your neck, his scent enveloping you. Turning your head to press your nose to his forehead, he gave her shoulder another kiss, then your neck.

“So, does this mean I can hold your hand around town now?” Joel mumbled, and you couldn’t help but grin like a kid on Christmas.

“Only if I can tell people about my absolute hunk of a man.” you teased, and Joel lifted his head at that, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m a what?” he asked, though it was in disbelief and not confusion.

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed, and raised a hand to card through his unruly brown and silver locks. He gazed down at you, his brown eyes looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered now. You felt that familiar twist in your lower stomach, and smiled. “You’re my man, that’s all that matters.”

Joel nodded, and kissed your lips again,

“And you’re my girl?” he questioned genuinely against your lips. The sentiment and hopeful tone eased any tension that was left in your body. Your hand tightened in his hair just enough to apply pressure and deepen the kiss, your body shifting and calling for his own. And just as sure as the sun rises, his body met yours halfway, answering that call.

“I am. I wouldn’t want to be anything else.” you murmured, and you could feel Joel’s smile on your lips, humming in delight. Feeling like a couple of lovesick teenagers in a world that had gone to hell, you stayed in each other’s embrace as the sun rose high in the sky.

Daylight has never looked so beautiful.

THE END.

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