#gin and jag

[psb-of-the-day]

21st of February 2025, SONG OF THE DAY:

Gin and Jag

Released in 2009 on the single 'Love etc.'

[dsmsw]

Latest sewing project…My next project will…um…likely be an affront to a number of things, ideals and beliefs but I must go for it. It will be my Frankenstein project. Wish me luck!

Gin and jag…maybe the most least fitting b-side to a respective album era (Yes)…but I find it charming in a way.

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Part 9: Nuance

A March 2025 Hinny Microfic for @ginnystrophyhusband using Prompt 25

792 words (staying on brand)

All the March prompts that I write will be set in the same universe as, and form a prequel to, this fic. Hopefully they'll all stand alone, but they'll also form a little story of their own, which is why they're numbered.

Fair warning - it's going to be fluffy!

Read them all from the beginning on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are two rusted screws sticking out of the gate. 

Ginny spots them when she’s oiling the hinges, trying to get rid of the annoying squeak that’s been driving her nuts every time she hears it. She runs a speculative finger across them in the late evening sunshine, and a smile spreads across her face. 

“What are you grinning about,” asks Harry, as he appears with a very welcome glass of pumpkin juice that she gratefully accepts. 

“Look at this,” she instructs him. “Screws!”

“Right.” He leans in to examine them, apparently a bit confused. “And why exactly are a couple of old screws so interesting?”

She gesticulates excitedly. “Don’t you see? There used to be a sign here!”

“And?”

“And—clearly it was a name sign!” 

“Not necessarily,” he shrugs. “Maybe it just said ‘Beware of the Dog’? Or ‘No Trespassing’.”

Ginny shakes her head. “No. It was definitely a name. I’m sure of it.” She absolutely beams at him. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!”

“Think of what?” he asks, even though she knows he knows what she’s going to say next. 

“Clearly, I need to give the house a name,” she explains, humouring him.

Harry sighs. “Do you though?”

She’s amused rather than offended by his lack of enthusiasm. “Hey! I’m good at picking names.”

“Pigwidgeon might beg to differ,” he points out, wryly.

“That’s an excellent name, and it suits him perfectly,” she insists. “And I’ll think of something just as good for our house.”

He smiles fondly at her. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” 

Ginny doesn’t reply. She’s already lost in thought, pondering her options. 

She won’t rush it; choosing a good name is a serious business at the best of times, but naming her home is another thing entirely. There are so many nuances to consider to make sure that it really captures the spirit of the place; the beach, the Welsh heritage, the simple beauty of the location. She sips her juice, thoughtfully. It’s going to be tricky, but she’s certain she’s up to the task.

“Gin? Can you see what I can see?” Harry’s staring at the rosemary bush to the side of the gate. It, like everything else in the garden, is quite severely overgrown. 

“Nice try, Harry, but you can’t distract me that easily,” she jokes.

He smirks at her. “Well firstly, if I wanted to distract you, I absolutely could.” It’s a fair point, so she doesn’t contradict him. “But I honestly think there’s something back there.” 

Ginny follows his gaze and realises he’s right; there’s something dark and vaguely rectangular just visible between the rosemary bush and the wall. “Can you reach it?”

“I think so.” Harry drops to his knees and starts scrabbling between the rosemary and the wall behind. A moment later, he passes her a broken piece of slate with a small hole in it. Meanwhile, Harry’s still rooting around in the undergrowth. “Hang on, there’s another piece.”

He’s right; the second piece is a mirror image of the first, and when Ginny lays them next to one another on the ground, they form a neat rectangle with a hole at each end, holes that look very much like they would fit the screws in the gate. 

“What are they? Roof tiles?” suggests Harry.

“No. I think you’ve found our missing name sign,” Ginny tells him, pulling her wand from the waistband of her shorts. “Reparo.”

The two pieces knit together along the jagged line they share, and Ginny can see there are marks engraved into the stone, but it’s too dirty to make them out.

“Scourgify.” This time it’s Harry that casts the spell, and the dirt simply melts away to reveal the name of their house.

Ty Môr

“Oh!” exclaims Ginny. “That’s perfect! It means ‘Sea House’,” she tells him.

Harry looks at her curiously. “Since when did you speak Welsh?”

“I don’t know much,” she tells him. “Gwenog makes us all learn a bit because it goes down well with the press, plus loads of the staff are Welsh speakers so you can’t help but pick it up.” 

He drops a kiss on her temple. “Just when I think I know everything there is to know about you, you go and surprise me again.” He picks up the sign and hands it to her. “Want to do the honours?”

She very much does. Moments later, Ty Môr proudly bears its nameplate once again. 

Harry put his arm around her shoulders as she admires her handiwork. “You’re not disappointed you didn't get to choose a name?”

“Nah.” She shoots him a wicked grin. “It’s fine. You’ll just have to get me a kitten so I can name that instead.”

[im-constantly-fangirling]

Wandering Home

Summary: As a bartender, you know every single face in Jackson. When a grumpy but kind-at-heart traveler makes his way into the diner you work at, you can't help but be curious.

No Outbreak au!Joel Miller x afab!reader

Word Count: ~10k

Warnings: cursing, slight reference of Parks and Rec towards the end, mentions of self harm (not reader), smut [dirty talk, praise and slight degradation kink, oral sex (f receiving), allusion to breeding kink, choking, dom-ish Joel]

Note on smut: If you don't want to read the smut, skip the scene in between the two *s!

Masterlist

Working at the diner in Jackson was no easy job.

It seemed that people had a borderline excessive appetite for alcohol- and they relied on you to fulfill it. You didn’t mind the work, as it numbed you the way a bottle could, but you supposed you could do without the yelling, obscene comments, and the general carelessness of the people who couldn’t really hold their liquor.

The one benefit you found with being a bartender was information. Every small town had its fair share of gossip, and Jackson definitely delivered. Travelers came and went, and those who stayed would alter Jackson’s social routine  just a little bit. You were a town full of shattered pieces of what were once whole people, but those pieces of glass joined to make a stunning mosaic- no matter how jagged and uneven it was.

It was just another ordinary day when the door to the bar opened, revealing an unfamiliar face. A swift silence wafted through the bar before the man walked in and Tommy followed behind. A sigh of relief seemed to go through every one. The bar resumed its normal revelry.

You were cleaning a glass with a rag when Tommy and the man walked up to the bar. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my brother, Joel.”

You smiled at him, putting the glass down and flipping the rag over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Joel,” you greeted him. He didn't respond with more than a grunt and a nod, but you didn’t mind. He had dirt smudged over his face, his flannel shirt, his forearms. Scars adorned any amount of skin that showed. And those eyes…

Holding his gaze, you almost saw the emptiness behind them. As if he had nothing left in him. This was a man who had seen hell.

If Tommy noticed his brother’s grumpiness, he certainly didn’t care to comment on it. “Y/n’s the best bartender in town. If you treat her real nice, she might slip you a free drink or two,” he said, whispering the last part conspiratorily.

You chuckled, lightly smacking Tommy on the shoulder. “Don’t go around telling everyone, now,” you teased. “But since you’re Tommy’s brother, I’ll get you your first drink on the house. Any friend of Tommy’s is a friend of mine.”

Joel nodded gratefully- or you understood it to be gratefully- before clearing his throat. “I’ll just take the strongest whiskey you’ve got.” Even his voice was rough. You wondered if there was a single part of him that the world hadn’t taken away from him. “But don’t go making a habit out of giving me a free drink. I’d be more than happy to pay,” he declared while taking a seat. The soft southern lilt of his voice made you smile. It had been a while since you heard that accent.

Tommy sat on the bar stool and leaned his head in his hand. “And I’ll take some gin, please.”

You turned around, letting the brothers get reacquainted while you served them their drinks. Their voices got drowned out by the laughter in the bar- but every now and then, when business was slow, you’d quietly make your way over to their side of the bar. 

“-she’s everything to me, Tommy. I’ll take some of her shifts. After everything she’s gone through, she deserves to just relax,” you heard Joel say.

Huh, you wondered. Didn’t peg him for the married type. You couldn’t deny your disappointment, but you couldn’t stop smiling lightly. The grumpy man had a soft spot. It was odd but endearing to watch his eyebrows round out at the edges.

Tommy lightly hummed. “As long as the work gets done, I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” He paused. “Just…be careful, Joel. People around here are really close knit. You don’t want to go around pissing people off by being all-”

“Pissy?” Joel finished, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Look, I don’t plan on staying long, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Ma’am, can I get another?” you heard a man’s voice call out. He was almost slumped against the bar, his hand held up limply in the air. Great, you thought. Just what I needed to end rush hour.

You wiped the back of your hand against your forehead. “Bill, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” you trailed off.

Bill didn’t seem to like that answer, and you felt your heart start speeding up. “Just give me one more! I wasn’t fucking asking,” his voice slurred, echoing throughout the bar. It was as if he sucked the life right out of the building. No one moved.

You stared at Bill, your eyes hardening. “This happens every week, Bill. Aren’t you sick of this little tradition we have going on? Cause I am.” You put your hands together into a fist and leaned against the bar, letting your face get close to Bill’s. “You reek of piss and you’re acting like a lazy bum. How about you go back home and sleep the alcohol off before you get dragged out?”

Bill’s sweaty hands grab your arm. “What the fuck did you say?”

You felt your palms start sweating. “Bill,” you said calmly. “Get a hold of yourself, okay? You don’t gotta be like this.” Even with all your bravado, you didn’t love the idea of Bill’s anger being directed solely toward you. He was a 210 pound, six foot tall man. You knew how to pick your battles.

Bill growled loudly at you, spit flying from his mouth, making your face scrunch up with disgust. At the sound of his growl, several other townspeople stood up from their chairs, getting ready to intervene if needed. You saw them all slightly leaning forward, as if they’d run for Bill the second he stepped out of line.

One of Bill’s hands let go of your arm in favor of roughly grabbing your chin. You closed your eyes and tried turning away from his grip, but his alcohol ridden mind had no semblance of propriety, and he held your chin and cheeks in a vice like grip. “Listen here, you insolent-”

“Hey!” another voice boomed. It was rough, like the feeling of the tough boar bristles on your hair comb. Joel. “Don’t touch her!”

“Joel, she’s got this,” you heard Tommy say quietly. “You can’t go around making enemies on your first day.”

“Fucking hell, ”Joel grumbled at his brother. He stood up from his bar stool and walked over to where Bill was hunched over the counter, squeezing your chin as if he wouldn’t rest until the blood flow stopped. “Are you going to let go, or am I going to have to make you?”

Bill sneered at Joel. “I’ll do whatever I damn well like! Who the fuck even are you?”

Joel glared at him before roughly tearing Bill’s hands off of you. “Who the fuck are you to hurt the woman who’s been putting up with your shit for god knows how long?”

You glanced at Tommy with worry. He seemed to understand your silent plea because he got up and placed a secure hand on his brother’s shoulder. “How about I take Bill home, alright Joel?”

Joel kept glaring at Bill, as if he was putting a large amount of self-control into not teaching Bill a lesson, but he ultimately huffed lightly and moved out of Tommy’s way. Tommy put an arm around Bill’s shoulder, pushing him straight out of the bar, saying “Come on, Bill, you know Mary’s probably worried sick about ya.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Poor Mary.

Joel, to your surprise, didn’t accompany his brother to escort Bill back home. Instead, after watching the pair leave the bar and shut the double doors, he simply turned around to face you. “I’m uh,” he paused, scratching at his face. “I’m sorry about all the fuss. Just didn’t wanna see him disrespect you.”

You stroked the place where Bill had a vice grip on your arms, hoping that it wouldn’t bruise the next day. “I’m very grateful, Joel,” you said, smiling. “And I know you didn’t make a friend out of Bill, but I hope you know you made a friend out of me.” 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel quickly became a regular at your diner, but he never ordered any food. He’d walk in through the doors and walk directly towards the bar, planting himself in the same barstool and drinking the same whiskey. You never really minded. He always treated you with respect, made good on his promise to pay for every drink going forward, and occasionally stepped in to help you when a townsperson got a little too drunk.

Neither of you talked much, but you quietly learned things about each other. You noticed his wardrobe seemed to consist solely of different colored flannels and jeans. He spoke in a variety of intricate grunts, ranging from “hey” to “thank you.” Truly, Joel was a verbally gifted man.

Tonight wasn’t anything different. The diner was quite barren, with just a few people sitting amongst the tables, eating with close friends and family. The clink of the alcohol bottles was coupled with soft chuckles and the scraping of forks against ceramic plates.

Joel was sitting towards the left side of the bar, leaning against the stool he always inhabited. “Hey,” he said. “Can I-”

You smiled at him, your hands leaning against the countertop. “-get a whiskey? Surely we can skip the pleasantries now, Miller,” you jested lightly. Turning around, you grabbed Joel’s favorite whiskey and a glass. “How’s Jackson treating you?”

Joel grunted, and you expected that to be the end of your discussion, as it usually was every night. But instead, while you poured out a generous amount of whiskey, you heard Joel’s rough voice say, “It’s been pretty good.”

You handed him the glass. “I’m glad you like it here. I know we’re a small town, but we’re not so bad once you get used to us.” You took out your rag and started wiping down the counter. 

Joel sipped his whiskey, his red flannel pulling open a little to reveal his grey shirt underneath. You couldn’t help drifting your eyes toward his chest, but the second you caught yourself you went back to gazing at the counter, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He’s married, you thought to yourself, angrily. Behave.

Although there’s nothing wrong with accidentally looking, I guess.

He set down his glass on the counter and let out a little sigh. “Y’all definitely get a lotta snow.”

You chuckled, leaving your rag on the counter for a moment. “Yeah, it took me a while to get used to. Us southern folk just aren’t made for this type of cold.”

Joel’s eyebrow lifted slightly, intrigued. “You from the south?”

“I’m from Texas,” you revealed. “Life just forced me up north, but nothing quite feels like Texas.”

He slightly smiled, and you were almost shocked. Not once in these last few weeks did you see Joel smile, and you were confused as to why he would hide such a beautiful sight from the world. It was like the troubles of life lifted off his shoulders for just a moment, and you saw the Joel that could have been. “I’m from Texas, too. Austin.”

“No kidding,” you sighed. “You don’t see a lot of us this far north. It’s a shame. I’ve never met a friendlier group of people than down there,” you said wistfully.

Joel took another sip of his whiskey. “Well, one day you gotta go back down there. Not that I mind Jackson, but-”

“Heya,” a voice interrupted Joel. You turned to see Adelaide, your neighbor, sitting in a barstool to your right. She looked like she had just come off of work, as she was still wearing a sweater with her teacher name tag clipped near her left breast. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” 

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s okay, Addie. Can I get you anything? You don’t usually get outta school this late.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Joel had gone back to sipping at his whiskey and staring at the wall of bottles behind the bar, as he normally did when he came to visit. A small pit of disappointment stayed in your stomach. You had just gotten him to talk.

Addie sighed, twirling her brown hair around her finger. “I wanted to get ahead on grading cause the end of the school year is coming up,” she said. “And god knows I need more time to deal with all that work.”

You put your hand on hers, tilting your head. “You need to rest, Addie. You can’t keep working yourself to the bone.”

Addie waved her hand in a dismissive motion, scoffing. “I’m fine, don’t you worry. The work is distracting.”

You raised your right eyebrow. “Distracting from what?” you asked, pulling your hand back.

She leaned forward, some of her hair fanning out in front of her shoulders. “He cheated, y/n. He cheated, and then he left me, and I don’t wanna think about it more than I have to.”

Your jaw dropped, anger settling into your heart. “How could he? What’s wrong with him?”

Addie leaned back into her barstool, a stoic set to her jaw. “Apparently, Jace had even less of a brain than I gave him credit for. And do you know who he cheated on me with?” She paused. “Bill's wife Mary.”

Joel choked on his whiskey, spilling some onto the counter, and both you and Addie turned toward him. He looked nervous, ready to be faced with a barrage of insults for eavesdropping on your conversation, but Addie pointed at him and said, “Exactly! I had the same reaction!”

You chuckled, turning towards Joel apologetically. “I can get you another glass if you want, Miller. On the house.”

Joel grumbled and shook his head. “I told ya, I’m not gonna make a habit out of this free drink thing.”

You put your hands on your hips and sighed. “Well, think of it as a bribe for your secrecy. You’ve stumbled upon sacred gossip, Miller.” You turned towards Addie. “Don’t we need to buy his silence?”

Addie nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, of course. The whole town is going to be in over my head if we don’t keep this quiet.”

You turned back to Joel, looking at him pointedly. “So?” you questioned. “Do you accept our proposition?”

Joel let a small smile slip back onto his face again, and he nodded. “In the name of the greater good, I accept.” You beamed, grabbing his glass and filling it. Behind you, you heard Joel turn to Addie, saying, “For what it’s worth, Jace sounds like a dick.”

“He is,” Addie replied, matter-of-factly. 

You turned around and handed Joel another glass of whiskey before sighing. “Well,” you started. “I’m officially done for the day.”

Joel gulped his whiskey and stood up. “I’ll walk you home.”

You felt a lightness in your chest warm you up more than the fireplace in the diner. “It’s okay. I’ve got Addie with me.”

Addie slapped your hand lightly, and when you looked at her with confusion she simply looked back at you pointedly. “Well, it’s pretty dark out, so it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else with us.”

“I just wouldn’t want to bother you, Joel,” you said softly. 

Joel grumbled. “Nonsense. Consider it repayment for the first free drink.”

“Oh, alright,” you relented. “Let me just grab my bag.”

It was almost funny to watch a man as rough and scarred as Joel walk through town with two chattering, gossiping women. He was silent for the whole walk, but you knew he was listening intently. He’d shake his head with disappointment when Addie talked about Jace’s affair, and the anger and judgement that Jace had when Addie finally confronted him. You couldn’t help but smile when his body gave away his thoughts.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel’s eyes would occasionally flutter towards you, watching your face contort in between expressions of disbelief and annoyance at Jace. He held back a smile. There was something about how much you cared, how invested you were, that just made you such a warm, firey person. It was as if you could melt the snow falling on Jackson with merely your presence.

Joel had never liked the snow. Whenever it was cold outside, he found himself huddled near the fire.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

You were somewhat surprised when Joel stayed until the diner was closing and then offered to walk you home again.

“Joel,” you muttered. “You’ve already repaid me for the free drink with that one walk. And I’d really rather not bother you.

“You aren’t bothering me, sweetheart. If anything, consider this walk a repayment from you for me stopping Bill.” Joel put down his glass of whiskey, and you grabbed it to quickly wipe it down. “I could use the walk anyway. Ellie, my daughter,” he began, with a slight break in his voice. “She’s been coming back home a little later than I’m used to, and I’d rather not sit in my rocking chair on the porch waiting for her.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” you said, grabbing your bag from underneath the bar cabinet. “How old is she?” you questioned while walking out from behind the counter.

“She’s a 14-year-old little rug rat, my Elllie,” he said, walking next to you as you both made your way out of the diner.

The cold, frigid air of Jackson hit the both of you. Small clouds of fog form in front of your nose and mouth as you make slightly ragged breaths, walking uphill on a path through Jackson. Your cabin wasn’t more than a five-minute walk from the diner, but it was still nestled away from the town center enough to have some semblance of privacy.

You laughed at the idea of Joel with a teenage daughter. “You should bring her around the diner. I don’t mind convincing the cook to slip Ellie a few snacks. I don’t want to brag or anything, but Allysa loves me and I’m sure it wouldn’t be much of a bother.”

Joel crossed his arms and shivered slightly. “I’ll tell her. She’d love to meet you. She’s a little chirpier than I am, so you’d both get along great.”

You took a glance at him. He had his eyes trained on the snow covered path, a slight frown on his face. You were overcome with the urge to say anything to wipe that frown off his face, to replace it with a smile, or even his usual flat lined mouth. “Aw, Miller. You’re not so bad.”

Joel smirked. “That’s high praise, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, and you tried your hardest to ignore it. “So. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Huh?” Joel looked up at you, confused. “Oh. There’s none. I practically adopted Ellie, although Tommy insists she adopted me. But whatever way you wanna see it, no woman was involved in the process.” He paused. “I mean, other than Ellie herself, but to me she’s just a little girl-”

You interrupted him with your laughter. It was so strong you crossed your free hand under your stomach, trying to contain yourself. “Sorry,” you said through your laughter. “I just never thought I’d see you ramble like that.” Not married, huh. 

Even in the dark, you could see Joel blush. He wiped his finger on the bridge of his door, looking down with nervousness. “Well, don’t go around tellin’ everyone. I kinda like being the grumpy traveler.”

“You’re such a softie, Miller.”

Both you and Joel stopped in front of the steps that led to your front porch. You had garden beds lining the front wall, but the snow had killed the plants that had taken root in the dirt. It was one of the few things you hated about Jackson; you had to say goodbye to your plants every nine months. Few pretty flowers survived the winter.

Joel sighed, a large cloud of breath forming in front of his face and dissipating as soon as it came. “So,” he said, rocking on his heels. “See you tomorrow?”

You smiled. “I’ll have your whiskey ready, Miller.”

Neither of you moved. The wind blew, making you both shiver slightly, and you started climbing up the steps to your porch. “Actually, do you want to come inside?” you asked. “I could put on a cup of hot tea that you could walk back with. And I probably have one of my dad’s coats you could borrow.”

Behind you, you heard Joel’s shoes making patterns in the snow. “I guess Ellie won’t be back for a while still.” The wood of your front porch steps creaked along with the smile on your face. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy but soft, smelling of whiskey and pine and a hint of smoke. The fast beat of your heart echoed in your ears.

You grabbed your keys from your bag with shaky hands and opened your front door. Both you and Joel walked in, stomping off the snow that accumulated on your boots onto the welcome mat. “Sorry if it’s messy,” you say, flipping on the light switch. “I wasn’t planning for company.”

Joel grunted, walking past you to take in the living room. It wasn’t much, but you liked to think you filled your cabin some life.

There, in the center of the room, was a worn couch that had resided in your parent’s house before you moved out here. In front of the couch was the coffee table you’d painstakingly made by chopping the wood and making it from scratch. The dining table and chairs had been taken from Addie’s cabin after she obtained a better table. It wasn’t picturesque; it was bits and pieces of your life throughout the decades. A mosaic, just like Jackson.

“You’re welcome to sit,” you said, throwing your bag onto the corner of your couch as you did every day. “I’ll just put some tea on.”

Walking towards the far end of the living room, where the kitchen resided, you picked up your kettle and filled it with water. Joel sat on the couch, stroking the worn cloth. “It’s a pretty old couch,” he remarked quietly.

You chuckled while turning on the stove. “It used to be in my parent’s house,” you said. “He gifted it to me a long time ago.”

“Thank you, by the way,” said Joel. “For the tea. You didn’t really have to.”

“Come on, Miller. I’ve been serving you some kind of drink every day now. It’s our thing,” you teased. You were pleased when he laughed heartily. He’s more himself when we’re alone, you noted. I like it. 

You both let yourself sit in silence, waiting for the kettle to whistle. As you made some peppermint tea- the only kind you had at the moment- your eyes kept flickering over to Joel. He kept noticing little tidbits throughout your living room. 

His fingers stroked the stitched cut on the couch with an amused smirk on his face. “How’d this happen?”

“I think I was seven? I was really into knitting, but I overestimated how much damage a knitting needle could do. I think I got mad that I kept fucking up, and I just stabbed the couch.” You laughed. “My dad took one look at it and chuckled. He said it was cute how much I cared.”

You brought the mugs of tea over to the coffee table, setting them down. “I hope it’s not too bad. Serving alcohol doesn’t involve a lot of steps.”

Joel chuckled. “I can imagine you with knitting needles, just throwing a little mini tantrum over a blanket.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now I hope that tea is shitty.” You sat down on the couch, sitting right next to Joel even though there was ample room next to you. “And, for your information, I’m pretty good at knitting. That blanket right here,” you said, pointing to the blanket haphazardly laid on the arm of your couch, “is purely a y/n production.”

Joel touched the blanket with his fingers, poking at the small holes. “You did a good job,” he said. Something in your stomach stirred at the praise, but you carefully tucked it away. No need to get any hopes up, you thought.

Humming, you picked up your mug and blew at the tea slightly. “Thanks, Miller.”

“Why do you call me Miller?” Joel asked. “Why don’t you call me Joel?”

You tilted your head. He noticed. “I call you Joel sometimes.” I didn’t know he’d notice things about me. 

He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve called me Joel exactly twice.”

You didn’t know to tell him that calling him his first name felt like an intimate gesture to you, how you couldn’t imagine saying his name without the weight in your heart you felt every time he came into the diner. With every second he spent near you, that weight grew slowly but surely, and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

You thought he was married. Turns out he’s not. That weight in your heart starts feeling more like it belongs there, replacing the initial shame you felt for your soft spot. Shame that you tried to overcome by calling him Miller.

How do you tell a man that?

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I call Tommy, Miller too. I guess I figured the tradition should continue between brothers? I really don’t know.”

Joel looked at you, his brown eyes looking like a cloudy river. You so desperately wanted to see through to the bottom. “Call me Joel when it’s just us,” he said. 

You took a sip of your tea. “Of course, Joel.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for his mug. “Look at us, getting along. And Tommy said I couldn’t be pleasant.”

You chuckled before you remembered the time. “Oh my god. I was supposed to grab you a coat.” You stood up quickly, walking to the wardrobe behind your dining table, muttering, “I’d hate for you to miss Ellie coming home.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s no reason to worry. I live two minutes away, I’ll be fine,” Joel said from the couch in a reassuring voice. It was as if his rough voice smoothed slightly around the edges. He spoke in long, legato lines instead of his regular staccato responses, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped your mouth as you hunted for your dad’s coat.

“Still, Joel,” you said, reveling in the privilege of saying his name. “Ellie comes first.” You grabbed your dad’s wool coat and folded it over your arm, bringing it to Joel. “You can keep this if you want,” you told him. “I never really have a use for it.”

You felt the warmth of Joel’s hand against your arm for just a moment as he grabbed the coat from you. You barely heard him saying “thank you.” It was as if his voice had been muddled by some kind of blurry screen.

Your brain turns into a crush-riddled caveman. Warm, you think. Rough. But gentle. 

“No problem,” you say hoarsely. “Anything for you, Joel.”

As he leaves, you let the shape of his name coat your lips, playing with it in your cheek, letting it take its place. 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

“Is your name y/n?” you hear a young voice ask behind you.

You spin around, eyeing the young girl with confusion. “Yeah, what can I do for you?” You smoothed down your shirt.

The young girl broke out into a smile and pointed at herself. “My name’s Ellie. Joel told me to stop by.”

You broke out into a smile, extending a hand out over the bar countertop. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie.” She shook your hand enthusiastically, smiling from ear to ear. “Let me go back and tell the cook to make you some food. She’s making some tomato and mozzarella sandwiches right now, is that okay?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” she said. “I’ll take anything.”

You chuckled. “Your dad was right, you’re one chipper girl.”

She seemed to take pause. “He called me his daughter?” 

Rambling, you shook your head frantically out of nervousness. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that it wasn’t-” Oh god, I ruined everything. 

“No, you’re good, don’t worry. I just…” she trailed out. “He’s not a man of many words, ya know? I mean I’m sure you know- he doesn’t exactly scream ‘literate,’ but still. I know he cares, but sometimes it’s nice to hear it.”

You grinned, relieved. Reaching out to touch her shoulder lightly, you reassured her, saying “Aw, honey, Joel loves you more than anything. It’s so obvious to everyone that it’s insane. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, alright?”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. You told her you’d disappear for a second to tell Allysa to set aside an extra sandwich, and when you made it back, Ellie was sitting at the bar, leaning her head in her hands, staring at the alcohol bottles. Like father, like daughter, you supposed.

“The sandwich should be out soon, alright honey?” you said gently. 

“Are you from Texas too? You sound a little like Joel,” Ellie joked. 

You nodded. “I’m from San Antonio,” you revealed. “Actually, I wasn’t too far from where your old man Miller grew up. Maybe an hour's drive? I’m not sure anymore, it’s been a while since I was there.”

Allyssa brought out Ellie’s sandwich, setting it on the bar countertop. “Enjoy it, alright sweetie?” she said to Ellie. “I put a little extra cheese on yours.”

Ellie said thank you and dug into her sandwich, but unlike her father, she kept the conversation going. “I’ve been tryna convince Joel to go back to Austin, but he turns into this pain in the ass whenever I bring it up,” she said. “I’ll get him to go there eventually. If I annoy him enough, he caves.”

You chuckle. “Why doesn’t he wanna go? It seems like he misses it.”

“He’s had a hard life,” Ellie said protectively. “He’s been through some shit in Austin. I guess he just doesn’t wanna visit it again.”

You hummed. “I get that,” you said, sighing. “Anyway. How long are y’all staying in Jackson?”

Ellie shrugged. “It was supposed to be a few days, but I really like it here. There’s only so much traveling you can do before you get sick of not having a home, you know? Besides, I don’t think Joel wants to leave either.” She took another bite of her sandwich. “He keeps saying he’s gonna leave but he doesn’t pull the trigger,” she said, her voice muffled with her sandwich.

You reached under the bar cabinet and wordlessly handed her a napkin, which she took graciously. “I told him he’d get sucked into Jackson. It’s too cozy.”

“It really is. I’ve made friends! I went to go study with one of them the other night,” Ellie said, practically jumping up and down. “I hope Joel never wants to leave.”

Me too, you thought. 

You and Ellie kept talking about her life in Jackson, her school, the hobbies she’s picked up. You chuckled when she told you that she picked up archery. “I really like pointy things,” she said. “Bonus if they can kill someone.” 

You laughed. “When I was your age, I was obsessed with fencing. My dad signed me up for a class and everything, even though my mom said no. He’d take me in secret. He told me he was proud that if someone broke into the house, his daughter could protect him,” you told Ellie, laughing lightly. “He’d love you.”

“He sounds fucking awesome,” Ellie remarked. 

He was, you thought.

The joy in her eyes filled with more warmth than you thought possible. You had the urge to stroke her cheek, get her more food, and walk her home- anything to keep those eyes full of light. 

While Ellie was pattering about an embarrassing story of her and Joel on the road, she brushed some crumbs off of her fingers onto the plate. Your eyes involuntarily flickered down to the movement. You saw a few, parallel, thin scars underneath her wrist, just barely covered by the fold of her elbow. Something in your heart tightened to the point of pain, and you couldn’t bear to look Ellie in the eye for a little while.

You found yourself looking down at the bar counter, hoping Ellie didn’t notice what you’d just observed. Counting the number of scars, you branded the number in your mind. Nine. 

You’d go insane if you found a tenth in the future.

Keeping up a normal pretense, you both chatted until the lunch rush hour entered, prompting Ellie to push her plate towards you and stand. “I should probably head out and let you get back to your job,” she said. “But we should do this again.”

You grinned from ear to ear. “You’re welcome anytime, honey.” You lightly grabbed her hand with both of yours. “Be careful with archery, okay? I don’t wanna see any major injuries,” you said, a slight motherly tilt in your voice.

Ellie put her other hand around yours and squeezed lightly. “I won’t, I promise.” 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel stopped by the diner a few days later. He came in later than usual- almost five minutes before closing- and sat down in his barstool, panting lightly as he sat. 

You had been wiping down the counter when his presence made itself known. “Are you okay, Joel?” you asked. “Let me get you a glass of water.” You were grateful that the diner was completely barren, with even Allysa having gone home, leaving just you and Joel in the space. Your heart would have broken if Joel was seen in such a vulnerable state by people who didn’t understand him.

Please let me help, you thought. Don’t be all tough around me.

Pouring him an ice-cold glass of water, you decided to walk around the counter and sit next to him instead of your usual position. “Joel?” you questioned him again.

He didn’t respond, opting to gulp down the whole glass of water. “Just gimme a minute.”

You nodded. Joel was shaking slightly, and you slowly decided to stroke his arm gently- up and down, feeling the wrinkles that formed on his flannel from the motion. Under different circumstances, you might have lept with glee at the realization that Joel didn’t move when you touched him; in fact, he leaned into your hand. “You’re okay, Joel,” you reminded him. “I’m here.” You kept repeating reassuring phrases as he calmed himself down.

Eventually, he put his hand over yours, stopping it from its repetitive motion. “M’sorry,” he said. Before you could interrupt him to insist that there was nothing to be sorry about, he continued on. “Just had to come see you.”

You reached out to touch the area between his shoulder and his neck lightly. “Please don’t be sorry. I’d rather see you in front of me than know that this happens when I can’t help.”

Joel’s head hung down low and he groaned, seeming tired from his day’s events. “I just don’t wanna be a bother, but nothing else was helping.”

You toed with the intimate line between the two of you, desperately wanting to outright cross it but refusing to do so without his indication. It was frustrating, this dance. But the last thing you wanted Joel to feel around you was uncomfortable, so instead of cupping his cheek the way your fingers were itching to, you simply moved your hands down and gripped his hands lightly. “You’re not a bother, Joel. You’re never a bother. You’re practically the highlight of my day.” You paused. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I- sorry we- don’t want you?”

Joel tilted his head. “Part of it, I guess.” He sighed heavily. “Is it okay if we go back to your place? Ellie’s got a slumber party so I don’t really got anyone waitin’ on me.” He wiped his face. “Only if you wanna, of course,” he added, rushed.

“Nonsense, Joel. You’re always welcome over.” And with that, you both set out on your daily walk- except this time no words were exchanged.

You’d glance over to the man next to you, your heart dropping whenever he moved out of the ordinary. He scratched his beard. Beat. He cracked his knuckles. Beat. He almost tripped. Beat. Such a contrast to the careful, meticulously observant man you had come to know.

“Joel,” you whispered to him when you’d arrived in front of your porch. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

You both walked inside, and Joel immediately walked over and slumped onto your couch. “Today’s my daughter’s birthday,” he revealed.

“Oh,” you said, confused. “I didn’t know it was Ellie’s birthday.”

Joel shook his head. “My other daughter. Sarah.”

You made your way next to Joel, sensing the sensitive subject he was going to reveal to you. “What happened with Sarah?”

Joel’s eyes closed, and he leaned his head back, his eyelids scrunched in a phantom pain you wish you could’ve waived away with your hands. “She passed away, a few years back. Drunk driving accident.” He breathed deeply. “It’s why I ended up here, I guess. Just couldn’t bear to go back home when she- she,” his voice broke.

Fuck the line between us, you thought. You engulfed him in a hug, his large frame serving as a strong structure for you to lay your head against. “It’s okay,” you said lightly. “You don’t have to finish that sentence.”

He’s shaking, you noticed with tears lining your eyes. My Joel is shaking.

“She was everything to me. She was the only thing that mattered to me before Ellie, y’know? I’d do anything just to see her smile again,” he revealed. “Anything.”

You let a tear fall, staining Joel’s flannel a deep, dark color. “I’m so sorry, Joel.” You stroked his back over and over again, letting Joel rest against you.

“I kept wandering from city to city, afterward,” he revealed. “Didn’t really stay for longer than a week. And then I met Ellie. Her parents threw her out and she had nowhere to go. She’s so much like Sarah that it scared me, and I gave Ellie a bit of a hard time cause of it.” He took in a breath. “They’re both pieces of my soul, Sarah and Ellie. I’m like half a man.”

His head moved to the crook of your neck, and you felt the warmth of his deep breaths against your skin. Greedily, you let your hand drift to his hair, toying with it lightly. “Take your time, Joel,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

Joel hummed against your neck, and you felt the vibrations leave goosebumps in their wake. “Thank you,” he said. “For being here.”

You didn’t know how to tell him that it was a privilege to hold him up, so you simply left a light kiss on his temple. “I know how you feel, a little,” you revealed. “My dad died a few years ago. Lung cancer. It felt like I’d lost a part of me.” You took in a deep breath. “Sometimes I still feel like he’s around, kind of like a phantom limb that I can’t use. It honestly hurts more when that happens. It just reminds me of all the love that I lost.

“But then I remember that losing that love just meant I had it at some point in my life. I had the best father the world could have ever given me. He made me who I am, and I try to remember that. Sarah had so much love in her life,” you said, placing a gentle palm against the side of his face. “She had you. You did for her what my father did for me. I know it’s not much, and nothing can bring her back, but even if this means nothing, you need to know that she loved you more than I can possibly express.”

You felt cold, wet circles fall onto your neck like the light pitter-patter of rain. Kissing Joel’s temple again, you whispered, “She made you who you are. That’s more evidence that she’ll always be with you.”

You heard Joel whimper lightly before the floodgates opened. “Oh, baby,” you said sympathetically. “Let it out. Let it all out.”

You and Joel sat there on the couch, lumped together in a tight embrace, for what felt like hours. And, when Joel had finally let out every tear that he had in him, he finally lifted his head out of the crevice between your neck and shoulder and looked at you with his puffy eyes.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice slightly nasally. “I didn’t mean to-”

“If you complete that sentence, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll see stars, alright? That’s what friends are for,” you told him, internally cringing at the word friends.

Joel’s head tilted. “Friends?” he asked. “I don’t know if friends do what we do, sweetheart.”

You were suddenly very aware that almost every part of yours and Joel’s upper bodies were practically glued together. You were looking up at him, your breath bouncing off of Joel’s chin, his scruff occasionally tickling your cheekbone when one of you moved slightly. 

You hesitated. After what Joel had just told you, was tonight really the best time to toe the line? “Joel, I don’t want to do anything you’d regret. Not when you’re in this state of mind.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’d agree with you if I hadn’t felt like this for weeks,” he said. “It’s hard for me to not feel like this, not when I hear Ellie raving about you after she visited. Not when you look as breathtaking as you did that first day that I saw you, serving me a glass of free whiskey like I was worth a damn.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “I’ve done nothing for you, absolutely nothing, and yet you’ve given me everything you can. You laugh at my jokes even when they’re not funny, you make me tea just so I don’t walk home cold.”

Joel sighed, his breath hugging your face in a warm blanket. “All these weeks, I came every day just to see you. It infuriated me sometimes, knowing that you had no idea the effect you had on me. As if you didn’t know how my eyes were practically glued to you when you weren’t looking.”

 Your eyes closed. “Look at me,” he urged. You pulled back, looking him in the eye. “Do you really think I don’t like you? The only thing keeping me in Jackson is you.” 

You looked down at yours and Joel’s now joined hands. “Joel…”

“Sweetheart,” he echoed. 

You looked back up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Joel’s palm moved up to cup your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Every reason why Joel shouldn’t be with you flashed through your mind. You’re too clingy. You talk too much. You freak out over small things. You don’t know how to let things go. You’ll burden him. You’ll force him to stay where there’s snow, even though he hates it.

But when you look at Joel, a selfish part of you doesn’t care. You don’t care that this could blow up in your face, the way every other relationship of yours had. 

“Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself before you let your lips touch Joel’s. His hand comes to the back of your head, locking you in place while he patiently explores the curve of your lips, the slight noise you make when he really focuses on your lower lip. Your hands make their way around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. More, more, more, you thought.

You pull apart but neither of you stray far, with Joel’s forehead leaning against yours. “Still think we’re just friends, sweetheart?” he asked you.

Chuckling, you left a peck on his lips. “The bestest friends.”

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel didn’t leave your cabin that night, instead opting to sleep on the couch with your knitted blanket. You protested heavily, insisting that there was space in your bed for him to rest, but he met every single plea with a simple answer: “I’m a little old-fashioned, sweetheart.”

Awaking the next morning, you smiled before pulling away your blankets faster than you ever had before so you could greet the man resting on your couch downstairs. You expected to find a man-shaped lump on your couch, but instead, you were greeted with the smell of pancakes and eggs, and the slightly chaotic sounds that was Joel Miller attempting to cook.

You chuckled lightly to yourself. Who thought this rugged man would wake up early to make pancakes? you thought. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel turned around from the stove, clad in an unbuttoned red flannel and jeans. He looked picturesque in this light, the morning rays of sunshine hitting his skin just right. His hair looked a shade lighter than usual through the sunlight. You let your eyes wander to his chest, going lower, and lower, and-

 “Mornin’ sweetheart,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me fiddling around here. Just wanted to make you breakfast as a thank you for last night.”

Walking towards Joel, you crossed your arms. “What did I say about that? There’s no reason to thank me, and there’s no reason to say sorry.” You paused only to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him. Joel’s arms snaked around your waist tightly. If you never moved from this position, you’d consider it an upgrade from your life. “But, since I like pancakes, I’ll overlook it just this once.”

Joel chuckled and grinned. “Aren’t you selfless,” he murmured, bringing his face closer to yours. 

“Hmm, I am-”

Joel stopped you from finishing your sentence with his lips, softly caressing your tongue with his. Unlike last night, he took his time when kissing you, moving in slow, languid movements- like he had all the time in the world, or if he didn’t have time then he just didn’t care. 

He pulled away and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a small intake of breath. Joel smirked. “So is this what gets you to stop talking, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and slapped his shoulder. “So you want me to stop talking?” you asked him, jest in your voice.

Joel tilted his head and let out a light chuckle, his scruff scratching your forehead with the movement. “You know I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you said, slight reverence in your voice. 

Joel let you go, grabbing the spatula he’d taken out of your drawer and he went to flip a pancake that lay on your pan. “I hope you like chocolate chip. It’s Ellie’s favorite.”

You hugged Joel from behind. “I’d love that, Joel.”

And so you spent breakfast with Joel, eating chocolate chip pancakes at your dining table like you were kids again. For the first time in a while, you let yourself drench your pancakes in maple syrup. You and Joel chatted about your lives: Joel about his trip from Austin to Jackson, the weird errands he’d run to earn money fast- and you about life after your father’s death, how you decided you’d live in a small town full of snow purely because your father despised the sweltering hot weather of Texas.

You found it refreshing, that you and Joel could now talk freely. It was like that kiss last night had unlocked something in him. You found that you didn’t mind this change.

* (smut below)

Putting the dishes in the sink, Joel cleared his throat. “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

You shook your head. “It’s my day off. Do you know when Ellie is going to be back home?”

“Oh, she won’t be back for a while. That little shit loves to push how long she can stay out.” Joel walked up to where you stood near the sink, rinsing the maple syrup patches off of your plates. “Which works out great for us.”

You grabbed Joel’s arms loosely with your hands, reveling in the feel of his muscles underneath his skin, the veins that would occasionally stick out on his skin. “It truly does,” you said slyly. “What are you planning, Miller?”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame towards his, and you gasped lightly at the feeling of your lower stomach being glued to his body. “Not much,” he murmured. He grabbed your chin with his fingers. “Nothing important.”

“Hmm, I’m sure,” you said, inching your face closer to his. “Joel?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered closed. “How flexible are you when it comes to being traditional?” you asked him, slightly breathless.

His lips brushed against yours as he answered, “Right now? Tradition is the last thing on my mind,” he said, punctuation his point by letting his hands wander to the patch of skin between your back and your ass. He placed a short, chaste kiss on your lips. “But I won’t do anything unless you say.”

Your breaths mingled with each other's, and you swore your heartbeat had never been faster. “Please,” you asked.

“Please what?” he retorted calmly.

You almost whined with disappointment. “You know what I’m asking, Joel.”

Joel pulled back a little, and you couldn’t stop the slight whine that left your mouth. “I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me.”

“Just fuck me,” you said breathlessly.

Joel smirked before grabbing your face and kissing you, a smile present on his lips the whole time. An arrogant smile. Damn that bastard. 

He pulled away from your lips momentarily to began skimming your cheek, your jaw, your neck. He paid special attention there once he heard the obscene moan that left you when he sucked at just the right spot, leaving a bright reddish-purple mark in its place. “Joel,” you breathed.

“I love it when you say my name,” he whispered into your neck. “No one says it like you.” His hands started wandering to the bottom of your pajama shirt, slipping underneath to softly begin the upward climb to your breasts. “No bra, huh?” he questioned, palming your breast.

“Didn’t uh,” you started between gasps. “Didn’t think I needed one. Sorry if that was-” You were interrupted by Joel’s mouth on yours, sucking lightly on your lower lip making you moan loudly.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “I’d sooner shoot myself in the leg than tell you to wear a bra around me.” 

You laughed, and he cupped your face with his other hand. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “So mine.” He went back to paying attention to your breasts, skimming his finger lightly over your hardened nipples. You saw the effect his exploration had on him; or, rather, felt the effect, as his crotch was pressing tightly against your stomach. 

Grabbing the hem of your shirt, you pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you topless in front of Joel. His hands froze, eyes skimming over your body. Feeling brave, you smirked and said, “You gonna do something, Miller?”

“Aren’t you mouthy,” he said, sarcasm evident in his voice. “I’ll take care of that soon.” With that, he guided you to your upstairs bedroom, throwing his flannel off on the way. You couldn’t help but admire the slight back muscles Joel had. There was almost no imperfection with this man.

When you reached your bedroom, Joel grabbed you by your shoulders and swiftly through you on your bed. Your cheap mattress squeaked lightly, and you laughed against your floral bedsheets. “I’ve thought about this so much,” he revealed, tearing down your shorts. He knelt on your floor, eye to eye with your panties, and you hoped there wasn’t a telltale dark spot on the fabric that would give away just how ready you were to fuck this man. “Ever since that first time I walked into the diner.”

You writhed slightly under his stare. “Joel, please just fuck me,” you begged lightly. “I’m not feeling very patient.”

You heard him chuckle and then felt his arm push down onto your lower stomach, keeping you in place. “But I am,” he said. He touched the center of your panties, forcing a gasp out of you. He chuckled again. “So needy.” He pulled your panties aside, finding you wet and glistening. Without warning, he licked a stripe up your pussy, making you let out a languid moan. “Best fucking breakfast I’ve had in years,” he proclaimed, pulling your panties off your legs. 

Joel kneads your thighs as he continues licking and occasionally sucking at your clit, and you reveled in the filthy sounds made by your wetness. He lazily keeps stroking your pussy with his tongue, letting his tongue slowly explore every crevice and find every sensitive point that ushered out the loudest whines.

“Oh, god,” you sighed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He flicked his tongue against your clit over and over again, stopping only to suck and lick and hum into your pussy. The vibrations keep pushing you closer and closer to the edge. And then you felt his fingers lightly tracing your lips before he stuck one finger in, curling it rapidly. “More,” you begged. “Fuck, please Joel- Oh!”

He added in a second finger, curling them both against that sensitive spot inside you that made you see stars, all while his tongue played with your clit. It was almost too much, all the sensations combined, and you were glad that Joel still had a hand holding your stomach down because your back started arching. “I'm so close, oh god, keep going!”

Joel’s resolve never wavered. Your moans gave him more than enough fuel to keep curling, keep licking, keep pleasuring you to the point of tears. He opened his eyes and looked at you from between your legs, and the sinful sight of that beautiful man feasting on you sent you over the edge. His tongue helped you ride out your orgasm whilst you moaned and shook and said his name over and over, Joel, Joel, Joel!

When he finally lifted his head and started climbing over you, he had a wicked smile on his face. “You’re even prettier when you come apart on my tongue, sweetheart.” His rough voice caressed your body as he made his way up to kiss you. You could taste yourself on him, but that just spurred you on.

“It’s not fair that you’re still wearing pants,” you remarked. 

“Then do something about it,” he replied. You smiled and let your hand slowly make its way down to his pants, lightly stroking his chest on the way down. You reached his zipper and palmed his cock through his trousers, making him hiss. “Don’t be a tease. I’ll make you regret it next time.”

“Oh,” you started. “So there’s going to be a next time? Someone’s confident,” you remarked while you unzipped his pants. 

Joel stood up and kicked his pants off as fast as he could. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you soon enough, sweetheart.”

You grinned. “I’m waiting.” You made your way towards the middle of your bed, making yourself comfortable amongst the pillows. Your mouth almost frothed at the sight before you: a naked Joel Miller, cock slapped against his stomach, girthy and slightly red with need. 

“Someone’s staring,” Joel remarked, joining you on your bed.

“Do you blame me?” you asked. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he settled on top of you, his cock so close to where you needed him most. “You’re perfect.”

He cupped your face. “You’re one to talk,” he retorted. He shifted his hips slightly, groaning when some of your wetness got on the tip of his dick. “If I do anything you don’t like, just tap me three times on my arm, okay?” he said, sweetly. “And I’ll stop the second you do that.”

You nodded. “I trust you, Joel.”

He leaned down and kissed you, slowly, lovingly, softly. Such a contrast to how he handled you earlier. It almost made tears come to your eyes. This man, who looked so rough on the surface, had the softest heart you’d ever known.

Pulling away from your lips, he led his dick right to your entrance. “Now,” he said, jest in his voice. “Back to the fun stuff.” He slowly thrust into you, both of you gasping at the sensation. “Fuck, even your pussy is perfect,” he praised.

“Oh,” you moaned out when he bottomed out. He stayed there for a little, letting you adjust, but you could see the restraint it took in the way his body shook lightly. But you didn’t have much restraint either, and so you looked at him and said, “Fuck me like you mean it, Miller.”

You saw the gleam in his eyes and then it was over for you. He set a harsh, fast pace, the sound of your thighs slapping together filling your room along with your moans and his groans. “Such a good girl for me,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust. “So fucking good.”

He pulled out only to move you slightly on your side and then lift your leg over his shoulder, allowing him to spread you out even more than before. He pushed in and you almost screamed with pleasure. “Fuck,” you moaned, trailing out the word. Joel cut you off by grabbing your neck with his hand, applying slight pressure, and choking you.

“There we go,” he cooed, thrusting into you hard. “See? See how it works out for you when you don’t give me attitude?” You interrupted him with a loud moan. “Such a beautiful, fucked out little slut.”

“I’m so close, Joel,” you said lightly, your eyes rolling back into your head. “Oh my god!”

Joel’s thrusts continued, sweat beading on his forehead. His grunts got louder and more breathy. “That’s it, just like that,” he said. “Gonna make you come around my cock, huh? That’s what you want?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, whispering a somewhat breathy sounding “Please! I’m so close.”

“Do it,” he ordered you harshly. “Come for me. Come for me like the good little slut you are,” he said while putting more pressure around your neck, choking you harder. You came even harder than before, shaking and writhing around his cock, and Joel kept thrusting into you. You whined with overstimulation.

Joel’s thrusts started getting sloppy, and soon he groaned “I’m gonna come,” before pulling out of you and pumping himself harshly. He came on your lower stomach. And while he knelt on your bed, out of breath, his eyes couldn’t help but watch his come drip down your stomach a little. “One day,” he began, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “I’ll be counting down the days.”

* (smut finished)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Twelve months, two weeks, and four days later, you and Joel tied the knot. You had a small wedding in Jackson, with Tommy as Joel’s best man and Ellie as your maid of honor. Addie married the two of you, and you couldn’t be happier with your choice. She practically made you cry with her heartfelt speech, talking about the newfound friendship she had with Joel and how you had given her a brother she never had.

“You two are made for each other,” she had said. 

Both you and Joel had written your own vows to each other. You had the papers you wrote your vows on framed in your bedroom, and occasionally you found yourself reading Joel’s handwriting and marveling at your luck. His vows were shorter than yours- he was a man of few words- but my god, did he write powerfully.

“I’ve been to so many cities in my lifetime. Nothing ever really convinced me to stay, but then I came to Jackson and I saw you in that diner, standing behind the bar like an angel. I still remember how you looked like you glowed under those lights. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I wanted to stay.

“Sometimes I wonder if I was wandering around aimlessly in my life from city to city, just looking for you. And now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to spend a single day without you.”

You’d bawled like anything that day. You had an amazing husband, a beautiful step daughter, and a wedding that your father would have approved of. You felt him in the air around you that day. While you and Joel had your first dance, you remember feeling like someone had placed your hand on your shoulder; but when you glanced, no one was there.

I love you, Dad, you had thought to yourself that day. I love you so much.

Now, while you glanced at your newly made wedding photo album, you felt the memories rush into you like a wave. It had only been a month since then. You still missed that day.

“Sweetheart,” you heard a voice say from downstairs. “Do we have any more boxes to pack?”

You smiled. Joel. “Just one more,” you yelled back. “I’ll be down in a little!”

You stroked the cover of your wedding album and put it gingerly at the top of a filled cardboard box. The sight of your now barren bedroom made tears begin to line your eyes, but your stomach danced with excitement for the future. Before you could start sobbing with nostalgia, you picked up your box and carried it down the stairs. 

The creak of the stairs was music to your ears. It was a shame you wouldn’t hear it for a while.

Joel stood in the center of the living room, staring out the window while waiting for you. When he heard the telltale creak of the stairs, his head moved in your direction. “There you are,” he whispered. “Ellie’s sitting in the truck already.”

“Sorry, I was just caught up with all the memories of this place,” you responded apologetically. “It’s hard to say goodbye.”

Joel tucked you into his side, kissing the top of your head. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll be back eventually, I promise.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“I will, too.”

You both relaxed for a few seconds before you heard a honk from the trunk. “Your daughter is getting impatient,” Joel said, laughing lightly.

“We should get going before she drives into the house,” you said teasingly. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

You climbed down your front porch steps, going to the trunk of the green truck Joel had borrowed from Tommy. You placed the cardboard box in the back and pulled up the barrier. Well, this is it, you thought.

Austin, here we come.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Tagged: @orcasoul

[sluttysanemi]

𓆩. ⛧ .𓆪 — BAR BLISS. xoxo ’

Sanemi Shinazugawa x AFAB!Reader

c/w: out of character sanemi, fluff, pussy whipped sanemi (lol), sexual tension, ass slapping, flirting, smut, sort of fast paced dont bite my head off, oral (f!receiving), spit as lube, unprotected sex, responsible drinking

a/n: repost cuz its jst... not getting posted lol?? 5.2k words, smut at end!

A soft, dimly lit tavern- a warm glow casting a sense of intimacy. The acquainted aroma of ale, and exotic gin stenches the hostelry, followed with a captivating ambience. The inviting atmosphere charmed with lively music rendered the establishment to grow fairly populous.

Perched at the high tables, closely to the bartender, you gazed upon the assortment of drinks displayed within the umber coloured shelves. A pleasant evening it had held; you decide to indulge yourself to a sweetening cocktail. Expressing your polite solicit to the employee, you await patiently; once more engaging in the scenery amongst. You sat with only yourself, pondering idly. Along the valley of tidily arranged stools, none that sat upon particularly captured your interest. Ignoring the mild loneliness that echoed, you rather dwelled on loosening yourself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

With a short passing of time, your drink was presented. You mumbled a soft gratitude, and took a brief sip. The vibrant, tropical flavor lingering mildly, accompanying a pleasant after-taste. Whilst firming the spherical glass upon the table, a new presence accompanied. His peculiar fragrance of sandalwood, amber, and a savoury trace of tobacco swiftly caught your attention and coated the air with opulent pleasure. As if hearing your trailing thoughts of intrigue, he sat beside, upon the neighbouring stool.

You peered from the corner of your eye. His diverting scent drew a captivating allure.

Upon the abutting seat, a tall man of a lean, muscular build sat. With jagged, ivory hair, resting closely with the purple shade of his eyes. His figure was cluttered with ragged scars, the firm muscles of his body displayed proudly. A kanji meaning "kill", menacing and bold, emblazoned on the back of his long-sleeved haori followed with white buckles and the nature-coloured katana, painted with uneven dashes of white, resembling closely to his personal scars. This was certainly a sight you did not catch often…

He held a solemn expression, his gaze focused in front, though once he caught vision of whom he’d sat beside, it was as if his eyes expressed what his mouth did not. Tranced by your features; What a pretty face, such a gorgeous woman…

He passed a charming smile to you, as though he were silently indicating his interest, and ordered himself a whiskey.

Quickly poured, the amber liquor- settled within a low glass- is placed in front. Clear cubes of ice float highly. He reaches within his green tinted hakama pants, whilst you stared elsewhere.

“Want one, sweet thing?”, he spoke abruptly.

Pointing your sight to him once more, you watched as his sturdy hand held towards you an open packet of cigarettes. You grinned, rather amused by his braze attitude.

“Thank you.”, you replied kindly, plucking the narrow cylinder from the package. He excused himself to one and sealed the box, resuming its place with a lighter.

“Get close.”, he voiced with firm authority. Following, you leaned, noting closely his obscure musk scent. The leading edges of your shared cigarettes met as he held the ochre flame beneath. You stared as the vibrant glow followed towards the tab, silver emissions effused, and the newly invited fragrance of burnt tobacco evades.

Sighing glumly, he inhales deeply of the throat-clogging nicotine. He focuses on you, watching you with a linger of fascination.

“Like ‘yer eyes. They’re a real pretty colour.”, he remarked affably.

You smiled softly towards his admiration. “I like the scars. They complement nicely to your body.”, you replied simply, slowly intaking the flow of tobacco bodying the cigarette.

He sneers, evidently pleased. “Ye like them do ya, sweet thing? My body too?”, taunting you with your own words. You nod.

“You always such a pleasant show off?”, you asked, cocking an observant eyebrow. He swiftly drinks the bitter intoxicant, replying shortly. “For a lovely sight like you, might as well be.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An invited silence stretches, whilst he shifts subtly- growing closer. “What’s your name then, sweet thing?”, he asks. You answered his query, gaining a soft grunt in his response. “Sanemi.”, he followed.

“Sanemi.”, you repeated, letting his name marinate within the moment. He purrs in response; a groan of approval. “Like the way ‘ye say it, pretty face.”

“You from here?”, you inquired, studying his expression. He watched you subtly, yet closely. You certainly had his interest. He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here. Was only ‘ere for my job. I’ll be gone by the morning.”, Sanemi inhaled from his cigarette once more, an excrement of smoke escaping the shine of his lips. You hummed in reply. “Thought you stood out. Is your job the premise for the katana, then?” He nods.

“Gotta fight really screwed shit with it. It sort of fucks you over. ‘ye’re not the same after.”, his voice somewhat reminiscent.

You watched at his expression momentarily, a comfortable silence whilst pursing your lips along the nicotine-coated cylinder, drawing in another drag.

“Good money?”, you questioned. He snickers, almost in disbelief.

“Real good money, baby. You like a man with cash?”, Sanemi pursued, his voice a sultry tone. You chuckle in his flirtations. “Perhaps. It makes for good compensation.”

He smiled, his grin tempting, as if he wished to glamor you. “Compensation, aye?”, he snickered. “You with a man then?” He inquired, abruptly shifting the subject. Like he was deeply curious to know…

His forward, careless confidence was alluring. You wished to tease him..“Why? Are you interested?”, she purred, purposely avoiding his advances. You were luring him, and tormentingly so… Sanemi rolled his eyes, unamused by the ingenous act. “You’re torturing me… your taunting could drive this man to murder.”, he whined lowly. He leans over and covers the back of your hand with his calloused palm. Sanemi’s skin was firm, almost abrasive. You could feel it softly skimming, caressing. “Do tell, sweet thing… i think ‘ye pretty face is really grownin’ on me.”

“Just my pretty face?”

“‘Ye voice too. Wanna hear it whine my name all night long.”

You purr a soft chuckle at his bold innuendo, though intrigued. “I suppose I’m available.” You spoke vaguely, though your reply struck a pleased grin. His fingers trailed thin circles along your wrists.

Your hand moved to the cocktail promptly forgotten upon the table. As you raise the glass to your lips once more, you observe Sanemi savouring, indulging in your beauty the same manner you had with your drink.

“Never seen a man stare at me so intently.”, you comment observantly.

“There’ll never be a man as worthy as me to do so.”

You laid a hand on his again, your fingers subtly intertwining. He felt warm; his touch delicate. Sanemi takes your dainty hand, and presses it gently to his lips. He presses swift, continuous kisses to the very tip of your middle finger. Your ethereal beauty left him aghast. He’d known there wouldn’t be another woman so entirely heavenly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Time was clear to be surreal. He delved into the vastness of your thoughts and emotions. He was apparent to want to truly know you, to connect on more intimate levels than shallow conversation.

His clear need for closure was overly evident. His touch vividly intimate.

It had only been so long until he asked.

“Can I take you home tonight, sweet thing?”

His voice oozed with erotic ecstasy.

“Don’t you want me? I wished ‘ye knew how bad I craved you, pretty…”

His thumb would trace over your bottom lip, eyeing you greedily. It seemed as though he was tormenting himself. Awaiting a possibility to delicately press his lips against yours, feel the soft warmth of your skin, and be submerged in your gentle light. An untamed bliss.

It felt unreal as he guided you attentively through the darkened streets, explicitly keeping you close.

It felt of an overwhelming wave of intrigue as he held the door of a swiftly seized cab, observing your body’s sensual movement.

It felt of ecstasy as he sat close to you, tenderly tracing his fingertips across your thigh.

His fingers slid with precision, caressing until the very apex before manoeuvring down. Twisting inward and tracing sensual patterns on your flesh, his touch sent feverish sensations through your spine. The electric experience left you yearning more, as he began to explore every inch of your body with tantalizing detail, skimming into the interstitial crescents within.

Reciprocating his toy, you place the flat of your hand to the side of his face, drawing him into your gaze. You lean into the crook of his neck and begin trailing provocative kisses, leaving lipstick prints to remain. Lust thickens the atmosphere as desire suffocates; need floods your bodies.

Groaning in exhilaration to your temptations, he tightens his grasp around your thigh. Heavy waves of his breath fall from his chest. “Don’t do that, pretty girl…”, he warned, feeling buried in the terror of your beauty. Sanemi had lost himself more in your sight than he ever had in alcohol.

“I think you like it…”, you retort boldly, your tone flows with arrogance.

He rests his palm on the side of your face, lightly gripping. He peered at you closely, undressing you with his eyes. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know…”, Sanemi answered passionately. His opposing hand runs higher along your leg, drawing you up to his lap. It skims under your clothing to the fat on your rear. He squeezes hungrily before delivering the flesh a soft slap, humming softly at the delicate echo that followed. Your lips in tantalizing close distance, glaring at the other ardently.

The city lights reflected within the car, providing an idyllic setting. All the more incentive to pursue undisclosed desires.

Sanemi’s thumb would trail over your cheek, drawing in the moment. His breath, a stutter. “Fuck, sweet girl… look at’cha baby… your pretty eyes are gettin’ me needy.”, he spoke in slow detail. Your foreheads were held together close, your shared scents harmonizing.He gently cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. Their eyes locked, communicating a depth of emotions that words struggled to convey. As he leaned in, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Time seemed to slow as their lips finally met, a tender connection that sent ripples through their beings. His taste almost stung, strong with liquor, though resolutely appealing. Sanemi’s touch was feather-light, an exploration of the softness and warmth that made your heart flutter. Your eyes closed, savouring the delicate dance of their breaths becoming one.The kiss unfolded like a carefully composed melody, each moment an exquisite note in their symphony of shared emotions. His lips moved with a soft reverence, as if every caress held an unspoken promise. You responded, your own touch mirroring the tenderness you both craved.

The moon bore witness to their silent exchange, a celestial witness to a kiss that spoke volumes of love, longing, and the beauty of connection.Passion bloomed, becoming sinful, and greed infested the tender scenery. He grew relentless, gripping you needily, animalistically, blinded by his cravings. He was straining to remain composed and not strip you in the confines of the vehicle. He parts from your kiss momentarily.

“Tell me ‘ye need me, sweet girl. Drive me wild with that honey voice ‘ye got.”, he voiced, almost pleading.He moves to your neck, following your previous pursuit with firm kisses. He continuously caresses your thigh as well as firmly grasping at the soft skin of your ass.

“Need you, sanemi. Need you so bad.”, you whisper delicately; the words you spoke carry a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, resulting in Sanemi’s heart to ripple violently. He hums a breath of relief.

“Fuck…yes you do, sweet thing.”, his tone is low, caressing the intersections of your body. His lips travel to your cleavage, nipping the skin delicately. Soft prints flushing the skin remained. He glanced up at you briefly, craving. He longed to catch your essence and indulge as much of your elegance as he could. You followed, capturing in his glare. You looked at the gentle glimmer on his lips, the flush on his cheeks, and the sole euphoria expressed in his eyes. You grew enveloped in his luring expression…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Struggling to leave whole from the confinements of the car, you quickly travel to the hotel, passed to Sanemi’s momentary stay. It held rather lavishly, giving an almost luxurious appearance. He pressed feverishly onto the elevator's control, as if it were a panacea to a speedier arrival. His hand was almost entirely bound to your hip, and he was bitter to move it elsewhere. He was wildly near to seeing your nude grace. If only it would arrive faster… Sanemi grew partially frustrated.

The elevators eventually emerged, much to Sanemi's relief, thus he reacted quickly. He draws you against the room's iron walls, pressing his lips to yours again. The intense atmosphere has heightened. He placed his hand on your cheek, running down your neck. His available hand moves to your thigh and sets it firmly on his hip.

Your fingers are tangled in his silvery curls. Feeling the softness of his hair against your skin; the scent of his shampoo, a subtle mint, fills your senses, enhancing the intoxicating experience. Sanemi’s fingers trail to the inwards, intimate, spaces curved within your thighs. His calloused digits trail to the thin fabric layered over your clit, rubbing attentively; feeling the familiar warmth of arousal pool. He grins.

“Dirty girl…”, his words escape with a purr. His body presses against you more fiercely, the prominent bulge restrained in his trousers, growing in excitement, taunting you. Sanemi grinds his hips subtly, as if attempting to find relief in his heat. He groans aloud in alleviation, yet buries his head against the crook of your neck, trying to conceal his escaping pants of pleasure.

“Sweet girl… gonna fuck your pretty pussy so hard, baby.”

The lift rises and approaches the near top. The door glides open, exhibiting the sexual scenery to the empty corridor. He guides you by your hip to his room, attempting to pry his jumbled keys out of his pockets. With quivering, eager fingers, he eventually fits the key into the narrow gap, clicking it in place and pushing the door widely.

He's leading you into the room, flimsily locking, and conclusively inviting you into his bedroom. Beneath his sheets. He kisses you anew, gently guiding you to the outermost edge of his bed. Now he had time.

And he will make every effort to pursue it efficiently.

He's fervently pressing his pursed lips against your neck and gradually lowering to your thighs. He sits on his knees, taking your leg, and placing it over the firm of his shoulder. The salacious position provides Sanemi easier access into elation. His hands lift the hems of your dress upward, exposing you to him further. Feeling a silent obligation, you part your legs a further distance, eliciting an approving groan from the silver-haired man. “What a sweet mess…”, he coos.

He plants gentle pecks within the flesh of your inner thigh, his palm caressing the outskirts. You grasp the sheets with utmost thrill, watching Sanemi delve into the depths of your body. Your chest languidly rises and falls, attempting to compose. His hold discreetly attempts to press your body closer; his face gently pressing against the supple silk of your undergarments. He kisses the soft slit over the cloth, followed by tender suckling. Maneuvering to the supple inner skin of your legs once more, he continuously developed tension.

"Sanemi...," you pleaded, grasping his white hair again. He was belittling you, and it was harrowing... He peers above at you once again, an illicit smile plastered proudly on his face. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I'll give you whatever you want."

His thumb links under the linen's corner strings and begins to tug in a slow, tantalizing movement. He peels the enticing attire to the floor and discards it. He delves into the supple flesh gently, trailing his tongue along the sensitive lips carefully. Your grip tightens, as a sudden surge of bliss arises. The pink muscle strays flat, as it caresses constantly over your clit. Maneuvering in a sensual, attentive rhythm. Vulgar murmurs pour as he gathers your arousal.

Sanemi's tongue glides delicately, occasionally delving within. He moves his head, ensuring to act attentively to your needs. Licking sensuous stripes over your slit, exploring various paces. Your carnal nectar developed into a gratifying addiction, which he merely drank wildly.

A slew of his name eludes from your lips, your urgent entail for him eliciting a groan. His voice sent pulses of thrill through you, and your muscles tensed.

His hold tightens upon your thigh, and he puckers his lips, suckling the soft slit delicately. His tongue consistently glides over, providing surplus ripples of ecstasy. He fulfills your carnal wishes, eager to satisfy you. Your sickly whines filled him with elation, feeling the arousal within him swallow him entirely.

His tongue traced along your amorous lips, creating ripples of a wet, erotic echo to follow. He quickly swallowed what he had gathered, savoring its taste. He demolished the thought of breathing while delving between your legs.

He lowers his face farther into your glistening cunt, his scarred hand massaging your outer thigh whilst. He twists his sensitive tongue and thrusts it repeatedly. You imitated his penetrations, grinding desperately against him. Tipping your head slightly backwards, blinded by euphoria.

“Please, Sanemi… please.”, you begged mindlessly.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He purred, his voice immensely sultry.

His tongue thoughtlessly plunges into and out sloppily, culminating in shambles of pure bliss. He revered the way your thighs quiver eagerly, your fingers grasping him sterner, more desperately. He drank your sweet chirps of joy as if your voice alone produced ripplets of dopamine. There was not a honey poured in wine more pleasurable than the one produced by your trance.

His rose-coloured lingua traveled into the inner depths of your core, his nose pressed against the very delicate pearl of your intimacy. It squirmed, and twitched within. He broke momentarily, sighing against your fold. He took a moment to breathe briefly.

“Sweet girl...”, he kissed daintily.

You brush your fingers over his pale locks whilst marveling at him. He watched you, almost lovingly. Your fingertips were of silk. His expression softens, and an unexpected pink tinge faintly washes his face.

He grunts softly into your throbbing core, before immersing himself once more. He was an alcoholic in your lust. His pulsing yearning became overwhelming; he needed you. To immerse himself entirely in you and to feel your sweetening warmth envelope him most intimately. He grew gluttonous; hungry to have you to himself.

Your glance, your elegant eyelashes, fluttering so delicately. It drove him mad. You had looked so delectable, it plunged him deeper into thirst. Thirst to hear your voice whine to his name. Thirst to take you to unending depths of happiness, so you'll never find a man more deserving than him. Could there really be? For a woman as ravishing as you? He craves to hear you further.

He continues to fuck you mercilessly with his tongue. His nails, while blunt, sink into the crescents of your thighs and press against your flesh. They leave a tender bruise painted upon your thigh. He groans with deeper delight, content to have left his imprint on you.

His pink muscle is saturated in slick, and he continues to lap hungrily, avidly, greedy to reach you to that high. You became wanting. Thighs clenching, thoughtlessly rubbing. So close to heavenly’s peak. His echoing stimuli urging you towards your climax. You experienced a sensuous pulse string across your body, contracting irrationally. You tugged on his hair, seeking it further. Your breath struggles to maintain a fluent pace.

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good f’me…”

Your back arches, and an indescribable rush pours from you. It immerses you in a familiar sense of utopia, yet only considerably deeper. Out of this world, as if no troubles existed. A sensual warmth trails from your body, which Sanemi keenly tastes.

You take a moment to absorb within this reality once more, observing Sanemi's tongue gliding over his lips, clearing the remnants of your pleasure. He breathes softly into your throbbing cunt before placing a final, delicate kiss.

"D'you want me, pretty thing?" he asked, his face resting briefly on your thigh.

You nod calmly, your fingers caressing him. Sanemi smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss upon your skin. It was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed you. When you touched, caressed. Even when you spoke. He was overjoyed to finally have you.

He rises to his full height. He leaned over and observed you lustfully. His palm rests on the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. He moves the tips of his fingers diligently across your body. You can feel his touch pulsating within you.

His fingers crook, under the straps of your attire, slowly peeling it from your shoulders. He sighs deeply, unable to suppress his overt excitement. His touch is, however, delicate. His hands glide along your body, as he undresses you carefully. Squeezing the newly found skin with a certain care. He was admiring.

Leaving your garments across the floor, your body was left bare. The moon shone against, giving you a nearly angelic beauty.

“Oh, sweet thing…”, Sanemi whispers, enthralled. He cups your face and leans in to kiss you. The faint imprint of your prior high stays on his tongue.

Whining softly against each other, he quickly grew inflamed. He moves forward and positions himself on top of you, upon the bed. He softly brings you to the plush cushioning at the back, following as you slowly manoeuvre back. His free hand flows to the white buckles around his waist slowly sliding it off. It clicks quietly before it’s thrown thoughtlessly.

You supported him whilst he undressed, stroking your fingertips along his shoulders and slipping his uniform from his sculpted body. Watching as he offered himself to you without a sense of guilt.

Soon, he'd lay in only briefs, which scarcely concealed his arousal as it rubbed against your glistening folds, throbbing uncontrollably. His bare chest, gleaming in droplets of sweat, is marred in piercing scars. With bulging pectorals carved into a definite contour. His back, firm with strong ridges, as if in invitation to be touched. He was the embodiment of beauty. And he was to lay with you.

His hand supported his imposing physique as he breathed idly above. His fingers reached for the band of his boxers. Giving the fabric a firm tug, his heavy cock sprung from the tight confinements. Veiny, and thick, pulsing with demand. Pearly beads of pre, gathering from his rigid tip. He raised his hand in front and briefly spat twice, before pumping his shaft. He slumps forward with a deep groan, lubricating himself as filthy sounds follow.

After a prolonged tension, his dick glinted in his fluids. He reformed his grip at his base, pressing the flushed tip against your folds.

“Hold me gentle girl, hold me…”, he asked softly, his breath wavering.

Following his plea, you wrap your forearms around his broad neck. It held firmly, as did the rest of his body. In a gradual movement, he pushes his shaft inside you, grunting aloud. He surged frantically, teeming in eagerness. You inhale sharply through your teeth, curling your thighs around his waist.

He raised his hand to your upper thigh, caressing gently. “So soft...” “you’re so warm, sweet angel…”, he praises with leisure. He buries himself further into your warmth in a gentle push. He gradually has himself to the very hilt within you, twitching erratically.

He struggles to breathe at a consistent pace. Your enticing cunt fluttered so invitingly, he had difficulties comprehending simple thought. He lays loving kisses across the side of your neck as you acclimatize to each other.

He spread you out, filling you within. His girthy length massaged your crevices, piercing deep within. It's as if he was meant for you; as if Sanemi was designed especially for your pleasure.

He gradually starts to move. Sanemi begins tenderly, rolling his hips gently, his groin lightly slapping against you. His length rocks with ease, creating the familiar sound of skin crashing. He moved his hand to grasp your waist, while his other continually grasped himself upwards.

You felt of a miracle, he had neglected to breathe again. Deep within you, over and over, he knew of heaven. He was conscious that he was vocal, but he couldn't control it. You were too good for his sanity.

You whined aloud, settling your face into the crook of his neck. Your grasp tightens around him, feeling a gradual sensation of ecstasy arise. You could feel his heartbeat, strumming a gentle symphony against your naked breast. A close connection.

His cock plunged into you tentatively, as if you were facile to shatter. Mindlessly rocking and softly pounding into you. His thighs clenched, entranced by the eternal pleasure you offered. You could feel his silky pants by your ear, seeming that even a little of you drove him wild.

He moved, handled and spoke with absolute tenderness. His unending praises are a celestial chorus. He ensured to treat you with nothing but the finest.

But you craved more. His ferocious, animalistic urge, which he promised you in the lift. You wanted him to batter you mercilessly, laying claim to you. You knew he wanted it too.

Traveling your hands to his back, you caressed gently. “Sanemi… faster- please…”, you chirped gently.

He groaned heavily in response, burying his face firmly into your neck. Your voice drove him over, unleashing his wildest impulses. His upholding hand grasps at the sheets, as if a display of him attempting to hold to the last of his humanity. He responds with a harsh thrust.

"Yes, sweet thing." he uttered.

He was quick to follow your demands. His movements grew more brutal, with delicate rolls swiftly developing into animalistic thrusts. His cock plummeted sloppily, reaching unnoticed rises. He used his developed muscles and stamina, his movement appearing unending, ensuring to fulfil your deepest needs.

His breathing became erratic, with groans and grunts against your ear, endured in a sultry tone. He'd babble soothing praises, promising you that no one could fuck your sweet pussy better than him.

You knew to believe him.

You moaned against him, clutching at him desperately. It felt as if he was mindlessly pleasing you, plunging within your innermost soul. It was as if you had only been within his humanity to satisfy him. Your voice grew incoherent, only whispering his name. He tilted his head, succumbing to your idly murmurs with delicate, sensual kisses.

“So good, sweet angel, such a sweet girl.”, he murmurs.

He slides his hand from your hips to your chest. His palm gently rests on your supple breast, kneading the subtle skin tenderly. You arch in answer, forcing yourself against him further.

Even while he stipulated endless erotic sensations, your body desired more. You wanted him completely, and you became greedy. Rottenly greedy. You wanted to be reminded that nothing else in the world matters except him.

Even if he massaged within the innermost spirit, he had to take you completely. Not a portion of your body must be unclaimed

“Please, Sanemi. More- Need it so bad…”, Your voice is a pale melody, though your words strike deeply within him. He grins, doting in your submission.

He catches your wrist and places it above your head. “Oh, sweet thing? You still want more? Hmm? Even with my cock poundin’ you? Ain’t you a dirty girl…”, he groaned. He grips your thighs and lays them over the rigid of his shoulders, almost folding you in half. You could feel every vein along him, pulsing urgently.

“How could I ever deny my sweet girl of anythin’?”, he hums proudly. And as soon as that, he continues moving anew. This time, he is visibly vengeful. His shaft strikes into you rigorously, reaching his very haft in a deep plunge. Filthy, shameful noises pour from your bodies as he pummels your inner depths ruthlessly. His balls smack into your slit diligently, almost causing bruising.

He gazed from above with an almost sadistic look, relishing as he ruined your body, melding your velvet walls for his cock.

Back and forth with a repetitive, harsh manner. Holding vigorous brutality. Yet, it had been exhilarating. A hell had developed into heaven, and it was him.

“So desperate ain’t you? You want this? You want my claim?” he panted eagerly, his chest fluctuating freely. Your hold deepens on his back as you nod in response, mumbling a gentle "please" against him.

You knew not to act irrationally. How could you deny him? After the bliss he had brought you tonight?

Oh, your sweet voice… fervently begging for him. So desperately. You were such a good girl for him.

His hips falter briefly, before he groans profoundly with pride. “Oh, sweet girl.. You’re so good… so fuckin’ good.”, he moans. He kisses your neck needily, craving.

It was shortly until you felt a familiar coil within you. A soft flowering bloom. Your heart raced as the sensation grew stronger, pulsing through every fibre of your body. The anticipation grew excruciating, fueling a burning desire to embrace the intoxicating bliss that laid.

He too felt his climax build, as his coordinated movement grew urgent and eager. Rutting into you, eager to achieve that wave of fulfilment.

Your fingers layered into his white curls. His head is tilted forward, as he plunged endlessly. You grasp your fingers around his face, having him gaze upon you.

And he watches. His entire focus is on your face. His gaze sweeps over every aspect of you, every beauty. He drinks it all mindlessly, imbibing in every detail.

And it ruins him.

His face flushed pink, and he swiftly pressed his face into your neck, absorbing in your sickly scent. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, as he's reminded who he's plunged so deeply into.

“Sweet girl… so fuckin’ pretty… just f’me…”, He rambles incessantly. His grip on your wrist alters, and he soon entwines his fingers with yours. His hands are twitching, and warm, as it pulses with sinful desires.

As you felt the rhapsodic heavens, a white blinded your vision, and you were washed alas with phenomenal delight. You flutter around his shaft, tightening firmly. His hips dragged frantically, and with a quiver of mumbled curses, he finished deeply, too. His dick pulses and spurts ropes of ecstasy, into the warmth of your womb.

He breathes deeply into the silence of the room, prolonging his pleasure with light rolls. He inhaled shakily, his lower lip quivered faintly. After culminating his high to its very end, he gingerly slides your thighs from his shoulders. He rests, laying beside you.

He lazily places his palm on the side of your face. He observed you, holding the same soft stare he had in the bar. He smiles sluggishly.

“D’you think I could… see you again?” He inquired calmly, his thumb sliding over your cheek. You studied him curiously before beaming sweetly at him.

Your breathing synchronizes with that familiar, serene melody, developing a pleasant silence in the room. The moon illuminated your paired beauty as you gazed at each other tenderly.

You felt his warmth, his scent.

And you felt safe.

[drunkenworgen]

✢

Send ✢ to discover my muse has been hiding an injury.

(Accepting!)

Her ragged breathing was poorly disguised, as was the increasing amount of violet in her eyes as the Void within her tried desperately to fix her injury and take over, while Gin tried to remain at the forefront of her mind. She’d slipped into a quiet spot, removing the armor around her torso as she inspected the wound to her side. It was a bit worse than the dagger wound she’d received years ago, the creature’s hooked claws had torn into her muscle as they fought, and Gin hadn’t fully registered the severity of the wound at the time.

A frown crossed her face as violet lines spread outward from the injury, trying their best to knit it back together and keep Gin’s insides from becoming her outsides. The wound was too large and jagged for the slow healing of the Void, something she had taken a while to realize, which is why she was now shirtless in a secluded clearing, inspecting it. There wasn’t a great way for her to stitch this up at the angle the wound was at, but she could wrap it until it was either healed or she could have someone else stitch it for her.

A branch snapped somewhere close, and Gin’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Oi! Who’s there!?”

[hellomehlo]

OC TAG GAME!

thank you to @emmieloumay for the tag!!! <3

I’m gonna tag @dudewheresmynug @otherpigeon @hedwigoprah @ronqueesha @dancing--lights @clairdeleon - no pressure, feel free to vibe or do whatever you like! 🤍🤍

so, without further ado…

OC: Rue Aldwir

General:

Name: Rue Aldwir

Alias: Rue (kinda hard to shorten it further!), Rook (Varric misheard her name and it stuck), Trouble (by Neve)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Age: 26

Spoken Language: Common: Fluent (most used), Elven: Near-fluent (some stuff still trips her up), Antivan: Recognises words and phrases (but cannot get the accent down to speak any of it) Tevene: Swears and assorted words (thank you, Neve)

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: NOT the Chosen One, Student (Carastes Circle, formerly)

Favourite…

Color: Plum Purple

Entertainment: Drunken-Chaos-Shenanigans, Tavern bands

Pastime: Singing (though she’d rather die than admit it to anyone)

Food: Dalish peasant bread with jam and butter, specifically the one her mother used to make for her as a child, cherries, or lemon syrup cake. Her favourite meal, however, is savoury pie!

Drink: Normally Rue will take whatever’s offered to her, but if she’s choosing, it’s probably gonna be something with Gin in it :)

Have they…

Passed University: Rue is essentially a college dropout in every single universe - book learning is notttt her thing. Besides, her only real tutor being executed and having to flee her Circle meant that her education was cut short before she could formally graduate. (context here!)

Had Sex: 100% - There was definitely some fooling around happening during her time with the Veil Jumpers, though never anything committed, defined or serious. Growing up in the secluded manner she did didn’t really lend itself towards developing relationships with her peers, so being with the Veil Jumpers was pretty much her first ‘real’ exposure to romance and physical relationships.

Had Sex in Public: Considering all the time spent in Arlathan Forest with her faction pre-ritual, I think this is a pretty safe ‘yes’, though the line gets a little fuzzy as to what ‘public’ is when your home is literally outdoors 🫣

Got Tattoos: None!

Got Piercings: None! She’s never been in a place in her life where getting her ears (or anything) pierced sounded like a good and/or convenient idea. She’s definitely open to it though!

Got Scarred: Rue’s largest scar is a long, jagged thing on the right side of her neck, and injury she sustained from a Sentinel’s axe catching her off-guard. Being the only mage in her party, she wasn’t able to patch herself up, and thus, it never fully healed over. She’s also got a very faded slash on her upper left thigh from a spar!

Had a Broken Heart: Not in the traditional sense - she’s definitely drifted away from people, which hurts, but considering nothing has ever really been set in stone, this one’s hard to answer!

Are they…

A Cuddler: Physical touch is a big yes, so absolutely 🙏

Scared Easily: Definitely depends on her level of familiarity with the environment, but she definitely tries to play it cool most of the time.

Jealous Easily: Not really pre-ritual, on account of the general vibes during her time with her faction. She kind of just assumes that’s the way things are, but once she zeroes in on Neve? Oh boy.

Trustworthy: Yes! She tends to second guess herself here and there, but she can keep a secret well enough, and if she’s tasked with something, she’ll always do her best to follow through.

Family…

Sibling(s): No siblings! Only child vibesssss

Parents: Yes (?) Her mother, Eirian, was a runaway mage from the Dalish clan Oranavra where they’d settled on the Nocen Sea coast. She met and quickly fell in love with Varren, an elven Crow informant from Antiva, and, with little money and nowhere else to go, they eventually settled in an alienage in Ventus. After Ventus’ fall in 9:44 Dragon, it’s very likely that, as a mage, Eirian fell prey to the Antaam’s qamek-ification if she didn’t make it out ahead of time, while Varren’s fate is, as yet, unknown.

Children: I’m gonna be so fr, I don’t know if Rue has a maternal bone in her body - I’d never really considered this angle until this question. I think if Neve wanted them, she’d be very supportive, but she’s kinda perfectly content to just live with Neve and a couple of cats in her apartment in Minrathous! Though, now that I think of it, it would be really sweet for her to be able to raise a child and give them the kind of childhood she wished she got, so I don’t knowww 🥺🥺

Pets: Do the alley cats of Ventus count?

[hughungrybear]

Got tagged by @miss0atae in this post😊

Rules: you just got a kind of shitty old car and it doesn't have bluetooth. you can only buy 7 CDs and you can't repeat an artist. what are you getting?

Depending on the mood, I listen to all kinds of music. Also, I am not updated to new music, so most of my favourite songs come from 80's, 90's and early 2000's 😅

Assuming that the CDs in question contains the wholeass album and not just one song.

1. Joyride (1991) - Roxette

Ngl, I can listen to any Roxette album on endless repeat 😂 But alas, the rules said no repeating artist so I'm just choosing the one album that best fits a long drive.

2. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (1976) - AC/DC

Again, I love all of AC/DC's songs, but absolutely nothing makes me sing out loud than the title track of this album.

3. Riot! (2007) - Paramore

It was my final exams and this is the album that helped me survive 😂The song beats in this album are mighty useful when you want to commit something to memory.

4. Hilera (2006) - Hilera

It is one of the Filipino rock bands that I like. Aside from Roxette, this is the one CD that I do not mind playing on repeat while I'm driving.

5. New Miserable Experience (1992) - Gin Blossoms

I would have chosen the Empire Records Soundtrack Album, but the rules did say just "one artist" lol so I'm choosing next best thing. Either this album, or Gin Blossom's very first album, Dusted. However, I know from experience that it is almost impossible to find the original first album, so the second studio album it is 😅

6. Hatful of Hollow (1984) - The Smiths

One of the very first vinyl records that I was able to purchase as soon as I found work 🥲 So, it is only logical that it goes in this list too.

7. Jagged Little Pill (1995) - Alanis Morissette

I mean, it's the original angry girl album. Every angsty 90's teenager knows the lyrics to all of the songs in this album. Ofc, I'm taking it with me to play while driving my hypothetical shitty car 😂

Whew. That's done. Tagging new(ish) moots @iguessitsjustme, @nabi-unveiled, @dramalove247, @delesaria-blog, and anyone who sees this and wants to play the game 😁

[reallyscrumptiousbluebird]

Baby Bottle ~ Reunite. (Franco Barbi x Jayde Centanni) 🍻🍼

A drabble of the two reuniting in the trials... Cause I can. Slightly suggestive tones from Franco. I don't know if I wrote Franco well I've never written him yet-

A breath escaped Jayde's lips as the steel doors opened in front of her, placing her into her own territory; a moderately tidy bar with mannequins placed about. Most of them had flat beer in their cups, or shots of room-temprature vodka. She paid less mind to actively hunting the reagents by sight, instead she focused on the noises around her. Jayde wasn't blind by any means, but the alteration in her eye color made her blue eye particularly sensitive to bright light, so she loomed in the shady sections.

Ducking through the back room of the bar, she listened to the faint shuffles of reagents attempting to collect what she presumed to be her backstock of gin. An annoyed scowl formed on her face as she stalked after a lone reagent, watching as they attempted to slink away into one of the many hiding spots. "Not the brightest, are you?" She hissed, looming over the barrel to reach into it and yank the smaller person out by the throat. She slammed them into the floor, nicking them with her knife before they managed to writhe free.

The distant sound of an alarm going off caught her attention, watching another set of steel doors open with a hiss of air - who else were they bringing into her territory? It was enough that the occasional Pushers came through, she didn't need anymore mess in what was her sanctuary.

The faint voice caught her ear, it sounded... Familiar. What was familiar at this point? Her eyes narrowed into slits as she pushed through the door and into the front of her bar to get a closer look, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the man's smaller stature.

No... Was it really?

Franco's eyes shot up as he heard the heavy steps approach him, his gloves fingers wrapped around the forend of his beloved Lupara. His original frown flickered into a look of surprise, then suspicion. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before speaking, his tone low and cautious. "...Jayde? Centanni, yeah?"

Jayde knew that voice, her pupils dilating as she gazed upon the familiar face; a man she knew so long ago. "Franco?" The two stared at eachother a bit, both suspicious. Was this some sort of twisted way to mess with them as well?

Franco let out a soft breath, eyes wandering down from her face. The lack of her usual shirt made his hand twitch around the gun, his gaze lingering for a second too long on the swell of her breasts; something he hadn't seen in a bit. He chuckled briefly before walking closer, looking up at the large woman with a stern look. "What are ya doin' here, sweetness?" He questioned, then he noticed the messy scars on her arms and stomach. Removing one hand from his Lupara, he dragged a gloved finger against the jagged scar that travelled down the center of her stomach. "What's all this? Where have ya been?"

"I could ask you the same, Barbi." Jayde's breath hitched when Franco touched her skin, her body tensing at first. It was almost strange to feel his hand against her skin again, her throat suddenly feeling dry. She leaned closer, grabbing his chin with her free hand. Her sharp nail pressed against his bottom lip, her mismatched eyes wandering over him. "Long story, love." She softly whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. A smile formed on her lips, an old but warm feeling stirring in her stomach. "It's not important... What's important is that I've missed you. So very much, my darling..." Her tone was almost desperate, every thought in her mind coming to a still as she prayed that this wasn't all just a cruel hallucination of her depraved mind.

She couldn't hold back, she pressed her lips against his in a searing kiss, dismissing anything else around her as she pulled him against her. Franco didn't skip a beat, quickly returning the kiss they both yearned for after so long. They stayed like that for awhile before slowly pulling away, both of their faces lightly flushed as they panted for air.

"...we can continue this later. We got some bugs to stomp out first."

"tsk. These rats are always ruinin' baby's fun..."

[2mad4plaid]

tagged by @intraterrestriall <333

post your top ten favorite albums

Alanis Morissette - Jagged Little Pill Fleetwood Mac - Rumors Pearl Jam - Ten Lady Gaga - Joanne Incubus - Make Yourself The Civil Wars - Barton Hollow The Goo Goo Dolls - Dizzy Up the Girl Bruce Springsteen - Born in the U.S.A. The Cranberries - Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We? Billy Joel - The Stranger

I'm getting to this so so late, idk who to tag, so if you are seeing this consider yourself tagged please!!!!

Buuuuut I wound up with a list 20 long so here's a bonus 10!!

Fiona Apple - When the Pawn... Creedence Clearwater Revival - Willy and the Poor Boys Hozier - Wasteland, Baby! Sublime - Sublime Nirvana - In Utero Matchbox 20 - Yourself or Someone Like You Nine Inch Nails - With Teeth Third Eye Blind - Third Eye Blind Elton John - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road Gin Blossoms - New Miserable

[writing-frenzy]

More Kinda/Sorta SI!Aizen, now with some UraIchi thrown at him because Cywscross makes me love it

In relation to the First of the Kinda/Sorta SI!Aizen AU (I feel thats a good tag at least), if anyone wants to read that first to make sense of the mess this is gonna be: this is just a basically more of a dump of interactions and headcannons that I would like to see between Canon and Kinda/Sorta verse (easy way to differ the two, I'll put KS! before their name.) but adding some other spices and ideas because my brain is going weeeeeeee!

But yeah I made the mistake of re-reading remake the universe (remake us) by cywscross which I can not regret because how they characterize Aizen and Urahara and Ichigo makes me go so feral, so beautiful and all that, I feel something like cute aggression? but I guess make it ship aggression in this case? eh, whatever, but once more I'm gonna note all this out because why not? these three are crowding in my head, and they refuse to leave, so I have to get them out in some way, so be forewarned of some UraIchi being liberally sprinkled everywhere.

So, I've touch on some things in this verse that I kinda want to go deeper on, which have also been buzzing around in my head.

KS!Aizen is someone I'm actually unsure if I still want him to be the Fifth Division's lieutenant or the Fourth's; like, this idea is just bouncing in my head rent free, because all KS!Aizen really has to do is change the cycle of souls and make sure the Visored are created; he could do that in almost any division, some of them would make it even easier, especially with how many still disregard the Fourth and all their efforts.

But for some reason, I actually want KS! Versions of Shinji and Aizen to actually bond; like, I think I actually want them to be something like friends? (Battle brothers, back to back on battlefields and in mires, blood coating their blades as it is either us vs them, you vs the enemy, a mentor, a guide, a voice that can help them when they are so stuck in thoughts and memories, who makes the world seem more real, someone I can have at my back and trust, someone who can keep up, someone I know I will see on the other side, just a little more broken, but not gone like so many others) just, the thought of it makes me actually grin? Like, KS!Shinji will be just a bit sus of his second, because KS!Sosuke is still plotting shit and hidding his true power levels, fudging a bit on his Zanpakuto's ability but not completely so he can still get away with some shit.

And then... somehow, someway, I want KS!Aizen to experience An Emotion; I want him to actually feel betrayed, because god can you imagine? (And the thing is, no matter the Aizen, no matter the man, he will hold a grudge forever to the very end... except, maybe, for those his broken, jagged mixed up heart has actually let in; Canon!Aizen won't know this, never having lets anyone in, but KS!Aizen? well, there is very, very little he wouldn't forgive KS!Urahara for, but KS!Shinji?... He'll give the man one chance.)

Also, considering the Visored; that is actually an interesting situation in my head. Like, it doesn't take anyone too long to find out that KS!Aizen is actually trying to make such people a thing, without the fate worse then death going on, and of course his fellow guys are so fucking sus about that, because it makes them wonder if he had a hand in the situation? It's just, Sosuke is actually fully embracing his Hollow, learning the tricks and exploring his new abilities with a single minded focus that unnerves most everyone... It, made the first decade and a half very tense, KS!Aizen even leaving afterwards for about 3 decades with few visits to drop supplies and spar, most doing their best to avoid him, except maybe a few.

(KS!Gin narrowing his eyes, looking at his mentor who took him and Rangiku from starvation and the streets, sponsored them both in exchange for Gin's mind in the future, Rangiku's strength, someone who looked at him and all his sharp edges and thought him worth something more then Rukongai trash, never even looked at his friend with any sort of lust but calculative of her strength and how to make her stronger. Gin thinks of his mentor who wouldn't do anything without a reason, who constantly still works to the bone despite their exile, never lets himself grow dull, who trains and trains, even as the rest of the Visored exclude him for a bit. Looks over to Urahara, that stupid mask still on but unable to hide his own considering gaze as they take in the trickiest of the Visored.

Gin knows Aizen; he does absolutely nothing without reason, with only as much effort as needed. What does it say that he's doing so fucking much, even spitting blood in spars and constant late nights judging by the bags when he lets his illusions down just enough to rest.

It isn't hard to get the rest of the group with the program, just takes his own special nudge here and there.)

So, with some shit, spars, out all dogpiles, shouting and one too many sleepless nights, the Visored and Kisuke do manage to pin down Sosuke enough for him to admit that the Visored need to exist, that while he has been trying to create them he has never picked anyone against their will, has had only too many volunteers to pick from, and with the balance of souls needing to be kept, it's not like people cared to much of Rukongai's outer districts people.

The relationships get better when they see how the Visored that Sosuke has created actually join them, completely, 100% loyal to the man that gave them a chance no one else in all of Soul Society ever gave them. Sure, he experimented and caused them pain, but that's just how life is in the outer districts; they lived one more day, got more power, and became strong enough to protect themselves. (Visored!Ulquiorra because brrrrrr) Sure, Aizen had to shut down most of his labs because of the exile, but he has his sneaky, sneaky ways of getting into Soul Society and getting shit done, so he was able to take at least a few successes. (I'm gonna say maybe 10 or so? the rest he either humanely killed or just wiped their memory and dumped them with a care package) so the KS!Visored group is bigger then in canon, and can be made up of OCs or even random canon characters that might turn a few heads :D the possibilities are fun~

So yeah, the Visored from the Gotei are still sus, but Aizen is still one of them and he does obviously have good intentions somewhere even if he is being very vague about just why, so after a bit they still accept him as one of their own.

And then the Quincy :D (They're like; damnit, ain't that a damn good reason to share?!)

And then they find out about KS!Aizen's shitty situation of forced to live in this bloody world and make Visored or get your soul shredded. (That night, Sosuke finds himself nearly suffocating from a mandatory cuddle pile, KS!Kisuke refusing to let go of him even as the other Visored yell about snacks and fighting over movies or tv series to watch. Even as he rolls his eyes or huffs, he does have a small, barely there little crook of a smile on his lips.)

Now, we have KS!Uraai or Urazen there already... so my brain is like; why not a have budding/kinda already Post Canon!UraIchi forming between the canon characters? In this verse of it, I feel like Ichigo and Sosuke bond over having to wrangle their respective mad scientist creator, sharing tips and tricks on dealing with him, actually going to the other because they can vent to someone who actually understands about loving the blond, who doesn't judge him for it, (doesn't tell him that's what he gets for choosing someone like that instead of someone normal) and who actually offers good advice, tips and tricks that actually helps him with his relationship. There are the movie nights, but then they also form a book club, hang out, dragging their respective blond on double dates and bonding time so they can ensure he's getting fresh air and not killing himself.

And yet both Sosuke and Ichigo are pulled up short the minute anyone calls them friends; like... huh...

On the Urahara's side; for one, I'm gonna say they both have different kinds of injuries, different types of actions, because for KS!Kisuke, he's almost always had an equal in KS!Sosuke, who (desperate, with not enough caffeine in his system, bags under his eyes and way too much paperwork because nobles are still fucking assholes and the captain can't fire or demote them unless it's an actual big reason) approaches the Twelfth's captain and decides: Lets go with the Ichigo Approach.

KS!Aizen: *Stares with dead eyes* Good day Captain Urahara, I am coming to you with Ulterior Motives and not nearly enough sleep to care.

KS!Kisuke: *blinks, surprised, but honestly amused because it is honestly refreshing for someone to come out and say it* is that so? What do you need?

KS!Sosuke: Nobles to get an actual brain or any decent work ethic, but I doubt that's coming anytime soon, so can I possibly use your reputation and some of the Twelfth's work space to scare most anyone who would try and dump their paperwork on me that is most certainly not my problem?

KS!Kisuke: *Now thoroughly amused, doesn't comment about the ill words about nobles because he is still sore about being tossed from the Second* Sure, just make sure you pay it forward in the future.

And then the two get into a debate on some research project, showcasing just how smart KS!Sosuke is, able to keep up and challenge his friend, and thus the rest is history. So, this bond has it's own effect on KS!Kisuke, someone who after being abandoned ended up finding someone just as smart, twisted and monstrous, who just gets him in a way no one else ever has, even as they differ and clash just enough to find their jagged edges catching on something and holding on to it ever so obsessively. KS!Kisuke doesn't have Canon's guilt, or at least, not as much because for him, it was either watch Aizen and his comrades suffer a fate he wouldn't give an enemy lightly/last resort or save them as much as he can; not to mention how with KS!Sosuke's action in his verse, none of the Visored actually blame Kisuke all the much here, and with how Sosuke just keeps training, fighting, never stopping even after most would stagnate...

Well, let's just say that the Visored and the Shouten crew have very different power levels compared to the canon crew.

(KS!Sosuke: *Raises an eyebrow* "Perfection? Sounds like just another form of Stagnation to me.")

So yeah, both Urahara's are different beasts to deal with; I'm pretty sure the two would take pot shots and digs at the other, see what gets under the other's skin, at least when they're not enabling each other in another research binge. KS!Kisuke would probably also find Ichigo fascinating, wanting to see how the other ticks, which KS!Aizen has to smack him or drag him away before his counterpart tries to stab him. Meanwhile Ichigo has to make sure his Urahara doesn't stab KS!Aizen out of reflex, which he is getting better about.

just, the possibilities for this verse, it's fun to think about even if it starts to mutate oddly in my head~

[threadsun]

Flanon Asks: "Omg okay, biting.

TDV, DOL, your OCs, anything. I want to see biting/marking headcanons or writing!!!

I had a friend (I don’t wanna say Situationship or fwb but we have a vibe ig) who bit me on the arm the other day and hoooooly shit oh my god 😫

Maybe the bitten/biter experiences some sorta euphoria or like, ‘click’ after experiencing it for the first time?

- 🍮"

Ooooh I love biting!! I'll give a selection of who I think would be most into it >:3c

Content: biting, sadism, marking

To Do Valley:

Abigail bites people both as a stim and because she thinks it's funny to see how they react! She'll bite anyone she likes, especially her friends and partners.

Harvey tends to bite out of a mixture of sadism and curiosity. He loves how startled people are by it since he doesn't seem the type, and he loves to watch the way bite marks develop and heal.

Sebastian and Maru both make the cutest sounds when you bite them~ They'll squeak and whimper and squirm and it's absolutely adorable, especially when they get flustered after!

Sam gets flustered if you bite him and definitely enjoys it, and he'll bite you right back! He's got kinda sharp teeth too, so he always leaves some deep marks that he admires later.

Degrees of Lewdity:

Robin and Sydney blush and make cute sounds when you bite them too! If you rile them up enough, they might bite back, though they'll be apologetic about it afterwards.

Kylar will leave you covered in bite marks to claim you and will demand that you do the same for him. Everyone needs to know that the two of you belong to each other.

Whitney bites you for fun, he likes watching you yelp and squirm! He also thinks it's hot if you get overwhelmed during sex and bite him to let out some of that pent up energy~

Black Wolf is obviously a biter. She's gentle because she knows you can't handle the full strength of her jaws, but she uses it to hold you in place and show her ownership.

Avery will bite you as a warning when you upset her. For her it's not a sexy thing, it's an anger thing, but if it turns you on then she'll definitely mentally file that away to use against you.

Izzy enjoys biting and being bitten, she gets real giggly over it. You can tell she's going to bite you because she starts giggling first. And if you bite her, you'd better be ready to fuck~

Weird Earth:

Zander is a biter, especially in golem mode but just in general. His teeth are sharp and jagged~ He'll also moan if you bite him and ask you to do it again, harder.

Glitch bites out of anger, annoyance, being overwhelmed... really any strong emotion is enough to make him sink his fangs into you. Especially if you ignore his hissing.

Lin bites for fun and curiosity. He gets bored easily, and biting always gets a fun reaction from people. He also loves to see who does and doesn't get turned on by it~

Yana enjoys startling you by biting you suddenly and for no reason. She wants to keep you on your toes. She'll definitely mock you if you get turned on when she bites you.

Gin and Aisling both have very sharp teeth and like to bite for fun. Gin's teeth are slightly jagged and she loves marking you. Aisling enjoys riling you up whenever she can~

Callum loves to bite and be bitten. It's pretty much inevitable if you're getting frisky with him. Expect to be covered in drool and bite marks whenever you start kissing him.

[im-constantly-fangirling]

Joel Miller Snippet

A/N: Hey! I'm starting to dabble in some tlou fics but it's gonna be a long one! I've got a snippet of it below the cut, feel free to send your opinions my way :) It's kind of an au but like not really, idk how to describe it. Like there's no outbreak but Joel still finds his way to Jackson with Ellie.

au!Joel Miller x afab!reader

Warnings: none in the snippet

Summary: As a bartender, you know every single face in Jackson. When a grumpy but kind-at-heart traveler makes his way into the diner you work at, you can't help but be curious.

Working at the diner in Jackson was no easy job.

It seemed that people had a borderline excessive appetite for alcohol- and they relied on you to fulfill it. You didn’t mind the work, as it numbed you the way a bottle could, but you supposed you could do without the yelling, obscene comments, and the general carelessness of the people who couldn’t really hold their liquor.

The one benefit you found with being a bartender was information. Every small town had its fair share of gossip, and Jackson definitely delivered. Travelers came and went, and those who stayed would alter the social routine of Jackson just a little bit. You were a town full of shattered pieces of what were once whole people, but those pieces of glass joined to make a stunning mosaic- no matter how jagged and uneven it was.

It was just another ordinary day when the door to the bar opened, revealing an unfamiliar face. A swift silence wafted through the bar before the man walked in and Tommy followed behind. A sigh of relief seemed to go through every one. The bar resumed its normal revelry.

You were cleaning a glass with a rag when Tommy and the man walked up to the bar. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my brother, Joel.”

You smiled at him, putting the glass down and flipping the rag over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Joel,” you greeted him. He didn't respond with more than a grunt and a nod, but you didn’t mind. He had dirt smudged over his face, his flannel shirt, his forearms. Scars adorned any amount of skin that showed. And those eyes…

Holding his gaze, you almost saw the emptiness behind them. As if he had nothing left in him. This was a man who had seen hell.

If Tommy noticed his brother’s grumpiness, he certainly didn’t care to comment on it. “Y/n’s the best bartender in town. If you treat her real nice, she might slip you a free drink or two,” he said, whispering the last part conspiratorily.

You chuckled, lightly smacking Tommy on the shoulder. “Don’t go around telling everyone, now,” you teased. “But since you’re Tommy’s brother, I’ll get you your first drink on the house. Any friend of Tommy’s is a friend of mine.”

Joel nodded gratefully- or you understood it to be gratefully- before clearing his throat. “I’ll just take the strongest whiskey you’ve got.” Even his voice was rough. You wondered if there was a single part of him that the world hadn’t taken away from him. “But don’t go making a habit out of giving me a free drink. I’d be more than happy to pay,” he declared while taking a seat. The soft southern lilt of his voice made you smile. It had been a while since you heard that accent.

Tommy sat on the bar stool and leaned his head in his hand. “And I’ll take some gin, please.”

You turned around, letting the brothers get reacquainted while you served them their drinks. Their voices got drowned out by the laughter in the bar- but every now and then, when business was slow, you’d quietly make your way over to their side of the bar. 

“-she’s everything to me, Tommy. I’ll take some of her shifts. After everything she’s gone through, she deserves to just relax,” you heard Joel say.

Huh, you wondered. Didn’t peg him for the married type. You couldn’t deny your disappointment, but you couldn’t stop smiling lightly. The grumpy man had a soft spot. It was odd but endearing to watch his eyebrows round out at the edges.

Tommy lightly hummed. “As long as the patrols get done, I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” He paused. “Just…be careful, Joel. People around here are really close knit. You don’t want to go around pissing people off by being all-”

“Pissy?” Joel finished, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Look, I don’t plan on staying long, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Ma’am, can I get another?” you heard a man’s voice call out. He was almost slumped against the bar, his hand held up limply in the air. 

You wiped the back of your hand against your forehead. “Bill, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” you trailed off.

Bill didn’t seem to like that answer, and you felt your heart start speeding up. “Just give me one more! I wasn’t fucking asking,” his voice slurred, echoing throughout the bar. It was as if he sucked the life right out of the building. No one moved.

You stared at Bill, your eyes hardening. “This happens every week, Bill. Aren’t you sick of this little tradition we have going on? Cause I am.” You put your hands together into a fist and leaned against the bar, letting your face get close to Bill’s. “You reek of piss and you’re acting like a lazy bum. How about you go back home and sleep the alcohol off before you get dragged out?”

Bill’s sweaty hands grab your arm. “What the fuck did you say?”

You felt your palms start sweating. “Bill,” you said calmly. “Get a hold of yourself, okay? You don’t gotta be like this.”

Bill growled loudly at you, spit flying from his mouth, making your face scrunch up with disgust. At the sound of his growl, several other townspeople stood up from their chairs, getting ready to intervene if needed. You saw them all slightly leaning forward, as if they’d run for Bill the second he stepped out of line.

One of Bill’s hands let go of your arm in favor of roughly grabbing your chin. You closed your eyes and tried turning away from his grip, but his alcohol-ridden mind had no semblance of propriety, and he held your chin and cheeks in a vice-like grip. “Listen here, you insolent-”

“Hey!” another voice boomed. It was rough, like the feeling of the tough boar bristles on your hair comb. Joel. “Don’t touch her!”

...

Lmk what you guys think! Hopefully I can put it out soon <3

[drunkenworgen]

Virginia “Gin” Ash

Description

Face claim is Audrey Hepburn.

Name: Virginia Sylver Ash Nicknames: Gin (preferred), Ginny (do not unless you have a deathwish or written permission), Sylver Title: None, just Gin (formerly a major in the Greyguard, she has since left that behind) Gender: Genderfluid Pronouns: She/They/He; gender is a construct, but she usually defaults to feminine pronouns to make life easier Race: Afflicted Gilnean Height: 5’4” - H; 7’2” - W Weight: Around 130 pounds in human form, around 230 as a worgen Age: Will tell you she’s 37, but in reality is 35. Due to multiple reasons (the worgen curse slowed her aging, the Void has slowed her aging, also there’s a little confusion in her own mind after she was technically raised from the dead), she appears slightly younger. Birthdate November 30th Orientation: Pansexual Relationship status: Open Martial status: Widowed with the fall of Gilneas Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/Good Other:    -Addictive personality, doing better but still struggles some days    -Ambidextrous

Description.

Body: Lean, muscular build. Muscles are toned, but not super defined. Very short in human form, makes up for it with sass. Her pale skin is spotted with freckles - notably around her face and on her shoulders. (Fur is dingy grey-brown in color, with white markings around her eyes and muzzle, and white freckling across the rest of her face.)

Hair: Raven black in color, with some violet tinting near the ends of her hair (Shadow staining). Her hair is currently styled into a shaggy undercut, the left side shaved close to her head.

Eyes: Bright sapphire in color, they reflect light in dim light. Occasionally, one iris is violet as a result of Shadow staining - this changes depending on…actually absolutely nothing, but it’s not always the same eye.

Tattoos/Piercings/Jewelry/Trinkets: -Three small, silver studs in her right ear, two in her left. -Nipples pierced.  Not that you’d know. -Simple, unfinished tattoo is three thin, black bands wrapping around her right forearm. -Rose tattoo; the vine of the rose wraps around her left wrist/forearm; the rose bloom opening just under her elbow. -Raven tattoo made up of several smaller ravens taking flight on the left hip. -A decent-sized, circular brand on her back; binding runes glowing a faint violet put there by her friend Areniaagn.

Scars: Major ones--Bite mark on the right hand, around her thumb and between her thumb and forefinger, fading, still visible. -Lightning burns on the left side of her neck and upper left arm; faint pink against her pale skin. -Four long scars run up the same forearm; three of these are very clean, surgical, intended to harm but not kill; the fourth is a bit more jagged, running up the center of her arm from her wrist to the bend of her elbow, this one appears to be self-inflicted. -One just under her left ribcage from a rather hefty knife was thrown at her. -Several from being tortured by an Old God corrupted elf; stab wound to her right shoulder; one on her left collarbone, hidden amongst her lightning burns; one following the vines of her tattoo on her left forearm; and another about mid-back.

Accent: Cockney accent. She can “class it up” if she needs to, but she doesn’t like it. If you’re going to judge her based on her accent, you already have. She can speak other languages other than the Common tongue, but all have the thick accent behind them, and the amount she knows depends on how much she truly needed to use it. (Basically, is she flirting or doing business.)

Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Simple clothing for everyday wear. Generally some dark, leather trousers; paired with a dark colored shirt. She seems to have an aversion to wearing a full shirt, usually either missing some of the midriff or sleeves. She wears a black leather pouch/thigh holster on her left leg.  She favors her longbow over a gun, but will use one if needed, and keeps a revolver in the thigh holster on her left leg.  A dagger is hidden in a sheath in her right boot, another dagger is strapped to her right thigh, and a switchblade and butterfly knife kept in special pockets of her pouch.

[buzzquill]

Milk, Gin, and NyQuil

Chapter 3: Burden Wears My Father’s Face

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Read it on AO3!

Pairing: Castiel/Dean

Word Count: 3,721

Chapter Summary:

Castiel has grown too tired to keep fighting, too fever-warmed to keep pretending he doesn’t want to be held together by something other than duty, grief, and some pretty shitty duct tape. The weight of the day presses down on him, like a thumb on a garden bug, thick and suffocating. But Dean is there; solid, steady, close enough to touch. A rough voice murmuring quiet reassurances. The scrape of calloused fingertips against his skin. The slow, deliberate pull of exhaustion dragging him under. Castiel has spent his whole life bracing for impact. He doesn’t know what to do with softness. With someone who stays.

Fic Warnings:

Eating Disorders, Minor Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Self-Harm, Alternate Universe, Chuck Shurley is a shit dad, John Winchester is a shit dad, Castiel is a soldier, Dean winchester is trying to survive, Sam Winchester is a child

The bell over the door gives a feeble jingle, swallowed instantly by the sharp crack of glass exploding against the wall. Castiel barely has time to step over the fresh shards before another bottle hurtles past, shattering somewhere behind him. The whole room stinks of whiskey and sweat, something sour beneath it all, like the air itself has been left to rot.

Dad is a wreck. He staggers behind the bar, hair wild, eyes alight. Not with clarity, not with presence, but with the blinding glow of someone lost inside a memory. He isn’t looking at anyone as he rants, just screaming into the dim air, voice slurred, hands twitching, desperate for the next thing to throw. His fury teeters on a knife’s edge, swinging between self-pity and righteous wrath. And the worst part? Castiel has heard it all before.

“I gave up everything for you!” His father roars, words scraping raw against Castiel’s ears. “Everything! And where are you, huh? Off doing whatever the hell you want while I- ” He gags mid-sentence, gasping like he’s drowning on his own breath, one unsteady hand gripping the counter. “While I keep this family together.”

Behind Castiel, Dean is a solid presence, tense but unwavering, a single anchor in a storm of chaos. His voice is quiet but edged. “Yeah. Real family man.”

Another crash. More glass. Castiel flinches, but the deeper hit comes first. That twisting, crushing, writhing thing in his chest. It always does.

Jo is curled up in a booth, her breath shuddering in uneven gasps. One hand clutches her face, blood seeping between her fingers, dark and thick. Her split lip gleams, red and raw, and her nose is already swelling, bruising deep. Her free hand trembles, fingers curled tight, hovering between lashing out and holding herself together. The ice water in front of her has long since melted to little chips, indistinguishable from the jagged shards of glass from the cup that once housed it.

Moving toward her feels like wading through honey, thick and sickly sweet, clinging to his limbs. His throat aches. His stomach knots.

“Jo…” His voice is wrong, hoarse and uncertain.

She blinks slowly, unfocused, then lets out a breathless, fractured laugh that crumbles apart into something too shaky to be real. “Took you long enough.”

He swallows hard. “Jo, what-”

“What do you think?” Her voice is low, rough with pain, but sharp with something else. Anger. Not just at their father, but at him. Castiel is used to his father’s anger. But this? This is different. This is new. And it lands like a punch to the ribs.

From across the bar, Ellen’s voice cuts through the air, cold and firm. “This is what happens when you just disappear.”

She stands with her arms crossed, blocking the backroom from Chuck’s line of sight, keeping her distance. She isn’t yelling. Yelling would be easier. It’s the quiet anger, the way she won’t quite look at him, that burns the worst.

Castiel’s lungs tighten. “I didn’t- ”

“Didn’t what?” she snaps. “Didn’t think? Didn’t care? You know how he gets.” As if this is his fault. As if it’s on him to keep his father from unraveling. As if he hasn’t spent his whole life picking up broken glass.

Dad scoffs, dragging a hand down his face. His voice is soaked in scorn. “Yeah, yeah, blame me. Like I didn’t do everything for my ungrateful brats. Like I didn’t spend years breaking my back.” His arm jerks in a wild gesture, face twisting, rage crumbling into something small and lost. “And for what? So they could all leave me here? So you could sit there and judge me?”

Jo shifts, sucking in a sharp breath. Castiel instinctively reaches for her before hesitating. She lets out a humorless huff. “You know what’s funny? I almost feel bad for him.” Her voice cracks. “Almost.”

Dean steps forward, hands raised slightly, careful but firm. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re all pissed. Let’s just -”

“Let’s just what?” Dad’s voice slices through his words, venomous and raw. He slams a hand against the bar, wild gaze locking onto Castiel. “Let’s just pretend my son actually gives a damn about his own family?” His expression twists, sneer pulling at the edges. “You think you can just waltz back in here after everything? Like you’re some kind of savior?”

Castiel stiffens. “Dad…”

“Don’t you ‘Dad’ me.” His voice is pure acid now, but his face is something else. Something collapsing inward. “You weren’t here, boy. You left me.”

Something inside Castiel’s ribs splits wide open, raw and bleeding. “I was only gone for a few… I had to -”

“Had to what?” His father staggers forward, words slurring into a growl. His movements are jerky, unfocused. Then suddenly, violently, he lunges.

A blur of motion. A furious, drunken snarl. Fingers grasping for Castiel’s collar.

Then a sickening crack.

Dean’s fist connects with Chuck’s jaw.

The impact sends him sprawling. His body hits the floor with a heavy, ragdoll thud. Arms limp. Breath coming in ragged bursts.

Silence.

For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes. No one dares to stir, as if the wrong movement might wake the beast.

Once certain that Dad is down for the count, Castiel’s pulse slams against his skull, a white-hot fury rising so fast it knocks the air from his lungs. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The words rip from him, sharp and furious, as he shoves Dean back, his palms smacking hard aginst Dean's chest, before he even realizes he’s doing it. “That wasn’t your call!”

Dean is still braced like he’s expecting another fight, chest heaving, fist twitching from where it had just met bone. “Cas, he was gonna -”

“He’s my responsibility!” Castiel’s voice cracks. His breath is too fast, his vision blurring at the edges as he pushes Dean back again. “Not yours!”

Dean’s mouth opens, then closes. His jaw tightens, something wounded flickering across his face before it hardens into something unreadable.

The room is too quiet now.

Dad groans on the floor. Jo sniffs sharply, blood still smeared across her face.

And Castiel stands there, shaking, nails biting into his palms, breath coming too fast.

He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t think. All Castiel can think of is his mother. She must have known. She must have seen the way their father’s anger coiled like a serpent, tightening around everything it touched, squeezing until there was nothing left but broken glass and empty bottles. She left before she was forced to watch him consumed. Before she could see him become this.

He thinks of Raphael, the brother he barely had time to know. He had always been steady, unwavering, a force of nature wrapped in quiet discipline. The kind of man who believed in duty above all else. Castiel wonders if Raphael would have stood here in his place, if he would have faced their father with that same steel-spined resolve he carried into war. But Raphael was gone before the battle even began, lost to a war overseas before he could fight the one at home.

He thinks of Luce, who chose survival over obligation. They had always been the reckless one, fierce and wild, the first to tell Castiel that running was sometimes the bravest thing a person could do. When he disappeared into rehab without a word, Castiel had been furious. But now, standing here in the wreckage of their childhood, he wonders if they had the right idea all along.

Then Michael. The golden son. The one their father had pinned all his hopes on, only to watch them shatter against the cold steel of a wrecked car. His death had been the final fracture, the thing that finally broke their father’s mind beyond repair. If Michael had lived, would he have done what Dean just did? Would he have thrown the punch before Castiel could hesitate? Or would he have stood beside their father, trying to keep the ruins of their family from collapsing completely?

And Gabriel. The last one to leave, the one who tried to stay. The one who fought to hold their father together until it nearly killed him. Until his heart gave out beneath the weight of it. Castiel remembers the moment he realized Gabriel was gone for good. The silence on the other end of the phone. The unanswered messages. The bitter, crushing understanding that he was alone. Gabriel had done what Castiel never could: he had walked away.

But now, standing over their father’s crumpled form, Castiel can’t shake the thought: Any one of them could have been here instead. Any one of them could have taken this burden from him. But they didn’t. They left and he stayed. He always stayed.

Castiel’s fists are clenched, breath coming too fast, head pounding like it’s full of rushing water. His father groans on the floor, shifting slightly but not getting up. No one else moves.

Then Dean exhales sharply, like he’s trying to shake something off. “I was trying to help you.” His voice is quiet but firm, carrying the weight of something deeper than just this moment.

Castiel blinks at him, still shaking. “What?”

“You do not get to push me,” Dean snaps, stepping back like he’s putting a wall between them. “You don’t get to put your hands on me, Cas. I don’t care how messed up this is, I don’t care what’s going on in your head right now. You don’t get to do that.”

The words land like a slap. The white-hot fury in Castiel’s chest flickers, dulling into something weaker, something raw and ugly. He tries to speak, but his throat locks up.

Dean shakes his head. “You wanna drown in this? Fine. But you don’t take it out on me. I don’t even fucking know you, dude. I was just trying to help.” He turns on his heel, shoving the bar door open so hard it nearly slams against the wall. Then he’s gone.

Castiel just stands there, cold all over, pulse still hammering.

Jo lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” She dabs at the blood on her lip and shakes her head. “You always act like you don’t have a choice. But you do, Cas. You always do.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She just gets up and walks past him, brushing glass from her jeans, heading toward Ellen. Ellen, who hasn’t said a word since before the fight. “He can’t keep doing this. You, bud, you can’t keep up at this pace. Something needs to change.”

His father shifts again, muttering something incoherent as Ellen follows behind Jo. And Castiel? Castiel does what he’s always done.

He picks up the pieces.

His father is heavier than he remembers. Or maybe Castiel is just too exhausted, too hollowed out to carry him properly. His arms shake with the effort, burning from strain as he half-lifts, half-drags him out of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. His father’s dead weight presses into him, slumping against his shoulder, reeking of whiskey, sweat, and something worse. Something acrid. Something rank. Vomit clings to the front of his dad’s shirt, half-dried, mixing with the piss that stains his jeans. The stench curls in Castiel’s throat, but he swallows it down. He has no strength left to gag.

He stumbles over loose gravel, knees buckling with every step. His stomach twists, not just from the smell, but from the sharp reminder of how weak he’s become. One meal wasn’t enough to undo months of starvation. His body is brittle, a thing barely held together by sheer force of will, and it’s unraveling with every step down the stretch of highway.

And it’s barely even afternoon.

The sun glares overhead, too bright, too exposing. Castiel forces himself to look forward, to feel every set of eyes that pass him by, pitying glances from behind windshields, the slight hesitation of a driver’s foot hovering over the brake before pressing forward, choosing not to stop, not to see. He lets them watch. Let them witness this. The sight of a sickly young man dragging his unwashed, piss-stained father down the road like a broken animal.

It’s pathetic.

The thought cracks something open inside him. The tears start slow, just heat gathering at the edges of his vision, but then his breath stutters, his chest locks tight, and suddenly he’s gasping between sobs, choking on them. His legs are giving out. Dad is slipping from his grip, and for a moment, Castiel doesn’t care. He could just sink to the ground, curl in on himself right here in the dirt, and let the world move on without him.

But no.

His arms scream as he tightens his grip, digging his fingers into the filthy fabric of his father’s coat. The pain is grounding. Familiar. A tether to keep him upright. He sways but stays standing, teeth clenched, breath hitching in ragged bursts. He doesn’t know where he ends and Dad begins. He doesn’t really know where he begins at all within the universe, but he grips the fabric of his dad’s jacket, fists curling into it like he can somehow hold everything together through sheer force of will.

He can’t do this.

He can’t do this.

But he has to. Because no one else will. He squeezes his eyes shut, his body shaking, sucking in breath after breath that won’t quite come.

Then, suddenly, hands grab Dad’s other arm. Castiel startles, looking up through blurry vision. Dean? Dean.

Dean

Dean, matching pace beside him, jaw tight, expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything. He just adjusts his grip, taking on some of the weight.

Castiel chokes on another sob, blinking hard, trying to swallow down the emotion clawing at his throat. His knees give out for a second, not enough to drop him to the ground. No. Just enough for Dean to scoop up a little more of Chuck’s weight. Dean sighs. “You gonna stand there crying, or you gonna help me get this bastard home?” It’s not cruel. It’s not mocking. It’s just Dean.

Castiel exhales shakily, nodding. He shifts his grip, and together, they start walking.

By the time they reach the house, his arms are shaking from exertion. Dean helps maneuver Dad through the doorway, neither of them speaking as they drag him toward his room. The house is dim, the air thick with the stale remnants of spilled liquor and old resentment. Dad is barely conscious, groaning as they half-drop him onto his bed. He stirs slightly, mumbling something, but doesn’t wake. 

And finally the house is still. Castiel stands there for a moment, staring at the quiet chaos around him. It feels like it’s all too much, like the weight of everything he’s been carrying has finally caught up to him. Without any real notice, Castiel brings the pad of his thumb to his teeth, chewing a crater along the side.

Dean watches him for a beat, his expression unreadable. “You good?”

Castiel nods, though he feels anything but. “Yeah.” His voice is rough, but it cracks at the edges, like he's holding something back, like if he opens his mouth too wide, he'll spill over.

“Alright,” Dean says quietly, stepping closer. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Castiel hesitates, glancing back at his father, but Dean’s already grabbing his arm gently, guiding him toward the stairs. “But it’s barely noon… I think.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean sighs while nudging Castiel away from Dad’s room, “you’re sick. You’re doctor calls for rest. Then I’ll get you some meds and a nice dinner for when you wake up.”

It’s still bright outside, the afternoon sun hanging low in the sky, but everything feels muted, as if the world has been drained of its color. Castiel feels like he could sleep for days, but when he reaches his room, it hits him all at once. His body’s exhaustion, the dizziness, the queasy ache in his stomach, the burning fatigue that’s been creeping up on him all afternoon.

“I don’t…” Castiel starts, voice shaky. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Dean pauses in the doorway, studying him. “You’re exhausted. And you’re sick. This day’s been too much, Cas. You don’t have to do anything right now. I promise. Just rest.”

Without another word, Dean stands just a bit too close, his presence a steadying force that pulls Castiel out of his racing thoughts. He doesn’t wait for Castiel to speak, doesn’t wait for his self-loathing protests - he simply moves, gently guiding Castiel to sit on the edge of the bed. The softness of his touch, the way he adjusts Castiel’s position so carefully, feels almost too intimate, too tender.

Castiel watches Dean as he moves around the room, grabbing Castiel’s pajamas from the drawer with a quiet efficiency. When Dean turns back to him, he doesn’t rush; his gaze softens, a silent invitation for Castiel to lean into the comfort he’s offering.

There’s something in the way Dean helps him change: slow, deliberate movements as he undoes Castiel’s jacket and pulls off his shirt, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. The air feels thick, charged, but soft, like everything else is fading away, leaving just the two of them. Dean’s hands are steady, gentle as he pulls Castiel’s sleeves off, and Castiel’s breath catches, a fluttering warmth spreading across his chest.

Dean’s touch isn’t invasive, but there’s an undeniable intimacy in it. His hands linger just a second too long as he adjusts Castiel’s pajama top over his head. When their eyes meet for the briefest of moments, Castiel can see the care in Dean’s expression, but there’s something more. Something unspoken happening between them. Dean’s fingers trace the curve of Castiel’s shoulder, and a shiver runs through Castiel, both from the cool air and the subtle, lingering sensation of Dean’s touch.

Castiel swallows hard, his throat tight. The simple act of being cared for, being treated like something to be protected, is enough to choke him up. Castiel can’t remember when he last took the time to change into pajama’s before bed. He hasn’t felt this vulnerable in years, and the weight of it settles deep in his chest, making his pulse quicken.

Dean pulls the blanket up over Castiel carefully, tucking it in around his shoulders, the movement a silent promise. He doesn’t let go right away, his hand resting for a moment against Castiel’s shoulder, his thumb brushing ever so lightly across his skin and his eyes searching Castiel’s for just a moment. It’s a fleeting touch, but it leaves a warmth that lingers.

When Dean moves to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that Castiel can feel the faintest press of his leg, the air between them seems to shift. They were both charged with something quiet, something unspoken.

As Castiel turns onto his side, Dean’s fingers slip beneath the loose fabric of his shirt, his touch feather-light at first, barely there. A whisper of warmth against his skin. Then, slowly, deliberately, Dean begins to scratch, dragging his fingertips in soft, careful strokes along Castiel’s back. The motion is steady, rhythmic, soothing. Something so simple, so kind, that Castiel can’t stop the soft exhale that escapes him, his body already giving in to the comfort.

Dean’s voice is quiet, almost an afterthought. “Sammy was an insomniac as a kid. Scratching his back used to help him fall asleep.”

Each stroke of Dean’s fingers is a little more comforting, a little more intimate. There’s no rush, just the steady rhythm of his hand moving, working its way up and down Castiel’s back with such care that Castiel can’t help but feel like he’s being held together by Dean’s touch, piece by piece.

As the gentle scratching continues, Castiel feels his muscles begin to loosen, his eyelids growing heavier, the exhaustion creeping in, but there’s something more than just physical relaxation here. It’s like Dean’s touch is unspooling something inside him, unraveling the tightly wound knots that have held him in place for too long.

Dean’s voice is soft, almost a whisper. “Just let go, Cas.”

It’s almost too much. The weight of everything, the way his body responds to Dean’s presence, to his care. Castiel feels his chest tighten, but it’s different this time. More like the release of something that’s been pent up for far too long.

Dean’s hand pauses for a moment, then continues, fingers brushing just a little lower, soothing, grounding. Castiel’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t want to. He feels too safe, too cared for, to let that distance grow.

Dean’s voice breaks the silence again, calm and quiet, like a promise. “I’ll be right here. You don’t have to do anything.”

Castiel barely hears the words over the pounding in his chest, but he feels them. He feels them deep in his bones, and the soft heat of Dean’s hand on his back, the way Dean sits so close, his warmth bleeding into Castiel’s skin.

Dean takes out his phone, his tone still gentle as he talks to Sammy. “Hey, Sammy. Yeah, can you grab the car from the bar? Oh, a few blocks won’t hurt’cha. And bring me those cold meds for the poor guy? Cas is running a fever. I’ll stay with him.”

When he hangs up, Dean doesn’t move immediately. He just stays there, hand still resting on Castiel’s back, his fingertips grazing lightly over the fabric of the pajamas. The silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like the calm before something else, something inevitable.

Castiel feels a twinge in his chest as Dean leans closer, the soft weight of his voice and his body a comforting pressure. “You just need to rest,” Dean says quietly, and for the first time in a long while, Castiel feels like it’s okay to just let go.

With a soft breath, Castiel closes his eyes, letting the exhaustion sweep over him, the gentle pressure of Dean’s hand grounding him to the moment. The warmth of Dean’s care settles deep inside, pulling him into sleep, and for the first time, he allows himself to drift without worry, making little note of what may happen next.