#goodbye winter see you in half a year

[russianyoshkinaneko]

maslenitsa

[ninisdollie]

summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.

word count: 7.0k

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.

You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.

You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.

He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.

It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.

The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.

But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.

Jake Sim: you coming back this year?

Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.

Me: of course, always.

Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.

You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.

So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.

Your stomach twisted when you heard it.

Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.

You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.

He was here.

It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.

But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?

Jake looked straight at you.

The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.

“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.

He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.

“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.

Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.

“I always come, Jake.”

He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.

“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.

“I always look good” you whispered back.

He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.

But you knew how this would end.

Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.

After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.

You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.

“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”

You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.

One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”

Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.

Neither of you said anything.

Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.

“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.

You turned toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.

The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.

You bit your lip.

“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”

You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.

“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.

Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.

“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”

You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”

You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.

And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.

“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”

You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.

His lips brushed your ear again.

“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.

You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.

Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.

You jolted, heart hammering.

Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.

“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”

But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.

You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.

Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.

The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.

You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.

Jake was there too.

He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.

You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.

And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.

You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.

Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.

At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.

“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”

You didn’t turn around.

“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”

He chuckled, dark and quiet.

“You know i love when you get cocky.”

You don’t even remember who touched who first.

One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.

You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.

Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.

Then, his mouth was on yours.

He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.

Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.

“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”

His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.

“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”

You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.

He grinned like he already knew.

“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”

He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.

“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”

You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.

Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.

“Jake—oh my God.”

He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.

You gasped, back arching.

“Jake, please—”

“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”

He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.

You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.

“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”

Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.

Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.

You came hard.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.

Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.

He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.

“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.

Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.

“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”

He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.

Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.

“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”

He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.

You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.

“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”

“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”

He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:

“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.

“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.

“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”

Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.

You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”

Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.

“You never do, anyways.”

He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.

“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”

The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.

Except you.

And Jake.

It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.

And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.

“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”

His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”

“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.

Still lazy, but hungry.

His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.

“I thought I already did.”

Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.

“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.

You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.

“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”

You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.

“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”

Jake groaned.

“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.

But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.

Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.

Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.

“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”

“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”

“Jake—”

“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”

You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”

He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”

“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.

Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.

“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”

“Yes—fuck”

“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.

He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m fucking yours!”

The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.

It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.

And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.

But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.

You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.

It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.

So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.

Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.

And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.

Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.

You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.

You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.

But then he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.

“What?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”

You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”

“Jake…”

“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”

That word.

Love.

You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.

“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”

Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.

“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”

You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.

“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”

“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”

You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.

“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.

He laughed, bitter and humourless.

“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”

You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.

“I never asked you to wait.”

“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.

The city felt bigger than usual.

You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.

Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.

Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.

You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.

Everything was fine.

But then you opened your phone.

And scrolled.

And there he was.

Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.

Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.

You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.

He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.

He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.

And you didn’t reach out.

And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.

You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.

Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.

But this time you weren’t her.

This time, you wanted more.

You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.

But you were too scared to say it.

So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.

You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.

And then… A knock.

You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Three gentle raps against your apartment door.

Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…

Jake was there.

In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You stopped breathing.

He looked… wrecked.

And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.

“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”

You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.

He took a tiny step forward.

“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.

“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.

“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”

He nodded.

“So did I.”

“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”

Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.

So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.

You were his.

Not just in summer or just in bed.

Just completely his.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BEFORE YOU NOTICED — CHAPTER TWO

WARNINGS — terminal illness, emotional neglect, loneliness, miscarriage (implied), blood, coughing up blood, emotional abuse, isolation, depressive themes, ambiguous self-harm/suicidal ideation

you measure time by the spaces rafe leaves behind. a dented pillow, a half-empty coffee mug, the echo of his keys as he slips out before dawn. it’s been eight days since he touched you, not the hurried brush of his fingers but the kind of touch that sees you, holds you, knows you’re there. you lie awake, the mansion’s glass walls catching the first light, and trace the ache in your chest. it’s not just the cough, though that’s there too, sharp and wet, a secret you keep in folded napkins and rinsed sinks. it’s the loneliness, a weight that settles deeper each morning he doesn’t look at you.

you rise, your bare feet cold on the marble, and move through the house like you’re borrowing it. the air smells of jasmine, the diffuser rafe bought because it was “modern.” you pause at the garden door, the forget-me-nots drooping outside, their blue petals curling like tired hands. you want to water them, to kneel in the dirt and feel something alive under your fingers, but your body protests, a dull throb in your bones that wasn’t there last month. you cough, quick and quiet, into your sleeve. a speck of red stains the fabric. you fold it over, tuck it into your pocket, and tell yourself it’s nothing. you’re fine. you have to be.

you dress for the country club, a soft blouse, a skirt that sways when you move. your nails are coral, chipped at the edges, the color rafe once said he liked, back when his eyes lingered. you don’t fix them. you slip the silk robe—the one he bought, still tagged—over your shoulders while you choose your earrings, then fold it back into the closet. it’s too delicate for today, too fragile for the wives who’ll smile without meaning it. you drive, the city a blur of steel and glass, the radio silent because you can’t stand the noise.

at the club, the wives are already there, gathered on the terrace, their laughter bright and brittle, like champagne flutes clinking. they smell of rosewater and money, their bracelets catching the sun. “you’re here,” one says, her voice dripping with warmth that doesn’t reach her eyes. another tilts her head, squinting. “you look... quiet today.” you smile, the one you’ve practiced, and say you’re just tired. they nod, their attention drifting to their phones, their wine, their plans for aspen. you sit, your iced tea untouched, the glass sweating onto the tablecloth.

they talk about their lives—new cars, charity boards, their husbands’ latest triumphs. you listen, your hands folded, your chest tight. you cough, soft, into a napkin, and check it when no one’s looking. a faint red smear. you ball it up, slip it into your purse, and sip the tea, the cold burning your throat. one wife mentions her daughter’s recital, her voice soft with pride. you think of the baby shoes, hidden in a box labeled winter coats. you never told rafe you were pregnant. you never told him you lost it, alone in the dark, the blood warm and final before you scrubbed it away. he was in chicago that week, closing a deal. you didn’t want to bother him.

you leave when the conversation fades, the wives’ goodbyes as fleeting as their smiles. you drive back, the mansion looming like a mirror, reflecting everything but you. inside, you don’t go to the garden. you don’t set the table. instead, you pull a cookbook from the shelf, one you bought years ago when you thought you’d be the wife who made things perfect. you flip to a recipe for lemon tart, something rafe loved when you were dating, when he’d kiss your mouth and taste the sugar on your lips. you bake, your hands steady even as your lungs burn. you grate zest, whip cream, measure sugar until the kitchen smells sharp and sweet.

you don’t eat the tart. you cut a slice, set it on a plate, and leave it on the counter, the fork beside it, glinting under the pendant lights. you sit at the island, your blouse still crisp, your hands clasped, and wait. the clock hums past eight, then nine. your cough comes again, harder, and you press a dish towel to your mouth. the blood’s thicker now, a clot that stains the cloth. you fold it, hide it in the laundry, and rinse your hands until they’re clean. you don’t look at the sink. you don’t want to see.

rafe comes home at 10:53 pm. you hear the door, the rustle of his coat, the low curse when he trips over the rug. you stand, smoothing your skirt, your smile soft but fraying at the edges. he’s in the kitchen, his tie undone, his eyes heavy with whatever he’s carrying. “you’re up,” he says, glancing at the counter. “what’s this?”

“lemon tart,” you say, your voice thin, like it might break. “you used to like it.”

he looks at the plate, the slice untouched, the fork waiting. “huh,” he says, and picks up the fork, turning it over like it’s a puzzle. “long day. not really in the mood.” he sets it down, the metal clinking against the porcelain. your heart sinks, but you nod, like it’s fine, like it’s always fine.

“you okay?” he asks, his eyes skimming past you, already reaching for his phone. “you seem... i don’t know. off.”

“just a long day,” you say, the words a reflex, your hands trembling behind your back.

he steps closer, and for a second, you think he might see you, might notice the way your shoulders curve inward, the way your breath catches. instead, he leans down, presses a kiss to your hair, light and fleeting, like he’s brushing dust from a shelf. “get some rest,” he says, and he’s gone, his footsteps climbing the stairs, leaving you in the kitchen’s glow.

you don’t clear the counter. you leave the tart, the plate, the fork, like a still life no one will paint. you walk to the living room, the glass walls cold against your palm, and curl into the armchair, your knees tucked under you. you think of the wives, their laughter, their lives that don’t touch yours. you think of the garden, the forget-me-nots you didn’t water. you think of rafe, upstairs, his phone glowing, his kiss already fading from your hair.

you cough, soft, into your sleeve, and don’t check it. you don’t need to. you know what’s there. you pull a throw blanket over your shoulders, the fabric heavy, and stare at the city lights beyond the glass. they pulse, alive, while you sit, untouched, unseen, a bruise blooming where no one looks.

you close your eyes, your breath a whisper, your heart a distant drum. you dream of lemons, their rind bitter on your tongue, and a hand that never reaches for yours.

[idkwhylou]

Pushing it down and Praying

Summary : In a quiet Jackson torn between routine and longing, one patrol with Joel Miller changes everything. What started with silence turned into regrets. Now, tangled between past loyalties and aching truths, desire threatens to destroy what little stability you have left. And some storms don’t pass quietly.

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings : smut, infidelity, angst, fights, guilt, unresolved feelings, complex relationship dynamics, wound, bit of blood, no y/n

Words : 24,1K

A/N : This is inspired by the song “Pushing it down and praying” by Lizzy McAlpine AND 500 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION !!! Thank you so much guys <3

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You’ve been in Jackson for over a year now, which is longer than you lived anywhere before the outbreak—longer than most people keep anything these days. It's strange, the way stability doesn’t feel like safety at first. For months, even after they gave you a house, hot water and shifts on patrol, you waited for the quiet to collapse under its own weight. For someone to knock on your door and say it was all a mistake.

But it never happened.

Mark was the one who got you there. Or, more honestly, he was the reason you kept going when you didn’t see the point. The two of you weren’t lovers at the beginning, not really. You were just two people who didn’t know how to say goodbye, who found something easier than solitude in each other’s arms.

You met him somewhere outside QZ, after a bad winter. You had a sprained ankle and a gun you didn’t know how to fix; he had a stitched-up shoulder and a long, jagged scar down the back of his neck he never talked about. You didn’t trade names for weeks. But he shared a fire, and you didn’t shoot him when he got too close. That was enough.

Traveling with Mark was simple. Not easy—well nothing about the actual world was easy—but simple. You watched each other’s backs. You didn’t ask questions when the other woke up gasping in the middle of the night. You made it through empty towns, cold rivers and a whole summer in silence. When you finally made it to Jackson, half-dead and mostly out of hope, they let you in because Maria knew what people looked like when they were running out of road.

You and Mark were assigned housing two doors down from the mill. You helped patch fences, cleaned guns, taught a few of the newer kids how to hold a blade. Slowly, life began to take on shape again, the smell of bread in the morning, the rumble of patrol horses on Main Street, the way kids laughed like they didn’t know the world had ever ended.

And somewhere along the way, you and Mark became a ‘we’.

Not with a declaration, neither with a kiss that shattered the air. Just with the quiet gravity of two people who had been through too much not to cling to each other. He made you coffee in the mornings. You stitched the buttons back on his coat. When he put his hand on your hip at dinner, it felt like habit. Not hunger. Just… something close to home.

And maybe that was enough.

So, when Maria called you into the small administration office one Wednesday morning, you thought nothing of it. Because there always was a shift to cover, always someone sick or rerouted. She closed the door behind you and spoke without looking up. 

“Joel’s taking over the northwest patrol route. Tommy’s staying in for a while to help with the baby.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.”

Then, she finally met your eyes. “You’ll be his partner. For now.”

You blinked.

You’ve worked with Joel before, in passing. Short supply runs. He was quiet, reliable, a little closed-off in the way people tend to be when they’ve lost too much. You’ve never had more than a few words exchanged between you. Never had a reason to look at him longer than necessary.

But you know who he was. Everyone did.

He was the one Maria trusts when no one else will do. The one with a voice like gravel and a glare sharp enough to draw blood. The one who lived on the edge of town with a girl who didn’t smile often now, and a past no one really asked about.

You knew the rumors too. You just never cared enough to sort truth from story.

“I thought I was covering with Claire this week.” You say, trying to keep your tone even.

“She’s got school, and we’re light on senior pairs.” Maria folds her arms. “Joel knows the route. You’re really good and close-range. It’s a smart match.”

You couldn’t argue with that. 

When you told Mark about the patrol rotation, he didn’t say anything at first. He’d just stood at the kitchen counter, both hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, eyes fixed on the same spot in the window where the snow gathered slow and quiet between the fence posts. The light was dull, pale against the glass—that color the sky turned just before another storm.

“It’s just north patrol,” you said, your voice easy, steady. “Two, maybe three days a week. We head out early, back before dinner. Shouldn’t be anything new.”

He didn’t look at you. Just tipped his head, exhaled once through his nose. “With Joel Miller.”

You crossed your arms, leaning your hip against the edge of the table. “Maria says he knows the route better than anyone. And Tommy’s off, so.”

Mark finally glanced over at you, and something in his face—not anger, exactly, but something more unsettled—caught you off guard. “You know people talk about him, right ?”

You rolled your eyes, “I know.” 

“They say he’s not... safe. That something’s off.”

You sighed, “People talk about everyone, Mark.”

“Yeah, but not like they talk about him.”

You watched him for a moment. His jaw was tight, his shoulders wounded. He was bracing himself for something, though you weren’t sure if it was your reaction or his own.

“He’s not the first man with blood on his hands,” you said, softly. Reminding him the difficult situations you'd had to go through, the things you two had to do to get to Jackson. But you knew very well that Mark thought it was all different, so you quickly resumed before an argument erupts. “He just didn’t hide it as well as the rest of us.”

Mark said nothing. Just looked away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. You knew that he was worried about you all the damn time. Since his shoulder started hurting again, he couldn’t always make sure of your safety anymore. And the idea of leaving you alone with another man, none other than Joel Miller, was even less reassuring for him.

You pushed off the table and stepped toward him slowly. “I’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him.

His eyes met yours again. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

“No,” you said. “But you’re thinking it.”

He didn’t deny it. And for some reason, that stung more than you wanted to admit. You put your hands on his shoulders, giving him a tender smile in the hope of comforting him. He returned a similar smile, even though deep down you knew he couldn't stop worrying about you. So, you moved closer to him and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek, before heading off in the direction of your shared bedroom.

Later, in bed, Mark curled behind you the way he always does—a warm line at your back, steady breathing against your neck—and you closed your eyes, thinking about the snow falling outside.

You didn’t think about Joel Miller.

You didn’t think about him at all.

You haven’t sleep much that night. There wasn’t a fight, not exactly. Just a silence that stretched too long and bent in places it hadn’t before. You’d turned away from Mark in bed. Not to be cold, but because the heat of his chest against your spine made you feel like you couldn’t breathe anymore. This has never happened to you before. His touch always had the power to soothe and reassure you, yet tonight it was strangely different.

When the morning came, you dressed in layers and laced your boots slow. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, watching you. He didn’t even try to stop you because he knew better. But he didn’t say goodbye, either.

Joel was already waiting by the stables when you arrived. He stood with one hand resting on the saddle of your horse, the other holding a thermos. The steam rising from it caught the morning light in a way that made you realize how cold it actually was. You shoved your gloved hands deeper into your coat pockets and nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said, nodding toward the horses.

He just gave a low grunt, barely a syllable, and handed you the thermos.

“Thanks.” You said, a little surprised.

He said nothing. Just adjusted the straps on his pack and swung himself up into the saddle like he’d been born there.

So, you rode out without another word.

The trail north curved through old pine forests and empty fields that still held the shape of forgotten crops. The world out there had quieted over the years—the worst of the infected thinned, the scavengers long gone or folded into towns like Jackson. But danger never really disappeared. It just waited. You knew that.

You kept a hand on your rifle, even though the silence felt familiar now.

Joel didn’t speak much. That didn’t surprise you at all, you knew a bit of him already. What did though, was how aware of him you became—the rhythm of his breathing, the way he scanned the trees before they crested a ridge, how he always rode slightly ahead of you but never out of reach. Like he couldn’t stop protecting people, even if he didn’t know how to show it anymore.

You stopped by a frozen creek to let the horses drink. You knelt to check your bootlaces, fingers stiff with cold. When you stood again, Joel was already looking at you—not long, not in a way that asked for anything. Just… looking. Like he’d been trying to puzzle something out. Maria had warned you about him, how he could behave with others, she said it was as if he was in constant survival. Yet, he didn’t seem to reject you, he even seemed surprisingly open to your presence.

You cleared your throat and smiled a little, “You always this chatty ?”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile, but close to what could be one. “Don’t talk unless I got somethin’ to say.”

You nodded. “Fair enough.”

And like that, you kept moving.

Around midday, you reached the old ranger lookout tower, which was just a checkpoint now, a place to rest and mark the map. The stairs groaned under your weight as you climbed, snow flurries starting to drift in lazy circles through the trees below. You stepped out onto the upper platform, the wind sharp against your face, and let yourself breathe deep. For a moment, the world felt far away—the weight of home, of Mark, of all the things you haven’t said out loud.

Joel stood beside you, both hands braced on the railing, eyes sweeping over the valley.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But there was something in the silence. Not awkward. Not heavy. 

Something… alive.

Something waiting.

The tower creaked under the wind, old metal joints groaning softly with each gust. You leaned your arms on the railing, eyes cast out across the snow-blurred forest. The horizon seemed endless from up here:  white hills and sleeping pines stretching far beyond where you could ride in a day.

Joel stood a few feet away, the hood of his coat pulled low, his hands bare despite the cold. He hadn’t spoken since you’d got down from the horses, but it didn’t feel like silence meant disinterest. If anything, he seemed more present in the quiet than most people did in a whole room of noise.

You glanced sideways at him. “You always ride ahead like that ?”

He tilted his head. “Like what ?”

“Half a horse-length. Just enough that if something happens, it hits you first.”

He didn’t smile, but you caught the twitch of his jaw—almost like you’d clocked something he didn’t expect. 

“Force of habit,” he said. “I was… used to takin’ point.”

Used to. 

You didn’t press. You figured people had asked him enough questions to last a lifetime. You just nodded, letting the cold settle into your shoulders. The wind tugged at a loose strand of hair by your temple.

Joel spoke again, after a while. Quietly. “You an’ Mark been together long ?”

You didn’t expect that. He wasn't known for being the type to make small talk, maybe after all you seemed interesting enough for him to start acting like a real human being. Your answer came out slower than you meant. “Since before Jackson. Found each other on the road.”

He nodded, like he understood more than you’d said. “He good to you ?”

You blinked. “What ?”

“I mean—” He shifted slightly, eyes still on the trees. “He lookin’ out for you ? Keepin’ you safe ?”

It didn’t feel like small talk. Just a man with too many ghosts trying to make sense of the living.

You looked away. “We watch each other’s backs. That’s enough.”

But even as you said it, something in your chest gave a slow, unfamiliar twist. Joel didn’t respond. Just leaned back, hands bracing the railing again. You stood there beside him for a while longer, in that strange, delicate quiet.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You were half a mile from town on the return ride when you heard them. The sound cut clean through the woods. That high, gargling screech of something no longer human. Your horse startled beneath you, hooves scraping ice. Joel was off his saddle before you even registered the movement, shotgun already drawn.

“Four,” he muttered. “Maybe five. Clickers.”

You slid down fast, rifle raised, adrenaline burning cold in your gut. Joel moved fast, too fast as he motioned for you to stay behind him, one hand pushing you back with more force than necessary.

“Joel—” you started.

“Stay down.”

The first two came lurching through the tree line, jaws twisted and limbs jerking. Joel didn’t hesitate. The boom of the shotgun cracked the air, close enough to sting your ears, and the first clicker dropped without a sound. The second followed two seconds later, a sharp blade glinting once in his hand before blood sprayed across the snow. You had your rifle up, ready, aiming at the third one but he got there first again. Moved like a man who’d done this longer than anyone should. Precise. Brutal. Not panicked, not cruel. Just fast and final.

The last one—a runner—almost got close enough to reach you.

You had it lined up, trigger half-pulled, when Joel barreled into it from the side and drove his knife into the thing’s throat with a grunt. It hit the ground hard. When he stood up, blood coated his sleeve and cheek, he didn’t seem to notice.

You stared at him, your breath catching hard in your chest.

People had talked about Joel Miller. About what he’d done to protect that girl. About the men who crossed him and didn’t make it to morning.

Hearing it was one thing.

But watching him… that was something else entirely.

You didn’t realize you were bleeding until the adrenaline faded. There was a gash along your left forearm, not deep, but wide enough to soak through your jacket, certainly caused by the precipitation, hesitant to take out your knife. Joel noticed before you did and he stepped toward you, jaw tight.

“Let me see.”

You pulled back instinctively, but he didn’t flinch. Just peeled the sleeve back gently, fingers steady and warm against your skin.

“It’s fine.” You said.

“s’not,” he muttered. “Come on. We’re gettin’ back now.”

You didn’t argue.

You were still bleeding when you reached the gate. Joel didn’t wait for anyone, just climbed off fast, circled the horse to help you down, and half-carried you across the snowy path to the infirmary with one arm tight around your back, the other stretching your arm against his broad shoulders. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it was careful and firm. Like the world could fall apart and he’d hold you through it anyway.

The door swung open, warm air hitting your face all at once. You saw flickers—med cabinets, sterile bandages, someone calling for a kit—but none of it stuck.

Then: the door opened again behind you.

Mark.

He froze in the doorway when he saw the two of you. Joel’s arm still around your waist, blood on both your jackets.

“What the hell happened ?” His voice was sharp, too sharp. You shifted on your feet, but Joel didn’t move away.

“Clickers,” he said. “Outside the northwest ridge.”

Mark stepped forward, fast. “You okay ?”

You nodded. “It’s not bad. Just—caught me off guard.”

He reached for your arm, but Joel was still holding it. There was a pause—a fraction too long—before Joel finally let go.

“Could’ve been worse.” He muttered in his beard, stepping back.

Mark’s jaw flexed. “Right. Thanks for the heroic save.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The tension settled thick between the three of you. Not a fight, not yet, but something with teeth. Something waiting to sink in. You sat down on the cot when someone handed you a clean cloth. Your heart was still beating too fast, and not from the blood loss.

Joel lingered by the doorway for a second longer. His eyes met yours, but said nothing. Then he turned and left. And when Mark sat beside you, his hand finding yours, it felt colder than it should have.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You were tying to pack when Mark started again. You took the time to explain everything to him once your arm was bandaged, but he didn't seem to appreciate what you were saying ayway. So, he had moved on, leaving the subject in a corner of the living room.

He’d been quiet all morning, lingering too long by the window, jaw clenched as he watched the snow pile against the wooden steps. You’d ignored it. Well, tried to. You didn’t want another argument—especially not now, before another ten hours in the saddle—but when you reached for your gloves, he finally spoke.

“You really going back out there with him huh ?”

You froze mid-motion. Your fingers curled slowly around the leather strap. “It’s my rotation,” you said. “Maria needs the north trail cleared. Joel knows it.”

“There are other people.”

You glanced at him. “None that know the route like he does.”

Mark turned then, arms crossed, expression pulled tight. You knew that look—the one he wore when he didn’t want to say something but couldn’t stop it anyway. “He’s dangerous,” he said. “You saw it. Out there.”

You straightened. “I saw him protect me.”

“He didn’t let you get a shot off.”

“Because he was faster.”

“Because he doesn’t care if you feel useless.” Mark snapped.

That hit something deep and old inside you. You swallowed against it. “He kept me alive.”

Mark stepped closer. “And what if next time he doesn’t ? What if you’re not the one he’s trying to save ?”

You stared at him. For a moment, the silence pressed too hard, too sharp. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, voice low. “You’re angry because I came back and he was the one holding me up, not you.”

Mark flinched like you’d hit him.

You didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned, grabbed your backpack, and shut the door behind you harder than you meant to.

Joel was already waiting by the stables.

You didn’t say a word as you saddled your horse. Didn’t look at him. He didn’t speak either—not right away. Just watched you with that unreadable expression of his, eyes narrowed against the pale morning light.

The cold hit harder than last time. Your fingers ached even through the gloves. You climbed up fast and rode out without so much as a nod. The silence between you stretched long and strange. And Joel didn’t push.

But halfway to the ridge, when the snow started to fall harder, he cleared his throat just enough to be heard.

“You alright ?”

You kept your eyes forward. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

You let out a sharp breath, annoyed. “Don’t need to look anything for this job.”

He was quiet again. For a few minutes, you hoped that would be the end of it. But then he tried again. “You don’t gotta be mad.”

You turned your head, finally, sharply. “I’m not mad.”

He raised an eyebrow. Just that. Nothing else. You exhaled hard and looked away. “It’s not you.” Joel didn’t press. Just nodded once, thoughtful. You wanted him to shut up. But part of you wanted him to keep going, too.

After a while, his voice came low over the wind. “I know what people say about me.”

That stopped you.

You looked over again, slower this time.

Joel kept his eyes ahead. His voice was rough but calm—not defensive, not bitter. Just honest. “Not all of it s’wrong,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn.”

You said nothing. Just stared at him a while, your reins loose in one hand, the snow dusting his shoulder like ash. “I didn’t want you to feel useless,” he added. “I just didn’t want you dead.”

That landed somewhere in your chest like a stone. You felt your throat tighten. Not because it hurt—no. But because it was the first time anyone had said something like that without expecting anything in return from you.

Joel rode a little closer after that. Not enough to crowd you, just enough to block the wind a little better. His coat brushed your knee once when the trail narrowed, and he didn’t shift away.

You still didn’t talk much that day. But it was the first time you noticed the warmth of someone’s silence instead of the weight of it.

By late afternoon, the snow had let up. The trees sparkled like glass, sun breaking through in slanted beams that warmed your face through the cold. You and Joel had stopped near the ridge to check for new tracks—the wind kept the trails clean, and you had to lean low from the saddle, brushing your glove across the crust of snow to feel what eyes couldn’t see.

“Deer,” Joel said, crouching beside a hoof mark. “Two, maybe three. Not fresh, though.”

You watched him for a moment.

The way he moved—slow, deliberate—reminded you of something weathered but still standing, like a fence that had taken every storm and just… held. He looked up and caught you watching.

“What ?” He then asked, his voice husky.

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

He still didn’t smile, but something near his mouth softened. Which make you ask yourself if Joel Miller knew what a smile was.

There wasn’t much to say after that. But something had shifted. The space between your horses felt easier now, like silence wasn’t something you had to fill. Later, when you stopped by a frozen creek to drink and stretch your legs, he passed you the thermos from his saddlebag. Coffee, still warm, surprisingly decent.

You took it without thinking, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

Joel sat on a rock a few feet away, elbows on his knees. He didn’t look at you when he spoke, but his voice was low, steady. “You’re good out there.”

The words landed quiet and unexpected. You blinked. “What ?”

He glanced at you. “I’ve done patrol with people who panic. Who don’t check their six. You… don’t scare easy.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m just trying to stay alive.” You said eventually.

Joel nodded. “That’s the trick, ain’t it ?”

You took another sip of his coffee, feeling it warm all the way down your throat. And for the first time in days, your chest didn’t feel tight. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It just… was. You left the thermos in the crook of his saddle when you both climbed again, but Joel didn’t say anything about it.

By the time you got back to Jackson, the sun was low and gold across the valley. The guards at the gate waved you through without questions, and the sound of your horses’ hooves on packed snow echoed across the stable yard. Joel gave a quiet nod as you got down. You offered one back. No words—not yet. Just something unspoken that stayed between you as you turned toward your own house.

“Thanks, by the way.” Joel glanced at you, brow furrowing just slightly. “For yesterday,” you said quietly. “I didn’t say anything before—with everything that happened with Mark… I just… I didn’t thank you.”

He shifted his gaze, fixing it somewhere just past your shoulder. “’s nothin’,” he muttered, voice low and almost dismissive.

But you noticed the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something in his expression—like the compliment had caught him off guard, maybe even flustered him ?

You looked down, suddenly self-conscious, your thoughts blurring for a second. A strange heat flushed under your skin. You blinked, turning your head, and then your eyes landed on someone waiting a few yards off.

Mark.

You hadn’t seen him there. You hadn’t expected him at all. But from the way he was watching, arms crossed and jaw tight, you knew he’d seen everything. He stood outside the door, arms folded, eyes tracking you the whole way up the walk. His face was unreadable—not angry, not cold. Just tired.

Joel took your horse and rode off silently, leaving you no time to respond as he disappeared in the stables.

“Hey,” Mark said softly when you reached him.

You slowed. “Hey.”

He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there with his hands in his coat pockets, head down. “I was an asshole this morning.” He said suddenly.

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could speak.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he went on. “I do. But when I saw you bleeding like that, last time… something in me just—snapped. I know he saved you. And I know it wasn’t his fault. I just—” he breathed out shakily, “—I didn’t know how to say I was scared without sounding like I didn’t trust you.”

That quiet, broken honesty caught you off guard.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw it then: not just the fear from a few days ago, but everything that came before. The road. The loss. The way both of you had clung to something when the world fell apart, just to have someone left.

“I’m sorry…” He murmured, looking straight at you.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Mark held you tight, face buried in your shoulder like he didn’t want to let go. And for a moment, you didn’t want to, either. Because he was part of your story. A part you’d bled besides, laughed with, endured. He’d carried your weight through winters when you couldn’t walk another step.

“Stop acting like a dick.” You muttered against his ear as you kissed his temple. That made him laugh and he leaned a bit closer to you, hugging you tighter.

But even as you stood there, pressed against his chest, part of your mind stayed back on the ridge.

The warmth of a shared thermos.

The rough timbre of Joel’s voice when he told you, you were good out there.

You closed your eyes and leaned into the hug.

Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting. And maybe it was too soon to say it out loud, but something was shifting—slow and steady—just beneath your skin.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The Tipsy Bison was loud that night, full in the way only winter made it, with firelight flickering along old beams and boots stomping snow loose by the hearth. The smell of roasted meat and whiskey soaked into the floorboards, laughter cutting through the hum of voices like wind through trees.

Mark’s hand stayed light on your lower back as you stepped inside. He was trying. You could feel it in the small touches, the soft glances. You’d forgiven him. Meant it, too. But something in you had shifted, and he hadn’t quite found where to place his hands anymore.

You ordered a drink. Something warm. He leaned close to ask what you wanted, and you smiled at him like you meant it—because in that moment, part of you still did.

And then you heard Tommy.

“Hey, look who it is !”

You turned, already knowing. Joel stood beside him at the bar, one boot hooked on the stool rung, sipping from a glass that caught the firelight just right. His eyes flicked to yours, lingered a second too long, and then moved to Mark. A slow nod followed.

Tommy, already two drinks in, clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Come join us ! We got the last table by the fire. Might as well use it before Maria kicks my ass for spendin’ all the budget on bourbon.”

Mark hesitated. You felt it in the way his fingers tensed lightly against your hip, the way he glanced at Joel before answering. You beat him to it. “Sure.”

Tommy grinned. “That’s the spirit girl !”

Joel didn’t say anything. Just turned to lead the way.

The table was tucked in a corner, quiet enough to talk, warm enough to peel off your coat. You sat opposite Joel, Mark beside you, Tommy beside his brother. Someone brought another round—something dark and bitter, but it warmed you down to your ribs.

Conversation buzzed. Tommy was good at filling space you should say, asking questions with a smile, laughing loud and easy. Mark eased into it, answering when asked, trying not to look too tightly wound. You tried too.

But Joel didn’t say much and it seem that you couldn’t focus enough. Every now and then, though, he looked at you. Not the long stares of someone trying to figure something out—just quick glances, heavy-lidded, like he already had.

At one point, Tommy got up to grab another drink. Mark followed—something about checking in on someone near the door. That left you and Joel alone for the first time since the creek. You felt it immediately. The way the air settled. The way the firelight flickered against his profile, catching the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t look at you.

“You okay ?” You asked, voice low.

Joel’s thumb traced the rim of his glass. “’m fine.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t like being here ?”

He gave a small huff—maybe a laugh, maybe not. “Not my scene. Tommy dragged me here actually.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. But something in you softened.

“Still,” he said, voice rough, “you look like you belong here.”

The words came quiet. Too quiet for anyone else to hear, but they wrapped around you like smoke, curling in your lungs and staying there. Your heart kicked once, low and sudden. But before you could answer, Mark’s voice rose behind you.

“Everything alright over here ?”

You turned. Mark had two drinks in hand and that practiced smile on his face, the one he wore when he felt like he had to catch up, even if he didn’t know why.

Joel leaned back in his chair and gave a single nod. “Fine,” he said. “Just talkin’.”

Mark handed you your drink. “Good.”

You thanked him as he sat close again, arm resting along the back of your chair. And when Tommy came back with four shots in his hands, Mark kissed your temple quickly taking the glass between his fingers. But your eyes stayed on Joel for just a second longer.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The cold hit your face the moment you stepped out of the bar—sharp, bracing, like a breath you hadn’t meant to take. Your boots crunched through old snow as you and Mark followed the same path home you’d walked a hundred times before, but tonight everything felt quieter somehow. Even Jackson’s lights seemed softer, the houses dusted with new snow, windows glowing faintly gold.

Mark’s hand brushed yours as you walked, and then his fingers curled around yours. You let him. “So,” he said after a moment, voice low. “Joel Miller.”

You glanced at him. “What about him ?”

Mark’s mouth curved—not a smile, not quite a smirk. “Didn’t say more than ten words all night.”

You snorted. “I think that’s just how he is.” The wind lifted a strand of your hair, and Mark reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You let him do that, too.

Mark looked at you sidelong. “You’re defending him now ?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I ?”

He chuckled, but there was something behind it, only a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name. He was trying to sound casual, but you could feel the shift in his body, the way his grip on your hand changed just slightly.

“He watches you a lot,” he said. “You know that ?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, not from guilt, but from something more complicated. “Oh, and you noticed that ?”

“Hard not to.” He glanced away when your eyes found his. 

You stopped walking, turned to face him on the snowy path. His face was serious now, shadows from the streetlamps cutting across his jaw, his breath visible between you.

“What ?” You asked.

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

You waited. Then, when he didn’t follow it up, you accorded him a crooked smile. “Is it me, or you’re jealous ?” You teased.

That got his attention. He stopped, just a few steps from the cabin porch, his brow pulled low. “What ?”

You grinned. “You’re jealous.”

“Of Joel ?” He asked, with a kind of scoffing laugh—too sharp, too quick. “Come on.”

You tilted your head, stepping closer. “You keep bringing him up.”

“I brought him up once.”

You stepped closer again, chest almost brushing his coat now. “You watched him all night.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a spark in them now. “I was just keeping an eye out.”

“For what ?” You asked, letting your voice drop. “Him stealing me ?”

He hesitated—just enough to tell you the truth, even when his mouth said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You laughed, breath warm in the cold air. “So defensive.”

“I’m not—” he started, but then you touched his chest, lightly, right over the collar of his coat, and whatever came next died in his throat.

Your fingers slipped under the wool just enough to feel the warmth of him. His breath caught. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you murmured, biting your lower lip.

He grabbed your wrist—not rough, just enough to hold you still—and looked at you like he wanted to say, something to pull away. But he didn’t. “Careful,” he said instead, low. “You don’t get to poke at me like that unless you want me to do something about it.”

You looked up at him, heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth, and that was all it took.

He kissed you fast, hard, like he’d been holding it back all night. Tongue, teeth, breathless noise into the space between. You stumbled a little, laughing into it, letting him back you toward the cabin door. Gloves hit the ground. You fumbled with the handle, half-frozen, half-gone with want.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around you both as you slammed the door behind you. He kissed you again, coat still on, hands rough against your waist, your hips, pulling you close like he needed to make sure you were still his.

You didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. Because something in you still burned for him—even if part of you was starting to spark somewhere else. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, all that existed was heat, hands, mouths, and the kind of desperate comfort that came from knowing exactly how to make each other fall apart.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The morning found you slowly—not with harsh light or alarms, just the steady creak of wood settling and the faint pop of the fire in the hearth. The sheets were warm, tangled around your legs, and Mark was still asleep beside you, one arm heavy across your stomach, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

You let your eyes drift closed again for a moment, savoring the quiet.

His breath was slow, steady against your skin. He always ran warm, and part of you wanted to stay there, under the covers, just a little longer. Pretend like you didn’t have to move, like today didn’t already feel heavier than most. You shifted a little to look at him. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, his jaw rough with sleep-stubble, mouth slightly parted.

You reached up and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. He stirred, muttering something incoherent before his eyes cracked open.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice sleep-rough.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got patrol.”

He groaned, dropping his face into your shoulder. “Already ?”

“Yeah.”

Mark’s arm tightened briefly around you. “Be careful, okay ?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his temple. “I always am.”

“Still,” he murmured. “I don’t like it when you’re out there.”

“I know,” you said. “But I’ll be back by sundown.”

His fingers brushed down your side, slow and lingering. “Wish I could keep you here.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eye. “Next time.”

He let you go eventually, and you dressed quietly in the early light: thick socks, layers, your knife and pistol, gloves. When you glanced back before leaving, he’d already fallen asleep again, one hand stretched toward your empty side of the bed.

As usual, Joel was already at the stables when you arrived, cinching the last strap on his saddle. The morning was bright and clear, snow fresh and undisturbed underfoot, sky a pale, cold blue.

He glanced up when he saw you. “Mornin’.”

You nodded. “Hey.”

There was a pause—long enough to notice, short enough to ignore.

“You ready ?” He asked, voice low.

“As I’ll ever be.” You smiled softly.

You got on your horse, boots thudding against stirrups, and set off side by side toward the north perimeter trail, the horses crunching through snow. The ride started quiet, as it often did. Joel wasn’t the type to force conversation, and you didn’t mind the silence. The world felt cleaner out here, colder but clearer, no people pressing in around you, no shadows you didn’t know how to name.

Eventually, Joel broke the silence. “Mark looked real cozy with you last night.”

Your eyes snapped toward him as his words came out low, almost casual, like he was just stating a fact. You blinked, turning your head just slightly to glance at him, searching his face for a meaning. His expression gave you nothing—guarded as ever.

And for a second, you just stared. 

Not him too, you thought as something twisted in your chest. What the hell was going on lately ? Mark with his jealousy, Joel with… this. Was it a joke ? You couldn’t tell. You hadn’t expected Joel to say something like that. He wasn’t the type. At least, he hadn’t been.

Now, everything felt off-kilter. Like the ground beneath your horse’s feet wasn’t so steady anymore.

You scoffed, “Not subtle, are you ?”

He smirked faintly, “Wasn’t tryin’ to be.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Yeah. We’re… figuring things out.”

Joel gave a low hum. “He’s always that jealous ?”

You turned toward him. “You noticed that, too ?”

“Hard not to.”

You blinked at his answer, the same as Mark’s last night. There was another beat of quiet, filled only by the wind and the breath of the horses.

“We like each other,” you said, more to yourself than to Joel. As if you were trying to prove something. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just nodded slightly, eyes scanning the tree line ahead. “That don’t always mean it works.” He said quietly.

You looked at him then, really looked. There was something in his face, something worn and tired and honest. You wondered, not for the first time, how much he saw that he never said.

By midday, the sun had warmed the air enough that your gloves weren’t necessary. You sat together on the watchtower platform, passing a thermos back and forth. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours when he shifted, and neither of you moved away.

“This is nice.” You said.

Joel glanced at you. “Ain’t used to people sayin’ that about time with me.”

You smiled. “I mean it.”

He held your gaze for a second too long. Something passed between you—quiet, but real. Then he looked away, and the moment folded itself into the rest of the day.

You stayed at the watchtower longer than planned. Not because you needed to, but because neither of you rushed it. Joel wasn’t one to fill space with unnecessary words, and maybe that was what you liked most about him. With Mark, things were always being said, always being explained. But here, with Joel, silence didn’t feel like absence. It felt like understanding.

Eventually, the sun began to slide down the edge of the sky, casting the forest in long blue shadows.

“Should head back,” Joel said, pushing himself up from the edge of the platform with a low grunt. “Light’s dying.”

You nodded, brushing off your gloves before following him down the wooden ladder. The horses stirred when they heard you approach, and you were halfway through tightening your saddle when you heard the groan—low and guttural—cutting through the silence like a knife.

Joel froze.

Another groan followed. Then a third.

Close.

You dropped your gear and reached for your rifle in the same breath. Joel was already moving—scanning, shoulders tense. He turned to you, calm but direct.

“Up there,” he said, nodding toward the ridge to your left. “Move quiet.”

You nodded and followed.

It was three of them. Runners. Half-frozen and stumbling through the brush, moving fast and wrong, one of them bloodied across the jaw like something had torn it clean off. Joel didn’t wait. His rifle snapped up, one clean shot through the head of the first. You followed his lead, took the second in the chest and then, when it lunged in the eye, the third came too fast—a blur of movement crashing through snow and branches, screeching as it charged. You raised your weapon but stumbled backward on the icy ground.

You didn’t have time to shoot. But Joel was there. He didn’t hesitate. Just stepped between you and the runner, drove his knife straight into its throat. The infected gurgled, spasmed—and then it was over, collapsing into the snow with a wet thud.

For a second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

Then Joel turned, grabbing your arm. “You okay ?” He said, low, urgent.

You nodded, barely. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

He looked you over, hands lingering longer than they needed to—one at your shoulder, one at your waist, like he had to be sure. You realized your chest was rising fast, breath visible in sharp, heavy bursts.

“You almost didn’t make that one.” He said.

“I had it.” You muttered, too proud to deny it.

His eyes caught yours, serious and unreadable. “You didn’t.”

You bristled a little—part of you hated being told that. But the other part, the deeper one, couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d moved. Like instinct. Like protection.

“Thanks.” You finally said quietly.

Joel’s mouth twitched. Not a smile, but something smaller. You stood close—too close—snow catching in both your lashes. You could feel the heat of him again. That thick, quiet pull.

Joel didn’t say much as you rode back into Jackson. Didn’t trust himself to. You were ahead of him on the trail, and he kept his eyes forward, but his mind wasn’t where it should’ve been. Not on the route, not on the patrol report he’d have to fill out, not even on the half-rotten runner he’d dropped back in the woods.

He kept thinking about you.

About the way your mouth had parted when you’d looked up at him, breath misting between you like something fragile. The way your hands had shaken when he gripped your waist—not from fear, not exactly. From something else.

He’d seen that look before.

He just didn’t expect to see it on you.

Didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to, because it made something deep inside him shift, something he’d spent a long time keeping buried—the part that remembered what it was like to want, to ache, to hope.

You weren’t his to look at like that.

You had someone waiting.

And Joel had done enough stealing in his life to know where that road led.

By the time you passed the stables and reached the gates, the sky had turned violet and the wind had picked up. He got off from his horse slow, knees tight from the cold, and walked around to help you down, not because you needed it, but because he couldn’t not.

Your hand met his glove, small and sure, and when your boot hit the ground, you didn’t let go right away. He swallowed hard.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Joel just nodded; jaw tight. Before he could move, he caught sight of someone waiting near the main path. Standing stiff, arms crossed, gaze locked on you.

Mark.

Again, he thought.

Joel dropped your hand without thinking, took a step back like he’d been burned. You turned and saw him too, face softening, guilt or something like it washing over your features. You walked toward Mark without a word, boots crunching in the snow. Joel stayed where he was, breath misting in front of him, heart beating a little too loud in his ears.

He watched as Mark looked you over—touched your arm, said something low and urgent. Joel couldn’t hear it, but he saw the way your face shifted—tired, but kind. You nodded. Said something back. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear.

It should’ve felt fine.

Should’ve been right.

But Joel just stood there with his fists in his coat pockets and something sharp in his chest, thinking about the moment in the woods. About how close your face had been. About how you’d looked at him like you didn’t know whether you wanted to step back or lean in.

And for a moment—just a second—he let himself wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t moved at all.

Joel didn’t went home right away.

He told himself he had chores—boots to clean, gear to check. That was the lie he clung to as he walked slow through the evening streets of Jackson, boots heavy in fresh snow, scarf pulled tight around his neck.

He didn’t want to sit in his damn house and feel the silence close in around him. He didn’t want to lie in bed and replay the sound of your voice, or the way your fingers had curled in his coat like you’d meant to hold on longer than you did.

So, he walked.

He passed familiar faces—a nod here, a wave there—but didn’t stop. Kept his hands in his pockets, kept his eyes forward. Eventually, his feet took him where they always did when he needed to stop thinking: the bar.

The Tipsy Bison was warm, dim, and just loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Not full, not empty either—a couple regulars playing cards near the stove, a few younger folks laughing in the back. Tommy wasn’t there. Joel didn’t expect him to be, not with Maria and the baby home now.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar, where the wood was worn smooth and no one asked him to talk.

Seth nodded at him. “Whiskey ?”

Joel just gave a quiet grunt of agreement. The glass hit the bar a moment later—no conversation, no small talk. Seth knew better. Joel took a sip. It burned. He welcomed it. The radio played something old and slow, some song with a guitar that ached more than it sang. He watched the amber swirl in the bottom of the glass and let himself go quiet inside.

Your face wouldn’t leave his head. The way your eyes had locked on his after the fight. The way you’d said thanks, like it meant more than just surviving.

And fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about you this much. Not with a man like Mark in the picture. Not when he knew—knew—how messy it got when you wanted something that didn’t belong to you.

He’d already lost too much.

He wasn’t gonna take from someone else just to feel something again.

And yet…

He rubbed at his jaw, sighed through his nose, and downed the rest of the whiskey in one long swallow.

Didn’t help.

He wasn’t drunk, not even buzzed. Just aware. Of the cold he carried with him, the weight in his chest that had your name written all over it even if he’d never say it aloud. Joel set the empty glass down and didn’t ask for another, one drink was enough. More than enough, if he was being honest with himself. He didn’t want to forget; he just didn’t want to miss you this much.

Joel didn’t stay any longer at the bar.

He wasn’t there to lose time, wasn’t there to make conversation or let the noise carry him. He just needed the hum of other people’s lives to remind him he still had one of his own. But even that got too loud after a while. So, he left.

The streets were quieter now, Jackson curling into itself for the night. He walked slow. The cold cut through his coat, bit at his fingers. Snow felt soft and steady—not a storm, just enough to settle over rooftops and soften the sound of his boots.

When he reached his house, he didn’t turn on the lights right away. Just stood there in the entryway, door shut behind him, the dark pressing close. He shrugged off his coat, let it fall to the hook on the wall. Kicked his boots off, not bothering to line them up. The house was still. Still as it always was, with a fire that had long since gone cold. Ellie wasn’t there tonight, she told Joel she would sleep at a friend’s tonight, and he let her. 

He lit a lamp—soft, golden light that didn’t reach the corners—and sat down at the edge of the couch. Rubbed a hand over his face, through his beard. He felt older tonight. Not just in his bones, but also in his heart. In the parts of him that didn’t bend easy anymore.

His mind kept wandering back to you and he hated how easily it did that.

It wasn’t just the look in your eyes. It was everything under it: the weight of trust that didn’t need explaining. The way you hadn’t flinched when he got too close, when the blood of the runner was still warm on his hands. 

No one had looked at him like that in a long time. He leaned back, exhaled through his teeth, and closed his eyes. He’d never say it, but something in him had changed the moment that runner charged. The way you’d fallen back—that flicker of fear on your face. It had stirred something in him that hadn’t moved in years.

Not since Sarah.

Not since Tess.

Not like this.

Joel opened his eyes. They burned a little. He stood, wandered into the kitchen, poured a glass of water. Drank half of it, set the rest aside. The silence in the house wasn’t peaceful tonight. It was hollow. Not like rest—like something missing.

He thought about the way Mark had looked at you. Possessive. Nervous. Like he knew the shape of what was happening but couldn’t stop it.

Joel couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t want to want you either. But he did.

And now that he’d seen that same wanting flicker behind your eyes—even for just a second—it was going to be a hell of a lot harder to forget. He undressed slow, folding the day off his shoulders, and crawled into bed without turning off the lamp. Lay there on his back, staring at the ceiling.

The house creaked. The wind pushed softly against the windowpanes. He didn’t dream. Just kept seeing your face in the snow.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You’d barely slept.

Mark’s arms had been wrapped around you most of the night, his breath steady against the back of your neck, grounding you in that familiar, comforting way. He’d mumbled something soft before falling asleep—'Don’t go too far today’ or ‘Come back in one piece’—you couldn’t quite remember, not over the noise in your head.

Because Joel had gotten in there somehow. And once something got in, it never really left.

You were already at the stables by the time the sky began to shift pink leaking into the gray. For the first time, you were there before him, and it made you worry a little. You brushed down your horse more out of habit than necessity, fingers lingering in the coarse mane like it might give you clarity.

You didn’t expect Joel to greet you with warmth. He never did. But when he showed up, there was a difference in the way he moved. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t say ‘mornin’’ with his thick accent.

He just gave you a curt nod, mounted his horse, and waited.

You tried to shake it off, tried to be the one to break the silence.

“You sleep alright ?” You asked, voice light, casual.

Joel’s answer came without eye contact. “Fine.”

You frowned. “Cool… I mean. Good.”

He didn’t ask you the same.

The ride out was quiet, even for him. Not comfortable silence—pointed silence. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the trail ahead like it might shift beneath his horse’s hooves if he looked away. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to stare, trying not to let your chest ache.

You’d done something wrong. You just didn’t know what.

When you reached the ridge, you tied the horses in the clearing and started the hike up to the tower, boots crunching in last night’s snow. Joel walked a little ahead, not far, but far enough that the distance felt intentional.

At the top, you shrugged off your pack and sat near the edge of the lookout. He stayed standing. Arms crossed, scanning the horizon.

“You mad at me ?” You asked quietly.

He blinked, slow. “No.”

It was a lie. A lazy one. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“Don’t feel like you want to be here today with me.” You explained.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at you then—just for a second—but it felt like being looked through. Like he saw something he didn’t want to see and turned away before it could mean anything.

“I show up where I’m supposed to.” 

That hurt more than you expected it to.

You stood, brushing the snow off your pants. “Okay.”

You didn’t say anything else for a long while. Just let the wind do the talking, watched the trees move below you in long, slow sighs. Something was breaking, or maybe something had started to form and he was trying to crush it before it meant too much.

Maybe you were doing the same.

But whatever it was—it hung between you now, thick and heavy and filled with the weight of things neither of you had said. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel safer out here than you did back in Jackson.

You just felt alone.

The silence in the tower had dragged. Long past useful. Long past neutral. You sat on the edge of the windowsill, legs hanging, watching the treeline stretch beneath the overcast sky. Joel was pacing, like always—not frantic, just methodical. Rifle strapped to his shoulder. Boots heavy. Eyes sweeping the horizon with the same constant, guarded rhythm.

You meant to ease the tension. That was all.

“Y’know,” you started, watching him do another slow lap around the perimeter, “for someone who’s supposedly not a dog person, you sure act like one.”

Joel stopped. Glanced at you sideways.

You smirked, trying to keep it light. “You pace like one of those German Shepherds in old movies. All grumpy and intense. Like you’re about to lunge at the mailman.”

Nothing. His face didn’t move. Not a twitch.

Your smile faded and you cleared your throat. “It was just a joke—”

“You think this is a fuckin’ joke ?”

The words hit hard. Sharper than you were ready for. You blinked, mouth parting, “What ?”

Joel took a step closer, voice low and flat but charged with something else underneath—something like frustration trying not to be grief.

“You think patrollin’ out there is some kinda game ? That you can sit around crackin’ jokes while we’re exposed on every side ?”

“I wasn’t—Joel, come on—”

“You think the infected care how funny you are ?” He cut you off, eyes hard. “Or raiders ? Huh ? You lose focus for two goddamn seconds out here and you’re dead. I ain’t about to watch that happen.”

You stood up slowly. “I wasn’t unfocused. I’ve been watching the east line since we got here. I was just trying to—"

Joel shook his head like he couldn’t listen anymore. “Yeah, well. Maybe Mark’d be laughin’ too, if you didn’t come back one day.”

You froze.

The comment didn’t even make sense. But it hurt anyway. There was something raw behind his eyes, something he couldn’t say outright—or wouldn’t—so he lashed out instead. You recognized the shape of it without knowing the name.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as your brows furrowed, “I didn’t realize you gave a shit what Mark thought.”

He looked at you, jaw working, and said flatly: “I don’t.”

And somehow that was worse. He turned away and started down the ladder without another word. You stood there a minute, hands tight at your sides, heart thudding too hard for a conversation that hadn’t even lasted a full minute.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Joel gruff before. Or distant. Or iritable. But this felt different. It felt like something had gotten under his skin and festered, and you’d touched it by accident, like a bruise you hadn’t known was there.

And it wasn’t just the anger that stayed with you, but it was how much it hurt. And you didn’t even know why.

The ride back to Jackson was quiet, the kind of silence that scraped. Joel didn’t say a word, not even when the gates came into view. You kept your eyes ahead, shoulders stiff, pulse jumping like you'd just come back from a firefight—not a conversation. You didn’t understand what the hell had happened. Why a few sharp words were still echoing in your chest like a wound you hadn’t seen coming.

He didn’t look at you when he handed off his horse.

You didn’t say goodbye.

You left the stables fast, steps brisk, too fast for the ache building behind your ribs. You didn’t want to see him again. Not today. Maybe not ever.

Why do I even care ? That question looped, stuck like a splinter under your skin.

You told yourself it was just the tension. The weight of the job. The way Joel always walked through the world with his jaw clenched and his heart somewhere you couldn’t reach. He was cold. Everyone said so.

But cold shouldn’t leave bruises.

You made it home just as the streetlamps flickered on. Mark’s coat was already hanging on the hook. He was in the kitchen, boots off, sleeves rolled, something simmering in the pan like he was trying to make normal happen again.

He looked up the second you stepped through the door. “Hey—” His smile faltered. “Everything okay ?”

You dropped your bag, your jacket, your gloves. They all hit the floor in a trail behind you. You didn’t answer, just crossed the space between you and kissed him hard. Mark made a soft, surprised sound against your mouth, hands rising instinctively to catch your waist.

You deepened the kiss. Let it fill your mouth, your breath, your hands. Like you could drown out whatever the hell was clawing inside your chest.

Mark pulled back just a fraction, breathless. “You okay ?”

“Don’t worry.” You kissed him again.

He paused, eyes searching your face. “Did something happen ?”

You didn’t want to answer, because nothing had happened. And yet… something had. Something you didn’t have words for.

You shook your head. “Just—don’t ask. Please.”

He nodded slowly as you kissed him again, rougher this time, fingers curled in his shirt like maybe if you held tight enough, everything else would go quiet. And Mark, good, steady, loving Mark, didn’t ask again. He let you take what you needed. Let you crash into him like a wave that didn’t know where to land. 

Because he loved you. And that should have been enough. So why the hell wasn’t it ?

Mark's hands were warm on your skin, grounding and familiar, as he moved with the kind of care only someone who truly knew you could offer. This wasn’t rushed, not anymore. He was trying to soothe you now, to remind you of what you had, of who you were with.

And for a while, you let him.

You kissed him back, traced his spine with your fingers, let your breath mingle with his. You held on like maybe, just maybe, he could pull you out of your own head. But then—

Then Joel’s voice came back.

Not even something specific. Just the tone. That bite. That warning. The way he’d looked at you like you didn’t know what the hell you were playing with. Like you were the dangerous one.

Your breath hitched.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on Mark—on his hands, his mouth, the quiet little sounds he made when he touched you like this. You squeezed your eyes shut and dragged yourself back into the moment.

But it didn’t hold.

Joel’s eyes. Joel’s voice. Joel’s presence—it bled in like ink in water.

You didn’t want to think about him. And still, you did. You thought of the way his hands had clenched into fists after he snapped at you. The way he’d looked away, like he regretted it before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. The way it had made something inside you twist and burn, even though it shouldn’t have.

Mark’s lips trailed down your neck, fingers fumbling with your shirt, his breath warm and eager against your skin. You let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to let yourself be there, with him, in this moment, in the home you shared. Trying to let the familiar weight of his body anchor you, ground you.

But then something shifted.

Suddenly, his touch—the way his hands moved across your ribs, the soft way he held you—felt… safe. Predictable. Like a blanket draped over something burning. Gentle when what you wanted, what you needed, was something else entirely.

And that’s when your mind betrayed you. The image rose uninvited, vivid and aching: Joel.

The roughness of his hands, the low rasp of his voice, the weight of him above you—not careful, not soft, but desperate. Needing. The way you imagined he’d press his mouth to your throat like he didn’t care about consequences, only about feeling. Only about you.

You gasped, not from Mark’s touch, but from the jolt of heat that surged through you at the thought. You opened your eyes quickly, disoriented, the guilt hitting like a punch to the chest.

Mark paused just slightly, already pulling your pants down, his mouth brushing your collarbone. “You okay ?” He asked, voice low, breathless.

You hesitated. For a heartbeat, you almost said something. Almost stopped it. But instead, you reached for him, pulling him closer, your fingers digging into his back. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”

Because you didn’t want the thought to fade. You couldn’t say Joel’s name but the way your body responded wasn’t yours to control anymore. You gave in to it, even as shame licked at the edges of your desire like fire against paper. You wanted to feel guilty, feel that what you were doing—thinking—was wrong.

And somewhere deep down, you knew the lie wasn’t for Mark. It was for you. So when he held you tighter and whispered that he loved you, you kissed him harder—just so you wouldn’t have to say anything back.

You wanted him to need you while Mark gave what he can, even though now you didn’t knew what he was giving for. It felt like, even after a shitty day like this, he knew just how to get you, not Mark with his stability. Joel was deep and raw, but you didn’t know how to get what you needed—but right now, the only thing you could do was pushing it down and praying.

Joel, on the other side of Jackson, didn’t sleep. Not really. A few hours, maybe—head propped against the arm of the couch, boots still on, the fire long since gone cold. When the sun cracked against the frost-glazed windows, he was already up, pacing the floor like he’d been waiting for a fight that wouldn’t come.

By the time he made it to the town hall, the morning was half gone. Maria was inside with Tommy, the two of them half-laughing at something the baby had done, little Benjamin giggling in his mother’s arms with that soft hiccupping joy babies made when they didn’t yet know anything about fear.

Joel stood in the doorway a second longer than he should’ve. Watching. Feeling… wrong.

"Joel ?" Tommy turned when he heard the door. "Didn’t expect to see you this early."

Maria smiled, bouncing the baby on her hip. “Everything alright ? ”

Joel cleared his throat. “I need to change patrol partners.”

Maria’s brow pulled together immediately. “Something happened ?”

“Nothin’. Just—think it’s better if someone else rides with her.”

Tommy exchanged a look with his wife, one of those quiet marital conversations that didn’t need words.

Maria shifted Benjamin to her other arm. “You two been workin’ fine together. She said you’ve been pulling your weight, even keeping her out of trouble.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already annoyed. “That ain’t the point.”

“Then what is ?” Maria asked, not unkindly. She was not the type to let things go that easily.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t know how to explain that every time you smiled, something pulled in his chest. That when he snapped at you on the tower, it wasn’t because you’d done anything wrong—it was because he couldn’t stand how badly he wanted to be near you. Couldn’t say that when you looked at him, it made something in him rise up and rattle, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Joel ?” Tommy pressed, his voice softer now. “You alright ?”

Joel didn’t look up. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. He stared at the worn edge of the table like it might give him an answer he could live with. “’m fine,” he muttered, each word scraped dry from the back of his throat. “Just want someone else.”

The silence that followed was thick, immediate. The kind that made a room feel smaller. Benjamin burbled softly in Maria’s arms, tugging at the collar of her coat with tiny, clumsy fingers. She sighed—not in exhaustion, but in that sharp, knowing way she had when she saw right through someone. Her eyes flicked to Joel, sharp and narrowed.

“Right,” she said, voice clipped. “You want someone else. Just like that.”

Joel finally lifted his gaze, meeting hers with a look just as tired as it was irritated. His patience was paper-thin, and Maria could feel it. But she didn’t back down. “You don’t get to throw around demands like that without giving a damn reason,” she went on, bouncing Benjamin slightly on her hip. “You two have worked fine till now. What happened ?”

Joel opened his mouth, but nothing came out—not anything he could say, not in front of them. Not without laying himself bare.

He rubbed a hand down his face, jaw twitching. “Just easier this way.”

Maria scoffed under her breath and turned away slightly, adjusting Benjamin’s blanket. “Easier for who ?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Tommy stepped between them a little, his hand resting on the edge of the table, tone more placating now. “Alright, alright. Let’s not turn this into a whole thing.” He glanced at Maria, then back at his brother. 

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked past them all—not at Benjamin, not at Tommy. Not even at Maria. He was thinking of you. And he hated that they could probably tell.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maria finally said. “But partners are short right now. Lotta teams already out through the end of the week. You’d need a damn good reason.”

Joel nodded, jaw clenched. “I’ll take the long routes alone, if I have to.”

Tommy folded his arms. “You sure about this ?”

No. Not at all.

But Joel said nothing.

Because he couldn’t keep watching you walk into danger with that easy grin and that scar across your cheek he wanted to trace with his thumb. Couldn’t keep pretending your boyfriend didn’t exist, or that it didn’t bother him, more than it should.

So, he said, “Yeah. ’m sure.”

And Maria, always sharper than she let on, just gave him a look. Like she knew he was lying, but didn’t have the heart to call him on it.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Joel nodded once. Tipped his head at the baby, who looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “He’s growin’ fast.”

Maria softened suddenly, mother instinct heating back. “Too fast.”

Joel left before he could say anything else, and as he stepped back into the cold, he told himself he was doing the right thing. Even if it felt a hell of a lot like losing something he never had.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The news came like it always did in Jackson—quietly, in passing, like it wasn’t going to shift the whole axis of your week.

You were at the market with Mark. He was holding a bundle of apples in one hand, half-listening while some guy from supply explained the trade route had been backed up. You weren’t really paying attention, you hadn’t slept well, and your shoulder ached from the last patrol.

Then Danny strolled by, nodding in that casual, harmless way. “Hey, just heard you’re off tower detail with Miller. Guess you finally scared him off, huh ?”

You blinked. “What ?”

Danny shrugged. “Just saw your name on the new roster. You’re riding with Cathy tomorrow. Joel’s solo.”

You turned fully. “No, that’s—” You stopped. Swallowed. “That can’t be right.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What’s the big deal ?”

Danny had already moved on, joking with someone else. You stood there, heart thudding hard behind your ribs.

He changed partners.

Without telling you. Without warning. After that patrol, after everything ?

Mark looked at you like he didn’t get it. “You don’t have to ride with him anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted ?”

After you slept with Mark, the shame came fast and sharp—too much, too heavy to hold. So you did what you could to survive it: you shifted the weight. Let it tip onto someone else’s shoulders.

And so, you blamed Joel.

You told yourself he was the reason you'd spiraled, the reason you'd let yourself get so lost in Mark’s arms. You convinced yourself Joel’s coldness had pushed you there. His silence. His distance. That wall he always kept up, until the one moment he didn’t… and then slammed it back in your face.

So, you let it all spill out: anger and frustration tangled together. Told Mark you were done with whatever this was. That his attitude was making things impossible. That maybe it’d be best if Tommy came back soon so you wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

You said it like it was for his sake. Like you were doing him a favor. But the truth was… You just couldn’t stand how much he’d gotten under your skin.

“No.” Your voice came out sharper than intended. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He frowned confused. “Okay… but you’ve been off since the last time you two went out. What happened ?”

You shook your head. “Nothing happened.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You didn’t answer, so Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Look, maybe it’s for the best. That guy’s not exactly… stable.”

Your stomach turned and you pulled a grimace, before closing your eyes, tilting your head through the ceiling. “Jesus, Mark.” You sighed.

“I’m just saying,” he added quickly, “everyone knows his history. You’ve heard the stories.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the stories.” You turned to face him fully. “And I’ve also ridden out with him. He’s the reason I came back in one piece.”

Mark scoffed under his breath. “Right. You sure that’s all it is ?”

Your jaw clenched. There was something in his tone—biting and suspicious—that crawled under your skin like rot. Like he knew, or thought he knew, what had started to shift in your chest.

“Maybe you should ask him yourself,” you said tightly. “Since you seem so interested.”

Then you turned and walked away before he could answer, before he could say anything that might unravel the fragile grip you had on your emotions. You didn’t want to hear his voice. Not if it came with more silence behind it. Not if it sounded like indifference.

But you didn’t go home. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Your feet moved on instinct, faster with every step, like your anger was dragging you down the road by the collar. Past the stables. Past the Tipsy Bison. Past every curious glance that turned your way. You didn’t stop. You didn’t slow.

You went to Joel’s.

Without bothering knocking, you pushed the door open with enough force that it smacked hard against the inside wall, the sound echoing through the quiet of his small house. The air smelled like coffee and dust, like something forgotten. He was sitting at the kitchen table, half-turned toward the window, a chipped mug in his hand that he hadn't taken a sip from in what looked like hours. His posture was slouched, weary, as if he hadn't slept. The lines in his face looked deeper in the grey morning light.

When he looked up at the sound of the door, his expression barely changed. Just his eyes—dark and unreadable—flicked to meet yours.

But something in you cracked wide open.

“You asked to change patrols ?” You asked, your voice sharp and shaking at the edges, thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to hurt.

Joel didn��t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just set the mug down slowly, deliberately, the clink of ceramic loud in the heavy silence. His jaw tensed, a flicker of something, maybe regret, maybe defensiveness, passing through his face like a shadow.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Low. Rough. Almost tired.

Like he hadn’t expected you to come. Like he’d hoped you wouldn’t.

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click that sounded far more composed than you felt. Your heart was pounding, breath shallow, hands curling into fists at your sides. You didn’t know what you expected walking in here, an explanation, maybe. A fight. Anything but the empty look he gave you from across the room.

Joel didn’t move. Just stood there by the table, arms braced against the worn wood like he needed it to stay upright. The light from the window caught the edges of his profile, that hard-set jaw, those eyes that never gave anything away unless he wanted to.

“Why ?” You asked, the word sharper than you meant it to be.

He didn’t answer, so you took a step forward, arms crossing over your chest as if to hold yourself together. “No bullshit, Joel.”

He exhaled slowly, straightening. “It wasn’t workin’.”

“For who ?” Your voice rose, barely controlled. “Because it was working for me.”

“For either of us,” he said flatly.

“That’s not your call to make.”

His eyes finally locked on yours, hard and unreadable. “Ain’t it ?”

That wall again. Solid. Silent. You hated it. Hated how he pulled it up the second you tried to get close, how fast he shut you out. He made it so easy to feel like a stranger, even after everything. And God, you wanted to tear it down. Brick by brick, with your bare hands if you had to.

“You didn’t even told me about it.” You said, voice low now. Hurt starting to creep in beneath the anger.

“Didn’t think I needed to.”

You stared at him, something sour rising in your throat. “I didn’t even do anything and you just decided to flip a switch and shut me out.”

He looked away at that, jaw tight. Still silent. And somehow, that was worse. You took a breath, shaky and useless. “You know what ? Fine,” you muttered, stepping back toward the door. “Next time, just save me the trouble and stop pretending like you give a damn.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You weren’t even sure you wanted one. But as your hand brushed the doorknob, you hesitated—just for a second.

He didn’t say anything.

Not a single word.

That silence followed you out the door like a wound you couldn’t stop pressing on.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You tried. You really did.

The sun had barely risen when you met Cathy by the stables. She greeted you with a tight smile, already saddled up and checking the map with methodical ease. She was nice enough. Competent. She didn't talk too much, which you appreciated. Or at least, you thought you would.

But God, the silence was different now.

Not like it had been with Joel—that strange, heavy quiet where words felt unnecessary but always there, always ready to tip over into something more. With him, silence had texture. Weight. History. Even though you didn’t knew each other well.

With Cathy, it was just… empty.

You rode side by side through the eastern trails, the wind sharp against your face, the sky pale and cloudless. The day was uneventful. No infected. No trouble. Just routine checks and the quiet rhythm of hooves on packed dirt. Cathy made a few comments—something about tracks, about maybe seeing deer—and you nodded along, but your mind kept drifting.

Your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

You couldn’t help but thought about the last patrol with Joel, the way he’d barely looked at you, the way his voice had gone hard and distant like he was trying to unlearn you. And even before that, you remembered the way he’d looked at you when you were hurt. The way he’d carried you like it meant something.

The way you’d wanted it to mean something.

God, you missed him.

And it wasn’t just the patrols. It was the safety. The weight of him beside you. The sense that he saw you, even when he pretended not to. It was everything you couldn’t explain and didn’t want to admit.

You glanced over at Cathy, who was scanning the treeline with her rifle resting against her shoulder. She didn’t notice you looking. Of course she didn’t.

Joel’s morning started late. He didn’t have patrol today, not after asking Maria to change things around. He’d told her he needed space. That it wasn’t working. That it was for the best.

But it hadn’t felt like a relief.

His thoughts kept circling back to you: your face that day at his door, the hurt in your voice, the way you’d looked at him like he’d done something unforgivable. Maybe he had. But what was he supposed to do ? Keep showing up beside you, pretending like his chest didn’t feel like it was splitting open every time he heard you say Mark’s name ? Pretending he could stand the sight of someone else touching you ?

Joel swore softly under his breath, jaw tight.

He missed you.

But he’d made his decision. And for now, all he had was the silence he’d chosen, even if it didn’t feel like peace.

Tonight, the Tipsy Bison hummed with low conversation and the scrape of chairs across the wooden floor. Lanterns burned golden overhead, casting a warm glow that didn’t quite reach the back booth where Joel sat with Tommy and Maria.

Joel nursed a drink he hadn’t touched in a while, a whiskey, gone mostly warm. He leaned back in the booth, one arm slung over the wood, the other resting on the table. His shoulders were tight. His eyes, distant. And every now and then, they drifted. Quiet. Focused.

Tommy was mid-story—something about Benjamin and a bath and how the baby had figured out how to splash water clear across the room—when Maria gave her husband a look. A small one. Knowing.

“Alright,” Tommy said, chuckling as he reached for Benjamin in the sling against his chest, “that’s my cue. Someone needs a fresh diaper.”

Joel made a face, but it was half-hearted. Tommy clapped his shoulder on the way out of the booth and disappeared toward the back, the baby making small noises of protest. Maria didn’t say anything for a moment. She just leaned on the table, turning her glass slowly in her hand. Joel stayed quiet, gaze flicking briefly toward the wall. Anywhere but her.

“You gonna keep brooding, or you wanna talk about why you really asked me to reassign your patrol ?” She asked finally, voice low but clear.

Joel’s jaw worked. He looked down at his drink. “Already told ya. Wasn’t workin’.”

Maria sighed through her nose, soft and sharp. “You’re a lot of things, Joel. A decent liar ain’t one of ’em.”

He didn’t answer, so, she followed his gaze. She hadn’t noticed, at first—the way his eyes kept pulling toward the bar, steady and quiet like gravity. She turned, slow and deliberate.

And there you were.

Alone.

Sitting at the bar, shoulders tense, drink in your hand. You weren’t talking to anyone. You weren’t looking around. But there was something in your stillness, something tight in your spine, like you were trying not to look behind you. Like you knew he was watching.

Maria turned back to Joel, her brow lifting just slightly.

He said nothing.

Didn’t need to.

Because suddenly, the reason for the reassignment wasn’t a mystery. And the silence between them wasn’t heavy with avoidance anymore, it was thick with something else. Something like regret or probably longing. The unmistakable weight of something unresolved.

Maria took a slow sip of her drink and didn’t press. She just watched Joel for a second longer, then murmured, “Should’ve figured.”

Joel didn’t deny it.

Maria swirled her drink once more before placing it back down, her gaze following the grain in the wood. She waited a moment before speaking again, careful, but deliberate. “Mark’s a good guy.”

Joel’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “The hell does that mean ?”

She blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden heat in his voice.

He continued, jaw clenched. “Ya think ’m tryin’ to mess that up ? Break up their little happy picture ?”

Maria raised her brows. “Jesus, Joel. Breathe.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, dragging a hand over his beard, but didn’t say anything else. “I’m not your brother,” Maria added, her voice calm but firm. “So don’t talk to me like I’m someone you’re trying to win an argument with.”

Joel pressed his lips into a thin line. A muscle twitched in his jaw. But the anger didn’t hold; it bled into something else, something more tired. Something closer to guilt.

Maria softened, just slightly. Her voice lowered. “I said Mark’s a good guy. He is. Steady. Loyal. Good under pressure.”

Joel didn’t look at her. His eyes were already drifting back toward the bar. To you.

Maria watched him. “But I also know good doesn’t always mean right.”

That made Joel blink. He looked at her sharply, like she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to know. But Maria just shrugged. “So. What now ?”

Joel didn’t answer. Not at first. His hand tightened around his glass, untouched whiskey still sitting there, amber and useless. Then finally, low and quiet: “No. I can’t.”

Maria didn’t ask what he meant. “Why ?” she asked instead.

Joel looked at her. Really looked at her this time. And for a second, Maria saw right through the hard set of his jaw and the sharp silence that always followed him around. She saw it, clear as anything.

Fear.

“She’s already with someone,” he muttered. “Someone good.”

Maria tilted her head. “And that’s the only reason ?”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because the truth was sitting right there across the room, sipping from a glass with your head slightly bowed, your fingers curling a little too tightly around the rim. Looking like you didn’t belong next to anyone else either.

Tommy returned with Benjamin bundled tight against his chest, the baby’s eyes fluttering closed already, little fist curled in his father’s collar. Maria reached instinctively for his tiny hand, brushing her fingers over his skin, and smiled to herself.

“Think it’s time we head back,” she said, casting a glance at Joel and his untouched drink. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Tommy nodded, adjusting the strap of the sling. “Yeah. This one’s heavy when he sleeps.”

The three of them slipped their coats back on and started toward the door, the cold wind leaking through the cracks as someone entered. Joel stayed behind a second, his body angled just slightly back toward the bar. Then, as they reached the door, Joel spoke: low, sudden, but firm.

“Wait.”

Maria and Tommy both turned.

“I got someone I need to see.”

Tommy blinked. “You ? See someone ?” His voice had that half-laugh behind it. “Since when ? You hate everyone.”

Maria didn’t even look at him, she just elbowed Tommy hard enough he jolted slightly and shut up with a grunt. Joel gave her a brief nod. She returned it with a knowing one of her own, and they left without another word, the door swinging closed behind them.

And then it was just Joel.

And you.

You hadn’t moved. Still hunched slightly at the bar, one hand resting limply near your drink, your eyes unfocused. You weren’t drunk, not really. Just… somewhere else. Joel walked slowly, letting his boots hit the floor loud enough that you’d hear.

You didn’t turn. Not at first. He stood beside the empty stool next to you. Didn’t sit. Not yet. Just waited. Watched the way your fingers tapped softly against the wood grain of the counter, like you were trying to stay present. Like part of you was drifting, and you were trying to anchor it.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, you spoke. Your voice was low, flat.

“Don’t you have other people to hate tonight ?”

Joel’s brows furrowed slightly. The sting of it hit, sure, but not the way you probably wanted it to. Because underneath the bite, there was something off in your tone, distant, worn thin.

You didn’t look at him, even then. Just stared into your drink. Joel pulled the stool out and sat, slowly. “I only hate most people,” he muttered. “You’re still on the fence.”

Still no smile from you. Still no look. He leaned forward on his elbows, forearms braced on the bar. “You alright ?” He asked.

Silence.

Then, quietly: “Why did you come here, Joel ?”

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t know if he could. But he looked at you now, really looked and saw the way your jaw was clenched tight, the way your eyes flicked back and forth like they were chasing thoughts too fast to catch.

He didn’t know what to say. But he was there. And that was something. So, he said the only truth he had: “Didn’t wanna go home.”

That made you finally glance at him. Just for a second. And it nearly knocked the breath from his chest. Because even though your gaze was tired, heavy — there was something else buried in it. Something that said: same.

Joel looked at you for a long moment, the air between you filled with a tension too heavy to ignore. “And ya ?” he asked, voice low. “Why’re you here ?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared into the bottom of your glass, as if it might offer up something worth saying. Finally, with a breath that caught halfway up your throat, you said, “Mark and I had a fight.”

Joel nodded slowly, like he’d already guessed it. But he didn’t ask about what. Didn’t press. It wasn’t his place, and yet, he couldn’t seem to look away from you. You shifted on your stool and reached for the drink again. Joel’s hand was there first.

“That’s enough,” he said flatly.

Your eyes flicked up to his. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah ?” He asked, unimpressed. “Ya smell like cheap whiskey and regret.”

You scoffed, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You’re a real charmer, you know that ?”

Joel didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed the glass further down the bar, out of reach as you let out a pleading sound, then stood and jerked his chin toward you. “Come on.”

You stayed planted on the stool. “No.”

“Don’t make me carry ya.” He muttered.

You raised a brow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ve carried worse,” he said, stepping closer. “Drunker too.”

“Joel—”

He didn’t wait. He bent slightly, hands on your arms, and guided you to your feet. You were unsteady, not wasted, but just tipsy enough that the floor felt half a beat off rhythm.

“There,” he muttered. “You’re upright. That’s step one.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away.

“Mark’s probably worried,” he added, voice still low, almost like he was trying not to sound judgmental.

But something in you snapped at that. “I don’t care.”

Joel stopped. His hands stilled on your arms. You meant it. He could see it in your face. The fire, the frustration, the ache you were trying to swallow whole. He didn’t say anything. Just held your gaze for a second longer than he should’ve, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be angry for Mark’s sake or for his own.

Then he cleared his throat, took a step back, and motioned toward the door.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

The door of the Tipsy Bison swung closed behind you, letting the muffled warmth of the bar slip back into the noise of the night. Jackson had quieted since sunset, only a few windows glowed faintly with candlelight, snow crunching softly beneath your boots as Joel helped steady you down the path.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. You hadn’t meant to be angry, either. But here you were, half leaning on Joel Miller like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand gripped your elbow firmly, the other braced against your lower back when you stumbled on a patch of ice.

“Careful.” He muttered, barely glancing at you, but you could feel the tension in him. Like every step closer between you only made things worse in his chest.

“I’m fine,” you said, breath curling in the cold. “Don’t need a babysitter.” Your lips twisted into something between a frown and a smile. “Didn’t ask for your help either.”

He didn’t answer that. Just walked a little slower, his arm tightening subtly around your waist when your knees dipped again. You hated how good it felt. How familiar. How careful he was, even in his gruff, quiet way. By the time you reached your porch, your head felt clearer but your chest heavier. Joel let go of you at the top step, retreating like your skin had burned him.

He was already turning to leave when you spoke.

“Why did you change ?” You asked.

His back tensed, boots crunching to a stop just before the stairs.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “The patrols. Why’d you ask to stop patrolling with me ?”

Joel didn’t turn around. He stood there, still and tall under the soft halo of your porch lantern. Then, finally: “We’ll talk another day.”

Your heart thumped hard against your ribs. “Joel—”

“Get in.” He said, voice low and final.

But then the door opened. Mark stood in the frame, wearing a shirt that clung to his chest like he’d thrown it on quickly. His face shifted when he saw who was standing beside you. Joel’s jaw clenched. You could feel the air thicken. Mark’s eyes moved from Joel’s face to your glassy eyes, to the way you were holding yourself—like you were still holding on to something that wasn’t him.

“You alright ?” Mark asked you, voice carefully neutral.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just... needed a walk.”

The door creaked open behind you, and Mark stood there, eyes shadowed by the porch light, his brows furrowed deep. His jaw tightened the second he saw who was next to you. You could feel the shift in the air, the way his expression dropped from concern to something darker. He looked between you and Joel, your closeness, your flushed cheeks, your slightly uneven stance.

“Get in,” Mark said curtly.

Before you could respond, his hand pressed against the small of your back—not hard, but firm, guiding you over the threshold with a quiet intensity that set your teeth on edge. The door stayed open behind you.

Mark stepped out onto the porch again, squaring himself between you and Joel. His body tensed like he’d been holding something in all night and it had just boiled to the surface. Joel didn’t move. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands by his sides, eyes calm but cold. 

Mark’s voice was low, furious. “You just keep showing up, don’t you ?”

Joel looked past him, to where you hovered near the door, not speaking, not stopping it. And that alone seemed to temper something in him. He didn’t want to do this in front of you. Not again.

“I was just gettin’ her back here,” Joel said evenly.

“Oh, thanks, Superman,” Mark snapped, stepping one foot down the stairs. “Really heroic of you.”

Joel’s gaze dropped for a second, his tongue pressing against his cheek. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back up. “It’s not my fault she was drinking alone at the bar.” He started to turn away—enough was enough.

That did it.

Mark let out a sharp breath, laughless. “Right. Of course. “Maybe she wouldn’t be drinking alone if someonehadn’t gotten into her fucking head.”

Joel froze mid-step. The words hung there, ugly and precise. They hit something buried, something raw. You didn’t even have time to call out before Joel turned back around, slow and deliberate. His jaw clenched once—and then his fist was already flying.

The crack of it echoed across the porch. Mark stumbled back against the railing, hand to his mouth, blood blooming between his fingers.

“Joel !” You screamed, rushing forward.

But Joel didn’t move again. He just stood there, chest heaving once, eyes dark and sharp. Definitely not proud.  Mark was coughing now, furious, humiliated, the tension crackling between all three of you like dry wood too close to flame.

“Get inside.” Joel ordered low, to you.

You just stared at him, your ears ringing with the sound of the punch, of everything that had just unraveled. Your hands found Mark's shoulders, preventing him from moving closer to Joel. You pulled him toward you slightly, calling him softly, hoping that would be enough to calm him down.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The afternoon had turned mean. Spring, fickle and vengeful, had curled back into winter’s teeth, dragging a storm over the mountains and into Jackson like it wanted to punish something. Rain swept sideways through the open barn doors, and the scent of wet earth clung to the wood and hay.

Joel stepped into the stables with his coat pulled tight and his collar up against the chill, his hand flexing absently on the strap of his rifle. He didn’t expect anything different from today—just another patrol, another silent stretch of time he didn’t have to think too hard. But then he heard a voice—your voice—cutting low through the quiet like the edge of a knife.

He froze.

You were speaking to one of the stablehands, your tone clipped, shoulders set in that way you always had when someone challenged you. Water dripped from your jacket, your hair pulled back in a loose, wet knot. Tired. Sharp. And still, you looked good in a way that made something twist in his chest, ugly and real.

Joel’s jaw worked before he said a word. “What are ya doin’ here ?”

You turned slowly, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face. Your eyes narrowed, the look on your face unreadable, somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion. You were soaked, and yet you held yourself like the rain hadn’t touched you at all.

“I’m replacing Chris,” you said simply, evenly.

Joel’s throat worked around a tight breath. “No.”

You blinked. “What ?”

He took a step forward, voice firmer now, steel behind the drawl. “No. You’re not comin’.”

You straightened, your posture defensive now. “Too late. Maria cleared it.”

“You shouldn’t even be here,” Joel muttered, brushing past you toward the saddles. His hands were already moving, tugging down tack with quick, frustrated precision. 

“Should’ve thought about that before knockin’ up Mark. Chris is the only one who can replace him.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept working the saddle onto the mare, movements clipped and angry. And still, he didn’t look at you—didn’t let himself actually.

He worked in silence, movements stiff, the buckles on the saddle clinking sharply as he cinched one too tight. You stood there dripping, the air around you thick with the smell of rain and horse and tension that had been building for too long.

You didn’t know whether to slap him or walk away. He didn’t know whether to stop you or beg you to go. So, you stood there, both of you, tangled in everything neither of you had the guts to say out loud.

The ride out was choked in silence. The kind that pressed heavy between two people with too much unsaid. Rain hadn’t started yet, but the air was thick with warning, sodden clouds rolling over the treetops, thunder pacing just behind the hills like a wolf waiting for the right moment to strike.

Neither of you spoke. Not once.

The only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves on wet dirt and the dull creak of tack, broken now and then by the distant rumble of the coming storm. You kept your eyes ahead, jaw set tight. Joel didn’t dare look your way. If he did, he might say something he couldn’t take back—or worse, say nothing at all.

By the time the sky split and the rain came down hard, cold, and mean, turning the trail to sludge, it was too late to turn around.

You both saw the old apartment building at the same time.

It rose like a corpse out of the woods, four stories of crumbling brick and shattered windows, crooked against the treeline. Ivy and moss had overtaken its sides like nature was trying to bury the memory of it. But it stood. Empty. Forgotten. And most important, shelter.

Joel didn’t speak as he led his horse toward the building. Neither did you. You found a broken metal awning at the side entrance, barely wide enough for the horses to crowd under, but it would do. Hands moved by muscle memory, loosening reins, checking gear, grounding the animals. Then Joel stepped forward and kicked the water-swollen front door with the heel of his boot. It groaned and cracked open, revealing a shadowed foyer thick with dust, mildew, and rot, but dry at least.

Inside, the air was stale and heavy, clinging to the skin. Your boots squelched across the warped floorboards. The place had been gutted: no furniture except for the old and dusty couch in the middle of the room, no color, just the skeleton of something that used to matter to someone.

Joel went to the old hearth against the far wall, crouching as he dragged out kindling from his bag. You peeled off your coat with stiff fingers, breath hitching as the wet fabric dragged against your skin. The shirt beneath was soaked, clinging like a second skin. Transparent in places. Cold enough to make your teeth chatter. Your hands rubbed at your arms, trying to get warmth into your bones.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders as he worked, jaw clenched like he was grinding down a thousand words that wanted out.

“You’re slow as hell,” you muttered, voice cracking from the cold. “Any slower and I’ll be frozen stiff.”

Joel didn’t glance back. His hands kept moving, building the fire like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. “’m workin’ on it,” he growled, low and rough.

You scoffed, hugging yourself tighter. “I can tell.”

It wasn’t just the weather in the room anymore, it was something older, deeper. Cold because of everything you hadn't said. Everything he wouldn’t. And all the things that had passed between you when it had been too late to stop them.

You shivered harder and watched the man who wouldn’t look at you—wouldn’t even speak unless you poked first—and wondered how it had all turned into this. Into silence and firelight and two people who used to be something, even if no one ever gave it a name.

The fire crackled, throwing light across the broken edges of the room. You stood a few feet away, still soaked through, arms wrapped tight around yourself—not just from the cold now, but everything else. The heat was crawling slowly from the hearth, licking against your boots, but you didn’t go near it.

Joel sat close to the flames, his hands out, eyes set on the fire like it was something he could disappear into. You shifted your weight, watching the back of his head. Silence throbbed between you, thick and humming. The kind that didn’t come from peace, but pressure. 

“How long were you gonna avoid me ?” You asked quietly, voice brittle.

He didn’t turn.

You waited a second. Two. His silence was answer enough, but it made your chest squeeze anyway. “Oh, so now you’re ignoring me ? Great.”  

Still nothing. His jaw twitched, but that was it. That was when something in you cracked. You stepped forward, boots slapping wet against the tile. “You just decided to stop talking to me one day. Like it was nothing.”

He didn’t move.

“You asked to switch patrols and never even told me. Just let me find out like it was a fucking weather report.” You crossed your arms again, trying to hold yourself together. “You couldn’t even give me the decency of an explanation. And then you went and acted like I didn’t exist.”

The fire hissed in the hearth. Shadows flinched across the floor.

“I know I’m not perfect,” you went on, voice tightening. “I know I messed things up too. But you don’t get to act like it was just me. You don’t get to disappear like that and pretend nothing ever mattered.”

Still, he said nothing. Your heart beat louder than the storm now. You stared at him, angry and aching and worn to the bone.

“Say something !” You snapped. “Just—say something. Stop acting like you don’t care.”

Joel stood. Not fast. Not loud. Slow and heavy, like the weight of what he carried had been nailed to his spine. The fire lit half his face—the scarred half. It made him look tired. Weathered. Haunted. You held your breath. He didn’t look at you at first. Just stared past your shoulder like he couldn’t bring himself to face what he was about to say.

“I do.”

Your brows drew in, confusion slipping into your face. He finally looked at you. And there was something behind his eyes—barely held back. Not anger. Not exactly. “I fuckin’ care for you.”

The breath you took felt sharp and useless in your lungs. He took a step forward, then another. Close enough now that you could smell the smoke on his clothes, the cold still clinging to his collar. “I switched patrols because I couldn’t keep lying to myself. Because every damn second I was near you, it got harder not to reach for something I got no business wantin’.”

You didn’t move. Joel’s voice dropped low, thick with guilt. “I ain’t a good man. I never was. And I sure as hell don’t deserve someone like ya.”

You looked at him, soaking wet, lips parted, heart banging against your ribs. And he looked at you like he hated that he still wanted you.

Your voice cracked the silence. “What do you mean ?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, like the words were stuck in his chest. “Ya know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, sharp and breathless. “I don’t know anything with you, Joel. So explain it. Right now. Before I turn around and walk back to Jackson by myself. If you even give a damn.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared at the fire like it held all the answers he refused to say out loud. Then finally, gritted out like it hurt to admit, “Ya think it didn’t eat me alive ? Every time I saw you with him ? Smilin’ and laughin’.”

Your chest rose, quick and unsteady. The fire popped sharply between you, casting jagged shadows across his face. The thunder had softened in the distance, but the rain still tapped against the broken windows like it was listening.

You turned away just for a second, swallowing hard, because the way he looked at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made it hard to breathe.

“I do give a damn,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s the goddamn problem.”

His voice was low, rough with something raw and real, something he’d been carrying around in silence far too long. It cracked something open in you, wide and aching. Joel’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscle ticking near his temple like a warning. But it wasn’t anger in his eyes. It was exhaustion. Not the kind sleep could fix. The kind that comes from wanting something you’ve convinced yourself you can’t have.

You stared at him. “Then why the hell are you pushing me away !?”

“Because I have to.”

Your lips parted, stunned. “No. No, you don’t.”

You took a step toward him, wet boots squeaking faintly on the old floor. Your voice rose. “You chose to, Joel. You made that decision all on your own. You didn’t even let me fight for it. You just disappeared. Like none of it mattered.”

Joel finally looked up at you like it cost him something to meet your eyes. And maybe it did.

And then, quieter now, your voice cracked through the rain-hushed space like a secret: “What the hell do you want from me ?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes on the broken tiles like they held the truth steadier than your face did. The fire cracked softly behind him. His hands were clenched at his sides, and when they finally opened—slow, deliberate—it looked like surrender.

His voice, when it came, was a rasp dragged from someplace deep.

“I want you outta my head.”

You went still.

“I want to stop thinkin’ about ya when I shouldn’t,” he muttered, shaking his head like he hated himself for even saying it. “Want to stop hearin’ your damn laugh in my head when it’s quiet. Stop picturin’ your face when I’m supposed to be sleepin’. Or wonderin’ if he’s the one holdin’ you—if he gets to keep you warm while I’m sittin’ in the dark, wonderin’ if I ever even had the right to say your name.”

You swallowed hard. Blinked the heat from your eyes before it could fall.

Joel kept going, slower now, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“So yeah. I asked to change patrols. ‘Cause ridin’ beside you like I didn’t feel every second of it under my goddamn skin... I couldn’t do it anymore. If I had to hear you talk to me like I was just anybody, laugh like you didn’t know what you meant to me—” His voice broke, just a little. “I was gonna do somethin’ I couldn’t take back.”

You stared at him. Wind hollowed through the cracks in the windows. The storm had quieted, but it hadn’t left. Neither had the ache inside you.

Joel still wasn’t looking at you. So, you took one step closer.

 “And what if I wanted you to ?”

He looked up, then. Fast. Like you’d slapped him. His face flickered—between wanting and restraint, between guilt and hope. And God, the way he looked at you then. Like you were the edge of something sharp and sacred.

“Don’t say that,” he warned.

 “Why not ?”

He was already shaking his head. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’. You think you do, but—”

 “I do,” you cut in, voice rising, raw and cracked and honest. His breath caught as you stepped closer again. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him. *“So if you’re gonna do something you can’t take back, Joel…” You searched his face, eyes wide, searching. “Do it.”

All at once, Joel surged forward. His hand clamped around the back of your neck, rough and unrelenting, and then his mouth was on yours—savage, sudden, like a fuse had finally burned down inside him and exploded. He kissed you like it was a punishment, a confession, a goddamn need. Teeth clashed. Breath caught.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was all fire and fury, like he’d been holding it in for so long he didn’t know how to let it out gently.

You gasped against him, shocked, reeling and then melted into it, fingers fisting in the front of his soaked shirt, dragging him closer. The rain still clung to his skin, cold and bitter on your tongue, but his mouth was heat, pure and violent. The kind of kiss that stole reason. That made you forget why you'd ever wanted to pretend it didn’t matter.

Because it did.

God, it did.

You barely registered the moment your hands slid down his chest, still soaked through from the storm. You just needed him closer, needed the ache to stop. You pushed him back toward the couch, lips crashing into his again, urgency overtaking sense.

Joel stumbled a bit, catching himself as the backs of his knees hit the worn cushions. He fell into the seat—causing dust to escape everywhere—breath ragged, and before he could speak, you were already climbing onto his lap, straddling him like you didn’t care what the hell happened next.

His hands found your waist, but instead of pulling you closer, he held you still. “Wait—” he rasped, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice nothing but gravel. “This ain’t right. Mark—”

“Don’t say his name here,” you breathed, your voice cracking. “I don’t care.”

His grip on your hips tightened like he was trying to anchor both of you. “You should. Jesus, you should. You can’t come here wantin’ this when you—”

“I thought about you,” you blurted, voice breaking as your fingers tugged at the hem of his soaked shirt. “One night. With him.”

Joel froze under you, his jaw twitching.

“I tried to focus—I tried,” you said, mouth brushing his neck now, feverish. “But all I could feel was you.”

Your lips moved along his jaw, your breath catching as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t stop you—he didn’t help either.

“I pictured your hands. Your voice—low in my ear. I imagined it was you over me. Inside me.”

His breath came rough now, like he was trying to hold himself together by a thread. You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wild. Like a man trying to survive his own hunger.

“You don’t know what that did to me,” you whispered, sliding your hands under the wet fabric of his shirt, splaying them across his chest like you could memorize the shape of him. “How wrong it felt... how much I still fucking wanted it.”

Joel’s hands were at your waist now, gripping hard but not guiding. Bracing. His mouth opened—then closed. Like he couldn’t find the words. Like he was afraid of what would come out if he spoke.

You kissed him again, hard, biting at his bottom lip, your nails scraping against his skin as you pulled your own shirt over your head, half-wild.

“I already thought of you,” you whispered against his mouth, broken and breathless. “With his dick in me. I still thought of you.”

Joel groaned—deep, guttural. His head fell back like the words punched the air out of him. And then he surged forward. His breath hitched and his hands were trembling now, just slightly, like he didn’t know if he was supposed to push you away or pull you under.

“I need you,” you whispered again, mouth brushing his jaw. “Don’t make me beg.”

Joel swore under his breath. One short, vicious word. And then his restraint broke.

His mouth crashed into yours, no pretense, no hesitation, just need and a burning desire growing between your two bodies. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, deeper, like you couldn’t get enough. Like this was the only thing that could quiet what had been screaming inside you for so long.

Your hips rocked against him, desperate friction that made both of you curse under your breath. You felt him—hard beneath you—and the sound he made when you moved was nothing short of wrecked.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your back, your thighs—torn between worship and restraint. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped against your mouth, even as his thumbs slid under the waistband of your jeans. “This is wrong.”

“Then stop me,” you whispered, teeth grazing his throat. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Silence.

His hands clenched, breath hot and ragged. “Goddammit.”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was all the frustration, the biting tongues and unsaid things, all the pretending. So, you wasted no time and undid his fly while he kissed your neck, trying not to bite too hard so as not to leave marks. You lifted yourself slightly off him, rolling your jeans down just enough, before repositioning yourself against him, once he managed to take off his pants and underwear, revealing his veiny and fat cock.

Joel's calloused hands explored every inch of your exposed flesh, his touch rough and demanding. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into the soft skin of your ass as he pulled your flush against him. You gasped at the feeling of his bare skin on your soaked panties, your own hands roaming over the hard planes of his chest.

Joel bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste fueling his hunger. You arched into his touch, nails raking down his back. You could feel the thick length of him pressing urgently against your stomach, hot and heavy. A whimper escaped your lips as Joel's hand slid between your two bodies, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit through your panties, causing you to moan in his mouth.

Then, his fingers slid a little lower, just enough to move your panties slightly to the side—brushing your intimacy with his cold fingers, making you tremble once more. One of his hands held the piece of fabric, as the other held his hard cock, bringing it to your entrance. Your eyes were fixed on his actions, breathing heavily, not knowing what to think anymore. He let the tip gently caress your pussy, while you moaned again, teasing you for a moment.

Not knowing how much longer you could wait, you tried to reposition yourself correctly on top of him, almost sliding onto his cock, but he suddenly pushed inside you hard, not giving you time to settle back against him.

You moaned loudly as he wasted no time and began pounding into you. He manhandled you, pulling you closer to him, placing one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, forcing you to move in rapid rhythm with him. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, gently biting the base of his shoulder, trying to regain your senses.

“P-Please,” You whined, not knowing what you were asking for anymore.

And just when you thought your body couldn't take it anymore, your hips began to move on their own. You raised your head as you sat up correctly, his second hand mimicking the first as it moved to your other hip, synchronizing your movements—pulling you a little closer to him, if it was eve possible, letting his cock go all the way in.

Your head thrown back in ecstasy as you rode him with wild abandon, nails digging into his broad shoulders, and he growled in approval. You were seeing stars as you fucked yourself on his cock with desperate, undulating hips. The wet, lewd sounds of your coupling echoed obscenely off the walls of the apartment as your body was about to explode. 

Joel’s cock throbbed inside you as you squeezed him harder. "More," you ordered with a crazed edge to your voice. "H-harder.” You groaned as your hands slid up to grip his hair again, tugging sharply as you bucked and undulated wildly

“Ask nicely then.” He replied with a smirk, spanking you ass gently. 

“Joel !” You growled, almost screaming, already tired of his little game. 

He obliged with a vicious thrust that had you on a chokehold. You moved together in a savage rhythm, two predators locked in a rut. You could feel his cool hands all over you—gripping your hips with bruising force, groping your breasts hardly, pinching your nipples.

“So soft.” He managed to say despite his ragged breathing, caressing your breasts as if they were something fragile and precious. He took the left one in his mouth, sucking on it. Then he bit the tip, watching you completely lose control on his lap. He kissed the second one, never taking his eyes off you as you had already closed yours.

He continued to worship you as you tried to muffle your moans as he drove up into you, relishing every sharp point of pain mixed with the intense pleasure. Gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your hips moved in rhythm, everything else falling away—the storm, Jackson, Mark, all of it. Just the sound of him above you, breath hitching as he pressed his mouth to your body hungrily. 

Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core as he pounded into you relentlessly and he couldn’t stop whispering your name again and again like a confession. Your inner muscles clenched greedily around him. "I'm going to... oh fuck—I'm going to cum Joel !" You keened desperately, feeling his cock deep into your wet pussy.

Joel’s hand snapped out, gripping your throat and squeezing just hard enough to make you see black around the edges. And with a hoarse cry, you shattered into a thousand pieces, convulsing uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of your life consumed your whole body. 

Joel groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking once, twice more before he pulled out with a curse, stroking himself until he came, hot and messy across your stomach. His breath hitched in his throat, teeth clenched around a low, guttural noise like it hurt to let go.

You stayed where you were, breathless, your chest rising and falling as you blinked up at the ceiling, your body still trembling. Joel reached for the nearest piece of fabric—his shirt, maybe yours—and wiped you off with a tenderness that didn’t match how rough he’d just been.

His hands then, stayed on your thighs like he didn’t want to let go, even though his body had gone loose beneath you. You turned your gaze toward him, boneless and dazed, and kissed the corner of his mouth. He caught your lips in a softer kiss this time, slower, like he couldn’t quite believe he still had the right to.

You shifted, still above him, your hips aching, your limbs trembling. Joel’s hands slid up your back, slow and grounding, before one finally curved behind your neck, pulling you down into his chest, your cheek resting against his torso. Neither of you moved. Now, it was just the quiet and steady rhythm of his heart under your hot cheek. 

He sighed into your hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, not even trying to sound annoyed.

You huffed a breath of laughter, warm and smug and utterly spent. “You’ll survive.” Joel huffed something close to a laugh, his hand smoothing over your spine.

After a long, heavy silence, you finally stirred against him. Your muscles ached as you shifted up just enough to look at him. And there it was.

Joel was smiling.

Not smirking. Not guarded or sarcastic. A real, quiet smile, small and fleeting like it caught him off guard. Like he’d forgotten, for a second, that he didn’t know how to be soft anymore.

You stared, caught in it. “That’s a first,” you whispered.

“What is ?”

You touched his jaw, featherlight. “Your smile. You ever show it to anyone else, or should I feel special ?” His eyes flicked away, bashful and amused, and your chest tightened with something too full to name. 

But outside, the wind had calmed, the storm was over, and reality—Jackson, patrols, Mark—was creeping back in through the broken windowpanes. Joel seemed to feel it too. The moment cracked. His expression shifted, that wall rising again. Not all the way, but just enough for you to see it directly. He sat up a little, gaze distant now, and you watched it happen, your stomach dipping.

“Joel…” you reached out, brushing his temple, gentle. “Don’t do that.”

He didn’t answer at first.

“I shouldn’t’ve let it go that far,” he muttered, faking regret. “Not with everything the way it is.”

Your hand slid down to his chest, over his heart. “Maybe. But we didn’t exactly plan it, did we ?”

He looked at you, still conflicted.

“I’m not sorry,” you said, firmer now. “I wanted you. Don’t ruin it by pretending you didn’t.”

Joel swallowed hard, but didn’t argue. Just nodded once, and let your hand stay where it was. Eventually, you both moved, limbs slow and aching as you began to dress. You reached for your shirt, holding it up between two fingers, damp and wrinkled, then turned to him with a crooked grin.

“Jesus. It’s full of your cum.”

Joel choked, actually choked, and shook his head, half-laughing. “Christ.”

You pulled it on anyway, shameless. “Hope the horses don’t mind the smell.”

“Could’ve kept that thought to yourself.”

You grinned, brushing past him to gather your coat. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you blush.”

He groaned low under his breath, but there was warmth under the sound. A little less distance. 

You were the first to move toward the door, still wearing his scent on your skin like something sacred and reckless. The shirt clung to you damply, wrinkled and loose, falling just below the curve of your covered ass.

Joel was right behind you, boots in one hand, watching you like a man walking into a trap with his eyes wide open. You paused at the doorway, giving him a sidelong glance, a smirk curling your mouth.

“What ?” You said, all sweet, wide-eyed innocence. “You coming grumpy old man, or you gonna sit there all day brooding ?”

He raised an eyebrow at that, slow and dry. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I might just—”

He walked past you and right as he passed, he struck—one quick, sharp slap to your ass, open-palmed and sure, a clean smack that echoed off the cracked apartment walls.

You gasped, half-genuine, half-laughing, stumbling a step forward. “Joel !”

He didn’t even look sorry. Just stood there, arms crossed, one brow cocked in full challenge. “Mouth on you. Figured I’d give you somethin’ to talk about.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks hot, grinning despite yourself. “Do that again and I’ll drag you back to that couch and fuck you until your knees give out.” Joel’s mouth twitched, that ghost of a smile again, but this time it stayed. You turned toward the door again with a little sway in your hips, tossing him a wink over your shoulder.

His chuckle was low, rough, satisfied as he followed you out, boots thudding softly behind. And even as the sky cleared and Jackson loomed in the distance, something between you stayed warm—a slow-burning thing neither of you were quite ready to name, but neither of you could walk away from now.

You didn’t talk much more after that. You didn’t need to. The storm was over, outside and maybe, just maybe, between the two of you.

For now.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

It had been a few days since that storm-soaked patrol, since that moment in the apartment when everything changed—then went right back to pretending it hadn’t. Back in Jackson, the routines resumed like nothing had happened. Joel went back to his north patrols, you went back to keeping your head down during yours with Cathy. The space between you stretched again. Measured. Careful.

You hadn’t seen him since—well not really. A few glances across the street, the sound of his voice in passing, but no words. No closeness. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe it had to be after all. Still, you couldn’t help and miss him a bit. You, for sure, missed the weight of his hand on your skin, the way his voice had cracked when he finally let himself feel somethings.

You missed how he looked at you like you were a wound he wanted to touch anyway. But now, silence and distance. Had it meant something to him, or was it just release ? Just a mistake he wanted to forget ? Was it just to piss off Mark after all ?

The thought coiled in your stomach like guilt, or probably regret, you didn’t know which. And maybe that was what hurt most—not knowing if he missed you too, or if he’d already decided you were easier to live without.

But Mark had seen you, even with his eye still a little bruised.

He noticed the way your silences got longer. The way you flinched when he reached for your hand in public. The way your laugh didn’t come as easily, like you were trying too hard to seem normal, but failing.

And that night, at the Tipsy Bison, with the low buzz of laughter and clinking glasses all around them, Mark finally saw it.

It was subtle at first. You were curled close beside him in the booth, half-listening as he talked about a new fence post that needed fixing, fingers absently tracing the rim of your glass. You hadn’t touched your drink in a while.

Then the door creaked open, the bell overhead giving its usual lazy jingle.

Joel walked in.

He looked the same as always: weathered and solid, shoulders heavy under the worn flannel he always wore when he didn’t care to try. But something about him was different. Distant. The lines around his eyes deeper. And even if Mark hadn’t noticed Joel, he would’ve known someone important had arrived, because of the way you reacted.

Your whole body shifted, like a current passed through you. Your spine straightened. Your fingers froze. And your head turned to the door before the sound had even fully faded.

Mark followed your gaze and found it locked, unblinking, on Joel Miller.

It wasn’t the look that got him, well, not just that. It was the pause. That second too long where the rest of the bar seemed to fall away. The world went on, but your eyes stayed fixed. Joel, him, didn’t look back. But Mark saw enough in your face to know it wouldn’t have mattered.

He sat back slightly, lifting his glass to his lips, letting the burn of whiskey settle behind his teeth. He didn’t say anything right away. Just set it down slow, watched the way your attention lingered in the corner of your eye.

Then: “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You blinked, like shaking yourself from a dream. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” His thumb slid slowly along the side of the glass. “Must’ve been a hell of a storm out there.”

You gave a small nod. “It was.”

He let that hang in the air, let you sit with it. And when he spoke again, it wasn’t sharp, nor angry. Just... heavier. Lower.

“Funny, though. Ever since you got back…” He paused. “Feels like you never really did.”

Your lips parted, barely. Your gaze fell to the drink in front of you, as if the answer might be hiding in the bottom of the glass. And Mark just watched you, quietly. Knowing he wasn’t wrong.

You eyes flicked back, just for a second, barely more than a blink, to where Joel stood near the bar. He was talking with Tommy, or at least standing beside him, hands buried deep in his pockets. His jaw was locked tight, head tipped slightly down, like the floor was somehow more deserving of his attention.

Suddenly, he shifted his weight, maybe just to adjust, maybe just to move—but then his head turned. Slow. Subtle. Like he hadn’t meant to do it at all. And his eyes found yours. Just for a second. Not long. Not obvious. Not enough for anyone else to notice, probably. But it was long enough for you to freeze. Long enough for your breath to catch like a thread pulled too tight.

He watched you watching him, and then, out of nowhere, smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but that was enough to make your chest ache. 

“You see something out there ?” Mark asked casually, like it was nothing. Like he didn’t already know.

You blinked, your voice too even. “Just bad weather.”

He leaned back in the booth like it cost him something, the motion slow and heavy. His arm stretched along the back of your seat, but there was no warmth in the gesture—just distance. His jaw ticked once as he stared at you, voice flat.

“Right,” he muttered. “Bad weather brings shit to the surface.”

Your stomach clenched. There was no softness in him now, no patience, no understanding. Just tired eyes and something brittle tugging at the corners of his mouth. He exhaled a humorless breath and looked past you—toward the bar where Joel still stood, stiff and silent beside Tommy. “Fuck it,” Mark said, a bitter edge cutting through his voice now. “Why don’t we just go over there, huh ? Go say hi ? Maybe make it easier on both of us.”

Your eyes snapped to him, startled. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t even angry in the way he might’ve been a few weeks ago. But this was worse. “What ? No, there’s no need—"

“I mean,” he cut you off, “If that’s where your head’s been since you got back…” He shrugged, like the words didn’t cost him, like they didn’t already taste like blood. “Maybe he’ll say something you actually want to hear.”

You glanced up at him, heart thudding in your throat. He held your gaze—giving you one last moment of doubt, but when he saw that you didn't respond, his mind was made up—the silence between you turning to ash. “Mark ?”

But he was already moving, cutting through the crowd toward the bar with a tension in his shoulders you hadn’t seen before. Not like this. Not this quiet, coiled kind of anger that looked more like heartbreak dressed in steel.

Joel turned just as Mark reached him, instinct maybe, Tommy beside him, stepped back slightly, sensing it too. Mark didn’t raise his voice at first. He just got close, close enough for the space to feel dangerous, and asked through clenched teeth, “What the fuck is your problem, man ?”

Joel’s brows furrowed, “Don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

Mark’s laugh was short, bitter and loud enough to make a few heads turn. “No ? You don’t know ? She’s over there looking like she’s gonna pass out just breathin’ in the same room as you.” He pointed back at you.

Joel’s jaw locked, “Back off.”

But Mark didn’t, instead, he raised his voice—just enough to slice through the din. “Did you fuck her ?”

Silence.

The whole room stilled. Glasses froze mid-air. Forks halfway to mouths. A silence so deep it hummed, the kind of quiet that only came right before something broke. Joel didn’t move, but his eyes—those dark, storm-wrung eyes—lifted slowly to meet Mark’s, and for a second, he didn’t look guilty.

He looked dangerous.

You stood now too, heart in your throat, the whole damn bar watching. Tommy stepped in quick, one hand raised. “Hey—hey, that’s enough.”

Mark didn’t look at him. “Tell me, Miller,” he hissed, voice like flint. “Tell me you didn’t crawl into my bed while I was gone.”

Joel still didn’t say anything. And in a way—that said everything.

The silence stretched too long but Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared at Mark, jaw ticking, breath steady like he was holding something back—something mean and wild and sharp.

Then finally, his voice broke through the stillness, low and rough as gravel. “I didn’t crawl into anything,” Joel said, tone quiet but cutting. “She walked in on her own.”

A few gasps cracked through the crowd.

Your breath caught.

Mark’s face went blank for a split second—like his brain short-circuited trying to process it—then twisted into something animal. And before anyone could move, before even Tommy could get between them Mark’s fist collided with Joel’s cheekbone in a sickening thud that echoed off the wooden walls. Joel stumbled back a half-step, eyes wide with surprise.

The room exploded into chaos: someone swore, someone else shouted for Tommy, a couple of drinks tipped off a table.

Tommy lunged forward, grabbing Mark by the shoulder and shoving him back. “Hey ! Enough !”

Joel steadied himself with a hand on the bar, jaw clenched, cheek blooming red and hot. He didn’t hit back, just stared at Mark, chest rising, eyes dark and unreadable.

Mark pointed at him, wild now. “You son of a bitch. You couldn’t keep your goddamn hands to yourself ?”

“Mark—” you stepped forward, voice cracking. “Stop it.”

He spun toward you, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even lie,” he said, like it was the part that broke him most. “Didn’t even deny it.”

Joel’s voice came again, lower this time. “Don’t put that on her.”

Mark turned back, but this time Tommy was already between them.

“You better go,” Tommy told him, calm but deadly serious. “Before I make you.”

The bar stayed frozen—watching, breathing, waiting to see who would move first. Joel didn’t look at you but you felt like the whole goddamn town was watching your soul crack in half. You just stood there, still and burning, the weight of every pair of eyes settling on your back like cinder blocks. You could hear someone whisper your name, but it sounded far away—like it wasn’t really yours anymore.

Joel was still by the bar, fingers pressed to the side of his jaw, blood blooming. He looked calm. Too calm perhaps. Like it was taking everything he had not to turn and leave. Or maybe he was waiting for you to move.

But you couldn’t. 

Tommy’s hand found Joel’s shoulder and he said something too low to hear. Joel just gave a slow nod and didn’t look at you as he left. The moment he was gone, the space felt suddenly colder. With people still staring at you, unable to bear all this sudden attention, you walked silently through the bar, determined to reach your table, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the exit.

You found Mark outside, just past the door, pacing like a dog that had been kicked too many times. His fist was still balled up, knuckles red, his eyes storm-dark and shining. “Mark,” you said, voice soft.

He didn’t answer so you stepped closer. “You shouldn’t have done that. Not like that.”

He finally looked at you—and God, it hurt. All of it. The betrayal, the disbelief, the bitter weight of understanding. “You could’ve just told me,” he said. His voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was small and hurt. “You could’ve told me you didn’t love me.”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan any of it, Mark.”

“Right,” he laughed, but it was sharp and hollow. “You just tripped and fell onto his dick, huh ?”

Your mouth parted, stunned, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He just shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He stared at the ground. “You don’t even look sorry.”

Silence.

He gave a broken exhale, then turned and walked into the dark—away from the bar, away from you. And you let him go, because what else was there to do ? You didn’t even knew if you were really sorry, it seemed that you didn’t knew anything at all now.

He gave a broken exhale, then turned and walked into the dark—away from the bar, away from you. You stood there, frozen in the echo of what had just happened for a long moment. You weren’t even sure if you were truly sorry. Or if you were just grieving the idea of something that had been broken long before tonight. It was all noise inside your head. Guilt and relief and confusion bleeding together. And suddenly, the weight of it was too much to hold.

So, you walked.

Past the warm buzz of windows and porches, past familiar voices drifting in the night air. Past the safety of certainty and into something colder.  You didn’t mean to end up there. But your feet knew before your mind did.

Joel’s porch.

He was sitting on the steps—hunched forward, elbows on his knees, a slow drag of smoke curling from his lips. As if he’d been waiting. And when he saw you—soaked in moonlight, shivering from more than just the night air—he stood with no hesitation.

You didn’t say anything and the tears came hard and fast, unraveling all the threads you’d held together so tightly. And before you could even wipe your face, Joel crossed the distance. His arms wrapped around you—firm, grounding—and you collapsed into his chest, fists curled in his shirt, sobs cracking through the quiet.

He held you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to let go this time. “Got you,” he murmured, low against your hair. “I got ya.”

He held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed wide across your spine like he could hold you together with just that touch. Your sobs slowed, hitched, then slowed again—raw and uneven, your breath still shaking against his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath his shirt. Solid. Certain. Something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was sliding out from under you.

Joel bent his head, voice rough with quiet certainty. “Hey… hey, now.” His thumb brushed the side of your face. “’s gonna be alright.”

You clung tighter without answering, not trusting your voice enough.

“I know it don’t feel like it now,” he murmured, “but it will. Mark’s gonna be fine. Man’s got every reason to be pissed, but he’ll come out the other side.” He paused, his voice softer when he added, “And so will I.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and glassy. Your lips parted, but no words came. Joel kissed gently your forehead, hand still stroking down your back, steady as the sky. “And ya,” he said, the weight of it all settling into his tone, “you’re gonna be just fine, too.”

You nodded slowly, even if you didn’t quite believe it yet. But hearing him say it—hearing Joel believe it—made it feel a little more possible. Like maybe the storm had finally passed. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in the wreckage.

Your hand lifted gently to his cheek—the one Mark’s fist had found earlier—fingers brushing the faint bruise already blooming there. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt dragging your voice low. “For that. For… all of it.”

Joel huffed a soft breath through his nose, and to your surprise—he smiled. A real one. The second time you’d ever seen it. A little crooked, a little tired, but it curled at the edges of his mouth like it belonged there, like it had been waiting for the moment to show itself.

“Wasn’t your punch,” he said, voice rough but warm. “I’ve had worse.”

His calm steadied something in you. Like his steadiness gave you permission to breathe again. Then he tilted his head toward the porch behind him. “C’mon,” he murmured. “It’s late. You don’t gotta go anywhere tonight.”

You hesitated only for a beat, then let him lead you inside, his hand low on your back—not pushing, just there as a quiet reassurance. He gave you his flannel to sleep in, warm and worn, sleeves too long. And when you curled into bed beside him, the space felt safe for the first time in days. He didn’t try anything, didn’t ask—he didn’t want that, not tonight. He just pulled you gently into his arms, letting your head rest against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat comforting you.

[slafastri28]

I Hope You're Doing Well - LN4

Note: I literally pulled this out my ass, but it just flowed!

Word Count: 2.2k (yes that is a lot for me) Warnings: Idk a lot of kissing at the end, little angst

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well, I figure you are considering you just won the constructors championship, call me when you want to catch up, I miss you, okay bye,” you hung up the phone. You turned to face your parents along with Lando’s,

“Sorry kid,” your dad said rubbing your shoulder. The four sat you down in the middle of the F1 season telling you their concerns for their son, complaining of being homesick and lonely, which was not Lando at all. You had known each other as long as you could remember. Your parents all went to university together and forced you and Lando into a friendship like parents do with kids. It was awkward at first, but you were very social as a child, and hanging out with a boy a year older than you was cool to you, and if it made your parents happy you would do it. Despite being a year older than you, you were always the same height as Lando growing up. You fit perfectly in his kart, but he never trusted you to drive it. He was always on about traveling in Formula 1 eventually, and he was fine his first couple years but this year was different. 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t expecting an answer,” you gave the parents a half smile. You and Lando had lost touch after the first race of the year, after spending all of the winter together something shifted, but you didn’t know what you did to make him ignore you. You called him at the first sign of concern from his parents, but no answer, his parents even urged him to call you but they were rarely hearing from him as it was. Little did they know he would sit listening to the messages you left all the time thinking about home and being with you. 

Last winter your parents threw a big party, all their friends were there and of course Lando. There was no one else really your age there so you two find yourselves alone in your childhood bedroom sitting and talking. 

“I’m confident this year, we will perform better I know it,” he nodded.

“Well of course you will, and you are going to get that win, I just know it,” you smiled. 

“Yeah I hope, thanks for the belief,” he said.

“What are friends for,” that word friends hit Lando hard. He thought he had made so obvious these past few years about how he felt about you, but he was only a friend to you. The rest of that winter he was not his usual self leaving you questioning, he barely even said goodbye before he left for testing. You sat alone in your apartment finding yourself wanting to pick up the phone and ask him what you did wrong but you accepted he needed space. You soon felt something was missing as he didn’t call you after every race like he did last year, you missed seeing his smile, which you always thought was cute. Now without his constant presence, you discovered your true feelings for Lando. You sent him messages getting responses two days later, he wouldn’t take any of your calls due to being busy, but it was the time you would normally call last year, and you knew what was different. You began to leave messages when his parents went to see him. Each message started and ended the same way. 

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well,” and ended with “I miss you,” or something along those lines. After his first win, you called,

“Hi Lan, it’s me, I hope you’re doing well, and celebrating this win, I’m so proud of you, I wish I could have been there, I miss you.” Your calls continued after each win he earned this year, each podium, each race he scored points, even in his worst races you still left messages, none being answered or getting a callback, making you long for him more. The season came to a close and there you were surrounded by the people near and dear to him leaving the same message again.

This winter he had not come back to visit his family yet, meaning you didn’t have that chance to see him in your time off from work. There you sat around the most important people in your life, as one was missing, holding back tears. His mother rushed out of the room picking up her phone and scolding her son in a message. You went to bed that night looking through the scrapbooks your Moms made of the two of you when you were younger, pictures of you hugging, your arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, pictures of you forcing a smile onto his face and him doing the same to you, so many memories. The books continued as the years went on, you at age 15 with a sign at one of his races and him hugging you after, your high school graduation, your college graduation, he was always there. Now this winter here you were alone a year from that night wishing he would come home. 

You woke up the next morning with a voice message lighting up your phone. You were stunned to see the contact picture, you and Lando as little kids. You put in your headphones and hesitated before pressing play on the message.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Lando, I hope you’re doing well, I am doing well, thank you for all your congratulations, I’m sorry I’ve ignored you this season, I will tell you more when I get home tomorrow, I miss you too, see you probably a few hours after you listen to this,” his voice was sincere and you could hear little cracks knowing he was upset. You could feel your heart racing, your mind was spiraling, what could he possibly have to say to me? This is going to be so awkward. What do I even say to him? Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. You quickly fixed your hair before pulling the blanket up over your pajamas hiding any possible embarrassment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard your mom’s voice outside, “can I come in?” 

“Yes, come in,” you put the blanket down, “what is it?” Your Mom looked unusually happy for it being eight in the morning, she must have already had her coffee. 

“Lando’s flight arrives in an hour, and we are all going to surprise him at the airport, I know you’re upset with him, but please maybe it will change things,” her eyes were pleading, and after the message, you knew it would be the right thing to do. You hopped out of bed grabbing your morning coffee before changing. You conveniently lived close to the airport so an hour was plenty of time. As you stood with your two families in the terminal waiting you began to think again, you had seen him on social media, which was easier to bury your feelings, but in real life, you didn’t know what you would do. 

You watched the hallway, seeing several people go by, none were the faces you wanted to see. It had been a few more minutes since you were distracted by your phone, but you chose to look up at the perfect moment.

“Here he comes,” his mom exclaimed. You shoved your phone in your bag immediately, putting on a smile. He dropped his bag greeting first his parents, then your parents, and froze when he got to you. It was like time stopped, and no one else in the airport existed. He stretched out his arms as you rushed into them. He pulled you so close, you felt your feet lift off the ground.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry, I’ve missed you so much,” he began to cry into you.

“Lando, Lando,” you sobbed feeling his warmth. The two of you pulled yourselves together as you made your way out to your cars.

“Why don’t you two ride together, you have some catching up to do,” his mom winked in your direction. The two of you did as you were told riding in the “kids' car” back to his parents’ home. You got home before them leaving you two some time after your silent car ride, both of you trying to keep it together. Once you got to their house, you made your way upstairs to his room. You watched him unpack his things before you noticed the stack of books next to the bed, the same ones you had looked at the night before. Something in your gut told you to open one, and it was right, it struck his attention.

“Wow look at us,” he said joining you sitting on his bed. 

“I know, we were so cute,” you laughed pointing at a picture of you two at Lando’s 9th birthday, you were blowing out his candle with him. 

“Still are,” he said softly, the look in his eyes showed he wanted to continue. You closed the book and took a good look at him, you saw pain in his body language, emotional pain. He was different than the Lando you saw the previous year. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you said resting your hand on his shoulder, “what did I do,” you thought back to last year knowing exactly what hurt him. 

“Y/N, hand me the book,” he pointed to the one from your high school years. You handed him the book and he began to frantically flip through it, finding one specific picture. You stared at it, then at him with a faint smile on your lips. 

“The dance,” you nodded looking ashamed. 

“That’s when it started Y/N, and ever since then I have loved you, I thought I made it obvious, but you only saw me as a friend, I couldn’t take it anymore, I was hurt, and didn’t want to waste my time,” his eyes stayed locked on the book. 

“Lan, I feel the same, it took me not having you present constantly to finally realize I have loved you,” you smiled. His eyes picked up from the book,

“All those messages were cries for you to call me so we could have this conversation, I started to think you moved on after the constant lack of response,” you sighed.

“I should have answered all those calls, I should have called back, I should have said something-” you cut him off pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands quickly found your face as yours found his hair, running your fingers through his curls. You both gasped for air after that, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Your hands moved slowly from his hair to his hands which remained on your face. He let go interlocking his fingers with yours as your hands moved to your lap.

“This, this is how it was meant to be,” he smiled, before kissing you once more. 

“So should we tell our parents, who definitely have their suspicions already,” you laughed. 

“Not yet,” he said laying down in his bed and pulling you along with him. You two lay there your head on his chest with your hands locked over your heart. You were at full joy in the moment, a moment that you didn’t know you needed until now. You flipped over laying on top of him. 

“So despite my horrible dancing that night, that’s when you knew,” you laughed running your fingers through his hair again. 

“I wasn’t much better,” he laughed, “despite your clumsiness, you still were beautiful,” he said grinning. You pressed another kiss to his lips as his arms found your back pulling you in tighter. You two continued, intensifying the kiss as you both lay now on your sides. His lips moved from your face, down to your jaw and eventually reached your neck, letting you sigh.

“Kids dinner!” your mom called from outside the door. Lando continued moving back up to your lips. 

“Lan,” you repeated whispering, pushing him away, “come on,” you smiled. 

“Just a few more,” he begged.

“Later,” your eyes showed promise. You fixed your hair in his full-length mirror where he stood behind you wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Come on,” you laughed opening the door. You two walked hand in hand downstairs meeting your families in the kitchen. They all turned to face the two of you standing there with intertwined fingers, both with red cheeks. The Dads gave nods of approval to Lando and the Moms squealed gesturing for you to both sit.

“Finally,” his mom clapped as you sat at the table.

“Come on give us a little kiss,” your mom added on. The Dads rolled their eyes but still watched. Lando pulled you in by your neck pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You heard your Dad’s whistle, you shot him a glare after the kiss ended. It was just like old times in the winter when you would have dinners, the conversation flowed naturally as you felt Lando’s smile beaming on his face. This was secretly what you always desired. 

[ilovemarvel97]

Craving What We Shouldn’t - Part 8

Craving What We Shouldn’t - Part 8

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Reader

Summary: Winter break is right there. 

Word Count: 9k+

Warnings: High school AU, Fluff, smut, (18+), forbidden romance, step-siblings, reader has a penis, mutual pining, secret relationship,

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

****: smut alert

---

December 20th — Last Day Before Winter Break

Y/N’s POV

The wind bit at her cheeks as she leaned against her car, arms tucked tight into her hoodie. Students rushed past in waves — laughter, backpacks, clumsy goodbyes and “see you next year” echoing through the parking lot.

Tomorrow marked the official start of winter break, and the whole school was buzzing.

But Y/N wasn’t thinking about that.

She was thinking about her.

Wanda.

She hadn’t come out yet.

Y/N’s fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against her car door. She could feel the wait in her bones — that familiar ache that always showed up when Wanda was too far away for too long.

Then—

“Y/N!” a voice called out, followed by an unmistakable thud as someone slammed into her side.

Carol.

Y/N caught her with a grunt, nearly knocked off balance. “Jesus, Danvers.”

Carol laughed, not even pretending to be sorry. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s the last day. You’re supposed to be excited.”

Y/N gave a small smile. “I’m excited. Quietly.”

“Gross,” Carol said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway. We’re going out tonight. Pizza, arcade, rooftop stargazing — the works. You in?”

Y/N hesitated. “I was gonna wait for—”

“Wanda’s coming,” Natasha’s voice chimed in from behind, casual as ever. She slid in beside Carol, nodding at Y/N like it wasn’t obvious she’d been listening the whole time. “Already said yes. Even roped in MJ and Peter.”

Carol grinned. “So now you have no excuse. Don’t bail. This is our last night of freedom before the chaos of ‘family time.’”

Y/N looked past them, eyes scanning the crowd until she finally saw her — Wanda, walking across the lot, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair down, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

Her eyes met Y/N’s almost instantly.

It was only a second.

But it was enough.

Wanda’s lips curled just slightly — the smallest smile. The kind no one else would think twice about.

But Y/N knew what it meant.

Hi. I missed you. I’m yours.

“I’m in,” Y/N said finally, looking back at the group.

Carol whooped. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Nat raised a brow. “You driving Wanda, or…?”

Y/N glanced toward Wanda again. She was still making her way over — slower now, careful, deliberate. No one watching them would ever guess.

“I’ll take her,” Y/N said softly. “We’re heading the same way, anyway.”

Nat nodded like she already knew.

Carol just smirked. “Try not to take too long. If you’re late, we’re ordering without you.”

Then she and Nat drifted off, bickering over toppings before they even reached Nat’s car.

Wanda finally reached her, eyes darting briefly around before stopping on Y/N’s face.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Y/N echoed, her voice quieter, steadier now that Wanda was close enough to touch.

“You said yes?” Wanda asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “To tonight?”

“Only because you’re going.”

Wanda smiled, then looked up at her through her lashes. “You gonna let me in the car, or do I have to climb through the trunk?”

Y/N unlocked the doors and smirked. “Backseat’s got a blanket in it.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t tempt me.”

The engine hummed to life, and as Wanda slid into the passenger seat, their hands brushed — a whisper of skin, fleeting and sacred.

They couldn’t kiss.

They couldn’t hold each other.

But they didn’t need to.

Because in that quiet space between fingers, that half-second of warmth?

Everything was already understood.

---

Later That Night — Rooftop Above the Arcade

Wanda’s POV

The night air was cold — but the kind of cold that felt alive. Breath visible in front of her, the city glowing below, laughter still echoing faintly from the floor beneath them.

They’d eaten way too much pizza. Carol and MJ had declared war at the air hockey table. Peter spilled his soda three separate times. Nat was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, watching Pietro and his girlfriend argue over who could name more constellations without using an app.

It was chaotic.

And perfect.

And Y/N was standing just a few feet away from her, leaning over the ledge, hands in the pockets of her coat, hair blowing slightly in the wind.

Wanda moved before she could think too hard about it.

She crossed the rooftop, slow and quiet, and came to stand beside her — not touching, not too close. But close enough.

Y/N didn’t look at her at first. Just kept her eyes on the glowing city below and said softly, “You cold?”

Wanda shivered slightly, but it wasn’t just the wind. “A little.”

Without another word, Y/N unzipped her jacket and reached out — not waiting for permission. Her hands were firm, certain, tugging Wanda gently by the waist and pulling her into the open space of her jacket. Wanda went willingly, breath hitching as Y/N wrapped both arms tightly around her from behind, cocooning her in warmth and scent and safety.

Wanda melted into her — back flush to Y/N’s chest, hands resting on the arms that circled her, like she belonged there.

Because she did.

Y/N buried her face into the crook of Wanda’s neck, her lips brushing soft against skin with every breath. “God, I missed touching you today.”

Wanda closed her eyes, the words sinking in like heat. “You saw me three times between classes,” she whispered, smiling.

“I saw you,” Y/N said, her voice low and rough against her ear, “but I couldn’t have you.”

Wanda turned her head slightly, just enough to feel the side of Y/N’s face, their cheeks brushing, her own smile fading into something softer, needier. “We’re alone now.”

Y/N’s arms tightened around her.

“I know.”

They stood like that for a long moment, just swaying gently, Wanda’s hands threading through Y/N’s fingers where they were clasped over her stomach.

Then Y/N dipped her head and kissed her — slow, lingering — just beneath her jaw, just where she knew Wanda loved it.

Wanda’s breath stuttered out, her eyes fluttering shut. “You keep doing that and I’m never leaving this rooftop.”

“Good,” Y/N whispered. “Stay. Stay right here. Just us.”

Wanda turned in her arms then, facing her now, tucked fully into her jacket, Y/N’s hoodie between them, hearts pounding against each other. And then Wanda kissed her — with everything she hadn’t said all day. Slow and deep, fingers slipping into Y/N’s hair, thumbs brushing her cheek, like she was memorizing her all over again.

Y/N kissed her back like she was starving for it.

No hiding.

No fear.

Just them.

Wanda pulled back first, breathless, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “I love you,” she whispered.

Y/N closed her eyes, smiling as she whispered it back. “I love you more.”

And for a few sacred minutes, under the stars and far above the noise, they weren’t step-anythings. They weren’t hiding.

They were just two girls in love, wrapped in each other like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Until—

Smack!

A sharp slap echoed from a little to their left, followed by a loud, irritated voice:

“Why don’t you do the same thing like Y/N, huh?! I’m cold too, you know!?”

Wanda and Y/N both stiffened.

They turned slowly — still wrapped up in each other — and spotted Crystalia, hands on her hips, glaring dramatically at Pietro, who stood beside her looking thoroughly caught off guard.

Crystalia pointed at them like she was delivering a TED Talk. “Look at that! Behind-the-jacket cuddling? Adorable! Thoughtful! Meanwhile, I’ve been freezing my ass off for the last twenty minutes!”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Laughter.

Carol let out a wheezing laugh from where she was leaning into Nat on a bench nearby, the two of them now openly grinning like this was the highlight of their week. Nat chuckled, nudging Carol with her shoulder. “She’s not wrong.”

A few feet away, MJ raised an unimpressed brow. “Brutal,” she deadpanned, while Peter nearly snorted out his soda. “Note to self: behind-the-jacket cuddles are mandatory now.”

Crystalia folded her arms. “Damn right they are.”

Pietro raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! You want cheesy romance, you get cheesy romance.” He flung his coat open like a stage curtain. “Come here, you ridiculous little icicle.”

Crystalia beamed, darting into his arms with dramatic flair. “That’s more like it.”

Wanda, still half-hidden in Y/N’s arms, buried her face in Y/N’s chest, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “We are never going to live this down.”

Y/N laughed into her hair. “Speak for yourself. I’m proud.”

“Of course you are,” Wanda groaned, though her smile gave her away.

They stayed tucked together, even with their friends just feet away — because this group? These people? They knew. And for once, Wanda didn’t feel afraid of being seen.

Not here. Not with them.

Carol shot them a wink from across the rooftop. “Honestly? Ten out of ten cuddle form, Y/N.”

Y/N grinned. “It’s all in the jacket technique.”

“Take notes, Parker,” MJ said flatly.

Peter held up his hands. “I literally brought a blanket! I thought that was romantic!”

“It was,” MJ said, stone-faced. “Just not… award-winning.”

The group burst into laughter again, the rooftop now filled with that warm, irreverent energy that made everything feel a little lighter.

And Wanda?

She leaned into Y/N, her smile soft and real, and whispered just loud enough for only her to hear—

“Thank you for not hiding me.”

Y/N kissed the side of her head. “Never could.”

---

Drive Home

Y/N’s POV

The rooftop was clearing out, laughter still echoing faintly behind them as Wanda and Y/N made their way to the car.

Pietro was still standing with Crystalia near his car, leaning in close, his hands on her waist as she said something animated. Nat, Carol, MJ, and Peter were all peeling off in different directions, waving goodbyes and calling out plans for break. The night had shifted from chaotic to gentle — like the world was finally exhaling.

Pietro caught up just before Y/N opened the driver’s side door.

“I’m gonna drop Crystalia off,” he said, tossing Wanda a look that was surprisingly casual for someone who’d seen her half-swallowed by his stepsister’s jacket an hour ago. “You two heading home?”

Wanda nodded, hugging herself tighter against the cold. “Yeah. Dad thinks we’re at the movies, anyway.”

Pietro smirked. “Convincing lies, as always.”

“I learned from the best,” she muttered.

He leaned in just enough to flick her gently on the forehead. “Drive safe. No funny business.”

“Bye, Pietro,” Wanda said sweetly, opening the passenger door.

Y/N held back a grin. “Tell Crystalia she’s the real MVP tonight.”

“Oh, believe me,” Pietro muttered, turning back toward his girlfriend. “She already knows.”

The girls climbed into the car, doors shutting out the wind. Silence settled between them, but it was a soft, shared kind of silence — not awkward, not tense. Just… theirs.

Y/N reached over and took Wanda’s hand as she started the engine. Wanda didn’t say anything. Just squeezed her fingers.

The drive home was quiet. The city lights slipped by, fading into quiet neighborhoods and dim holiday decorations. Wanda leaned her head against the window, still holding Y/N’s hand over the center console, her thumb tracing lazy circles against her skin.

“I love nights like this,” Wanda said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where everything feels normal.”

Y/N glanced over at her. “You want this to be our normal?”

Wanda turned her head slightly, cheek still resting against the glass. “Don’t you?”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “Every damn day.”

---

They slipped inside the house as quietly as possible, the front door clicking shut with a soft snick. The lights were off except for the little Christmas tree in the corner, glowing faintly with soft white bulbs. The house was still, silent.

Melissa and Olek were asleep. The only sound was the soft hum of the heater kicking in.

Wanda slipped off her coat and boots, Y/N doing the same beside her. Their hands brushed again — and for a moment, they just stood there in the dark entryway, staring at each other like they weren’t already living in the same house, like they hadn’t been in love for months.

“Come upstairs,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda nodded.

They tiptoed past the creaky step they both knew to avoid. Up the hallway, past her dad’s room. Past Melissa’s. And straight into Y/N’s room — Wanda closing the door softly behind them.

As soon as it clicked shut, Wanda didn’t hesitate.

She walked straight into Y/N’s arms and buried her face in her neck, letting herself fall into her completely.

Y/N wrapped her up without question, holding her tightly, kissing her temple, whispering, “I’ve got you.”

Wanda nodded against her. “I know. I just needed this.”

“Me too,” Y/N murmured, and the way she said it made Wanda’s chest ache.

They stood there for a long time in the dark — hearts pressed close, breathing slowing. The warmth between them building again, soft and full of longing.

Then, with one more kiss — slow, aching, careful — Y/N whispered, “Let’s get in bed.”

And Wanda didn’t even answer. She just peeled off her hoodie, crawled under the covers, and waited for Y/N to join her.

Tonight wasn’t about lust. It wasn’t even about hiding.

It was about being — about feeling safe, and wanted, and whole.

And when Y/N climbed in beside her and pulled her close, arms locked around her waist, Wanda pressed her face to Y/N’s chest and breathed her in.

This was what love felt like when no one else was watching.

---

December 22nd — Three Days Before Christmas

Y/N’s POV

The mall was a warzone.

There were kids crying in Santa lines, holiday music playing way too loud over busted speakers, and someone had spilled a sticky trail of hot chocolate near the escalators. Y/N weaved through the chaos like a soldier on a mission — hoodie up, earbuds in, and one goal in mind:

Wanda’s Christmas gift.

She had gifts for everyone else already — a new cookbook for Melissa, a rare Polish album for Olek, joke socks for Pietro that said I’m Fast, Not Smart, and a carefully chosen charm bracelet for Crystalia that matched her ridiculous energy.

But Wanda?

Wanda needed more than just something nice.

Wanda needed something right.

She wandered into the artisan jewelry store near the end of the strip — a quiet little place tucked between a bookstore and a tea shop. The noise dulled instantly when the door closed behind her. Just soft instrumental music, warm lighting, and shelves lined with pieces that looked like they came out of someone’s dreams.

Y/N’s eyes landed on it almost instantly.

A delicate gold pendant — not flashy, not showy. Just simple and elegant, shaped like a crescent moon. There were tiny etched stars on its surface and a single small garnet in the middle — red like Wanda’s favorite scarf, like the color her eyes seemed to glow when she laughed too hard.

She stepped closer, heart suddenly beating faster.

“Can I see that one?” she asked the shopkeeper.

He took it out and laid it in her palm, and the second it touched her skin, she knew.

It wasn’t just pretty.

It was her.

Soft, quiet beauty. Hidden strength. A kind of magic you had to get close to understand.

Y/N bought it without another word.

---

Later That Night — Y/N’s Room

The box sat on her desk, wrapped in deep red paper with a soft gold ribbon — nothing flashy, just enough to make it special. She stared at it for a long time before finally tucking it into her top drawer, beneath a hoodie Wanda had stolen and never given back.

Wanda didn’t know yet.

She didn’t know how many stores Y/N had walked through with no plan. How many things she passed up — perfumes, earrings, books — because none of them felt like her.

She didn’t know how Y/N had picked that crescent moon because it reminded her of the way Wanda whispered “goodnight” in the dark, forehead pressed to Y/N’s chest.

She didn’t know it was the most nervous Y/N had ever felt giving someone a gift.

But soon, she would.

And Y/N couldn’t wait to see her eyes when she opened it.

---

December 23rd — Two Days Before Christmas

Wanda’s POV

Y/N had been acting suspicious.

Not in a guilty way. No, more like the I’m-hiding-something-and-it’s-driving-you-crazy-on-purpose kind of suspicious.

She’d been smirking to herself all morning, whistling while baking cookies with Melissa, casually locking her bedroom door when she left it — which she never did.

And worst of all?

She kept looking at Wanda with that glint in her eye.

The one that said I know something you don’t know.

Wanda was going to lose her mind.

They were lying on the couch that afternoon, a cheesy Christmas movie playing in the background, when Wanda finally reached her breaking point. Y/N had her arm draped lazily around her, her fingers drawing light circles on Wanda’s hip like she wasn’t holding secrets.

Wanda shifted in her lap, looking up at her. “You bought it already, didn’t you?”

Y/N raised a brow. “Bought what?”

Wanda squinted. “Don’t play dumb. My gift. I can feel the smug coming off you.”

Y/N smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Wanda poked her side. “You’ve been smiling to yourself all day. And locking your door. And humming. Humming, Y/N. You never hum unless you’ve done something evil or romantic.”

Y/N laughed, covering Wanda’s hand with her own. “First of all, humming is not incriminating.”

“It is when I know you’re hiding something.”

Y/N leaned down, nose brushing Wanda’s. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

Wanda groaned. “You are the worst.”

“I am,” Y/N agreed, grinning. “But I’m also excellent at keeping secrets.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes. “I will find it.”

“Good luck, Maximoff.”

---

That Night — Y/N’s Room (Empty)

Wanda stood in the hallway, staring at Y/N’s door like it had personally wronged her.

Melissa was downstairs baking again, Olek was already in bed, and Pietro was probably too busy FaceTiming Crystalia to notice anything. The coast was clear.

Wanda hesitated… then turned the knob. Locked.

She scoffed quietly. “Really?”

She pulled the spare key from the bookshelf — because of course she knew where it was — and slipped inside.

The room was dark except for the moonlight coming in through the window. Her eyes scanned everything quickly, careful not to actually touch anything. She wasn’t trying to ruin the surprise… just guess it.

She checked the closet. Nothing. Under the bed? Just shoes and hoodies.

Then she paused, eyes narrowing on the desk.

The top drawer was closed — but not flush. Just the tiniest bit of ribbon sticking out.

Wanda leaned closer. Deep red, almost velvet-looking. Gold trim.

Her heart skipped.

That had to be it.

She reached out slowly, fingers brushing the edge—

Then heard a very familiar voice behind her.

“Babe.”

Wanda jumped, spinning around like a raccoon caught in the pantry.

Y/N was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

Wanda blinked. “Hi.”

Y/N bit back a grin. “Breaking and entering, huh?”

Wanda straightened. “It was for justice.”

“For justice?”

“For information,” she amended. “You’ve been hiding it from me all day!”

Y/N walked slowly toward her, backing her up until Wanda bumped gently against the desk.

“Because it’s a gift, Wanda.”

Wanda crossed her arms. “And gifts deserve to be investigated.”

Y/N leaned in, mouth brushing her ear as she whispered, “If you open it early, I’ll take it back.”

Wanda shivered. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“…You’re a menace.”

“I love you too,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Now get out of my room, you nosy little elf.”

Wanda pouted but retreated — reluctantly.

As she stepped out, she turned and called over her shoulder, “You better wrap it really well. I’m good at guessing shapes.”

Y/N’s laugh followed her all the way down the hall.

---

December 24th — Christmas Eve

Wanda’s POV

The house was glowing.

Literally.

Melissa had gone all out — candles on every windowsill, twinkle lights draped over the mantle and wrapped around the bannister, the scent of rosemary and garlic filling every corner of the air. Holiday music hummed softly through the speakers, just loud enough to feel festive without interrupting conversation.

The dining table was full — both with food and people. Melissa had made her famous roast chicken, plus five sides, two salads, and a chocolate tart that Wanda swore she could smell from the hallway. Olek was already two glasses of wine deep and laughing loudly at one of Pietro’s dumb jokes. Pietro was sitting beside Crystalia, who looked like she belonged here more and more every time.

And then there was Y/N — across the table, her cheek lit golden by candlelight, sleeves rolled up, lips glossed from cranberry sauce. Her eyes flicked up now and then, always finding Wanda’s like they were magnetic.

Wanda had never been more aware of where she was sitting.

They weren’t touching. They couldn’t. Not here — not with Olek at the head of the table and Melissa pouring wine and Crystalia chattering about her cat’s Christmas sweater.

But God, it was felt.

Every glance, every near-brush of hands when passing dishes, every smirk that held I want you tucked into something as simple as pass the potatoes.

“So, Wanda,” Melissa said brightly, jolting her back to the moment. “You and Y/N finished your college essays, right?”

Wanda nodded, cheeks warm. “Yep. Submitted last week.”

“Good girls,” Melissa beamed, lifting her glass. “Now you can relax over break. And enjoy some romance while you’re at it.” She winked playfully.

Wanda choked on her water.

Y/N coughed loudly from across the table.

Pietro didn’t even flinch. “If she means Carol’s Christmas rom-com marathon, then yeah, Wanda’s really enjoying the romance.”

Wanda shot him a look. “I will put glitter in your shampoo.”

Melissa laughed, Olek smirked, and the moment moved on — but Wanda could feel it lingering like static.

Under the table, her phone buzzed. She glanced down.

Y/N:

You okay over there?

You turned red at “romance” 😏

Wanda:

Your mom is going to jinx us.

I swear she knows.

Y/N:

No way.

Later, when dinner turned into dessert, and everyone moved toward the fireplace for gifts and cocoa, Wanda lingered in the kitchen with Y/N under the pretense of helping clean up.

It was quiet — just the two of them, lights twinkling above the sink, laughter floating in from the living room.

Wanda handed Y/N a dish towel.

Y/N didn’t take it. She took her — fingers curling around Wanda’s wrist, pulling her close until they were chest-to-chest, breath against breath.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda leaned in just enough that their foreheads touched. “Tomorrow,” she breathed. “When I open my gift.”

Y/N grinned. “You’re really banking on that, huh?”

“I have faith in you,” Wanda said softly.

And Y/N looked at her like that was the best gift she could’ve ever gotten.

---

December 25th

12:03 AM – Wanda’s Bedroom

Wanda’s POV

Midnight had come and gone with sugar highs and messy laughter.

They’d all stayed up — the “kids,” as Melissa and Olek still called them, though half of them were college-bound and the other half were chaos incarnate. There were mugs of cocoa, loud jokes from Pietro, Crystalia making everyone wear light-up headbands, and Melissa telling embarrassing stories about Y/N’s childhood in front of everyone.

But once the clock hit twelve, the tone shifted.

“All right,” Melissa said, clapping her hands together. “Midnight’s magic hour is over. Go to bed, all of you. Santa’s tired and so am I.”

“Speak for yourself,” Olek muttered as he stood up and stretched, already yawning.

“Fine,” Pietro groaned dramatically, scooping Crystalia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she squealed. “Merry Christmas, you beautiful freaks!”

Wanda kissed Melissa’s cheek and headed upstairs to her room, heart full — and just the tiniest bit heavy.

Because Y/N wasn’t following her.

They said goodnight in the hallway like any good stepsisters would. Said “see you in the morning” with smiles that felt too tight. Y/N’s door had closed across the hall with a soft click.

And Wanda’s room suddenly felt a little too cold.

She sat on her bed in one of Y/N’s old hoodies, legs curled beneath her, lights dimmed low. The little Christmas tree in the corner glowed soft and warm, casting her room in flickering gold. Her heart beat a little faster with every creak in the house, wondering if Y/N would sneak over like she usually did.

But the adults were still awake — shuffling around downstairs, probably wrapping last-minute gifts or cleaning up.

So she waited.

And waited.

And then she heard it — a very soft knock.

One knock. Pause. Two knocks. Pause. One knock.

Their secret knock.

Wanda jumped off the bed and tiptoed across the room, cracking her door open—

And almost burst into laughter.

There stood Y/N. Dressed in a red velvet Santa coat, black boots, and a Santa hat slightly tilted to the side — no beard, thank God — holding a small red box with a gold ribbon.

Her voice was low, full of teasing warmth. “You been naughty or nice this year?”

Wanda stared at her like she was a dream. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Y/N grinned. “I’m delivering your gift. Santa style.”

“Oh my God,” Wanda whispered, tugging her inside and closing the door quickly behind her. “You’re insane.”

“Festive,” Y/N corrected, stepping into her room with quiet steps. “There’s a difference.”

Wanda was still staring at the costume. “Did you actually change just for this?”

“Yep. Took forever to sneak it out of storage without anyone noticing. Almost died for it.”

Wanda covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” Y/N said, instantly softer, her teasing tone fading into something that made Wanda’s heart ache. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

She held out the little box.

Wanda stared at it — red and gold and her all over — and then slowly reached out to take it.

She sat on the edge of her bed, Y/N kneeling in front of her now, waiting quietly as Wanda undid the ribbon, her fingers trembling just slightly.

When she opened it, her breath caught.

Inside, nestled in a velvet-lined box, was a delicate gold necklace — a tiny crescent moon with a single garnet in the middle. Simple. Elegant. Magic.

Wanda’s voice cracked when she whispered, “It’s perfect.”

“I saw it and just knew,” Y/N said softly, eyes never leaving her face. “It reminded me of you. Of how you glow even in the dark. And how I’m always looking at you, even when no one else notices.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. She set the box aside carefully, then leaned in, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck, burying her face against her.

“I love you so much it scares me sometimes,” she whispered.

Y/N held her tighter. “Good. I want it to be real.”

“It is,” Wanda said. “It’s the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

They stayed like that for a moment — tangled, quiet, hearts beating too loud.

Then Y/N whispered against her ear, “Want me to put it on you?”

Wanda nodded, pulling back just enough to turn around.

Y/N fastened the clasp carefully, her fingers brushing the back of Wanda’s neck, lingering there for just a second.

When Wanda turned back around, the necklace shimmered in the glow of the little tree.

“You look like a wish I made,” Y/N said, like it wasn’t cheesy, like it was true.

Wanda kissed her.

The necklace lay warm against her skin.

It shouldn’t have made her feel this much — not a single piece of gold, not a sliver of garnet. But it did. Because it was from Y/N. Because she picked it like she saw right into Wanda’s soul. Because she always saw her.

Wanda pulled back from the kiss just far enough to look her in the eye. Y/N still had on the ridiculous Santa coat, half-falling off her shoulder now, the white trim brushing Wanda’s wrist where she gripped her.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

Wanda’s voice was low. Raw.

“Stay.”

Y/N blinked. “Wands—”

“Stay,” she whispered again, more desperate this time. “I know we can’t sleep together tonight. I know my dad’s still awake and the doors creak and everything’s a risk, but… I need you. Just for a little while. Right here.”

****

She leaned in, kissing her again — slower this time, more insistent, more aching. Her hands slid down Y/N’s sides, tugging at the Santa coat until it dropped to the floor without a sound.

Y/N’s hoodie was underneath. Familiar. Soft. The one Wanda had stolen more times than she could count.

She pushed it up slowly, hands grazing warm skin.

Y/N didn’t stop her.

Didn’t hesitate.

Instead, she helped, pulling it over her head and letting it fall to the floor with the coat.

Wanda looked up at her, eyes wide, voice trembling.

“I want you.”

And she meant it in every way. Not just the way her body ached or her lips couldn’t stop kissing her. But the way her heart felt too full it might burst. The way she couldn’t imagine falling asleep on Christmas without holding her.

The way she never wanted to live another day pretending they were anything less than this.

Y/N leaned down, cupping her face gently. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

The first time they’d made love, it had been quiet and slow — sacred, almost, like a secret prayer between sinners. They’d cried. They’d held on. They’d whispered things neither of them had the courage to say in daylight.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, Wanda was hungry.

She pulled Y/N to her like the world was ending, mouths crashing, hands wandering with more urgency. The weight of days spent pretending, every dinner where she sat across from her like they were strangers — it all came rushing to the surface.

Clothes were shed with feverish hands. The covers pulled back. Skin met skin.

She climbed into her lap, straddling her, breathing hard already. Her fingers traced over Y/N’s chest, down her stomach, lower — until she felt her twitch beneath her touch.

“You’re already so hard for me,” Wanda whispered, her lips trailing from Y/N’s jaw to the hollow above her heart, breath warm and trembling.

Y/N groaned, hands clenching at Wanda’s hips like she was barely holding herself back. “You drive me crazy.”

“Good,” Wanda breathed, eyes dark and full of nothing but want. She lifted her hips, slow and deliberate, guiding Y/N exactly where she wanted her — just at her entrance, her whole body aching to feel her.

But Y/N’s grip tightened suddenly. “Princess… condom.”

Wanda froze, eyes fluttering open to meet hers. Y/N’s voice had dropped to a strained whisper — low, tender, and completely serious.

Her chest rose and fell with control she was clearly fighting for.

“I want you so bad,” she said, eyes searching Wanda’s, “but not without one. Not tonight. Not like this.”

For a second, Wanda just stared — breathless, body still pulsing with need.

And then she kissed her.

Hard. Slow. Full of love.

“I love you,” she murmured between kisses. “And I love that you stopped.”

Y/N smiled weakly, forehead pressing against hers. “I’m trying so hard to be the good guy here.”

Wanda let out a shaky laugh, sliding her fingers gently through Y/N’s hair. “You’re already the best one.”

They sat there in silence, heat simmering between them — half-naked, breathless, trembling from the weight of holding back.

But Wanda wasn’t holding back anymore.

Without a word, she reached toward her nightstand and opened the drawer. Y/N tilted her head curiously — until she saw the small, familiar box inside.

“Wait… are those—?”

Wanda glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Stole them from your room last week.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, a laugh caught in her throat — stunned, amused, and completely turned on. “You planned this?”

“No,” Wanda said breathlessly, tearing one of the foil packets open with her teeth, her fingers already moving to unroll it down Y/N’s length, “but I wanted to be ready in case I couldn’t stop myself.”

Y/N swore under her breath — hands gripping her thighs now, muscles tight with restraint.

And then — she wasn’t holding back either.

Because the second the condom was on, Wanda didn’t wait.

She met her gaze — eyes wide, mouth parted — and slowly sank down onto her, inch by inch, every part of her aching to feel all of her.

Y/N gasped, her hands flying to Wanda’s hips, holding her there as she filled her completely.

“F—Wanda,” she choked, voice ragged. “You feel…”

Wanda whimpered, head falling forward onto Y/N’s shoulder. “I know.”

It wasn’t their first time — but it never stopped feeling overwhelming. Never stopped making her feel like she was unraveling from the inside out. Y/N always filled her like they were meant to fit this way.

Wanda shifted slightly, hips rocking slow, making them both moan into each other’s mouths.

This wasn’t just sex.

This was the culmination of every stolen moment, every whisper, every aching night of pretending across the hall.

And now… there was no pretending.

Wanda gripped Y/N’s jaw, kissing her hard, hips moving with quiet desperation — like if she stopped, the whole moment might slip away.

And Y/N — God, Y/N held her like she was sacred.

Wanda’s body trembled as she adjusted to the fullness of her — the stretch, the ache, the way Y/N fit so deep inside her it almost hurt. But it was the kind of hurt she craved. The kind she’d waited for all day.

Y/N’s hands moved instinctively — one sliding up Wanda’s back, the other staying firm on her hip, grounding her as she breathed through the slow roll of her hips. Wanda’s forehead pressed against hers, strands of her dark hair clinging to damp skin.

Each movement was quiet but intense — like the room had been carved out of time just for them. The house creaked faintly in the distance, the hum of twinkle lights low behind the hush of their breathing. Outside, snow fell in steady silence.

Inside, Wanda moved with rhythm — fluid and steady, chasing the friction, chasing the feeling only Y/N could give her. She whimpered softly, her hands braced against Y/N’s shoulders now, using the leverage to sink down harder, deeper.

Y/N was panting now, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on her like she was watching something holy. “You feel so good,” she whispered. “So damn good, baby.”

Wanda moaned, her voice catching on a breath. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

She leaned in and kissed her again — messier now, needier. Their mouths moved in time with their bodies, open and hot and gasping between every slow grind of Wanda’s hips.

Y/N’s hands slid down to grip her ass, pulling her in closer, deeper — a sharp shift in angle that made Wanda cry out, her head falling back as pleasure burst across her nerves.

“Right there?” Y/N asked, voice tight.

“God, yes,” Wanda gasped, grinding harder now, chasing it. “Please—right there. Don’t stop.”

Y/N obeyed — thrusting up into her with perfect pressure, perfectly timed, syncing her movements with Wanda’s body like she knew it better than her own.

It was intense — not rough, not rushed — just desperate. Desperate to feel everything. Desperate to let go in the arms of the only person who ever made her feel safe.

Wanda’s moans turned breathless as she got closer, her rhythm faltering, body shaking.

“I’m gonna—” she whimpered.

Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist, holding her so tight it was like she was afraid she’d disappear. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Come for me, Wands. Let go.”

And Wanda did.

Her body arched, her head thrown back, thighs trembling around Y/N’s hips as her orgasm crashed through her — all heat and pressure and love and Y/N. She clung to her through the waves, gasping her name, pressing frantic kisses to her cheek, her lips, her neck.

Y/N followed moments later — hips jerking up as she buried herself as deep as she could go, muffling her own cry against Wanda’s shoulder as she came with a shudder, her grip tightening around her as if she could pull her into her skin.

They collapsed into each other — tangled and flushed and breathless, chests heaving, the taste of each other still warm on their lips.

****

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Just their breathing. Just their hearts, still racing.

Then Wanda kissed the corner of Y/N’s mouth, softer now. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

Y/N smiled lazily, her voice hoarse. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

They stayed wrapped in each other, Wanda tucked into Y/N’s chest, the glow of her little Christmas tree casting a faint halo around them.

After a beat, Wanda tilted her head up slightly, her voice barely audible. “Do you think we were too loud?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, brushing her fingers through Wanda’s hair. “Probably.”

Wanda buried her face back against her. “Worth it,” she murmured.

For a secret love, it never felt more real.

Because this?

This was theirs.

And nothing — not even the walls around them — could take that away.

---

Christmas Morning

December 25th – 9:03 AM

Wanda’s POV

Snow.

Wanda hadn’t even needed to look outside to know — she’d felt it in the quiet. The way the world muffled beneath it. The way light reflected off her ceiling just a little differently.

But when she finally opened her curtains… her breath caught.

Everything was white. The yard, the trees, the rooftops. Like the world had been dipped in powdered sugar. Fat flakes still drifted lazily down, twirling like they had nowhere better to be.

A white Christmas.

It felt like a promise.

Downstairs, the house was already alive — coffee brewing, Christmas music humming softly from the speaker, and the sound of Melissa laughing somewhere in the kitchen.

Wanda padded down the stairs in her thick socks, wrapped in a cardigan, her new necklace still warm against her skin. Her whole body still hummed from the night before, and the second her eyes found Y/N — standing in front of the fireplace, already holding two mugs — her lips curved before she could stop them.

Y/N smiled at her like they hadn’t just made love hours ago. Like she hadn’t snuck back to her room at 3 a.m. with flushed cheeks and shaky legs. Like everything was perfectly, beautifully normal.

Wanda liked that smile best.

“Merry Christmas,” Y/N said softly, offering her a mug.

“Merry Christmas,” Wanda whispered back, brushing her fingers just slightly through Y/N’s hair, tender and quick — barely more than a caress.

But it lingered. Like it always did.

From across the room, Melissa had just stepped in from the kitchen, a plate of cinnamon rolls in hand. She paused, just for a second — eyes catching the moment between the two girls.

The way Wanda’s fingers lingered a beat too long. The way Y/N looked at her like she was the only person in the room. The soft kind of moment that said more than either of them ever would aloud.

Melissa blinked, lips parting slightly in something that might have been realization — or confusion.

But she didn’t say anything.

“Cinnamon rolls are up, everyone. Fresh from the oven. Don’t make me bribe you with frosting,” Melissa said, her tone light as she turned to the table, plate in hand.

Y/N cleared her throat softly and stepped back, creating just enough space between her and Wanda to look casual — normal. Wanda sipped from her mug, cheeks pink, though she didn’t know if it was from the heat or the lingering memory of last night still burning under her skin.

Neither of them noticed Melissa’s brief glance in their direction. The way she’d paused — just a breath — before continuing with a practiced smile.

A moment later, the rest of the house came alive.

Crystalia’s parents appeared from the guest room, warmly bundled and smiling, murmuring greetings as they entered the living room. Olek joined from upstairs, already sipping his coffee, his hair still slightly damp from a quick shower. Pietro shuffled out of the kitchen with frosting on his cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes and Crystalia trailing behind him in one of his hoodies.

“Alright,” Olek said, clapping his hands. “Presents. Let’s get this circus going.”

Everyone gathered around the tree — a little mismatched in their morning clothes: oversized sweaters, sweatpants, borrowed socks, and sleepy smiles. Wrapping paper shimmered under the soft lights of the tree, and mugs were tucked safely beside the couch legs.

Melissa sat cross-legged near the fireplace, sorting gifts into small piles with practiced efficiency. “Okay — Y/N, this one’s for you. Wanda, from Crystalia’s mom. Pietro, stop touching everything. Crystalia, here—careful, it’s fragile.”

Laughter filled the room as each person unwrapped gifts one by one. There were scarves and books, funny socks, candles, and a heated blanket that caused a minor tug-of-war between Crystalia’s parents before they declared joint custody.

When Wanda unwrapped a box from Crystalia, she found a little jar of homemade lip balm and a snowflake-shaped necklace with a small note that read: “For the winter witch of the house.”

She smiled gently. “Thank you. It’s really lovely.”

Crystalia beamed. “I thought you might like it. It reminded me of you.”

Wanda’s fingers brushed her current necklace — the one Y/N had given her the night before. The gift she hadn’t taken off since. Her chest ached just a little with the memory.

Then came the “step-sibling” gifts.

Y/N stood and crossed the room, handing Wanda a small wrapped box. “This is from me,” she said with a casual smile. “Hope it’s not too lame.”

Wanda smiled back, heart fluttering, even as she took the box with careful hands. “I doubt it.”

Inside was the leather-bound journal — warm brown, soft to the touch, with gold stars and her initials delicately pressed on the corner. Her breath caught for a moment as she traced the pattern with her thumb.

“I thought it could hold some of your thoughts,” Y/N added quickly. “Or whatever you want.”

Wanda looked up, and their eyes met — just a second too long. Just enough for it to be something.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

In return, she gave Y/N the soft, forest-green scarf she’d knitted herself over several nights in secret. Y/N’s expression when she unwrapped it — full of surprise, pride, and something deeper — made Wanda feel warmer than the fire behind them.

“I love it,” Y/N said, already looping it around her neck. “Wait, did you actually make this?”

“I did,” Wanda admitted. “Took me three weeks. Pietro thought it was for him at one point.”

“Tragic,” Y/N deadpanned, and the group laughed.

Wanda leaned in, close enough for no one else to hear, and whispered into her ear with a teasing smile, “My other gift was me last night… which you can have again tonight.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly, her breath catching — but she played it off with a sip of cider and a sly grin.

Olek passed around more cinnamon rolls while Crystalia’s mom commented on the craftsmanship of the scarf, and Pietro cracked jokes about not getting any homemade gifts. The morning drifted into soft music and the rustle of wrapping paper, familiar banter and the clink of mugs.

And underneath it all, Wanda felt it — the thread that tied her to Y/N even in the middle of a room full of people.

She could still feel the weight of Y/N’s hand on her hip from last night. Still hear her whisper “I love you” against her skin. And now, across the room, beneath the flicker of pine-scented candles and warm laughter, she saw it in Y/N’s eyes too.

Even in secret, even hidden in plain sight… they were still theirs.

---

The morning passed in a cozy blur of gifts, sweet rolls, and warm smiles. By late morning, the snow outside had thickened into a sparkling white blanket, blanketing the trees and rooftops like a postcard. It was the kind of snow that begged to be played in.

“Come on,” Pietro said, already tugging on his boots by the front door. “It’s a crime to stay inside when it looks like this.”

“I second that,” Crystalia added, looping her scarf around her neck. “I haven’t seen snow like this in years.”

Wanda exchanged a quick glance with Y/N. A secret smile passed between them before they stood together, grabbing their coats and mittens by the entryway.

Minutes later, the four of them stepped outside into the cold, their breath misting in the air, boots crunching over the soft, untouched snow.

The world was still — white and hushed and perfect.

“It’s beautiful,” Wanda whispered, eyes lifted toward the tree branches overhead, heavy with snow.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, but she wasn’t looking at the trees. She was looking at her.

Then — splat.

A snowball exploded against Y/N’s shoulder, bursting into powder.

“What the hell!?” Y/N turned around just in time to see Pietro grinning like the devil, already scooping another snowball.

“You did not just start this,” Y/N growled, dropping to her knees to gather a fistful of snow.

“Oh, it’s started,” Pietro grinned. “Consider this payback for stealing my hoodie last week.”

“That was Wanda,” Y/N laughed, lobbing a snowball that missed by inches.

Chaos broke loose.

Wanda shrieked as Crystalia ambushed her from the side, snow flying. Y/N tackled Pietro into a snowbank, both of them yelling and laughing, rolling as snow clung to their clothes and hair.

“You traitor!” Wanda gasped at Crystalia, who was already preparing another snowball with an innocent smile. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the winning side,” Crystalia winked.

Y/N rolled off Pietro and caught her breath, cheeks flushed, scarf slightly crooked. She looked over to Wanda — her hair messy with snow, her lips parted, laughing freely as she chased after Crystalia with a wild grin.

God, she was beautiful like this.

Wanda caught her looking and beamed, eyes sparkling.

Y/N didn’t even notice Pietro arming himself behind her.

Whack.

Snow exploded across her back.

“You’re both dead,” Y/N muttered, standing up slowly.

And that was when the real war started.

They ducked behind trees, leapt over garden hedges, and made makeshift forts from shoveled snow. Pietro ran like a maniac, Crystalia screamed gleefully every time she scored a hit, and Wanda and Y/N fought back to back like it was them against the world.

Laughter echoed through the yard, loud and alive, until they were all breathless and collapsing into the snow together.

Wanda’s breath fogged in the cold as she lay half on top of Y/N, cheeks pink, snowflakes clinging to her hair. Y/N reached up, gently brushing a flake from her lashes. Wanda smiled — flushed, radiant, warm despite the snow soaking through their coats.

“You’re kind of a lot to look at,” Y/N whispered, that signature crooked grin tugging at her lips.

Across the yard, Pietro groaned theatrically. “Seriously? Even now? You two are soaked and freezing — stop flirting!”

Crystalia laughed from behind a snowbank, already packing another snowball.

Wanda didn’t answer. She simply laced her gloved fingers through Y/N’s, leaned in close, and whispered, “Best Christmas ever.”

Y/N brought her hand to Wanda’s lips, kissing her knuckles softly. “Not even close to over yet.”

From the porch, Melissa had just stepped out with two towels draped over her arm and a thermos of hot cocoa in hand. Her eyes swept across the yard—

And landed on them.

Y/N and Wanda, tangled together in the snow. The way their bodies leaned into each other — so familiar. The way Y/N looked at her. The way Wanda smiled back like there was no one else in the world.

Melissa blinked.

For half a second, something in her chest tightened — something half-formed and unfamiliar. But then she shook her head lightly and let out a soft huff of breath, watching it cloud in the winter air.

I’m overthinking, she told herself. They’re close. They’ve always been close. It’s been a weird year — it’s nothing.

She gave a short, amused chuckle and called out, “If you four don’t come in soon, you’re going to turn into snowmen!”

Pietro whooped and dove into a snowbank again. Crystalia shrieked. Y/N and Wanda separated a bit, sitting up as if nothing had passed between them — and Melissa, for her part, smiled to herself and turned back inside.

She didn’t linger on it.

Didn’t let her mind go further.

It was Christmas. And kids being kids in the snow — that’s all she saw.

At least… that’s what she told herself.

---

The week between Christmas and New Year’s passed in a dreamy blur of leftover sweets, movie marathons, and nights spent bundled in blankets while the cold crept against the windows.

Wanda and Y/N kept close — as much as they could.

During the day, they were careful. Subtle. Wanda sat beside Y/N on the couch instead of in her lap. They stole moments in the kitchen when no one was looking. Held hands beneath the blanket when the living room lights were dim. Whispered jokes into each other’s necks behind the hum of the dishwasher.

But at night… they were themselves.

They’d perfected the quiet shuffle of sneaking down the hall once the house was asleep. Wanda’s bare feet against cool floors, the thrill of slipping into Y/N’s room in her oversized hoodie, her heart racing as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

There were kisses — slow, endless, reverent.

There were whispered wishes.

And always, there was love.

Now it was the last day of the year.

New Year’s Eve.

The house buzzed with a casual energy — not a party, but a cozy sort of celebration. Melissa had made her famous stew. Crystalia’s parents were still in town and had helped hang paper lanterns on the porch. The living room was full of the sound of music, soft lights, and the clinking of glasses.

Wanda stood in front of the mirror in her room, fluffing her hair slightly and smoothing the edge of her sweater. Behind her, Y/N leaned in the doorway, already dressed — simple, clean lines and that same crooked smile Wanda never got tired of seeing.

“You look beautiful,” Y/N said softly.

Wanda smiled into the mirror, cheeks blooming with warmth. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

She turned, walked over, and slipped her arms around Y/N’s neck. “Midnight’s going to be torture.”

Y/N grinned. “Maybe we’ll just have to sneak our own countdown.”

Wanda pressed a kiss to her jaw, whispering, “I like the sound of that.”

A knock on the door made them jump apart — Pietro’s voice called from the hallway. “Your mom says come down. She’s pouring sparkling cider.”

Wanda cleared her throat. “Coming!”

Y/N winked, squeezing her hand once before stepping away.

Downstairs, the whole family was gathering. Glasses were passed around, music was turned up just a little, and Olek brought out an old disposable camera that made everyone groan and pose anyway.

It was warm. Familiar. Safe.

And as the clock neared midnight, Wanda found her way beside Y/N on the couch — their knees just touching, the pressure subtle but constant.

The countdown began, everyone joining in, voices overlapping:

“Ten… nine… eight…”

Wanda’s heart raced.

“Seven… six… five…”

She turned slightly toward Y/N, her lips parting in a barely-there smile.

“Four… three…”

Y/N tilted her head, eyes soft, gaze full.

“Two…”

One.

Everyone cheered, cider spilling and laughter echoing.

Wanda leaned in quickly, brushing her lips against Y/N’s cheek, close to her ear — too quick for anyone else to notice, but lingering just long enough to count.

“Happy New Year,” she whispered.

Y/N’s fingers brushed hers under the blanket, hidden from sight, but nothing about it felt small.

Because in that quiet, fleeting moment — they rang in the new year the way they always had.

Together.

---

The magic of winter break faded the way snow does — slowly, quietly, leaving behind a chill that lingered.

Soon, the house filled with early alarms and rustling backpacks. Crystalia and her parents had gone home. Decorations were taken down. The tree was gone. And with the new year officially underway, school started again.

Wanda stood in front of the mirror, tugging at her sweater collar, brushing out her hair like it mattered more today than usual. It wasn’t nerves exactly — it was something else.

Something like wanting to be seen.

She stepped into the kitchen just as Y/N was tying her scarf, her green one — the one Wanda made her. Their eyes met, and just for a second, the world softened.

Y/N didn’t say anything.

She just smiled, reached past Wanda to grab her thermos, and bumped their shoulders gently on the way out.

By the time they pulled up at school, the parking lot was already filling. Students moved in sluggish waves, bundled against the cold, carrying the weight of routine on their shoulders.

Wanda waited until they were out of the car before she let herself look.

Y/N was walking just ahead, laughing at something Pietro said, her breath misting in the air. Wanda’s gaze lingered — the slope of her shoulders, the way her hair curled around her scarf, the soft red knit gloves she wore.

Natasha and Carol were already near the entrance, waving them over. MJ and Peter leaned against a pillar, deep in discussion about something Wanda could already tell she wouldn’t understand.

As they reached the group, Carol raised her brow dramatically. “Well, look who decided to return to the land of the living.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We were literally just off for two weeks.”

“And yet,” MJ said dryly, “you somehow look more married than ever.”

Wanda coughed, face flushing. Pietro choked on his coffee.

Nat smirked. “Okay, but seriously. Did you two even leave the house?”

“We were snowed in,” Wanda said too quickly.

“By choice,” MJ deadpanned, making the others laugh.

Y/N just shook her head and reached into her bag for her class schedule. “New year, same chaos.”

But as they walked inside — surrounded by the crowd, the noise, the rush of returning to normal — she slipped her hand behind her back and brushed her pinky against Wanda’s.

Barely there.

But Wanda felt it. And she hooked her pinky in return, heart steady.

They were back in the real world now — where secrets had weight, and love had to be quiet.

But it didn’t matter.

Because they weren’t the same girls they were before.

They knew what they had.

And neither of them was letting go.

---

[diejager]

if you’re still writing for the monster 141, what about a bay hybrid reader, who is just on the edges on going into hibernation because the base is in a colder area/remote snowy location

I’m gonna assume you mean bear?

Cw: bear hybrid!readr, hibernation, binge eating, hoarding, tell me if I missed any.

Winter was creeping closer and closer by each day, your instinctual need to sleep away the cold calling to you louder than the prior days. There was a bone-deep exhaustion that clung to you, the heaviness that cold weather brought to you was a constant and nagging feeling that urged you deeper in the nest you’d built yourself in your dark room. Your curtains drawn, lights often closed and locks installed, you’d spent the weeks preparing, hoarding soft pillows, thick blankets and clothes from people you were familiar with. 

They were surprised when you brought it up, blinking tiredly and occasionally yawning in the afternoon, stumbling between everyone’s rooms with a small plea on the tip of your tongue. You took whatever they were willing to give you: a blanket from Price and Rudolfo, a shirt from König and Gaz, a jacket from Ghost and Horangi, and a pillow from Soap and Alejandro. As long as it smelled like them, a lingering reminder that you weren’t alone in your humid room, their musk grounding and safety. You wouldn’t be alone.

Price had known you were - like most bears - prone to hibernation, taking between one to three month of your year sleeping away the cold, sinking into your mountain of fabric and sleeping off the coldest months. Your time depended on the year, the warmer it was, the less you slept, and the colder it was, the longer you slept. It might’ve been a bother in people’s eyes - humans - but it was instinctual, a primal part of your brain that still clung to your ancestors who strayed from the path of being normal bears. You couldn’t ignore the pull, the call to sleep, it wasn’t possible for a bear like you, and you were fortunate to have such accommodating teammates.

You grew hungrier, your stomach becoming an endless pit, an abyss that kept taking dish after dish, stocking up in fat and calories that you’d burn during your sleep, keeping you sustained and alive without having to wake up. You ate whatever you that was within your reach, the cold bread, the warm milk, the leftover of two days ago or Soap’s surprisingly good cooking, nothing was safe when you were a big and grumpy and hungry bear near hibernation. Ever supportive and helpful, Soap and Alejandro would jump in to cook for you, hooking Gaz and Rudolfo into being their sous-chef whenever they were free. It was the delicious scent of home cooked and warm meals that brought you to the kitchen, if it wasn’t a call for fixing up someone, it was the smell of good food. 

You were ravenous, gulping down the many, many plates the duo - occasionally quartet - placed on the table, their chests puffed up pridefully at your quick eating, you were practically breathing them in. Your constant eating helped you pack some weight, your skin stretched to accommodate your growing amount of fat that would ultimately burn over the months. And when the day came, you were low on energy, grumpy and easy to anger, your patience running paper thin, bidding your goodbyes and see you soon, wrapping your arms around them and teasing them about missing you during your lockdown. 

You’d sleep through the cold winter months and wake up to a warmer and busier time, to a welcoming and excited team that had spent the better half of winter waiting impatiently for the TF’s medic to wake up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[yeyinde]

THE WINTER SOLDIER AU IM GOING CRAZY BARK BARK BARK WHDHWJHDJFHWIS EJWKBTJWJF i can’t stop thinking about winter soldier John being mad as hell that you aren’t wearing your ring (not that you have one lol) and Laswell lying having to say that you couldn’t wear it for safety reasons (so nobody would know you’re his wife) and john being so mad but grumbling and somewhat understanding but immediately going out of his way to get her a ring

i'm loving the thought of him in the jeweller, having a Bucky Barns Seeing Through the Winter Soldier Programming moment as he stares down at this ring, knowing damn well he never got you one to begin with, but unable to fight this thing inside of him that operates him like marionette.

(even worse when no one knows what end goal Makarov has for making him take a random civilian like this. until they realise: that was never Makarov's plan. this, whatever it is, is all Price.)

it makes giving in a little bit easier knowing that there's nothing nefarious about it, and it's just one man's tragic way of clinging to stability amid three years of torture.

so. you put the damn ring on even though it doesn't fit. make him dinner. kiss him goodbye each morning when he leaves like a dutiful wife, and greet him every evening when he comes home. life turned upside down and filled with how was your day's and are you John again?'s whispered out soft as satin, afraid to disturb this tentative peace, but aching to know mister Price? when you look at me do you see the secretary you could barely stomach being around, or do you—oh, still the wife? okay.

but it's getting harder and harder to bat him away when he drags you into bed with the sole intention of consummating this farcical marriage, and the ring on your finger (kept on in half-pity, heart aching sympathy, and the hefty severance pay Laswell mentioned to you via courier pigeon because you know John has that house on LOCK) only seems to spurn him on harder, bluntly refuting your clumsy excuses and settling for an ultimatum when brute determination won't work:

if you won't consummate this marriage with him, then you're signing the marriage license he had his passel of lawyers draw up in the morning. deal?

[radishaur]

Snowfall (Trafalgar Law x Reader)

Warnings: spoilers for Dressrosa and Law's backstory as well as the briefest mentions of Punk Hazard

Summary: The Heart Pirates stop at their first winter island since Dressrosa and everybody else has turned down your offer to join you in ice skating, which leaves only one option - Law.

Author’s Note: I do, in fact, have a million other fics I'm supposed to be writing, but unfortunately, this idea took hold of me, and I had to give in. It gets a little shitty at the end and I'm not entirely happy with it, but oh well. Some of this does turn into somewhat of a character study, but I hope you guys enjoy regardless!

Edit: Tell me why I was so tired when I posted this I forgot to add a title. Please ignore that if you already saw this LOL ;_;

"Are you sure you can't come with?" you begged, holding your hands together in a plea before Bepo, who only frowned with guilt.

"I promised Captain I'd go with Penguin and Sachi to keep them out of trouble. I'm sorry," he apologized, bowing his head. "Why don't you ask Ikkaku?"

You crumpled into him dramatically, throwing your arms around him as you complained. "I already asked her! She told me she has the equivalent of two left feet and wouldn't go with me."

Bepo patted your back as you sighed. It was an unspoken rule that the Heart Pirates never stopped at a winter island for long unless it was absolutely necessary. Aside from Punk Hazard, you'd never known Law to willingly leave the Polar Tang at a winter island since crossing into the Grand Line. So, when Law had announced the next island they'd be stopping at was a winter island and that they'd be there for the whole day, you'd been surprised to say the least, but you'd quickly decided to make the most of it.

You'd always been a fan of winter, and it had been years since you'd been able to go ice skating, so you'd asked every single crew member possible to join you once you landed. However, every single one of them either already had plans or didn't want to go. Bepo was your last chance at having a partner for the day, and you'd just struck out.

"I guess it's just me then," you sighed, slightly disappointed but determined nonetheless.

"Are you sure you'll be ok?" Bepo asked, wringing his hands nervously. He shuffled slightly on his feet as he considered his words. "Ice skating is pretty dangerous and normally you're fairly..." "Clumsy?" you supplied, the admission coming easily. It was true that you were fairly uncoordinated, constantly being unaware of the space around you. It earned you more than your fair share of injuries and Law, in turn, more than his fair share of stress for your well-being. Bepo winced slightly at how blunt you were, but shook his head in agreement. "I'll be fine," you assured him, "I'm more at home on the ice than I am on my own two feet. Don't stress about it, okay?"

With that, you waved goodbye to Bepo before zipping up your coat and pulling the scarf around your neck up a little higher to cover the bottom half of your face. Your first step off the submarine's walkway had you smiling excitedly. It was a gorgeous day out, the sun high in the sky and only sparse wispy clouds floating across the otherwise blue sky. There was a sparkle in the air as little snowflakes drifted in the breeze, and the snow that coated everywhere the eye could see glittered subtly under the sun's rays.

A large number of the crew members were gathered around the snowy bank where the Polar Tang had been tucked away from view. You saw a group of them making their way towards the town and quickly ran to keep up with them. You made idle conversation, Jean Bart telling you excitedly about some bakery in town he wanted to see, and before you knew it, you were in the village. You parted ways with them and went off to find somewhere to rent ice skates. Since it was a winter island, such a task was relatively simple and within minutes of parting from the group, you were on your way to the woods to find somewhere secluded to skate.

After a few minutes of trudging through the snow, you wandered out into a clearing not far from where the Polar Tang was hidden. The area was surrounded by snow-covered birch trees and right in the middle was a frozen pond, untouched by anyone else. You quickly sat down and swapped out your boots for the skates. With the proper footwear now on, you stepped tentatively out onto the ice, testing your weight before fully pressing down. The ice held underneath you as you began skating towards the middle. The metal blades glided effortlessly across the ice, and you slowly began to push yourself around the pond. It all came back to you quickly, the movements and confidence feeling natural after years of training.

You're so focused on skating again that you don't hear the crunch of snow as someone comes closer. One moment you're blissfully skating on the ice, and another moment you're being startled by a familiar, gruff voice.

"What in the world were you thinking?"

The sudden intrusion startled you, and you shrieked, the sound cutting through the air as you whipped around wildly towards where the voice came from. The sudden movement caused your feet to trip over each other, and it was only due to muscle memory — and a little bit of luck — that you didn't go crashing down onto the ice, instead stumbling for a moment before catching your balance. Once you were steady, you saw Law standing at the edge of the pond, his arms crossed against his chest and a frown on his face.

"Captain! You scared the shit out of me," you scolded, heart still racing inside your chest. You glided back towards the treeline where Law was still standing and carefully slid to a stop with the edge of your skates in front of him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Law responded, his voice sharp, though not harsh.

You huffed, an easy smile pulling at your lips as you replied, "Ice skating, obviously."

Law clearly didn't find your answer as amusing as you did, however, as his frown only deepened, his lips pulling down in an obvious display of dissatisfaction. "I know that. What I mean," he continued, his voice tighter than before as he emphasized his point, "is what are you doing out here alone?"

"Well, I wanted to go ice skating but everybody else was either busy or uninterested, so I decided to go by myself rather than skip it," you explained before asking, "How'd you even find me?"

"I ran into Bepo on the way into town, and he told me you'd gone off on your own. To go ice skating, of all things," he said, the last few words said in a mix of judgment and disbelief. "You're the last person on this crew I would trust to go ice skating alone, so I came to find you. Your presence is very easy to find with Observation Haki."

"That's fair," you conceded, always the first to admit that your lack of grace often got you into trouble, "But I'm actually pretty good at ice skating. I told Bepo he didn't need to worry."

"It's not Bepo that's worried," Law snapped. Your eyes widened in surprise slightly, and your heart fluttered in your chest. Law clicked his tongue against his teeth and looked away, still frowning. You could've sworn you saw a bit of blush dusting the tip of his ears, but it just as easily could have been from the cold, so you brushed it off.

"Thanks for the concern, Captain, but I promise I'm fine. You can go back to town," you suggested, not wanting to monopolize any more of his free time.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "I just watched you trip over your own feet."

You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment and indignation. "That was your fault! You scared me," you exclaimed, quick to defend yourself.

"Besides, I'm already here. I might as well stay," he said, sounding not nearly as put out as he looked.

At this, you raised a brow. "Really?" you asked. This was highly unusual for him. You knew for a fact that the Polar Tang was nearby, even closer for Law with his Room, so the fact he was so willing to stay out here with you was odd to say the least, and you weren't one to shy away from pointing it out. "That's surprising."

Law let out a muffled growl of annoyance and embarrassment and looked to the side. "Whatever," he mumbled, hiding behind his hat like he always did when you'd poked a nerve.

You took this as your sign that you were dismissed. You smiled, just a little quirk of the lips, and began skating back towards the center of the ice. The ice still held steady under your feet, and it was easy to fall back into the rhythm of things, even with Law's watchful eyes on you.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ღ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Law sighed, his mind preoccupied as he leaned against a nearby tree. There was always something slightly unsettling to him about being on winter islands. Ever since that day, he'd never been able to look at them the same. Despite living in the North Blue for most of his life, he hadn't spent a long time on snowy islands before Cora had dragged him to every hospital he could think of. Sometimes, Law felt like the color white haunted him.

Flevance's namesake had been the White City; every building, every piece of jewelry, everything had been coated white with the very thing that would spell the demise of not only the country but Law's life as he knew it. After the horror that was Flevance and the white lead disease, there was Minion Island, and the image of pristine white snow bleeding red as the last person Law had left to care for slowly died was permanently burned into his mind. That image —the feeling of utter helplessness, of panic, of anguish — was one that even living on Swallow Island for many years after that hadn't shaken. Despite how desperately he tried, the snow always gave him a sense of dread he couldn't shake off. Even the faint white patches on Law's skin seemed to taunt him whenever he was unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of them in his reflection.

There was a long time when Law thought he might never be free of it, the odd concoction of emotions that always assaulted him on every winter island he'd come across. The second he left the North Blue, he'd done his absolute best to avoid winter islands and to make the visits to them short whenever they'd been necessary.

It had always been easier for him to run.

Punk Hazard had tested his conviction from the moment he'd stepped onto the snow bank and left his crew, left you, behind. On his worst days, it had been easy to forget that he wasn't on Minion Island; that Cora wasn't willingly signing his life away for Law to have a chance at one of his own, that Cora wasn't getting shot right in front of him, that he wasn't locked inside a box, unable to do anything but cry. It had been a harsh awakening to just how deeply everything had affected him.

But he was here now, alive by no short amount of miracles. Doflamingo was gone, locked away in the most secure prison the Grand Line had to offer, and a small amount of the weight Law had been carrying around for his entire life had lifted.

The sound of metal scraping against ice caught Law's attention and immediately brought him back to the present, where you were skating on the frozen pond in front of him. He'd been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really observe you, but now you'd caught his attention. From the moment Law met you, he'd always known you to be oblivious to your surroundings, sometimes even tripping over nothing but air. To think of you as anything other than clumsy would have been a foreign concept to Law, but now he can't think of a word that describes you less.

Your movements are smooth yet precise at the same time, the kind of confidence and skill that can only come with a lifetime of experience. Each stride was measured, with the intention of propelling you forward through each move. At one point, Law's heart jumped into his throat as you spun yourself in circles, slowly lifting one foot and picking up speed before bowing out of the move, lifting that same foot back and letting your arms fly out to the sides. Your balance was impeccable, and each move flowed fluidly into the next.

Sometimes, Law can't help but wonder how has feelings for you. You're carefree, loud, clumsy — everything he despises — and yet watching you now, gliding gracefully across the ice, he can't bring himself to look away. You've never looked so happy, so free, as you do right now.

The smile on your face is brighter than any sun Law's ever known, and the longer he looks at you, the more he feels like his heart will explode. He sighed, forcing his heart to calm down. In hindsight, his feelings for you had always been obvious. Still, it wasn't until he had returned to Zou, his mind free of Doflamingo's looming presence on his life, when you had hugged him and looked up at him through teary lashes and told him just how happy you were that he was okay, that he realized just how deeply he'd come to care for you.

Now, it was the only thing he could think of. His immediate reaction has been rather immature, and he'd taken to avoiding you, but you were as persistent as you were annoying, which meant that strategy had lasted an embarrassingly short amount of time. You were just like Cora in that way —and many other ways — selfishly forcing your way into his heart and making a home for yourself there. He hadn't even noticed until it was far too late.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to stop thinking so much. In the end, it didn't matter how badly he wanted you if you didn't feel the same, and he'd yet to muster the courage to even broach the topic. No, instead of being absorbed by his own disgusting pining, he should be watching you, making sure you're safe, like he'd intended to do by coming out here in the first place. His eyes followed you as you continued skating, the wind whipping softly through your hair and letting the ends of your scarf float off behind you. You were so focused on skating that you hadn't even noticed the scarf loosening, the fabric barely clinging to your shoulders. You seemed completely unaware of your surroundings.

So unaware that you hadn't noticed the ice underneath your feet beginning to weaken.

The sound of ice cracking echoed out across the clearing, and Law watched as your peaceful expression quickly morphed into panic, your eyes snapping open as you stared down at your feet. "Oh shit," you called out, your voice wavering slightly as the ice gave another sickening crack.

Law pushed himself off the tree he'd been leaning against and held out his hand. "Room," he shouted, the command like second nature to him. His power extended out from his hand, the familiar blue bubble growing in size until you were well within its area. You pushed your feet against the ice, skating away as fast as you could, but the third and final crack in the ice shot out in front of you faster than you could get away. Law located a nearby snowflake as quickly as he could and flipped his palm skyward. "Shambles!"

Law had never been more thankful for his timing. One moment you were stranded out on the ice, a fear in your eyes that threatened to make his throat close up at the sight of it, and the next you were stumbling into his chest. The only sign that you had been out on the ice in the first place was your scarf, which had completely fallen off in your panic. It drifted down slowly, one end of it floating down into the now open water.

You shrieked, your eyes closing in expectation for something that would never come. Law let his free hand curl around your waist, steadying you against him. After a moment, you opened your eyes and looked up at him. It was like deja vu, seeing you look up at him like this, except this time, instead of looking at him with relief during a tearful reunion, it was with fear as you grappled to make sense of what had just happened. You clutched your hands into his coat, looking over your shoulder at the huge break in the ice. "You're ok," Law said, wanting to do something to comfort you instead of just standing there, "I swapped your position at the last minute."

You breathed a shaky sigh of relief, allowing your head to fall against his chest. This close to him, Law could feel your heartbeat racing unnaturally fast, and he pulled you a little closer out of instinct.

After a few moments, you finally pulled away, decidedly calmer than you were seconds ago. You lifted your head and looked over your shoulder once more, a sheepish look on your face. "I guess you were right to worry about me..." you said, your voice trailing off as you frowned. Law didn't say anything, biting back his immediate retort. You sighed, a slightly sadder look crossing your face. "It's a shame. I really liked that scarf."

At this, he frowned. "You know I can just get it for you," he said, only slightly bothered by the notion that you didn't think he was capable of it. He did so easily, the scarf appearing in his outstretched hand before he finally let his room fade.

You looked back at him, an easy smile on your face despite the ordeal that had happened only seconds ago. "Thanks, but it's probably a lost cause. It's made of wool." You stood up abruptly, Law's arm that had been curled around you protectively falling away at the unexpected move. For a moment, you were fine, but you must have forgotten that you were in your skates and not your boots, the blade making it almost impossible to balance when not on the ice, especially for you. With a shriek, you were falling backwards. "Oh crap!"

Law let out a strangled noise before he grabbed you by the arm, yanking you back into his chest. "Why don't you sit down and put your boots back on," he insisted, watching as you nodded before letting you go.

You sat down easily enough and began untying your skates. Law sighed for what must have been the hundredth time just that day, but began to quickly squeeze the water out of the end of the scarf that had fallen into the lake. He hung it up on a low tree branch nearby, hoping the breeze would help dry it off quickly without it sustaining too much damage.

When he returned, you were sitting and staring out at the lake, both your boots on and the skates off to your side. You seemed lost in thought, and after a few moments of standing there awkwardly, he finally sat beside you.

"I'm sorry, Captain," you said softly, something akin to resignation in your voice. "I'm always making trouble for you by being an airhead. I must be quite the burden."

Law's heart clenched as he mulled over the right thing to say. If it were anyone else, he'd have already told them off, but he never could treat you like he did everyone else.

"It's true that you make trouble for me," he started. You winced, visibly bothered by the blunt admission. "But," he continued, his voice softening in a way he hadn't intended, "you're never a burden to me. It's my job as your Captain to protect you."

You were silent at first, and Law wondered briefly if he'd said the wrong thing. He was about to backtrack and say something more like his usual self, when you spoke, your voice low. "Is that it?

"Is what it?" he asked, confused.

You raised your head slowly, and the look in your eyes made his breath catch in his throat. You looked right at him, something unreadable brewing in your eyes as you frowned. "Is that really all it is? Just your job as my Captain?"

He wanted to say yes, to cut off the conversation right there and deny any additional feelings that may or may not be involved, but something about the way you were looking at him made him pause. Something about it unsettled him deeply and needled at his subconscious. The longer he looked at you, the longer he saw something that looked awfully close to hope staring back at him.

He exhaled, a mixture of resignation and finality. "No," he admitted, his voice quiet, "It's not."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, scooting closer to him as you brushed your fingers against his own.

"You should know already what I mean," he snapped, his face flushing as he looked away. You were always so difficult, so stubborn. It made him want to yell at you and kiss you at the same time. Such conflicting feelings.

"I want you to say it," you said, your pinky curling around his as you shifted closer again. "I won't make assumptions. Please, Law."

The soft call of his name from your lips made his heart stutter. You never referred to him by his first name, and to hear you do so—to listen to you say it like a plea—was enough to break him. He forced himself to look you in the eyes as he shifted your hand, his fingers intertwining fully with yours.

"I don't want to just protect you as your Captain. I want to protect you as something precious to me." The admission slipped easily off his lips, and if the way you squeezed his hand and let your head fall against his shoulder was any indication, it was exactly what you'd wanted to hear. "I'd like to do that, if that's something you want."

"Of course it is," you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder. You lifted your head, your face now just inches from his. "I've wanted that for a really long time now. Ever since I first saw you, I think." Law felt himself drawn to you. His eyes flickered down to your lips as he allowed himself to lean in closer to you. "That's a long time," was all he could muster in response, his thoughts utterly consumed by how close you were to him and the overwhelming urge to kiss you.

You huffed out a laugh, your eyes bright as you looked at him. Law let his free hand drift up to cup your face, his thumb tracing gently across your cheek. You melted into his touch, your body relaxing further against his side. After a moment of hesitation, Law finally met you in the middle, his hand drawing you closer and his lips pressing into yours for a brief, fleeting moment. He pulled away, but you chased after him, your lips pressing firmly into his own. It felt natural, and a knot finally loosened in his chest as he allowed himself to indulge in you.

You pulled away this time, slightly breathless and with a satisfied smile. Law couldn't help a small smile of his own from pulling at his lips. "That's a sight I could get used to," he said, a new warmth in his voice as he took in the sight of you.

The two of you began to make your way back to town, your skates thrown over his shoulder and your hands intertwined. You were both quiet, simply enjoying one another's presence as the snow continued to fall slowly. One day, he thought absently, he'd unburden himself to you. He'd explain everything about Flevance, about Doflamingo, about Corazon, about how those memories, those ghosts, had haunted him for most of his life. One day, he'd explain how all those things weren't so bad with you by his side, how you make it so much easier for him to move on, to relax.

But for now, he'd just enjoy the moment, the warmth he had in his heart from simply being at your side warmer than any winter he'd ever experience.

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful! 

[literaryavenger]

Back To You - Bucky Version

Summary: You've always been there for Steve, and now you're watching him go back to the girl he always wanted. And Bucky's there to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Maybe language. Fluff. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: This was supposed to be a Reader x Steve story, but I was too tempted to make reader end up with Bucky. So I decided to make two separate endings, the original with Steve and an alternate one where she ends with Bucky, if only for @ordelixx who gave me the idea. I'd also like to thank @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for the idea and for helping me write about other characters. This is Bucky's version. Steve version here.

Masterlist

You know what’s about to happen. You know he’s gonna leave, you know he’s not gonna come back, you know you’ll never see him again.

You know he’s gonna try to have the life he always wanted with the girl he always wanted. The girl he loves.

And that girl is not you.

You watch him as he says goodbye to Bucky, you know he knows as well as you do that his best friend isn’t coming back.

Then Steve turns to you and you try your best to smile.

“I wish I had met you earlier.” he whispers as he kisses you on the forehead and you know in that instant this is really goodbye.

You smile and nod, not being able to get a word out, willing yourself not to cry.

He walks onto the platform and soon he’s gone.

You’ve been by Steve’s side ever since he came back from the ice. You were the agent assigned to watch over him, you were there when he woke up and had to run after him when he freaked out.

You were there during the battle of New York, during the fall of Shield in DC, during the whole Ultron incident and in Lagos.

You were on his side for the Accords, and you were by his side in London as he said goodbye to the love of his life. 

You were there with him and Sam in Romania to try and help Bucky, you were arrested with them and then helped fight the Winter Soldier, yet again.

You were on his side to fight against Tony and the rest of the Avengers, you got arrested again and were broken out of the Raft by him.

You spent two years on the run with him, and fought next to him in Wakanda.

You watched his dumb ass try to fight Thanos barehanded and you were quickly knocked down when you tried to help him.

You snapped like half the universe and apparently lost 5 years of your life. You came back, thanks to him, and fought against Thanos one last time.

And now you're watching him leave.

You were there to help him get accustomed to the 21st century, you were there for him on sleepless nights.

You were there for him as he cried for his lost friends, his lost love and his lost life. He always came to you when he needed to talk, to be held, help sleeping and even advise.

And you were always there for him, falling in love little by little against your better judgement.

You’re brought back to the present as you hear Sam freaking out on Bruce because Steve missed his mark and didn’t come back.

You look at Bucky and you both know what this means. He gives you a sympathetic smile and you try to give a smile back but fail.

You look away from him and take a deep breath. You turn around and start walking away.

You’re done here, and about to break down. Something you never allowed yourself to do in front of anybody, with the exception of Steve.

And now he’s gone.

You get in your car and quickly drive away, not looking back. You drive straight to Steve’s apartment.

You’ve been staying there since you came back while the compound gets fixed since your old apartment has been someone else’s home for the past 5 years.

Five years. That’s how long you’ve been gone. That’s how much of life you’ve missed. 

And now you’re left to pick up the pieces of your life by yourself, along with your broken heart.

If you were completely honest with yourself you always knew it wouldn’t have worked with Steve. You’ve never thought you were remotely good enough for him, and that was before even comparing yourself to Peggy. 

There was no doubt in your mind that she was Steve’s soulmate, and you’ve talked about her enough times to know he thought the same.

You’re taken out of your thoughts by a knock on your door. You frown and cautiously walk to it, picking up your gun from its hiding place under the coffee table.

It’s probably nothing but better safe than sorry, right?

You take a peek from the peephole and immediately roll your eyes, lowering your gun while opening the door.

“I guess you weren’t expecting company.” Bucky says, more amused than anything when he sees the gun in your hand.

You make no attempt to try and hide your annoyance as you roll your eyes again. “What are you doing here, Barnes?”

It’s not that you don’t like Bucky, you just don’t know him all that well if not only thanks to the stories Steve shared of him in the 40s.

“I thought I’d make sure you were okay. You ran out of there pretty fast.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gone. It’s a done deal, don’t see why I had to stick around.” You say crossing your arms defensively. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind your response as he simply leans on the doorway and keeps talking. “He was disappointed not to see you.”

You frown, beyond confused by a single and simple sentence. Bucky smiles and elaborates. “He lived a life. And he’s old now, but still alive.”

“Oh.” is all you can say. Steve old? You can’t even imagine it.

“He gave the shield to Sam.” Bucky continues, just making conversation.

“Really? I would’ve thought he’d give it to you if he had to choose.” Bucky frowns a little and tilts his head, seeming genuinely confused.

“Why would he give it to me?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, you were his best friend, you’re a supersoldier. I guess I just assumed.”

“None of that matters, Sam is a good man. He deserves it.” He argues, then quickly adds. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

You grin and nod, then say. “For what it’s worth you’re a good man too, Bucky. Steve thought the world of you, trust me. He never stopped thinking highly of you.”

That was nothing more than a simple reassurance for you, but for Bucky it was so much more than that.

He knew you were talking about his time as the Winter Soldier. You were telling him that, even knowing about all that, Steve never let that influence his opinion of his former best friend. He still knew who Bucky was, deep down.

Bucky never heard words like that coming from anyone that’s not Steve, and you said it so casually, like you really believe it and to you it’s no big deal to just say it.

But for him, it was everything.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the moment Bucky started falling for you.

“Why are you checking up on me, Bucky? Really?” You say after a moment, breaking the silence that fell between you.

“Steve made me promise to take care of you before he left.” He said simply.

Bucky didn’t know it then, but that was the moment your heart broke completely.

You managed to keep yourself from breaking right then and there, but Bucky could see that something was wrong.

He didn’t push it though, making conversation a little more before saying goodbye with the promise that he’d be back the next day.

And that’s what he did.

In fact, he came back everyday, no matter what, to check on you.

It started out as quick visits where he wouldn’t even enter the door, then you started inviting him in for coffee because you felt bad he came to Steve’s apartment everyday, always refusing to let you meet him somewhere else. 

After a while you started inviting him for meals, to watch a movie or just to hang out.

You almost didn’t know how, but at one point you started to really look forward to Bucky’s visits everyday, getting excited every time he knocked on the door.

It was the best part of your day, really.

You knew Bucky felt the same, it was like you both knew what was slowly happening between you and you had a silent understanding not to discuss it.

You also never discussed your feelings for Steve, but you felt like Bucky somehow knew nonetheless. 

But the more time you spent with Bucky the more those feelings seemed to fade.

You still loved Steve, still missed him, you could feel yourself letting go of him with every time you spent time with Bucky, every time he made you laugh, every time your hands would accidentally touch.

You could feel yourself falling in love with Bucky and, this time, it felt right. This time you didn’t even try to stop it. 

And it seemed like Bucky felt the same way.

Time after time he became more bold with his flirting, with physical touch, until eventually he was shamelessly hitting on you and cuddling you every time he could.

And, when you made no attempt whatsoever to stop him, it was the only signal he needed to keep going.

One day, after about a year of his daily visits, he couldn’t hold back anymore and kissed you, overjoyed when you kissed him back. He asked you out right after and you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It was the best first date of your life, but to be fair you’d been hanging out and basically dating for almost a year, so it felt simple. Effortless and uncomplicated. 

It was everything both of you needed. Your feelings for Steve were almost gone now, which is why you couldn’t even begin to explain what happened yesterday.

You were out with Bucky, hand in hand as you walked around the park, just enjoying the sunshine, when you could swear you saw Steve, not old Steve but your Steve, just standing there, looking at you and Bucky.

It was for a second, you merely glanced in his direction and by the time you turned back he was gone. 

Bucky didn’t notice anything, if not only the way you tensed and stopped in your tracks.

You thought about telling him what you thought you saw, but even you knew how crazy you would’ve sounded. So you said nothing and shrugged it off.

Because it was nothing.

Right? 

[willowsnook]

Everything But Goodbye

Mikko rantanen x bsf!reader

summary: Mikko pushes the reader away after being traded from Colorado but finds that it wasn't the best way to deal with his feelings

—--------------------------------------

MR: They’re trading me to Carolina

Your heart stopped when you got that text. It had been a frigid winter day, and you were working out of a cafe in downtown Denver when it happened. Immediately, you pulled out your phone and dialed your best friend’s number. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked, worriedly. 

“No, can you come over?” He replied, and you could hear the shakiness of his voice, even over the phone. Packing up your stuff, you rushed out of the cafe and towards your car parked nearby. Mikko only lived five minutes away but you drove your car like you were in the Indy500, making it to his place in record time. 

Your arms were around him the second he opened the door, and he buried his head into your shoulder. 

"I can't believe it," he mumbled against your sweater, his large frame trembling slightly. "Eight years in Denver... gone."

You rubbed soothing circles on his back, guiding him inside and closing the door behind you. His apartment was uncharacteristically messy—clothes strewn across the couch, half-packed boxes already appearing in corners.

"When did you find out?" you asked softly, leading him to sit on the couch.

Mikko ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes red-rimmed. "Joe called me this morning. Said it was a business decision." He laughed bitterly. "Business decision. Like I haven't given everything to this team."

You felt your own heart breaking. Not just for him, but selfishly for yourself too. Mikko had been your rock since you'd met at that Avs charity event three years ago when he’d anchored himself as a calming presence to your overwhelmed state. 

Flashback

 You were way out of your element.

The ballroom was packed, glittering with expensive dresses, tailored suits, and too many champagne flutes to count. The Avalanche’s annual charity gala was something you’d only ever read about in social blurbs or seen reposted on Instagram. But your boss had insisted on sending someone from the marketing team—and lucky you, that someone was you.

You’d barely been working with the local nonprofit for six months, and already you were sweating through your nicest (rented) dress, clutching your name tag like it was a lifeline. You kept circling the edge of the room, dodging eye contact, sipping sparkling water as if it would drown the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

It was when you nearly walked into the dessert table—again—that you felt someone step beside you.

“You trying to take out the cupcakes?” a warm, accented voice asked, amusement clear in his tone.

You looked up, startled—and kind of mortified—to see a very tall, very broad man in a tailored black suit watching you with a crooked grin.

“I—no! I’m just…circling. Strategically,” you said, flustered. “Cupcake defense strategy.”

The man laughed, deep and genuine, and you felt your stomach flip.

“I’m Mikko,” he said, offering his hand. “Rantanen.”

That name you did recognize, and your eyes widened slightly. “Right. You’re…one of the Avalanche players.”

He smiled sheepishly, like he wasn’t quite used to being recognized. “Yeah, that’s me. And you are?”

You held up your badge. “Nonprofit table. I help with community outreach.”

“Ah,” he nodded thoughtfully. “The people who make all of this actually happen.”

You blushed at the compliment, but he didn’t let it go. Instead, Mikko gestured toward the edge of the room. “Come with me. I know a quieter spot, less cupcake risk.”

You hesitated for a second, then followed him toward a quieter corner of the venue where a few players were chatting casually. Mikko introduced you to each of them with a proud smile like you were already part of the team.

By the time the night ended, you weren’t hiding behind centerpieces anymore. You were laughing, sipping real champagne, and somehow ending the evening with Mikko’s number in your phone and the promise to meet up for coffee sometime soon.

You didn’t know then that “coffee” would turn into weekly check-ins.

That check-ins would turn into friendship.

And that friendship would turn into everything.

End of flashback

“When do you have to leave?” You asked carefully.

“Plane leaves in 3 hours,” he replied and you took a sharp inhale. 

You clasped your hands together, “Okay well lets get you packed then.” 

Mikko nodded and stood up as you started moving his stuff into boxes. Keeping yourself busy was the only thing you could do to not cry so that’s what you were going to do. An hour later, you had loaded the last of his stuff into his truck and faced him, a look of uncertainty on your face. 

"So, this is it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Mikko's blue eyes met yours, swimming with emotions you couldn't quite place. The Colorado wind whipped around you both, carrying the scent of snow and something ending.

"I don't want to leave you," he admitted, his accent thicker with emotion. "You're the best thing that happened to me in Denver."

Your throat tightened. Three years of friendship, of movie nights and inside jokes, of him teaching you hockey terms, forcing you to be friends with his teammates while you introduced him to your favorite local spots—all of it compressed into this goodbye in a parking lot.

"Carolina's not so far," you lied, knowing full well it was across the country. "We can still talk every day."

Mikko stepped closer, towering over you in that gentle way of his. "But it won't be the same."

You nodded, blinking away the tears as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He held you close to his body, his hand wrapped in your hair. “It’s okay rakas, I’ll see you soon.” 

—-----------------------------

That was months ago and a lot had changed since then. Mikko for one, was now playing for the Dallas Stars. You had talked every day when he was in Carolina, even flying out there because he was struggling so much. But now that he was on the Stars–the texts and calls were way less. It was like he was treating you as a rival too. 

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Mikko's contact. Three missed calls from you, and the last text you'd sent—a simple "How was the game?"—had been on read for two days.

The Avalanche had played Dallas last night. You'd watched the whole thing, wincing when Mikko took a hard hit against the boards, cheering reflexively when he scored before remembering he wasn't yours to cheer for anymore. He looked different in green, his familiar number 96 jarring against the Stars jersey.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone onto the couch and walked to the kitchen. Your apartment felt emptier these days, even though Mikko had never lived here. It was the absence of possibility, you supposed—the knowledge that he wouldn't be dropping by with takeout or calling to ask if you wanted to grab coffee downtown.

Your phone buzzed with a text from your other hockey friend, Nathan MacKinnon. 

Going out tonight with Mikko, little place around the corner 8:00.

You shot back a quick reply, Pass, he doesn’t want to see me. 

The reply from Nate was almost instant: I highly doubt that.

—----------------------------------------------

Nate looked at your text later that night, frowning. Mikko was sitting across from him an raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s up?” 

“Funny thing,” Nate started. “I told Y/N to come out tonight but she said you wouldn’t want to see her.”

This caught the attention of Gabe and Cale who looked over at Mikko who seemed to be squirming in his seat. 

“You two were like inseparable,” Gabe said, confused and Cale nodded in agreement. 

“Things changed,” Mikko mumbled. 

“Bullshit,” Nate barked. 

Mikko stared into his beer, his jaw tightening. The bar noise swelled around them—clinking glasses, laughter, the game highlights playing on screens overhead—but the tension at their table created its own bubble of silence.

"It's not that simple," Mikko finally said.

Cale leaned forward. "Actually, it is. You either want her in your life or you don't."

"Of course I want her in my life!" Mikko snapped, louder than he intended. A few heads turned their way. He lowered his voice. "But what's the point? I'm in Dallas now. Every time we talk, it just... hurts more."

“So what? Just going to pretend she never existed?” Gabe pressed and Mikko sighed. 

“It’s easier this way, it’ll be easier for her too,” he said and the way his voice wavered had the guys decided to not press any further. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

You had moved on. Or at least tried to. Burying yourself in work, friends, and new hobbies, you finally came to terms with the fact that a future between you and Mikko wasn’t happening. Just in time for the playoffs to start and the Avs first opponent? The Stars of course. 

You didn’t want to go to the games but Nate had called you the day of game 3, letting you know that you had tickets right behind the bench and he’d be mad if he didn’t see you. 

“Those aren’t even great seats,” you mumbled to him but agreed. Your sister was in town so she officially was roped into going to the game with you. She wasn’t complaining though - she loved the attention from the team that came along with being with you. 

It was an hour or so before the game and you were chatting with Cale, his back turned to the ice. You were laughing at something he said when you saw Nate embrace someone out of the corner of your eye. Looking over, it was like the world stopped as his eyes met yours. 

Mikko froze mid-hug with Nate, his eyes locked on yours across the bench. Even from this distance, you could see the sharp intake of breath that made his broad chest rise beneath his green Stars jersey. He looked good—too good—his hair a bit longer than when you'd last seen him, his playoff beard just starting to fill in.

Your sister nudged you. "Is that him?" she whispered, but you couldn't respond, couldn't do anything but stand there as Mikko murmured something to Nate and started walking toward you.

Cale glanced over his shoulder, then back at you with a knowing smile. "I'll catch you after the game," he said, squeezing your arm before discreetly stepping away.

The closer Mikko got, the more you noticed. The dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands trembled. He stopped in front of the bench and even though he was three rows away from you, it was too close. 

"Hi," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the arena noise. That one word carried the weight of months of silence between you.

"Hi," you managed back, your sister's curious gaze burning into the side of your face.

Mikko's eyes darted to your sister, then back to you. "You look..." he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you knew too well. "Good. You look good."

"Thanks." The word came out sharper than you intended. "You too."

An awkward silence stretched between you, filled by the sounds of players warming up and fans filing into their seats. You could see his teammates glancing over, probably wondering why their star player was having what looked like a painful conversation with someone in the stands.

“Can I see you after the game?” He asked hopefully. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you replied quickly. 

“Please Y/N,” his voice softened. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Fine,” you said firmly. “I can give you my number since it seems you’ve lost it. 

He winced, “I’ll text you.” 

—---------------------------------------------

The game was painful for you in more ways that one. You took every Avs loss very personally and on top of that, you were dreading seeing Mikko post game. Your sister said she’d catch an Uber back so you found yourself waiting nervously outside the arena, in a secluded spot, long after everyone piled out. 

“Hey,” Mikko called out and you turned to see him dressed back in his game day suit, hair freshly washed. 

“Hey,” you said tiredly. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said softly, taking a step towards you. 

You took one back, “Don’t Mikko.” 

His face fell, and for a second, the silence between you was louder than the chaos inside the arena behind you. You watched as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You don’t get to say that,” you said, voice low but trembling with the weight of all the words you hadn’t spoken for months. “You don’t get to say you missed me when you were the one who disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he argued quickly, but the way he flinched at his own words betrayed him. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

You scoffed. “So all the ignored calls, the texts left on read, the silence... What was it then? Accidental ghosting?”

“I didn’t know how to handle it!” he burst out, frustration cracking through. “I was drowning in Carolina. I hated being away. And when I finally started to get my footing in Dallas, it just... hurt too much to talk to you.”

Your jaw clenched. “So instead of telling me that, you just dropped me? Like what we had didn’t matter?”

“It did matter,” he said, voice rising with urgency. “You matter rakas. That’s why it was so hard. Talking to you felt like being reminded every day of something I couldn’t have anymore.”

“That’s such bullshit,” you snapped. “You didn’t even give me the chance to figure it out. You made the decision for both of us.”

Mikko opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw ticking.

“I was there for you, Mikko,” you continued, voice shaking now. “When Carolina was a nightmare? I dropped everything and flew out. I sat in your shitty little apartment and held you when you told me you didn’t feel like yourself anymore. And the second things got hard for you, you just... erased me.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, and for the first time, his voice cracked. “I was scared that if I kept talking to you, I’d never be able to let go. And I thought maybe that was what we both needed.”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t project your fear onto me. I never asked you to let go. I never asked you to go at all.”

His face fell, guilt etched into every line. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s too late for sorry, Mikko. You can’t disappear for months and then show up and expect everything to go back to how it was.”

“I don’t expect that,” he said quickly. “I just—God, I don’t expect that. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I swear to you, I’m going to fix this. I’m not going to disappear again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You looked away, blinking fast as tears pricked your eyes. “You can’t just say that and expect me to trust you again.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me right now,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m asking you to let me earn it back.”

You crossed your arms, letting the silence stretch between you. For the first time in months, he looked like the Mikko you remembered—guard down, eyes pleading, heart on full display. But it didn’t undo the ache that had settled in your chest all season.

“I’m not forgiving you tonight,” you said firmly. “Maybe not ever.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. But I’ll be here. However long it takes—I’ll be here.”

You didn’t respond. Just turned and walked away into the Denver night, leaving him standing in the cold with nothing but the sound of your footsteps echoing behind you.

—-------------------------------------------------

True to his word he texted you nonstop over the next week. You only replied half of the time but your resolve was starting to break, especially when a bouquet of your flowers was delivered to your door. 

You watched the series against Edmonton, and you knew he had gotten through your walls when you found yourself actually sad the Stars were losing. Some Avalanche fan you were. 

Game 5 came fast and Nate had invited you to watch with some of the guys at a local bar so you went, forcing yourself to be social. Luckily Tracy, Cale’s wife, was there. You had become good friends with her over the years and it was nice to be around non-hockey playing men every once in a while. 

The bar was packed, filled with Avalanche fans who were torn between loyalty to their former teammate and wanting Edmonton to advance. You found yourself in the same conflicted boat, nervously sipping your drink as the third period wound down.

"You're stress-drinking," Tracy observed, sliding into the seat next to you. "And not because of the game."

You glanced at her, then back at the screen where Mikko was battling for the puck in the corner. "That obvious?"

"The flowers were a nice touch," she said with a knowing smile. "Cale mentioned you've been getting daily texts too."

"He's trying," you admitted reluctantly. "But trying doesn't erase months of silence."

On screen, Mikko took a brutal check and went down hard. Your heart lurched before you could stop it, and you found yourself leaning forward until he got back up.

Tracy didn't miss your reaction. "You still care about him."

"That was never the problem," you muttered, taking another sip of your drink as Mikko skated back to the bench, wincing slightly.

The game ended with Edmonton winning, putting Dallas on the brink of elimination. The bar erupted in cheers, but you felt strangely hollow watching Mikko's dejected face as he left the ice. You stayed a little longer with your friends, happy to have a distraction for the rest of the night. 

Nate’s phone had rang repeatedly and he finally noticed, taking the call outside. After a couple of minutes, he stepped back in, motioning you to come out. 

“What’s up?” You asked as you stepped out but he was still on the phone. 

“Yeah, she’s right here,” He said and handed the phone to you.

“Hello?” You asked, shooting Nate a confused look. 

“Hey Y/N,” a deep voice said. “This is Tyler Seguin, one of Mikko’s teammates.” 

“I know who you are Tyler,” you said amused. 

"Right, of course," Tyler laughed nervously. "Look, I wouldn't normally do this, but Mikko's in a bad way right now."

Your stomach tightened. "What do you mean? Is he hurt? That hit looked—"

"Not physically," Tyler interrupted. "He's... I don't know how to say this without sounding dramatic, but he's falling apart. After the game, he just sat in his stall for almost an hour. Wouldn't talk to anyone."

You leaned against the brick wall outside the bar, feeling the cool night air against your flushed cheeks. "That's just how he gets after losses. He's always been intense."

“No, this is different," Tyler insisted. “I hate to ask this I really do but I’m really worried about him. I’d pay for everything of course, but can you fly down to Dallas tonight?” 

—--------------------------------------

It was nearly 2 a.m. by the time your rideshare pulled up in front of Mikko’s place. The Dallas humidity clung to your skin as you stepped out, exhaustion creeping into your bones. You hadn’t packed anything. Just grabbed your bag, passport, and pain you hadn’t fully processed.

The front door opened before you could even knock.

He was barefoot, wearing a hoodie and joggers, hair damp like he’d just showered, eyes puffy like he hadn’t slept. He froze when he saw you, like you weren’t real.

“Hi,” you said quietly, clutching your bag to your chest.

“You came,” Mikko whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

He stepped aside, letting you in, closing the door softly behind you. The place was dim, lit only by the TV flickering in the background and the faint glow from the kitchen.

You turned to face him fully now. “I’m not here to fix everything.”

“I know.”

“And I’m still mad.”

“I deserve that.”

“And I might leave tomorrow.”

“If that’s what you need.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time, he didn’t try to hide how wrecked he was. Not just from the loss, not just from the season. From missing you. From losing you.

“I didn’t come here for you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I came because someone needed to make sure you didn’t fall apart.”

“I already did,” he said, stepping closer, not touching you but standing just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him. “You were the only thing holding me together, and I ruined that.”

You stared up at him. “You did.”

The silence between you felt heavier in the dark. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was presence. And for now, that was something.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked quietly.

Mikko shook his head instantly. “No. God, no.”

He took a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can you just… stay? Tonight?”

You blinked at him, unsure what he meant.

“In my bed,” he clarified quickly. “Just to sleep. I just—” His jaw clenched. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

You hesitated, torn between instinct and anger, heartbreak and habit. But then you saw the crack in his armor—the deep, hollow ache behind his eyes that told you this wasn’t about comfort in the romantic sense. This was about safety. Familiarity. Stability.

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Mikko’s shoulders sagged like your answer had held up the weight of the world. He moved toward the hallway without a word, waiting for you to follow.

The bedroom was exactly what you expected—minimal, a bit messy, and still clearly temporary. A few unpacked boxes in the corner. A half-finished water bottle on the nightstand. He hadn’t really settled in here. It didn’t feel like home.

He tossed you one of his clean hoodies wordlessly, and you slipped into it before crawling into bed beside him. You stayed on your side, facing the opposite direction, the space between you thick with memories and tension.

But then you felt it—his hand brushing yours beneath the sheets, tentative. A silent ask.

You didn’t pull away.

A few beats passed before you heard him whisper, “Thank you for coming.”

You didn’t answer. You just reached back and found his hand under the covers, tangling your fingers with his.

He exhaled shakily and whispered, “Hyvää yötä, rakas.”

—--------------------------------------

Morning came soft and slow.

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the sheets. You were half-awake when you felt him shift beside you, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles like he was making sure you were real.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Not until he broke the silence.

“I lied to you,” Mikko murmured, voice rough with sleep and honesty.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you, wide open, vulnerable in the way you hadn’t seen in months.

“I didn’t stop talking to you because it hurt,” he said. “I stopped because it scared the hell out of me.”

You furrowed your brow. “Scared you how?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he admitted. The words were raw, like they cost him something—but also like they’d been building for far too long. “And every time I looked at you, I saw everything I wanted. And I didn’t know how to handle wanting something I thought I could never really have.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t interrupt.

“I thought pushing you away would make it easier,” he continued, eyes never leaving yours. “That if I kept you at a distance, the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. They got worse. You were all I thought about. And when I saw you at that game…” His voice cracked. “I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to fix this.”

You swallowed hard, still processing, still feeling the edges of your heart that had cracked under the pressure of everything he’d said.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But I love you. And I’m going to prove it. Every day. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

You were silent for a long moment. The air between you charged with everything that had been broken and everything that might still be possible.

Then finally, you whispered, “You’ve got a long way to go, Mikko.”

He nodded once. “I know.”

You looked at him—really looked—and this time, you didn’t pull your hand away.

And for the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel like a lie.

[soobnny]

intro (end of the world) — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x fem!reader | exes-to-lovers ; slight angst ; reuniting summary: coming home to the province, you reunite with your first love whom you'd left behind for a life in the city wc: 2.3k words

Gongjin is a small coastal village somewhere a little far from the city. There aren’t many things to do there, but the view of the ocean and the mountains subject it to a few tourists sometimes who are looking for an escape, despite the distance.

The way to your settlement from Seoul takes three hours, but you’re not too sure.

During winter, it takes longer than usual for the train to travel, and the walk downhill is challenging with snow heavy on your boots. However, you’re a few months short of the season, and the spring sun allows you for a shorter trip home.

So, it nearly ends up taking two hours and a half for you to reach Gongjin. And when you take the first few steps into your small town, you can’t help but think of how long it’s been since you’ve felt the familiar light breeze that used to greet you every day. Not a lot has changed in those six years. It still looked as beautiful as ever. 

A gust of wind greets you as you pass the town hall, alongside the chatter of villagers around you. Behind you, the sun was slowly starting to set by the distant ocean. 

On a different day, you could almost remember everything that happened on the route to your house—the wheels of your bike making squeaking noises, the sound of barefoot running, the laughter of two people. Yours and Seungmin’s. 

A whirl of emotions emerge and sink to the bottom of your stomach as you think of your first love. The last time you were home, you’d said goodbye to him. Now, all you have left are pictures in your phone and a supercut of memories. What a grief it is that life and time work in the way they do, always forward and never back.

You decide to blot him out of your thoughts in exchange for the ambiance of the coffee shop you used to frequent. It looked the same, and you wonder if the owner is still the old woman who saw hope in you before you did. 

You pull your scarf over your nose as a few customers slip past you to exit the shop. 

“(Name)?” A familiar voice calls. 

Turning to where it was coming from, you see Hwang Hyunjin waving at you. He looked like a stranger with the way time played beautifully on his features, his now longer hair, and the way his eyes crinkled in experience. But, despite the inevitable change, he still smiled the same.

“Hyun?” You can’t help the way you mirror his smile, greeting him with a hug. He’s warmer than you remember. 

“I grew out my hair and dyed it blonde, what do you think?,” he asks.

“It’s very dramatic, but I don’t expect anything else from you.” He feigns offense at your response, and you laugh at his reaction. It was relieving to know that some things still felt the same. 

“It’s been a while since you came home.” He says, the tone of his voice significantly softer. 

A feeling akin to guilt sits on your sternum. You never got to give him a proper goodbye. You can only laugh a little, trying to shake off the heavy feeling. “How’s Kkami?”

“She’s been eating a lot these days. You should come visit and see her.” Hyunjin catches you up on all things big and small; his painting endeavors, the business he’d opened up, his driving lessons, everything that he can think of. The one-sided conversation was something he didn’t mind. He was just happy you were back, and listening to him like you always did. 

He kept going, kept words flowing, until he decided to stab the air. 

“Does Seungmin know you’re here?” 

Your heart rate begins to rise at the mention of his name, so much so that you could hear the blood pumping in your ears. “Uh, no. I actually just arrived a few hours ago.”

“You should see him. He really misses you, you know. Has for the last six years.” 

You know how devastated he was when you left is something Hyunjin decides to leave out.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, and a mix of contradicting emotions in your stomach.

Seungmin had come before the decision you made of coming to the city, and as much as your recollection of him fails because of time, he’d always been kept safe in your heart.

“Yeah, of course.” 

“I’ll tell him you’re home.” Hyunjin said no more before he wrapped his arms around you in a brief embrace and told you he had to go.

He didn’t have to narrate the details of Seungmin’s grief when you’d left him for the city, didn’t have to tell you how many nights the boy would drunkenly stumble across his apartment, asking where love was and why he hasn’t seen it in years.

He still wears the necklace you’d given him. 

Instead, Hyunjin opts to smile politely before leaving. 

+

You don’t expect anyone to visit your mother’s home except for the delivery man who had with him the water and electricity bills, and sometimes fruits he needed to deliver. No one really came by if they didn’t have any reason to.

The knock at your front door that evening came without warning. You were sure the delivery man dropped by every Saturday, four days away from the present. But you reason it could be a schedule change.

You walk past the living room where the same pieces of furniture stay in the very same places. Your mother never liked changing things and moving them around.

The doorknob scorched your fingers as you reached to open it. 

“Hyunjin wasn’t joking. You really are home.” 

Your eyes grow to double their usual size at the sheer familiarity that greets you at your door. 

“Hi.” Seungmin breathes out. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I just had to know for sure that you were… home.” 

It’s been years since you last heard his voice, but you would never lose the ability to distinguish it in a crowd of thousands. 

He had changed so much within the six years that you were gone. The long, brunette hair he’d let fall over his forehead was shorter now, and he had a broader back. He probably came with new mannerisms and routines you wouldn’t be able to recognize. But even then, he still smiled the same, he still laughed the same, he still felt the same.

“You’re here. You’re actually here.” You fail to notice the hopeful glint in his eyes, and the way he’s trying to be careful with his words. How is a conversation supposed to go after being absent for so long? 

“Mom called, said she missed me.”

“The whole town missed you, (Name). I… I missed you.” His tone is a mix of resignation, upset, and a tinge of desperation. Things like these were always hard for Seungmin to admit, but he finds he can’t withhold his honesty when he’s around you. It’s either the truth or nothing with you.

“I missed you too, Min.” And then there’s a flicker of indefinable emotion that flashes across his face at the nickname you used to call him, but he tries to make it look calculated. It isn’t fair that you still have him feeling this way, not when you’d left him.

And you don’t have the audacity to have been so cruel to him and not invite him to your home any longer, so you ask if he wants to come in, and he asks if you’re sure, and you’re not, but you let him in anyway.

+

“Hi.” Seungmin starts again.

You don’t realize how much has been deprived of you until you invite him back into your life unknowingly. And you’re unsure of what to say to him, not after so many years have passed by. Not after what you did to him.

At first, Seungmin had tried to make up for the distance between you. He’d send you messages, call once a month at least, as if it would be able to salvage whatever the two of you had left. 

In that way, you could still be a part of his life. And he kept it up, for a while, even when you long stopped replying. He wrote, and messaged, and never expected a reply until he stopped. He would never know why you’d cut contact with him. 

He would never know why you just wouldn’t remember to miss him like he did with you.

The first year, you ached for your old life. You were afraid you’d run home the longer he’d talked to you, not when you’ve worked too hard to achieve the greatness you’d always aimed for. 

“Your hair’s shorter.”

“Just wanted to try something new.” He lets out a small laugh, brings a hand to his hair in an abashed scratch.

“It looks good. Uh, sit down. Wherever you’d like.” You don’t know what else to say, or how to respond to him. You choose to walk a few steps towards your kitchen instead. “Do you still drink coffee the same way?”

“Yeah.” He takes a seat just as you turn off the faucet, setting the kettle on high heat.

There are so many things you want to say to him—things you had refused to say before and you’re too afraid to say now because they’ll all just come out wrong. They’ve fossilized in your mouth for so long.

You take the two cups and make your way towards him. “Here. It’s always cold on spring nights.” You hand one to him before hesitantly sitting next to him. When he takes a sip, you decide to say the two words that’d burdened you since you arrived.

“I’m sorry.” 

Seungmin keeps the piping hot mug in his hands.

“It’s okay.” 

While it had pained him that the only way he could get to you before were Facebook posts he refuses to mute, he’d gotten over it. It didn’t hurt as much as it brought a nauseating nostalgia. 

“But it’s not.” 

You don’t mean to, but your eyes lock with his, the same eyes you’d avoid meeting with the fear of seeing a life you could’ve lived with him if you stayed. You don’t want him to think you weren’t at least apologetic for what you did, even if it was for the better.

“I understand why you did it.” You watch his shoulders relax as he takes another sip. He doesn’t let his eyes stray away from you than the few seconds it takes to drink coffee. Genuine.

“But I hurt you.” It comes out in a whisper, and it looks like you’re beating yourself in your head. You say it like your wrists are meant to be bound in chains. Like you deserved the pain you’d inflicted on him.

“You didn’t mean to.” He mutters. He has the sound of understanding in his voice. “It’s not your fault I still think of you every single day after you left, either.”

The same moon reflected on the same surfaces even after you left, and the same stars twinkle in your absence. They make him regard your absence. They just remind him of you. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

“Do you…” Seungmin hesitates. “Do you ever think of me too?”

“All the time. I was so afraid I’d forget you.”

“Did you?”

“No. But I’ve forgotten a lot of things.” You bring your line of sight to his hands. Were his palms as warm as it was when he’d held your hand the day you left? Do you recount the way he kissed you correctly? 

“Will you help me remember?,” you whisper, meaning to say it to yourself. He hears you.

His lips twitch at your question. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. Not when he moves to sit a little closer to you, not when he sets his mug down in favor of taking your hand in his. 

How dare the city cost the feeling of his hand in yours? 

Seungmin looks at you with the kind of smile he hasn’t felt since you said goodbye to the province. A squeeze of your hand follows. It prompts you to bring your sight to his lips, and the way he’s looking at you like he did years ago. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He brushes his lips against yours so delicately. Almost hesitant. Almost hopeful that you want the same thing. You kiss him after you say another ‘sorry’.

Seungmin kisses you with the thought of never letting go, the way he had wanted to for years, the way he had been stripped of the ability to. He kisses you with the same love, the same beating heart from six years ago. There is heat, and heat, and desperation, and love, and heat when his fingers graze over your cheeks. 

When he pulls back, your mouth twitches with the urge to kiss him again. You do, and every emotion you’ve felt the past years collide into the kiss. His hands fit perfectly locked around your waist, just like they’ve always been. And while his hands were a little rough, his lips were soft, forgiving even if there was a little pain etched in it.

He snatches you by the arm and brings you to his chest when you’ve lost your breath, hands bunching in the sweater you’re wearing, the one his mom had given you many Christmases ago. 

When he holds you, you palpitate in fear of the forgetting spirit’s pursuit. That you’ll forget how this would feel again.

Seungmin holds you tighter. There is still so much to make up for all the things you’ve forgotten, and all the things he lost when you left.

He hopes he’ll be enough to make you stay this time.

note. in honor of eternal sunshine (deluxe), here’s a from the vaults fic i’ve kept in my drafts since last year. enjoy!

[callsign-mayhem]

heartbreak feels so good (part 1)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 8081 CW: Shitty boyfriends, angst, fluff, slow burn.

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

Part Two Part Three

After another day of having your feelings totally ignored by your boyfriend, you were looking forward to some alone time. Elijah was so hot and cold that you felt as though you were in a constant state of fight or flight, just waiting for him to either make your day or ruin it completely. Most of the time, it was the latter, and although good days with him were few and far between, they were enough to make you stay. See, you didn’t half-ass anything—least of all relationships—so when you were in something, you were in it. You told Elijah that much after your first date. You’d been sitting in the front of his beemer eating ice cream, having the first of many deep talks. Between sweet, sticky kisses, you’d told him that you were dating to marry. He told you he was, too. 

He said, ‘I’m yours if you’ll have me, Y/N.’ And that was that.

And it was almost a year ago. You’d survived a somewhat tumultuous winter with him, desperately trying to cling on to the version of him he’d been during the summer. As time went on, he stopped putting his mask on, secure enough in your relationship that he no longer felt the need to pretend to be caring and considerate. The days were starting to get longer, and the weather was warming up again, but Elijah was so far from the man he was at the start that you might as well have been in a relationship with a different person. Every morning, you woke up with no idea what personality to expect that day, whether or not he was going to take all his personal drama out on you, even though you only ever loved and supported him. 

Today had been one of those days, and as you finished up with the F-18 engine currently in pieces in front of you, you silently prayed that he wouldn’t text you asking to come over. He was also a naval aviator, but you were working on different parts of the base today. Thank God. Elijah’s callsign was Viper, fitting since vipers prey on small animals by envenomating them and watching them die slowly. 

Coyote appeared behind you, helmet tucked underneath his arm.

‘Hey, we’re all heading to The Hard Deck for beers,’ he told you. ‘You comin’?’ You grabbed a rag and made an attempt to wipe some of the oil off. ‘I don’t know,’ you sighed. ‘I want to, but then I’ll have to bring Elijah, and I don’t really wanna see him tonight.’ ‘Why do you have to bring him?’ Coyote frowned. ‘He’s a lousy drunk and never lets you have any fun.’ ‘If he finds out I went out with all you guys, he’ll think I’m up to something.’ ‘Like gettin’ with me?’ He joked, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘Probably,’ you laughed. ‘You or one of the others. Or maybe he’ll accuse me of getting with all of you if he’s in a particularly bad mood.’ ‘Listen, if you wanna come, you’re welcome. We’ll just make sure nobody posts about it, and we’ll get you a fake moustache or somethin’.’

It broke your heart to think about all your closest friends having a fun night without you. Over the past year, you’d lost count of the amount of experiences you’d missed out on because you didn’t want to make Elijah upset or angry with you. The worst part was it was a double standard. He went out without you all the time, didn’t tell you where he’d gone or who he was with, and expected you to be okay with it. If you weren’t, you could kiss your peace goodbye; he’d spend the next week making your life a living hell, ignoring you entirely until you apologised to him for being hurt by his actions.

‘You know what Javy? Count me in.’ He grinned. ‘Thatta girl.’ 

It was hard to regret coming out when you felt this good. It had been months since you’d gone on a night out without Elijah, which was to say it had been months since you last enjoyed yourself. As you sipped your second sex on the beach, you mused that some kind of higher power must have been looking out for you because you’d yet to receive a single text from your boyfriend. Most of the time, when you spent the night apart, he’d call you incessantly. It was annoying, sometimes bordering on obsessive, and you didn’t need him to tell you he was checking on you, or rather, checking that you were alone in your apartment. That much was obvious. 

Dating an insecure man was not for the weak.

You were sat at one of the high tables next to the window watching Jake, Mickey, Javy, and Reuben play pool. Nat was opposite nursing a beer, glowing in the golden light of the evening. Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, smiling at the notification. 

‘Rooster’s on his way,’ she told you. ‘He wasn’t gonna come out tonight, but I told him he didn’t have a choice. It’s not every day Y/N Y/L/N leaves the comfort of her apartment.’ You scoffed. ‘That’s not exactly how I’d put it.’ ‘No?’ Nat raised a brow. 

You hadn’t drunk in months, and despite only being on your second drink, the booze had loosened your lips significantly. 

‘No. It’s not that I’d rather stay home, it’s that staying home makes my life easier because then I don’t have Elijah breathing down my fucking neck.’

Little did you know, Javy had told everyone about your conversation earlier. Not because he was a gossip but because he was worried about you. It was rare for you to open up to the squad about your relationship, but it wasn’t hard to guess what happened behind closed doors. They all worked with Viper, for one, and they were familiar with his temperament. Not only that, but you dropped off the face of the Earth a few months after you started dating him, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. 

‘I don’t know why you’re still with him, Y/N. He’s an ass.’ ‘I know,’ you sighed, frowning into your drink. ‘It’s just not as straightforward as just leaving. I still love him. If I can make this work, I don’t have to start all over again with someone else.’ Nat nodded in understanding. ‘I get wanting to make it work, but at what cost? You don’t see your friends, and he uses you as an emotional punching bag. You can’t even come to the beach with us without him checking on you every five minutes,’ she reached over the table and took your hand. ‘He’s killing you.’

This was the first time someone had spoken their mind to you about the situation. While you already knew all of it, hearing it from one of your best friends hit home. Vodka made you emotional, and if not for Bradley, you would have broken down there and then. 

He walked up to the table and engulfed you in a hug, practically pulling you off your stool. You pressed your face into his shirt, inhaling the scent of clean cotton and sandalwood. Half expecting Elijah to spring out and catch you in the act, you reluctantly pulled away. 

‘Hey, Bradley.’ ‘Hey yourself, stranger. Can’t believe you’re gracing us with your presence.’ ‘I know, it’s been a while.’ ‘A while? Try six months,’ he glanced at your almost empty glass and Nat’s empty bottle of Heineken. ‘Can I buy you lovely ladies a drink?’ ‘Do you even have to ask?’ Nat retorted.  ‘What’re you drinking, darlin’?’ He asked you. You smiled sheepishly. ‘Sex on the beach.’  ‘I can make that happen.’ He smirked.

Luckily, you didn’t have to come up with a response to that remark because he turned around and headed to the bar. You locked eyes with Nat, and both of you burst out laughing.

Just like that, all the negativity you’d been feeling dissipated like rain against hot tarmac. 

Bradley came back with the drinks, and the three of you took the opportunity to catch up while the others finished their pool game. You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were to find out that you’d missed a lot. Bradley had started dating one of the medics, but the relationship had crashed and burned almost immediately. He hadn’t bothered trying to meet anyone else since. Nat, after watching all her friends have such bad experiences in the dating world, had decided she was better off alone. 

‘Honestly, I don’t blame you.’ You told her. ‘You should dump Viper,’ she said with a devilish grin. ‘And we can have a hot girl summer.’ Bradley laughed. ‘Can’t say I ever imagined you saying that, Nix.’  ‘Isn’t that what it’s called now? We can’t be that out of touch, surely.’ ‘I don’t wanna think about how old I am.’ You said, picking up your phone to see if you’d missed any texts from Elijah. You hated to think what kind of argument missing one of his calls would start.  Nat and Rooster shared a knowing look. ‘It rings, you know? Out loud.’

Being this transparent was embarrassing. 

‘I think I’m going to confiscate this for now.’ Ignoring your protests, Bradley swiped your phone and tucked it into his pocket. ‘If he calls or texts, I’ll let you know.’

You were tipsy enough not to try and take your phone back but not tipsy enough to be unbothered by the idea of Elijah calling and you not picking up.

‘If he calls, I need it back straight away,’ you told him sternly. ‘If I don’t pick up, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Bradley rolled his eyes, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. He hated Elijah the most of all your friends. Perhaps sensing some tension, Nat slid off her stool and grabbed your arm, practically yanking you off yours.

‘Let’s go pick a song,’ she suggested. ‘We can get more drinks on the way back.’

Since it had been so long since you last visited The Hard Deck, she let you choose. You picked Rebel Yell by Billy Idol, your mum’s favourite. Admittedly, you’d been missing your home town a lot more than usual lately, perhaps because you were in such a weird place mentally. Things must be worse than you thought if you were considering running home with your tail between your legs. 

As the night went on, you got drunker and drunker. Bradley watched with a bemused grin as you dragged Bob off to the jukebox again, since he was the easiest person to coerce into doing things. How Bradley wished it was him you were clinging to. Not that he was jealous of Bob—because that would be like being jealous of a puppy—he just desperately wanted to be the object of your affection. 

While you and Bob went to change the music, Bradley struck up a conversation with Natasha and Reuben, who erupted into laughter when you pulled Bob’s arm so hard he almost toppled over. 

‘It’s nice to have Y/N out, huh?’ He observed. Nat looked at him like he was the biggest dickhead in the world. ‘Come on, Bradshaw. He might be an ass, but she’s got a boyfriend.’

Bradley sipped his beer, desperately trying to come up with a believable response. Reuben smirked knowingly, which only made Bradley more annoyed.

‘I don’t have a thing for Y/N.’ ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.’ ‘Come on, Payback. You too?’ Reuben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You look at her like she’s God’s gift.’

The reason Bradley looked at you like you were God’s gift is because you were, but nobody was supposed to know that. 

‘Why do women stay with guys that treat them like shit?’ Bradley asked. ‘Depends on the woman,’ Natasha started. ‘But if you mean Y/N, it’s because she can’t do anything halfway. She told me earlier that it’s because she doesn’t want to start over with someone new, but I don’t think that’s it. She just loves so hard, and it takes a lot out of her. Why would she wanna start the process all over again if she already has someone?’ Bradley was incredulous. ‘Erm, I don’t know, maybe because he’s emotionally abusing her.’

You and Nat were close. In a way, she knew you better than you knew yourself, so she was the best person for Bradley to ask about things. Now, however, he was kind of regretting opening his mouth. Knowing why you were staying with a guy who treated you so badly didn’t make it easier to accept like Bradley thought it would; it only filled him with white-hot rage. 

‘It’s not as easy as just leaving. She has to come to it on her own.’ ‘Yeah,’ Reuben chimed in. ‘You can’t convince Y/N of shit.’ Natasha scoffed. ‘Yup, and believe me, I’ve tried.’  ‘So what, we just sit around and watch him ruin her?’ ‘Y/N’s a smart cookie and one of the strongest people I know. She’ll come to her senses, and when she does, we’ll be here.’ ‘You know, I read somewhere once that you can’t save anyone. You can only hold their hand while they save themselves.’ Nat raised a brow. ‘Damn, Payback. That might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said.’ ‘Hey, why do you sound so surprised?’ ‘You really want me to answer that?’

Bradley had a lot to think about. Realistically, he knew there was nothing he could do. His only option was to let things unfold naturally and have faith that things would work out exactly the way they were supposed to. The only problem was, that sounded too much like ‘sit back and do nothing,’ which didn’t feel right either. 

Bradley needed another drink. 

In fact, he was just about to head to the bar when you came bounding over, dragging poor Bob behind you. 

‘Roooooooooster.’ You cooed.

His heart just about melted when you started batting your eyelashes at him. 

‘What’s up, Y/CS?’

Everyone else was watching the interaction expectantly, waiting to hear what you were going to say next. 

‘You’re really pretty.’ Bradley laughed, hoping you were too drunk to notice the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks. ‘Thank you. You’re really pretty, too.’ Nat, sensing the need to intervene, came around and gently grabbed your arm. ‘Hey, let’s get you a glass of water, huh?’ ‘But I need to tell Roo how pretty he looks.’

Bradley’s heart fluttered at your use of the pet name. He really didn’t want you to leave, but Nat was right. You needed some water and probably your bed. 

‘You told him already, Y/N. And when you get back, you can tell him again.’

She started leading you away, and Bradley immediately missed your presence. 

A very flushed-looking Bob took Nat’s empty stool. ‘That girl is somethin’ else.’ He murmured, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I don’t think you should let her drink anymore.’ ‘I’m not her keeper,’ Bradley responded. ‘Can’t stop her from doing anything.’ Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but you’re all she talked about. You and the fact that there’s no Fall Out Boy in the jukebox. Pretty sure she called it a ‘fucking tragedy.’’  Bradley leaned forward. ‘What did she say about me?’ ‘You know,’ Bob waved a hand dismissively. ‘You’re pretty. Her boyfriend is gonna kill her if he finds out she’s here with you because he thinks you have a thing for her.’ Bradley was at a loss for words. Reuben, however, was grinning like a fool. ‘What was that about not having a thing for her? Even her boyfriend’s caught on, man.’  ‘How many times do I have to say I do not have a thing for-’

An annoyingly loud ringing sound interrupted Bradley’s sentence. It didn’t sound like his ringtone, but the noise was coming from his pocket. It took him too long to remember that he had your phone in his pocket, and that it was probably Viper calling. Sure enough, when he took out your phone, he was greeted by a sickeningly sweet photo of you and your boyfriend on the beach. You and Nat were still at the bar, and he knew he should just let it ring so you could call him back later. 

But something had a hold of Bradley, and he answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear before he could really process what he was doing. 

‘Y/N’s phone.’ 

A beat of silence, then some of the most colourful language Bradley had ever heard in his life. 

‘Who the fuck is this, and why the fuck have you got my girlfriend’s phone?’  ‘Y/N can’t come to the phone right now. She’s at the bar with her friend, gettin’ another round of drinks, and I just know hearing your voice would ruin her night. It’s ruined mine, that’s for sure. If you want, I can take a message, and she’ll get back to you in the morning.’

Reuben was nearly on the floor, trying desperately not to laugh in case Viper heard him. Bob had paled significantly, like he’d seen a ghost—or worse. 

‘That you, Bradshaw? I just knew something was going on-’

Bradley hung up. The severity of the situation was beginning to hit, and despite the sick satisfaction he’d felt when he picked up the phone, he was regretting his decision already. 

‘Y/N is gonna kill you, Rooster.’ Bob told him. 

Nat made the sensible decision to cut you off, but she said you could stay out with them until closing if you promised to keep drinking water and stop fucking around with the jukebox. That was how you ended up in the corner of a booth with Bradley next to you to stop you from escaping.

Not that you’d want to escape. 

Mickey had joined, and the guys were playing cards while you and Nat talked. She was catching you up on her life, and it made a change to think about someone other than Elijah for once.

That’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t checked your phone in hours, and you dreaded to think how many texts and calls you’d missed. 

‘Bradley, can I have my phone?’

He set his hand of cards down on the table and reached into his pocket. When you reached out to take it, he pulled away.

‘Before I give this to you, I need to tell you something.’

A wave of nausea hit you. 

‘What? What’s going on?’ ‘Viper called about an hour ago. You were at the bar, and I didn’t know what to do, so I answered it.’ Reuben leaned forward in his seat. ‘Oh, this is about to be good.’

You thought you knew what panic felt like, but up until this very moment, you had no idea. Bradley was lucky you didn’t throw up in his lap from the nerves.

‘What?’ ‘I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t thinking-’

You snatched your phone from him, ignoring the kicked-puppy expression he was sporting. A slew of angry text messages that were borderline abusive greeted you. You skimmed them quickly, not wanting to read too many in case you started crying in front of the entire squad. 

What started out as the best night you’d had in a while quickly turned into the worst. Your boyfriend's hateful messages reminded you why you never went out and why this was the biggest mistake you could have made.

The worst part was you saw it coming.

‘Move,’ you said, grabbing your bag. ‘Bradley, let me out now.’ ‘You can’t drive like this, Y/N. Let one of us take you home.’

Bradley sounded destroyed. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

‘Move.’

He nudged Bob, who stood up so Bradley could climb out of the booth. You were close behind him, and when your feet touched the floor, you nearly keeled over. Bradley reached out to steady you, but you shook him off.

‘Y/N. You can’t leave like this. How are you gonna get home?’

Ignoring his pleas, you made a beeline for the exit. Nat shoved Reuben into Mickey, trying to hurry them out of the booth so she could follow you, but you were surprisingly fast for a drunk person. Bradley was right about one thing: there was no way you could drive in this state. You ducked around the corner so Nat couldn’t see you and sank to the floor. Hot tears prickled behind your eyes as you did the one thing you didn’t want to do, but the only thing you could do.

You called Elijah. 

He didn’t answer the first, second, third, or fourth time. 

Half an hour passed, and you didn’t move. At one point, you heard Bradley, Nat, and Reuben talking around the corner, coming up with a plan for where to look for you. They knew you were on foot because your car was still in the lot, and since you’d disappeared so quickly, you couldn’t have gotten far. If the situation weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been funny that you were hiding ten paces away, and none of them could find you. 

It was getting very late. People were getting in their cars and leaving or jumping into Ubers. Soon, your Jeep would be the only car left. You couldn’t face the daggers, and you couldn’t drive home, so you picked yourself up and took a slow walk down the beach to where the water met the sand. 

What a beautiful night to have your heart broken. 

There was no way Elijah would ever forgive you for this, no way you’d ever be able to convince him that nothing had happened between you and Bradley. The sane part of you knew that it was crazy to feel guilty for simply enjoying a night out with your friends, but the sane part of you rarely won these days. The part of you that loved Elijah was always loudest and knew this could never have gone any other way. 

You were just about to resign yourself to calling a cab when you heard someone yelling your name from the top of the beach. 

You either had the best or worst luck in the world because it was Bradley. 

He made short work of the distance, giving you no time to come up with something to say. He looked otherworldly in the pale moonlight. His hair was slightly mused, and the same insane part of you that loved what it loved was whispering at you to run your fingers through it. 

‘We’ve been looking all over for you, Y/N.’ He sounded very concerned as he pulled out his phone and texted the others to let them know you were safe. ‘I’m sorry, I just needed to be alone.’

You hadn’t even realised you were shivering until Bradley draped his Levi jacket over your shoulders. 

‘You needed to be alone, or you needed to call Viper back?’ The tears threatened to make another appearance. ‘It’s none of your business.’ ‘What makes you think it’s not my business? I care about you and don’t want to keep watching you get hurt.’ ‘Then stop watching!’

Bradley recoiled, and you immediately felt awful. How Elijah spoke to you like that day in and day out without feeling guilty was a mystery to you. 

‘I’m sorry, Bradley,’ you sighed, pulling his jacket tighter around you. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just very drunk and very emotional right now.’

He softened immediately and seemed torn about whether he should let you stand there freezing or pull you close. You hoped he wouldn’t try to pull you close because you didn’t think you’d have the guts to tell him no. Good feelings had been so incredibly hard to come by as of late.

‘Why are you still with him, Y/N?’ Bradley asked almost pleadingly. 

Wow. He didn’t waste any time getting right to the point. 

‘That’s a loaded question.’ ‘I need you to explain it to me because it’s killing me.’

You thought about it for a moment, and Bradley waited with bated breath to hear what you had to say.

In the end, it was this: ‘I guess we accept the love we think we deserve.’ 

Until you said it out loud, this phrase held little meaning to you. Now that it was out in the open, it was very heavy. In the last few months you’d tried coming up with a decent explanation as to why you were staying with Elijah, and you fell short every time. Turns out all you needed to do was get drunk and have an honest conversation to figure it out. 

Coming to the realisation that what you’d just said was true felt like being in freefall. Everything in your life was changing shape to fit around this ugly truth. The good things in your heart shied away in the face of this monstrous fact. 

You didn’t think you deserved a healthy love. 

Somehow, Bradley was more hurt by this than when you’d snapped at him earlier. He was staring at the ground, unable to meet your eye like you’d just told him he wasn’t worthy of love.

‘You don’t think you deserve to be happy?’

Hearing him say it was somehow even worse.

‘Apparently not.’

You were both quiet for a moment, and then, for whatever reason, you laughed. 

‘This is news to me too.’

The waves crashed loudly, water lapping at your feet as the tide came in. You couldn’t stand out here having epiphanies all night. 

‘Listen, Rooster, I need to go home. I’m sorry for snapping.’ ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said quietly. ‘But we should talk tomorrow when you’re sober. Maybe we could get coffee.’ You shook your head. ‘After tonight, I don’t think that’s a smart idea. I’ll probably be spending tomorrow trying to salvage what’s left of my relationship.’ ‘You’re not serious.’ ‘I am.’

He opened his mouth to protest but then appeared to change his mind. You watched as all the fight he had left in him dissolved. There was nothing left for him to say, and he knew it. 

The irritating birds that constantly chirped right outside your bedroom window woke you up. It was too damn early, and your head felt as though it was splitting open. When you sat up, you were hit by a wave of nausea so strong that you had no other choice but to sprint to the bathroom, smashing into the corner of your chest of drawers on the way. 

Which was to say, it was a bad morning. 

After you had puked up the entire contents of your stomach, you jumped straight in the shower, brushed your teeth, and did your skincare. At least if Elijah showed up at your front door, you wouldn’t look like you got super drunk last night, even though he’d probably already guessed. 

When you checked your phone, there were still no notifications from him, and when you called, there was no answer. This wasn’t unlike him, but it had been almost twelve hours since Bradley picked up your phone, and you would have thought he’d have something to say by now. 

To distract yourself from your impending doom, you threw open all the windows in your apartment, made your bed, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher—all the usual morning tasks. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful Saturday, but you doubted you’d enjoy any of your hobbies when you were this anxious and hungover. 

With nothing else left to do, you set about making some breakfast. 

Just as you put your bagel in the toaster, somebody knocked on the door. 

Your stomach twisted itself into an impossibly tight knot. You were rooted to the spot, unable to move until whoever it was knocked a second time. 

You looked through the peephole, expecting to see Elijah standing there with his dark eyebrows knitted together in frustration. It was the only scenario that had crossed your mind, so when you saw Bradley standing there, you were very surprised. 

You took a deep breath and opened the door, greeted by the warm scent of sandalwood once again. 

‘Bradley?’

He was holding two iced lattes, which you were betting were vanilla—your favourite. Elijah hadn’t done that for you since the first week of your relationship.

‘Hey, Y/N. Thought you could use this.’

He wasn’t wrong. You ushered him inside, and he headed to the kitchen, where he 

perched himself on one of the stools at your kitchen island. This morning, he was sporting one of his more toned-down Hawaiian shirts and dark jeans. His eyelids drooped, and you wondered if he’d slept at all. 

‘I was just about to make bagels. Want one?’ ‘Sure, thank you.’

You busied yourself, putting bacon and eggs into a pan while he sipped his coffee. He eyed you with the curiosity of someone who had come over to check that you were all in one piece. Once he was satisfied that you were, he relaxed slightly. 

‘Thank you for bringing me home last night. I really appreciate it.’ You told him earnestly.  ‘You don’t need to thank me. You’d have done the same thing.’ ‘True, but still. And I’m sorry for snapping at you.’ 

Last night was gradually coming back to you in flashes, like a supercut. Each time you remembered a new detail, you cringed internally. 

‘You also don’t need to apologise. Has he called you?’ 

While the eggs and bacon were cooking, you toasted another bagel for Bradley and buttered yours. Even though you’d known him for years and been quite close until you got into a relationship, you were struggling to admit that you were pretty much being ghosted. It was already hard to walk around on base knowing that everybody was aware of how Elijah treated you. When you didn’t respond, Bradley took that as a no. 

‘Well, that’s his problem,’ he spat. ‘You did absolutely nothing wrong. Maybe if he were less of a control freak, you would have felt like you could tell him you were out with us rather than hiding it, and then he wouldn’t have found out the way he did.’

The toaster popped, and you jumped. It felt like somebody had run a cheese grater over your nerves. Bradley ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, clearly trying to reign in his anger.

‘I should apologise too,’ he continued. ‘I shouldn’t have answered your phone. It was a dick move, and I regretted it the instant I did it.’ 

You buttered the second bagel, put one egg on each of the bottom halves, and stacked two pieces of bacon on top before adding the top part. You didn’t say a word the entire time, and Bradley was starting to get antsy. 

‘Y/N. Please talk to me.’ ‘I don’t know what to say, Roo. I’m struggling even to think straight right now. He knows it drives me fucking crazy when he’s having a go at me and doesn’t respond. I don’t understand why he does it, knowing how it makes me feel.’ Bradley sighed. ‘Because he doesn’t give a shit how you feel. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than himself and how he feels.’ 

This wasn’t news to you, but again, it was more impactful to hear someone else say it out loud. Really, how long could you keep this up? Whether you thought you deserved it or not, you were starting to wonder if you might be better off alone than with someone who made living feel like walking next to a cliff with your eyes closed. 

You pushed Bradley’s plate across the counter and picked up your bagel. Eating felt impossible, but getting through the day with this headache would be excruciating if you didn’t at least try. 

‘Come and sit down,’ Bradley said. ‘It’s not good to eat standing up.’ Despite everything, you managed to laugh. And this time, it was a real laugh. ‘Why?’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know. My mum used to say it all the time.’

You did as you were told, and you walked around the island, taking the seat next to him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, periodically taking sips of your coffees. This was how easy it should have been with Elijah. 

When you were both finished, Bradley put your plates, pan, and utensils into the dishwasher. You were too tired to tell him to stop. 

‘Thanks for breakfast.’  You smiled. ‘Thanks for being you.’

Bradley’s smile mirrored your own. Unsaid words hung in the air, but you didn’t know what to say. His leaving didn’t feel right, but if he stayed and Elijah made an appearance, he’d most definitely break up with you. 

But wasn’t this radio silence all the confirmation you needed that things were pretty much over, anyway? You were starting to wonder if this weekend had all happened exactly the way it was supposed to. Your eyes were indeed open, that was for sure. Of course, you’d known that the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this weekend had really driven the point home. 

‘Do you wanna go for a walk along the beach?’ You asked, hopefully. ‘We could grab some ice cream at that little place next to the arcade.’

Bradley didn’t just look happy. He also looked relieved that you weren’t asking him to leave. 

‘I’d love to.’

It was a beautiful Spring day, perfect walking weather. Honestly, it was the last thing Bradley expected you to suggest, so he jumped on the idea before you could change your mind and send him home.

Because he really didn’t want to go home. 

He’d sensed that you didn’t want to talk about Viper, and you’d yet to bring up your conversation on the beach last night. Bradley was beginning to doubt that you even remembered everything you said—all that nonsense about not deserving a healthy love. Bradley didn’t take you as a liar, which meant you believed that you weren’t deserving of happiness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite so sad and also angry at the same time. So many emotions were warring for the top spot in his heart, and as a result, his brain was incredibly foggy.

A walk along the beach with you was perhaps the only cure.

‘Did you hear about Hangman?’ Bradley assumed you hadn’t. ‘No?’ ‘He’s getting deployed. He’s leaving next month.’ ‘How long is he going for?’ ‘Six months.’ You whistled lowly. ‘Damn.’ ‘I know. I think he’s looking forward to it, though. I sure am.’ ‘You know, I don’t think you hate him half as much as you say.’ Bradley chuckled. ‘Maybe not, but being nice to him wouldn’t feel right. Even after everything that happened on the mission.’ 

The two of you walked down the beach, chit-chatting about anything that came to mind. You were about halfway to the ice cream place when your phone pinged. Bradley guessed it would be Viper, but he never could have guessed what the message said. 

It was a photo of you and Bradley walking down the beach, taken from behind. The picture had been forwarded to you from someone else. 

E<3: always knew you were a slut.

You inhaled sharply, obviously hurt by the words on the screen. Not two seconds later, he sent another text. 

E<3: PS: we’re fucking over.

The two of you had stopped walking. Bradley watched over your shoulder as you furiously typed a reply and deleted it again. You turned to face him, and his heart just about broke when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t need to say a word. He pulled you close to him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You stayed that way for a while, sobbing into his Hawaiian shirt as he rubbed your back soothingly. When you eventually pulled away, the first thing you did was apologise. 

‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, sweet girl. He’s the one who should be sorry.’ You sniffled. ‘I don’t know what to reply.’ ‘Leave it for now,’ he said. ‘We can go get ice cream, take a slow walk back to yours. Then I’ll help you think of something.’ ‘I don’t know if I feel like ice cream anymore.’ ‘Well, that’s too bad because I do. Ice cream is the best remedy for heartbreak.’ ‘Did your mum tell you that too?’ ‘She sure did.’ 

It turns out Bradley was right about ice cream being the best remedy for heartbreak. The two of you sat on the wall, watching the waves while he munched on a mint chocolate chip cone and you butterscotch. It was hard to tell whether it was the best ice cream you’d ever had or if it was because you were with Bradley. If you remembered correctly, you’d had ice cream from this same place with Elijah before, and it hadn’t been this nice.

Thinking back on your memories with him only made you want to cry, so you did your best to shove them to the back of your mind. Despite the fact that he was actually a very shitty person, he’d been a dream at the beginning, and that didn’t just go away. The happy moments didn’t just suddenly turn to ash, as much as you wished they would. 

‘What are your plans for the rest of the night?’ Bradley asked around his ice cream cone. ‘I don’t know, Roo. I’m kinda working on a minute-to-minute basis right now.’ Bradley nodded. ‘Okay, well, what would you say to junk food run and a movie night?’ ‘With you?  ‘If you want to. I just don’t think it’s good for you to be alone.’ ‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me.’ ‘Is that what you think this is?’ ‘No, but I don’t want to be a burden. Or a charity case.’ ‘Y/N, you’re none of those things. I always want to spend time with you. Just so happens I have a good excuse today.’ You frowned into your ice cream. ‘Okay. As long as you’re sure.’ 

The two of you finished your ice cream and took a slow walk back to your apartment. When you got in, the first thing you noticed was a framed photograph of you and your now ex-boyfriend on the side table in the hallway. When your bottom lip started trembling, Bradley picked up the photo, put it face down, and then proceeded to run around your apartment and take down any others. It didn’t feel like the same place you’d left a few hours ago. It was haunted by memories that would never look right in the light of day. Even the happiest ones from the start were tainted with the ugliness of his cruel words and actions. 

‘This place is so depressing.’ You grumbled.

Bradley stood in front of you with a stack of photos and one of Elijah’s t-shirts. 

‘It’s not. It’s your home, Y/N. We just have to pack away his stuff and put it all in a box.’ ‘An ex-boyfriend box.’ Bradley smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, exactly. It might be over, and he might be a dick, but it was still a big part of your life, and it’s important to keep the memories safe in case you wanna look back on them someday.’ ‘Or in case I wanna burn them.’ ‘That too.’ Bradley chuckled

So you helped him gather all the mementoes from your relationship and put them in an old Dr Martens box. It all looked pretty pathetic, packed away in a shoebox.

‘I found one of his hoodies and a few other things.’ You called from your bedroom. ‘Can you grab me a bin bag from the top of the fridge?’

You heard shuffling, and then Bradley was standing in the doorway holding out the bag you requested. 

‘Damn, he doesn’t even get one of the nice Trader Joe's bags?’ ‘No,’ you giggled. ‘He gets a trash bag because his stuff is trash, and he’s trash.’

You weren’t really at the stage where you believed that just yet, but saying it was really satisfying, and it felt good to laugh. Fake it till you make it or whatever. 

‘Want me to give it to him tomorrow?’ ‘Thanks, but I should really be the one to do it. I haven’t even texted him back.’ You thought about it for a moment and then continued. ‘Would it be cheeky of me to ask if you’ll come with me? Maybe Nat, too? I could use some moral support, and he’s less likely to make a scene if the two of you are there.’ ‘Of course I’ll be there. I won’t say anything unless you need me to or unless he starts. I can’t make that same promise for Nix, though.’ ‘I haven’t even told Nat yet,’ you sighed. ‘I don’t think I wanna talk about it right this second.’ ‘I’ll text her. Don’t worry about it.’

From your spot on the floor, you looked up at Bradley. The evening sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting an ethereal glow around him. 

‘You should change your callsign to angel.’ A look of pleasant surprise flickered across his handsome features. ‘Why?’ ‘Because you’re literally my angel, Roo. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

Half an hour later, Bradley convinced you to go on a junk food run with him in the Bronco. He said tonight was a mandatory, post-breakup wallowing sesh because if you bottled up your feelings now, you’d explode later at a much more inconvenient time. 

The two of you had been screaming along to all the classic breakup songs: All Too Well by Taylor Swift (yes, he knew all the words), Who Knew by Pink, What About Now by Daughtry… He’d driven the long way to the store because you got so into it. 

Now, as you scanned the shelves in Target, you asked: ‘What is it about screaming sad songs that makes you feel better?’ ‘It’s cathartic,’ Bradley explained. ‘Helps you relieve the strong feelings.’ ‘You know a lot about heartbreak.’ ‘Well, I’ve had my fair share of sadness.’ You froze. ‘That was insensitive of me, I’m sorry.’ Bradley took the packed of Reeses Pieces from your hands so he could hold them. ‘Can you make me a promise?’ ‘What?’ You asked sceptically. ‘Promise you’re gonna stop apologising to me all the time. You have nothing to be sorry for.’ ‘Sorry.’ You smiled sheepishly.  He shook his head. ‘That’s not what you’re supposed to say.’ ‘Okay, fine,’ you huffed. ‘I promise to stop apologising all the time.’ ‘Thank you,’ Bradley said, releasing your hands reluctantly. ‘Now, pick out five more things.’ ‘Five? There’s already five things in the basket.’ ‘Did I ask?’ ‘I’m gonna get fat.’ ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Wallowing means junk food, and I don’t know if you’re looking at the same basket I am, but that’s not enough junk food.’ ‘Christ Almighty, okay.’ 

He helped you pick out five more things, and then you headed to check out.

‘What movies are good for wallowing?’ You asked. ‘Well, we have to start with a couple of sad ones and then finish with a happy one.’

The cashier told you your total, and Bradley tapped his card before you could even get yours out. You gave him a withering look.

‘I would’ve paid for that. You paid for the ice cream.’ ‘So?’ ‘So we should take it in turns.’

Obviously, he carried the bags as well, and as you walked back to the Bronco, he couldn’t help but wonder if Viper made you take it in turns. If you were his girl, you’d never have to tap your card.

‘What’s your favourite sad movie?’ He inquired.  You opened the trunk for him so he could put the bags in. ‘Technically, it’s not a sad movie. But there’s this part in Inside Out…Wait, have you watched it before? I don’t wanna spoil it for you.’ ‘The part where Bing Bong gets forgotten?’ You gasped. ‘How did you know?’ ‘Because it gets me every single time.’

The way you looked at him in that moment, like he had hung the moon in the sky—God, it was too much. 

‘We’ll start with Inside Out,’ he told you, opening the passenger door so you could climb in. ‘And then we’ll think of something else.’

Without giving much thought to what he was doing, Bradley found himself buckling your seatbelt for you. You were holding your breath, and it dawned on him how easy it would be to kiss you if he were that sort of guy.

And as much as he wanted to kiss you, he was not that sort of guy. He wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that some asshole had just taken a sledgehammer to your very beautiful heart. 

‘Can we watch Bridge To Terabithia?’ You whispered.

Bradley hadn’t moved, and you were so close that he could feel your warm breath on his cheek. 

‘Are you trying to break my heart, Y/N?’ ‘Yes. I want you to feel my pain.’ 

He was grinning the whole way around the car to the driver’s side and still grinning when he got in the car. You already had his phone in your hand, searching for more sad songs so you could continue your car concert on the way back to your apartment. He drove the long way again so the two of you could finish your rendition of ‘I Don’t Love You’ by My Chemical Romance, which Bradley didn’t know the words to. He tried his best, though, because you seemed to love it, and he couldn’t deny you anything. 

By the time you got home, the sun had almost entirely set. While he set the snacks out on the coffee table, you went around lighting candles and switching on fairy lights. He’d never seen your apartment in the dark, and it was incredibly cosy. Even though it was relatively warm, you dragged all your blankets and pillows from your bed and made a little nest on the sofa. You were so adorable, it was hard to believe that someone could treat you badly. 

If you were his girl, every night would look like this—except you’d be a lot happier, and there would be no tears. 

Halfway through Bridge To Terebitha, you fell asleep. Bradley had been trying to keep his distance despite wanting to wrap you up in his arms, yet somehow—in your sleep—you’d ended up with your legs in his lap. He’d frozen at first, but once he realised you were dead to the world, he allowed himself to rest his hands on your knees. Really, it was that or sit with his arms crossed, and that would be silly. 

For the duration of the movie, his attention flickered between you and the TV. Every time he tried paying attention to what was happening, his eyes wandered back to your peaceful face. He marvelled at your astounding beauty, the delicate way your eyelashes rested against the tops of your rosy cheeks. Bradley had always admired you, and you’d been good friends for years, but what he felt in that moment was something else entirely. By the time the end credits started rolling, he knew without a doubt that he’d set whole cities ablaze to keep you warm. Feelings as rapidly growing as his should have been terrifying, but Bradley wasn’t scared. Falling in love with you seemed to be as easy as wading out into a calm ocean on a warm summer’s day. 

He knew you’d yet to learn that falling in love and staying in love should always be this easy. He knew it was going to take some time to convince you that you deserved healthy love, that the right person would never run away from you and keep turning around to make sure you were chasing them. 

But Bradley was a patient man, and he would wait as long as he had to.

End of part one.

[crescenthistory]

Hello lovely! Can I request Marlene McKinnon with b1+11 please? 🫶🫶

of course you can<33 my fav girl marls

Prompt: B1. "I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it" & B.11 "Come back to bed"

Words: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, not proofread, idiots in love, established relationship, morning kisses, cuddles, quidditch player!marlene, loving jokes at james' expense, background marylily, very background prongsfoot, implied gryffindor!reader (you share a dorm)

While there were no limits to what you loved about Marlene, on cold winter nights spent in an ancient castle with terrible isolation, her running hot as a furnace ranked high on any potential list.

It had been months since you decided to push your beds together in the dorm and spell the gap between the mattresses away, and you had yet to stop commending yourselves for the idea. Practically every night before you went to sleep, Marlene would mumble about "what a bright witch must have thought of this", and you never knew whether she was referring to you in a flirty way or herself in a self-congratulatory way, seeing as you thought of it together. You usually didn't call her out on it though, too busy grinning so hard your gums hurt.

You were also too busy having Mary fling pillows in your direction as she begged you to "stop being so lovey-dovey". With quiet whispers, you and Marlene would giggle about how her tune would likely change whenever she finally confesses her feelings to Lily and could follow in your footsteps.

In the meantime, you had a large bed, warm blankets that the four of you dyed cute patterns into at the start of term – the traditional way without magic, just like Lily taught you – and a beautiful soft girl in your arms. It was the perfect haven; a motivating start to the day and a reprieve from the weathers at night.

That is, until Marlene tries to get up at 6 AM to attend quidditch practice. 

Again, on the list of what you love about your girlfriend, her commitment and loyalty were high on the list, the two qualities that truly drove her in her sports achievements. She was a pleasure to watch on the field in more ways than one, and you were there to cheer her on for every single match, painting both your and her cheeks in vibrant red and gold.

However, when you were swept up in a heavenly cocoon of plush fabric and delicate skin, the smell that was so distinctly Marlene swirling in your nose and your mind, the mere suggestion that it should be broken even before the break of dawn felt like a death sentence.

You let her know as much.

"Marls, please," you whined, not caring that your voice was hoarse with sleep and your eyes weren't even open. You had just barely registered the kisses peppered to your hairline that already carried an air of goodbye and Marlene beginning to move.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she whispered against your skin before kissing it and removing her hands from around your waist.

You scurried after her and doubled down your own grip on her with surprising strength for someone not yet truly awake. "Marlene, baby, don't go." You weren’t entirely aware of what you were saying, just that you were begging and that you honestly stood by it – this was no time to leave.

You must be slurring your words because she began to giggle and her hand on the back of your neck came forward to brush over your cheeks and even squeeze them a little. "'M sorry my love, duty calls. You just sleep on, princess."

Another kiss to your hairline. You clung onto her harder and made a noise of distinctive disagreement.

One thing you had come to learn about Marlene over the years is that if she had not been sorted into Gryffindor, she would have been placed straight in Slytherin. Because this cunning sly witch made a sympathetic cooing sound, gathered you back up in her arms, and began rocking you ever so slightly back and forth. Only half your brain was awake – if that – to begin with, and within seconds your entire world was just your nose against Marlene's neck, her lips along your cheek and ear and the faint sound of her humming a Scottish lullaby.

You were swallowed by the abyss while wrapped up in love, and you would have stayed in the pit of its stomach had it not been for the gust of icy wind that brushed your face, some unknown time later.

With a low groan you opened your eyes into mere slits, trying to focus your gaze on the small commotion before you. There you were met with the sheepish smile of your lovely and traitorous girlfriend as she had just stood up from the bed and begun to pull on her red wool socks.

"Marlene. That was mean." You grumbled, but even so, you pulled the blankets closer around you as you shimmied clumsily to her side of the bed.

Immediately upon the reunion, Marlene's surprisingly warm hand went to caress your cheek where you looked up at her, scrutinising. "Sorry lovely, I wanted you to sleep." She pouted at you to make your frown wash away into a smile. "I have to get to quidditch practice with James in 30."

"I know you do." With a match against Slytherin coming up, James had the team practicing once or twice per day, at what you had promptly labelled ungodly hours. "But right now you have a cuddling appointment with me. Come back to bed."

You took advantage of her hand on your cheek to reach up towards her upper arm and shoulders and try to jostle her down towards you. Marlene chuckled quietly, trying to be careful not to wake your other two friends who were decidedly not known for being bright and cheery in the morning, and sat down beside you on the bed yieldingly.

You were ambushed by her peppering kisses across your face, each one its own silent silly apology. When she brushed her lips towards your own, you gave in for a few seconds before turning your head away.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you mumbled begrudgingly.

She quickly stilled your head’s movement with her hand and pulled it back towards hers, chasing after your lips. "Don't care, c'mere."

The kiss was the kind of domestic one that made you want to giggle uncontrollably despite knowing that you really shouldn't – though, if you did, Marlene would have joined you in a heartbeat. Marlene’s lips had the most beautifully prominent cupid’s bow you had seen, and you could feel the press of it against your own upper lip, could feel her smile and her love and her wish to stay with you.

You latched onto the last one.

“Just a little bit,” you mumbled against her lips as you snuck your hands up under her Heart sleep shirt to spread across her toned back and encourage her to lay down on top of you. “Five minutes, just five minutes.”

There was not an ounce of embarrassment in you for how much you wanted her with you, and there was not an ounce of judgment in her. A wolfish, pleased grin spread across her face as she relented and snuck under the blankets to lay comfortably on top of you, slotted between your legs with your chests pressed together. “Just five minutes, you say?” She spoke in between quick kisses, defined eyebrows raised at you teasingly.

“Mmm, maybe ten.” You didn’t bother hiding your smile, instead hooking your pinkies behind her ears to pull her face back up towards yours.

Marlene laughed into your mouth at a dangerous volume – thankfully you didn’t mind swallowing it with a kiss. You’re welcome Lily and Mary.

When you came apart, Marlene leaned her forehead against yours and heaved a theatrically overdone sigh, looking up at you through her lashes. “Whatever my girl wants, huh?”

Without giving you a chance to reply, she hooked an arm around your neck and one around your lower back before flinging herself sideways to flop back down on the bed, bringing you with her in her arms. It was a practised manoeuvre, one that landed you with your face in the crook of her neck and side pressed against her warm body, one that never failed to bring butterflies to your stomach.

You stared up at her as if she hung the moon, knowing full well that she was the sun.

The love must have been evident on your face because hers melted into a soft puddle before bringing your chin up with a finger beneath it to kiss you sweetly. “I love getting my way with you,” you teased, causing Marlene to snort.

“Yeah, I know you do,” she said dreamily. “But if you make me late to quidditch practice, I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it.”

“Just for you, or does James need some as well?”

Marlene made a sound that effectively communicated gross that’s like my brother as she smacked your arm lightly, but you just laughed, holding her closer to you and kneading the flesh of her back contently. “You should enlist Sirius to give James his own thousand-fold kisses.”

“I reckon that will be easy enough,” you whispered, still laughing as you kissed along her cheek and jaw. “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept your conditions, McKinnon.”

Marlene shook her head and looked down at you with a gaze that was nothing short of lovesick. “What have I gotten myself into?”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 3: With a Little Bit of Luck

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Finally had a burst of inspiration for this last night, and here we are!

With a Little Bit of Luck

Miss Doolittle stood at the base of the stairs in her little basement apartment. It wasn’t really an apartment, even if she’d lived there for nearly three years. In truth, it was a cellar. The owner of the house above had graciously put a small bed in it when she first rented it, but he also continued to keep his winter stores and several chests of assorted junk there, taking up nearly half the space.

Still, it wasn’t so bad. Back then, when she hadn’t wanted to go out, see anyone, or do anything, those chests of junk had entertained her. And she loved the smell of the dried apples. Even if it was small, it was cozy. There was enough room for everything she owned in the world, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

All of it was now stuffed into her rucksack; still, the bag wasn’t full. It likely would have been if she’d been able to buy that clock at the market yesterday, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was already too sad.

It didn’t make sense, her sadness. She was leaving this cave to go and live in a manor house. She would never be woken by rats again, and she would have enough money to buy a hundred clocks. But this had been her home for the past three years.

She squared her chin and adjusted the strap of her rucksack. She’d started over before. It was how she ended up here. And this time… this time would be easier, she knew it.

So, she walked up the stairs and out of that little basement, hoping she had enough time to run one last errand before the cart from Kingswood came to take her to her new home.

The village green, like her apartment, could not truly be called its name. Not since the village council decided to put gravel paths all over it and plant all kinds of trees, bushes, and flowers in most of the blank spaces between the paths, while others were left empty for vendors to set up for market day. It was pretty, but it made crossing the green and finding the person she was looking for even harder.

Luckily, he seemed to be in a good mood today. All she had to do to find him was follow the sound of his fiddle.

“Egg?” she called when she came to a patch of trees and bushes that were now big enough to obstruct her view. She knew he was somewhere in there, but she couldn’t see him.

His bow scratched against his fiddle before falling silent. “Is that you, Little Girl?”

She wanted to protest the nickname but didn’t. He’d been calling her that since she was a little girl, and he was a vagabond teenage boy who played the prettiest music she’d ever heard. “It’s me.”

The bushes rattled, and a moment later, the man Miss Doolittle knew as ‘Egg’ burst into the open and hugged her so hard she nearly fell over.

“God, am I happy to see you!” He started spinning her back and forth, and several trinkets spilled out of her bag. “I thought I’d missed my chance to say goodbye!”

She finally gave up resisting and smiled as she hugged him back. “Not yet. They aren’t picking me up ‘til noon.” Which left them a little under a quarter-hour to catch up before she had to meet the Kingswood coachman in front of the church.

Egg finally set her down, running a hand over his shaved head. She’d never actually asked if he shaved it, but he was too young to be bald, and she’d seen several nicks on the back of his head that looked like they came from a razor. He immediately bent down to pick up the knick-knacks he’d accidentally forced her to spill. “If I’d known you were leaving Rosby, I would have come back sooner. Why didn’t you send a letter?”

“Where would I send it? You only stay in the same place for a week at most.” Besides, she didn’t have much spare money to spend on sending a letter. “You leave as soon as your bar tab gets too high.”

“True,” Egg admitted. He finally finished tucking her trinkets away, then strapped his fiddle to his back and offered his arm. “And it seems I’ll have to add Kingsgrave to the rotation if I ever want to see my Little Girl again, even though it’s quite far.”

She looked over at him, confused. “I’m not goin’ to Kingsgrave. I’m goin’ to Kingswood.”

He stopped suddenly, tugging on her arm hard to get her to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Egg not smiling before. It unsettled her.

“You’re going to work at Kingswood?”

She nodded.

“What position?”

“I’ll be a lady’s maid.”

“To Lady Helaena?”

“Yes.”

He bit his lips. He wasn’t just not smiling. He was angry. His eyes had grown dark, and his brow furrowed.

“Is that bad? Have you heard bad things about Lady Helaena? I know they say she’s odd, but I haven’t heard anyth – ”

“I have no quarrel with Helaena, no. I just…”  He again ran a hand over his head, his fingers digging into the skin in a way Miss Doolittle was sure was painful. He tucked his chin in for a moment and took a deep breath before looking back up. He was smiling again, but it was strained. “I’m just worrying about my Little Girl. Ignore me. Helaena is very kind.”

She sighed in relief, slumping into his side as they began walking again. “That’s good. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this for so long, I’d hate if it ended up a nightmare.”

Egg looked at her with a brow raised. “You’ve been looking forward to this?”

“Well, yeah.” His tone sounded doubtful. Did he not think she could do the job? “I know I’ve never had an actual job before, but I do now. I’ll work real hard, I swear it. I’ll be a proper lady in no time, you’ll see.”

“I’ve no doubt you can be a proper lady,” Egg said while ruffling her hair. “I just don’t know if I want you to be. I like you very well, just as you are, I’ll have you know.”

She liked herself too, mostly. Sometimes she wished she was taller or had prettier hair. Every once in a while she took a dislike to the color of her eyes, but it usually faded. Whenever she had to decide whether to pay rent or buy a nice warm meal at the pub, she wished she was someone else entirely.

But if she were taller, it would have been hard to climb down the small staircase to her cellar. If her hair was different, Harry wouldn’t have told her how much he liked it almost every time she saw him. And if her eyes were a different color, she wouldn’t be reminded of her mother every time she caught her reflection.

“I’m not going to become a whole new person,” she declared. Egg looked dubious as he led her to sit on a stone bench across the road from the church. “Just… more refined. Now stop griping at me and talk about something else!”

Egg threw his head back in a great, wide smile as he laughed. “Only since it’s your last day in Rosby, Little Girl. What do you want to talk about?”

The first topic that came to mind was the two men from yesterday, the kind one and the brute. But that was too maddening. “You know about Lady Helaena, right?” He nodded. “Then tell me about the rest of them?”

He hesitated for a long while before he bit his cheek and began. “They’re the same as all the others. The lord of the house has a stick shoved so far up his ass he can’t bend over. The grandfather is a desperate social climber. The th.. second son is something of a rake, but good-hearted. Helaena though, she’s a good girl. Strange, but good. She’s very kind, like you. I think you’ll get along. … How do you feel about insects?”

Miss Doolittle laughed. “I’ve lived in a dirty basement for three years. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Egg said with a secretive smile.

God, she was going to miss him. His humor, his music, that smile. It had been very easy to fall in love with him when she was a girl, though she’d since grown out of it. He was one of her dearest friends, but far too… Egg for her to ever truly love or marry him. Still, she was envious of how happy he always was, even with no money in his pockets.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She dug through her knapsack to find the little coin purse she’d made from a beautiful curtain Mrs. Cunningham discarded when it was torn. She extracted the two crowns and one half-crown she had left over from what that horrible man had thrown at her the day before. “These are for you.”

Egg’s blue eyes went wide. “Where the hell did you get that?”

She thought for a moment how much to tell him before deciding on simply, “A customer.”

His surprise melted into mischief. “What kind of customer?”

“What, exactly, are you implying?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you’d decided to sell something other than flowers, and if so, how much you charge? Because I’ll give these right back if…”

“You’re disgusting!” she shrieked as she hit him with her bag over and over until he finally held his hands up in concession.

“You have my sincere apology.” He righted his mussed clothes, then looked at her. “But really, Little Girl, why are you giving me these?”

Because just looking at them makes me want to vomit. She sighed. “Because I don’t need it – I’ll be making my own money soon. You need it, though.”

Egg’s eyes turned thoughtful and soft. It was the kind of look she would once have swooned over. “You’re too kind. I worry you’ll lose that at Kingswood. That place and those people will wring it out of you if you let them. Promise me you won’t?”

“I promise,” she whispered, dropping the coins into his outstretched hand. She wrapped her hand around his, closing his fingers around the money. “If you promise me you’ll take care of yourself.���

He laughed, shaking their joined hands. “I’ll do my best. But with a little bit of luck, I’ll always have people like you around to help me out.”

She started to chide him, to warn him that he’d eventually need to learn to rely on himself, even if she knew he’d only laugh it off. But a sharp whistle and the crack of a whip sounded from the end of the street, and both their heads turned to find its source.

A two-horse cart had turned onto the main road. Not an unusual sight in itself, especially for a market town. But it wasn’t market day. And it was no ordinary cart, but one she’d only ever seen in illustrations in books. The cart of daring gentlemen and rakes. Its back wheels were twice the size of those in the front and carried seats made of green-painted wood and black leather that gleamed in the sunlight.

“Of course, they sent the fucking phaeton,” Egg murmured, giving a name to the vehicle. He stood quickly, pulling her up with him, and embraced her tightly. “Good luck, Little Girl. I’ll miss you.”

Then, he left. Releasing her from his grasp so swiftly she stumbled back a step. By the time she’d caught her breath, he was gone, without even the music of his fiddle to hint at where he’d gone.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to him.

Only a few hours later, she was stepping out of the cart and onto the gravel drive of the Kingswood Estate.

The estate itself sprawled across half the woods, according to the coachman, Arryk, who had informed her when they officially crossed onto the property miles ago. The house, a term which seemed to Miss Doolittle to be a massive understatement, was near the center of it, within a smaller, but still enormous, gated park.

It was beautiful, with pale stone walls coated with ivy, gleaming glass windows framed with iron, and surrounded by flowers of every shape and color. And it was to be her new home.

Well, she was to be one of its servants. But still. Servants could call it home, too.

But what servants could not do was enter through the main doors. Instead, Arryk led her around the side of the house and through a smaller, much dirtier door into a stiflingly hot kitchen.

A woman who appeared to be around two hundred years old – the cook, presumably – barked orders at several kitchen maids with such ferocity it was a wonder that fire spewed only from the oven and not her mouth. As young men in fine suits filed into the room and began picking up silver trays laden with steaming food, the woman took a deep breath and started yelling at them instead.

Arryk leaned closer to Miss Doolittle. “Don’t do anything to get on Cook’s bad side,” he whispered, what sounded like genuine fear wavering in his voice. “She’ll roast you alive.”

As if she had heard him, the cook whirled around on him, her warm brown eyes blazing like hot coals. “What are you standing around for, Mr. Cargyll?” she bellowed. “And who’s this little waif?”

“Lady Helaena’s new maid.” His voice cracked like a boy’s.

The old woman huffed as those burning eyes examined her intently. “Put her in Mrs. Rivers’ sitting room and get out. I’ll not have you tracking horse shit in my kitchen.”

Arryk nodded hastily, the movement like that of a soldier accepting a command from his general. He took two steps forward, indicating Miss Doolittle should follow when he and everyone in the kitchen froze where they were.

Miss Doolittle followed their stunned gazes to the base of a narrow staircase and the two people who had just descended.

The first was a woman, neither old nor young, with deep black hair that flowed down her back in a long, silky sheet. Though she wore the dress of a servant, the keyring hanging from her waist indicating that she was likely the housekeeper, there was a certain power in her green gaze that made Miss Doolittle think the woman had been a queen in some other life.

But the thought did not last long, for her eyes drifted to the man standing just behind the housekeeper.

Shit.

The finest man she’d ever seen. With silver hair, one eye of crushing blue, one a milky white, and an angry red scar running across his face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She hadn’t even met Lady Helaena, and she was about to be sacked.

Or, judging by the wicked delight in the man’s eyes and his crooked smile, perhaps she was about to be eaten alive.

The housekeeper turned to face the man, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Lord Aemond, do you know this girl?”

Lord Aemond.

Forget being sacked or eaten. He could simply have her executed. It may even be a mercy, to spare her the humiliation that burned within her like a thousand raging bonfires.

He turned to the housekeeper, the movement too graceful and smooth. “I’m afraid I do.” He looked back at Miss Doolittle. No, he looked past her. “Mr. Cargyll, I will not be needing you to take me to Rosby tomorrow, after all.”

Then, he did look at her, and the cold in his eyes felt like an icicle shoved through her heart. She wanted to run. To scream. To shrink into nothing just to escape him. She wanted to run all the way back to Rosby, find Egg, and beg him to take her far, far away from here.

But she remained where she was, under the hateful gaze of her new employer, unable to so much as blink as he smiled a ruthless, joyless smile. “I’ve been hoping to see you again, flower girl. I have a proposition for you.”

Egg’s joyous, carefree voice echoed in her mind.

With a little bit of luck.

He’d never specified whether it was good luck or bad luck.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Tuesday! Ugh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s nearly midnight in Norway by the time you’re free of the airport. The train station isn’t far; it’s part of the airport. You wait on a bench between the rails as your boarding is two hours away. You sit with your luggage and mope. This new land only adds to the gloom clinging to you. 

You shiver as a draft flows down the tunnel. Not only is grey and grim, but it’s cold. It’s almost June but the weather is more akin to the cusp of winter and spring back home.  

Your weeks of research couldn’t prepare you for the real things. All that anticipation could never compare to that moment of desolation; alone in this far land, away from everything you knew. Everything around you is new and foreign and unwelcoming. 

When the train pulls up, you wait in queue with the other passengers. Some are native, speaking in lilted English or indecipherable Norwegian. Duolingo hasn’t done much for you as you catch only scraps of pronouns and verbs. Others are new arrivals like yourself but they seem much more certain of themselves. You feel utterly lost. 

You show your ticket and board. You tuck your bag away with the larger pieces kept at the front of the carriage and hug your carry-on in your lap. You stare out the window as the train begins to roll on the tracks, screeching as it pulls out into the black night of this strange land. 

The subtle rumble of the locomotive lulls you into a half-sleep. Your head is wrought with the ache of your building hangover and twisted visions of the life left behind. You hear Steve’s final goodbye, you feel the hug that was snugger on your end than his, and you feel the razor of Peggy’s spiteful eye. Even in a stupour, you can’t forget it. You hope Sam is right and that it will fade with time, yet you fear it might all be gone for good. 

You wake as the automated voice announces your stop as the next one. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You’re trying to be optimistic. Just focus on work. That’s what this is all about. Everyone keeps saying it and you haven’t heard any of them. This is a great opportunity. What you’ve been hoping for all these years. How did you forget that?  

You disembark and drag your bag behind your heavy feet. You’re exhausted but you still have a trek to go. Everything looks so different than back home. Small differences but enough to reinforce your displacement. 

You find the rental car kiosk at the other end of the station and show your reservation. Work is paying for that too. Apparently, you’ll need it to get to the site. Another harbinger of desolation. 

You hook up your phone to the built-in bluetooth and tap the address already saved in your maps. The app takes a moment to recenter and finally, you’re off. You wonder if you should even be driving. You’re definitely not drunk anymore but you’re barely awake. 

It’s only an hours ride across the city, just along the ridges that look off onto the coast. It’s beautiful. You can see that even through your melancholy.  

The morning rises as you get your key to the blue paneled townhouse. You should try to stay up to reset your clock but you’re jet lagged to the bone. The moment the door is locked, you let your bags fall to the floor and stumble through to the first piece of furniture you see. You collapse face first onto the couch, unable to feel the impact as you plummet into a deep sleep. 

Time, space, and all your pain disappears. There is only the endless void of fatigue. Your mind is too tired to summon nightmares or nonsensical visions. Your body is so drained that even your brain is empty. 

You wake on your arm, fingers tingling painfully as your shoulder muscles burn. You hiss and sit up. The bend of your fingers and a shaky attempt to move your elbow make you whine. Ugh. You rub feeling back into the limb as you lean against the back of the couch. 

You look around, finally able to take it all in. The house is neat and sleek. White plaster and pale wood finishes. The couch you sit on is a sectional and there’s a match ottoman across from you. The TV mounted on the wall reflects the shadow of the archway behind you and the tall lamp in the corner and the stone and marble ornaments. 

You rise, wobbling on your legs, and put your arms out to get your bearings. You meander through the townhouse. You can hardly admire the furnished interior as it underlines your loneliness. All this space for just you. 

There’s a kitchen at the rear of the house, a large wooden island standing center to a fridge with a glass door and polished counters carved in granite. The tiles are pristinely placed diamonds in hexagons and a large window looks out into the rain-soaked yard. It’s night again, or maybe that’s what the daylight looks like here. 

Upstairs, there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. A full tub and separate shower, two sinks set into a sparkling counter, and a wall of mirrors above them. It truly is a dream but why doesn’t it feel like it? 

You amble down stairs and fish out your phone. The battery is at eight percent. You have several texts. All from Sam. You only remember then why you don’t see any from Steve. No, you won’t check. 

You quickly type that you’ve landed safely and set the cell down. You’ll let it die before you plug back in. You need time. You need to get yourself straight. You need to accept that this is all real. You made this choice.  

You’re starting over. It’s a new life and there’s no room for your heart here. 

💟

You have the night to unpack, more than just your luggage. Still, there are things you can’t let out. Not yet. As much as the blade twists in your chest, taking it out will mean a deluge you can’t quell. For now, you just won’t think about it. 

You sleep a few more hours and wake just before six. You have your bag ready to go for the day. You tie on your boots and pull on a lined jacket before braving the Norwegian summer. You lock the door behind you and yawn into the brisk air. 

Before you head for the site, you stop at a cafe you see along the way. You get an egg biscuit and a coffee with extra espresso. You’re sure to add on a snack to eat between your work. 

You drive towards the greater mountains and turn onto the road that angles up the side. You follow the curved ledge as the GPS guides you through the car speakers. The drive is two hours up, maybe a bit quicker on the way down. Suddenly, a ping sounds from the system and you glance at the screen; ‘signal lost’. Shoot. It’s okay. You think you’re almost there. 

You pull over, not that there’s much space to do so. You have the physical maps you’ll use for the work itself. You find yourself amid the lines and symbols and memorise the path forward. You continue on cautiously, reassured as you’re met with a sign that delineates the site. The plot has already been closed off with a fence. 

‘Grant land. No trespassing.’ 

You park just outside the fencing and grab your bag and your breakfast. You sit on the hood and eat as you look over the muddy site. You read the grant report. It’s here they think there was a settlement. Not a very big one but an important one.  

The rock wall hugs the site in an almost perfect basin as the slick land is barren of almost any growth. You’ll start with gridding it all out, both with string and on paper. You clap your hands off and get up to begin. The process will keep your distracted. 

You put your earbud in and set to task. You pause to sip coffee and mark the paper between planting the stakes and the string the twine to divvy it all up in squares. You watch where you put each step, the mud sucking at your treads. A wet site is never an easy one. 

It takes the first day just to prep for digging and you don’t even think you’re done. You’re tired and achy and ready to go home. It’ll take you nearly three hours back by your guess. The night will be a short one as you figure you’ll need to head out earlier, especially if you hope to take advantage of the fleeting sunlight. 

As you get back to the townhouse, it’s night again. You walk down to a fish restaurant just a block away. The faces are friendly and the food is good, but it all seems so bland. You eat and go back to your accommodation. Not home, just a place to lay your head. 

You check your phone. Back amid the world of the living, you have a dozen messages; Sam, Bucky, your mom, Arturo. You respond to each of them in turn, assuring them that all is well. You don’t have the energy for much more. 

Yet it isn’t up to you. Your phone chimes at you as you near the bed, sitting on the edge as you answer. You know with Sam that ignoring him will only make him worse. 

“Hey,” you answer with an unrestrained yawn. 

“Yo, how ya feeling?” he asks. 

“Erm, tired,” you lean forward, crossing and arm over your knees. “How are things there?” 

“Eh, usual. So, uh, did that paradise punch knock you on your ass too or am I getting old?” He chuckles. 

“Heh, yeah, no I’m feeling it still,” you mutter. 

“Mm, it’s late there...” he says, “sorry, if I’m keeping you up.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just... a lot of driving.” 

“Oh? You worked today?” 

“Wanted to get a head start,” you shrug as you play with the fold of your pajamas across your knee. 

“How is it? Is it bleak? Cold? Are the men gruff?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Grey. Bit chilly but it’s not bad around noon,” you say dully, “haven’t seen much of the locals. With how long it takes me to get up the mountain...” 

“Oh, a mountain,” he echoes enthusiastically, “that’s exciting.” 

“I guess. Eats away the day.” 

“I’m sure,” he agrees glumly, “hey, don’t forget to treat yourself. Take a weekend off and hit that spa.” 

“I will. I just got here.” 

“Well, we all miss you,” he says. “Bucky especially. We got in a huge blow out the other day over the string in his hoodie.” 

“Of course you did,” you can’t help but laugh. 

“Really, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to fix it and it just... slipped inside, I don’t know. I don’t think it was about the string,” he snickers. “Probably having to deal with Steve and his--” Sam stops himself, “sorry.” 

“What? No, it’s fine. Really. I came out here to get away but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.” 

“I know but you’re tryna forget him. Like you should,” Sam insists. “And he’ll realise soon enough what he missed out on all these years. And you need to do the same. Go out, explore, enjoy it. You’ll need to have some good stories to bring back to us here, we’re dying of boredom without you.” 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll try,” you grumble, “anyway, I gotta head out early for the dig so I should let you go.” 

“Right, of course,” he agrees, “don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

“Night,” he says. 

You return a ‘good night’ and hang up. You toss your phone onto the pillow and heave as you clutch your head. You hate this. Why did you come all this way just to suffer? You should have just stuck it out. Sat on the sidelines like you always did and just swallow it all down. This is worse. Being so alone.  

There’s no going back. Not now. So you just need to get through this and after... after you’ll just have to face Mr. and Mrs. Rogers with a fake smile and broken heart. 

💟

The next week goes by much like your first days there. You wake up, drive up the mountain, plot, dig, clean up, and drive back. You sleep almost as soon as you sit down. You don’t have time to mull over what you left behind, not as you catalogue every bone and bead you come across. 

You check in with Arturo when you can, just to confirm that everything is going according to plan. Often, you’re asleep when anyone else calls. You wake up to notifications from your mom and Sam and even Bucky. You should call them back but you just can’t. You can’t put on a fake voice for them. Not yet. 

You take a day off. Only after Arturo insists. You know you should. You may as well have a proper grocery shop. You can’t keep living off the cafe and fish shop.  

The shop feels more like a market. You pick through produce and meats, and get what’s easy. You’ll cook it all and package it up so you can just heat it up later. Some muffins to eat on your way up the mountain and maybe a few protein bars. 

As you trawl the grocery store aisles, you pull out your phone. You have a pile of unread notifications from Insta. You don’t often check it anyway but your curious and a little homesick. 

You see your mom’s post about her trip to the vineyard with her book club pals and Sam’s story with a very agitated looking Bucky. That makes you laugh. You scroll by some crafting videos and the pages you follow of castle curators living your aspirational goals. 

Then you stop. You pull the cart still and go rigid as you stare at the screen. The image of Steve and Peggy burns into your retinas like a blinding light. It’s there engagement announcement. He has her in his arms, kissing her, as she holds out her hand to the camera to show off the diamond. 

You can’t breathe. Your chest is on fire and your ears are ringing. It’s like salt in the wound and you don’t doubt it's intentional, at least on Peggy’s part.  

Your hands shake as you grip the phone tightly and tap on Steve’s username. You ignore the rest of his profile and the pictures you know will only add to the turmoil brewing in your stomach. You hit the button in the corner and tap again and again. ‘You are about to block ‘starsnstripes18, are you sure’. Yes and yes! 

You lock the screen and drop the phone into your purse, nestled into the basket of the cart. You grasp the bar and push the cart forward, steadying your steps with it. You look between the shelves and exhale. 

You need to go cold turkey. No more Steve, no more Peggy, no more New York. You stood still so long, it feels good to run away from it all.