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325575 · 1 year ago

Text

Prophesy

Summary: The end is never the end, it would seem.

Or, you died but your ghost keeps visiting.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~7.5k

Warnings: death, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries, grief, grieving, loss, very brief smut, two people who didn't say a lot to each other when they had the chance, Joel being very bad at letting go and being honest

A/N: You should definitely not consider listening to The Prophecy by Taylor Swift when reading this, if you read this. This is very, very loosely based on a ghost story I can no longer remember the name of. Thank you as always for continuing to put up with me, I love all of you so sincerely.

It’s always raining.

The porch is dark; the light by the door that normally shines like a welcoming beacon, is switched off.

The rain patters steadily against the roof, against the wooden steps and the puddles gathering like tiny oceans in the yard. A gloomy sun slowly rises, spilling more light along the slowly flooding yard.

The windchime, carved by Joel’s hands, wooden and sturdy, clunks together and apart in the breeze, like the hollow tolling of bells. The sound makes something in your chest clench and ache. The pinch doesn’t ease, but knots itself up in your lungs, choking in its intensity.

You touch one of the rough wooden legs, the memory of it when it was new surfacing like a flash of lightning. You remember the way Joel looked when he stretched to hang it, the tail of his shirt coming untucked from the back of his jeans, the skin of his wrist showing in the early morning light when his sleeve pulled down with the motion. You remember his chuckle when you called him talented, the shake of his head.

Always disbelieving of any compliments, you just kissed his cheek and teased him for being shy.

The memory vanishes, along with the warmth and faded golden glow of some long distant morning.

The porch is still crowded with gray, with the sound of the slow drizzle.

Your clothes are damp, your skin sticky with humid rainwater. You hold your hands out in front of you, watching the water bead and pearl on your skin, trailing down your fingers.

Your fingernails are caked with dirt, mud streaks your forearms and torso and your jean clad thighs. You can only imagine what your face looks like, what you look like standing there on the porch.

You turn and face the front door instead of the empty front yard, the emptier street, and the tiny view you’re afforded of the graveyard. Something raw opens up inside you at the sight of everything so quiet, so dead.

A prickle of unease settles at the base of your skull, and you lift your hand to brush over the space.

The porch is so dark, and you can’t understand why.

The front light is never off. It’s like a homing beacon, always welcoming you back, guiding you home.

Maybe there’s a purpose to it. Maybe you’re being cast back, asked away.

Before you can think better of it, before you can turn away, you raise your hand and knock. The wood is solid beneath your curled fist, and another memory surfaces from the wasteland of your mind; Joel greasing the hinges of this door in a fit of irritation one evening, even though the damn things had been doing so since you came to Jackson and never seemed to bother him before that moment.

You shouldn’t have knocked, but it’s too late to take your hand back.

Besides, where else would you go but home? But here?

But the light is out, so maybe you aren’t quite welcome anymore. Maybe Joel Miller has finally tired of having ghosts hanging in his doorway.

And you’re so filthy. You try brushing some of the detritus away, but it just makes it worse. It smears over your skin and you have to wonder how you died. You can never remember that particular detail, worrisome and niggling like the hollow space of a lost tooth, tongue sliding repeatedly into the bloody cavity.

Joel shouldn’t have to see you like this. He shouldn’t have to keep seeing you like this.

Light spills painfully bright across the threshold when the door opens, across your toes and bare feet and swollen ankles. The burst of discomfort that lances across your eyes only lasts for a moment before Joel comes into sharp relief, steady and solid and always there to open the door when you knock.

“Is it always raining?” You ask when he just stares at you, joking only a little, trying to soften the blow of your appearance — both the way you look and your perpetual, repeated haunting. “I don’t remember it raining so much.”

When he doesn’t answer, just looks you up and down, gaze raking over you, mournful and hungry and aching, so open and raw, all you can do is apologize. “I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could stop.”

Joel shakes his head and holds the door open further, relief spreading across his features in lieu of the grief, a gentle loosening in the tension around his eyes.

He looks older than you remember, just as the wind chimes look worn by time you don’t remember passing. The lines on his forehead are deeper, his hair is grayer and pushes down and back behind his ears, longer than you ever remember seeing it.

It makes your stomach turn.

You are never certain how much time passes between your visits, but this time it is clear that you have missed years.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, ignorant to your panic. “C’mon inside. S’cold out there.”

The sound of the rain is muted when you step across the threshold and he shuts the door behind you, warm fingers spread briefly over your spine, pulling you closer to the heat of his body.

He’s trying and failing to hold himself at bay. You tuck yourself closer instead and are rewarded with the firm press of his hand between your shoulder blades, the winding of his arm around your waist, the shaky inhale of his breath against your forehead.

“I wonder what would happen if you told me to go away,” you muse, pressing your forehead against his temple, his bowed head tilted toward you. His hand falls away from your shoulder to cup your cheek and keep you close, the other still firmly around your waist. “You should tell me to go away,” you say against his throat where you tuck your face.

A long moment passes like that, silence between you but for the slow creak of floorboards beneath your feet when you shift. You pull back to look at him, fingers caught in the back of his shirt, like he might be the one to disappear.

Joel doesn’t answer immediately, just keeps breathing you in, inhaling long and slow against your skin despite the layer of filth you’re covered in.

He smells the same way he always has, just the way you remember. It’s a comfort, a balm, against something you can’t guess at. It’s not fair to him, either, that you should take comfort in him, in the way he feels and smells, when you haven’t experienced the long, slow shift of time the way he has.

Eventually, he releases you, hands against your jaw, before he draws away entirely and takes the addicting heat of his skin away from yours.

You have left streaks of mud behind on the color of his shirt, his jacket, the underside of his jaw.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind, or doesn’t notice.

There’s a towel on the table in the entryway, like he’s been waiting for you since the moment you last left.

He wraps it around your shivering shoulders, looking you over with a sharp eye as he tugs the material close against your chest. “What if you told me to leave?” You ask again, knowing you should leave it alone. “You should just tell me to leave, Joel.”

He shakes his head and rubs his hands up and down your arms, passing his warmth into your chilled, soaked skin. “It ain’t always rainin’ and we ain’t never gonna know what would happen if I told you to go away.”

“You’re so good to me,” you say, tilting your face toward his, cataloging all the things about him you’d like to remember, for the next time you show up and too much time has passed: the particular shape of the scar over the bridge of his nose, the part of his mouth and the line in his bottom lip, the cast of his eyes, each new wrinkle and scar that has appeared on his skin, the spots of age and life lived starting to appear in the backs of his hands.

Maybe you think about him all the time when you’re away, but if you do, you can’t remember it when you’re with him. There’s nothing but blank emptiness in your mind about wherever you go, if you’re formless and just plain dead, or in whatever afterlife might exist.

“If I was really good to you,” he says, releasing the towel to hold your face in the cup of his palms. “I woulda figured out how to put you to rest by now.”

“I am resting,” you say and lean into his touch. He’s as firm as you remember, as comforting as he’s always been. “It’s you I worry about.”

“Mm.” His skin is warm; his eyes are pained. Joel’s loyalty and love are two of the things you loved most about him in life, in death you detest it because he’s alone. There’s no one left to love, no fealty left to give. “Don’t. Maybe that’s why you keep comin’ back, worryin’ I’m not all right.”

You cover his hand, press the calloused fingertips more firmly into your skin. “I don’t like to think of you alone. Why haven’t you moved on? I can think of a few that had their eye on you all that time.”

He just shakes his head, rolls his eyes in that familiar way of his. The fold of his arms crease around you again, pull you into his chest, the heat of him that you’ve felt a thousand times before, that always somehow feels brand new and comfortingly familiar at the same time.

The tip of his nose fits against your cheek, and when he breathes you in slowly, you feel the weight of all the years that passed between this moment and the last. He cups the back of your head, tucks you that much closer. His thumb slides slowly against the base of your skull, the back of your neck, his touch lingering there for a long moment.

When he exhales and then replies, his voice shakes a little. “That’s real funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I would mind.”

Yes, you suppose he would, even after all the years that have passed.

Joel is not one to give up or let go, not for anything. He holds it in his heart, with desperate, clenched fingers, refusing to give it up when it was so hard to let it in in the first place.

There would be no one, nothing, else.

“Really,” you insist softly. “They didn’t think we were good together anyway. I was too mean and maybe they were right. I can see that now.”

“You weren’t, and they ain’t.”

He rubs your back slowly, like he’s refamiliarizing himself with your shape and feeling.

An ache springs up in your chest, a little well of grief. He’s getting older and you’re missing it. He’s living without you and you’re missing it and so is he. He’s missing out on his own life again, buried under a mountain of grief. You should be here for all of it, for all of his life, but that’s just not how things work out sometimes.

The lines by his eyes and the gray in his hair, you shouldn’t even notice it. If you were able to look at him every single day, you wouldn’t notice it at all. But you do now because you’re gone for weeks or months or, like today, years, and so you notice it. You see the toll of time on him.

“Did you miss me?”

“‘Course I did.”

“I missed you, too.”

Something you never would have admitted to in life, not with words anyway. It gives him a second of pause.

“I thought it was nothin’ for you? Ain’t you here everyday?” He smiles, and you know how glad he is that for you no time at all has gone by. Every single day, you get to see him.

He doesn’t know it’s torture for you too, being the cause of such extended pain, such lonely heartbrokeness.

“I missed you, even then. I know I did.”

He nods, looks you over once again. “Well, you don’t got to no more. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Joel thought that he was losing his mind the first time you appeared in the rain, that the grief in his chest was too big and had swallowed him whole.

It wouldn’t have been the first time after all.

But you are as real as anything he’s ever known, as real as you had been in life. You’re warm to the touch, the scent of your skin is just like he remembers it, something he never thought he would smell again in the aftermath of your death.

It’s all the same, you are the same, like nothing at all happened.

You had known you were dead but not how, confused and anxious and fussing over him in a way that you only ever had when he was seriously injured or you when you suspected that he was.

You aren’t haunting him; he doesn’t like to think about it like that.

But that’s probably exactly what it is. Only Joel can shoulder the blame of your death, afterall, and maybe your spirit knows that. Most times, though, it just feels like you’re visiting after a long trip away.

The only time he feels haunted is when you’re gone, when you disappear into some ether he can’t reach and the only thing left to him is your grave beneath a swaying tree.

Your visits are infrequent, and you always appear when it’s raining. The rain is important, somehow.

He waits for rain, begs for it.

Even thinks of praying for it, sometimes.

You eat when you visit, not like you’re ravenous, just a normal human hunger. You sleep, and you feel warm though your hands are always cold. If it’s cold, you don’t seem to feel it. If it’s warm, you don’t seem to feel that either.

The only troublesome thing about it, besides having to say goodbye to you over and over, is that you always turn up covered in dirt.

He doesn’t like that, like you’d torn yourself up out of cold, dark earth without help, clawed your way out of damp dirt just to arrive on his front porch.

Just because he can’t figure out how to let you go. You are being held hostage by his grief and guilt and he knows that even if you don’t.

You sit patiently by while he runs a bath for you, ankles crossed and hands folded in your lap as your eyes rove around the bathroom, probably noting changes Joel no longer sees. His knee aches when he crouches and you frown when he groans getting back up. It’s embarrassing, aging, especially when you aren’t doing it with him.

He’s glad that there are things you’ll never experience—aching joints and pained tendons among them—but it also means you aren’t there, you aren’t there with him to feel those things and do those things. You should be doing it together.

It’s been a couple years since he last saw you. The longest you’ve ever been gone. He takes your hand and helps you undress, and it’s odd because your body is the same as it was when you died, younger than him, the space between you growing with each year that passes. It’s a particular, peculiar, cruel kind of grief that your body never got a chance to age along with his, to develop creases and lines, to accumulate new scars and marks.

In other lives, in some other reality, he would have liked to get old with you. He’s had that thought about so many things over the years, about things out of his control and those in it, things that should have been different but weren’t, aren’t. In another life, he would have liked to go grocery shopping with you. In another life, almost exactly the same as this one, neither of you take so long to pull the other in and he gets more time with you. In another life, neither of you are as hard and distant as you are in this one.

But he likes the life he got with you all the same, the time he got with you. He got to watch you soften in your own time and way after settling in Jackson. He got to go on patrols with you, and in this world, patrols sometimes amount to their own kind of grocery shopping.

Joel lets you balance one hand on his forearm as you never would have in life to lower yourself into the bath. You used to be adverse to any kind of help. I don’t need help, stop looking at me, I can do it myself, it doesn’t hurt.

In life, you never really got better about showing affection. Pushed away from it, allergic to it, only fitting with and around him in the dark.

Not ashamed, but afraid. Like if the world looked too close, it would all just be ripped away. Joel should have known it would be the other way around. That the world would inevitably take you from him first.

Now, though, in death, you hold onto his arm, and then squeeze his hand. You lock your fingers with his and rub his wrist in gentle circles.

Maybe you’ve realized all the same kinds of things that he had, that so much was wasted, never realized.

You watch him carefully now, eyes drinking him in, when he kneels next to you. “I like your hair like this,” you say, lifting one hand to twitch a piece of his hair back. “And I can do this myself.”

There it is.

He doesn’t answer, just dips the washcloth into the water and drags it along your skin.

Soft skin, damp and warm and so alive. But he knows when he inevitably lies his head against your chest later, he won’t hear a thing. Your heart is still. It will never not be still again.

The other thought he had the first time you showed up, was that you had turned. That worse than death happened, that he’d made some kind of critical error and you’d become what you so wildly feared, that he promised he would never let you become.

Your death had flashed violently behind his eyes, your blood soaking into the ground turning the whole world a bright, rusted crimson. He feels the weight of his revolver in his hand, sees the unending mess of your death, the splatter of the back of your skull—

But infected don’t knock at the door, don’t smile, don't talk and walk and remember everything that ever happened to them. Most of everything that ever happened to them, anyway.

And infected ain’t human, not anymore, not as they’d once been.

Besides, he’d seen you die, felt you die, sure as sure that you could never become one of those things.

“I wish I could stop,” you say gently, the bath water turning slowly brown, curls of steam rising from the tub, washing him in the unfiltered, raw scent of your skin undercut by the smell of his own soap because he’d long ago run out of yours, and no matter where he looked, he could not find it again. A cosmic punishment, maybe, that even your scent can be lost. “I don’t know how to stop. I wish I could leave you alone.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

It’s quiet for a while, the rain continues to patter down, splashing against the panes of the open window, birdsong spilling in the air beyond the crush and shush of the leaves twisting in the early morning wind. The air smells sweet with rain, like the slightly earthy tang of perchitor.

“How long has it been?” Your fingers circle his wrist when he wrings out the cloth, holding his hand to your chest tightly. “It’s been a long time hasn’t it?”

Joel shrugs. “I thought maybe you were finally at rest.”

You swallow, he feels the echo of it in your chest, heart still silent, though he’s feeling it’s silence before he planned to. “How long?”

“Two years. Almost three.”

You suck in a sharp breath and shift, the water twisting around you in the tub. Dirty water, now, that reminds him of that night, all that rain. . . all those—

“Oh, Joel.”

“It’s all right.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head, the fierceness you’d shown in life creeping into your voice. He ignores the way the temperature falls several degrees. “This is—I’m torturing you.”

“It ain’t like that,” he disagrees. “You’re here.”

You make a frustrated noise. The grip of your hand around his is painful, and he can’t stop thinking about the still heart beneath it. “It’s exactly like that. Next time, don’t open the fucking door. I won’t even knock. I’ll dig myself back into the ground where I belong.”

He cups the side of your head with his other hand, feels the impossible heat of you, the mocking life of you. “Don’t you even think of it.”

“This hurts, Joel.”

“I know.”

He pulls you closer, your forehead against his, palm cupping the back of your head, that place on your neck. Just smooth skin there, nothing else. “This hurts you.”

“No.”

“You’re alone.” You pull back, eyes blinking up into his, brows tilted in and mouth skewed to the side. Angry, anxious. More than that, protective. You could grit your teeth through anything. But not this. “I never wanted that.”

He has to repress the urge to slide his hand along the back of your skull again. “M’not. I talk to you all the time. You just can’t hear it.”

He visits your grave everyday.

Most days, the graveyard is quiet. It was the best place he could have buried you, even if it was outside Jackson.

Birdsong, the steady swish of water in the nearby creek, the sun moving through ever swaying branches of leafed trees.

The world there teems with new life, creatures to keep you company.

Always, a pair of deer that slink between the headstones, nosing at the sprouting grass and budding flowers. Birdsong and the chittering of little creatures. The hush of wind through trees, the fluttering sound of a cool morning breeze.

It’s nice.

It’s always nice, if a little lonely.

“Three years.” You pause, anguished about it. Then, “How’s Ellie? She must be all grown up. What does she look like? Does she—”

“‘Bout the same,” he cuts you off. You don’t need to know just how alone things have gotten. “Taller. Skinner. Patrols a lot now.”

“By herself?” The note of pride in your voice makes him chuckle, releases the tension caught up in his throat .

“Well, with someone else, as a pair. You know that.”

You nod and hum. “Yeah. I wish I could talk to her. Do you have a picture?”

“Downstairs.” Joel touches the curve of your shoulder, the scar that runs along your collarbone. You’ve always had that scar, a permanent fixture on your body from before the time you’d known each other.

You used to be angrier in life. It’s like death has mellowed you out a little. Why shouldn’t it? What worries could the dead have?

Besides him.

You worry about him.

Sometimes Joel worries that you aren’t you at all, or that one day you’ll remember more than he wants you to, and all that buried rage will come right back up.

Where do you think you go, really? He wants to ask. And is it a place I can follow someday? Do I deserve to?

Or will you show up here one day to an empty house, to bones and dust and nothing else and think he abandoned you? Or grieve in death for him, unable to reach each other?

A mourning ghost.

Maybe you hate him. Maybe wherever you go, you know the truth and you hate him. Maybe you’re so angry your spirit can’t rest, and that’s the real reason you’re still around.

Maybe this is supposed to be torture to him like you said, a punishment, but he loves you too much for that. He loves you too much for this to be anything but a gift, even if it hurts like hell every time. Even if it’s like losing you all over again each time.

Because there’s this.

There’s rain and quiet and you, real and in front of him, your skin soft and clean beneath his fingertips, your voice in his ear and your laughter he can swallow down. The water is a murky, thin brown by the time you get out of the bath. You dress in fresh, clean clothes, and then he wraps your swollen ankles and pushes his thumbs into the soles of your feet.

“I think you’re getting too old for that,” you say, one hand on his shoulder. “I can do it myself. You know it won’t matter anyway and my feet don’t hurt too badly.”

No, because you’d just show up again in the clothes he buried you in, with your ankles swollen and feet sore again, just like they had been the night you died.

Joel will never forgive himself for not making you stop that night, to at least wrap your feet. Maybe then you would have missed the—

He pushes the thought away.

He’s kneeling on his bathroom floor, with the warmth of your ankle in his palm. He stares at the knob of your ankle and feels the soft down of the hair on your leg when he slides his hand up your calf to cup the back of your knee. He misses you so badly in that moment, he feels it in the back of his throat, choking him.

“I love you,” he says, because he isn't sure he ever said it when you were alive, and if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s not making the same mistake twice, even if all his mistakes prove fatal. The words are thick on his tongue, almost clumsy, and your face crumples with them. You slip to the floor and kneel with him and something about it feels so wrong.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know. I know. I love you too.”

You would have never said it, before, either. You never said things to each other, and maybe you should have.

The only sign of your otherworldliness is the glow you put off. You shimmer around the edges, and he half expects you to disappear each time he blinks. You look like summer sun has permanently infused itself under your skin.

When you eventually make it down to the kitchen together, he heats something up for you to eat. He’s still as bad at cooking as he’s always been so it’s the best he can do.

It’s just stew that Tommy and Maria sent over a few days ago, but you eat it slowly and savor each bite. He shows you a fairly recent picture of Ellie and you look at it like you might cry. “She’s all grown up.”

Joel nods and lets you hold onto the picture.

He doesn’t tell you that they don’t talk anymore.

Whenever you visit, Joel bars himself from the world.

You’re only there for a day, less than 24 hours, usually, and he needs all that time with you. How long would it be until he saw you again? Three years? Longer? Never?

This might be the last time he says goodbye to you, and he isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

“I get afraid sometimes, you know,” you admit, threading your fingers through his hair, your naked skin pressed to his, humid and tacky with sweat. It’s so human. It’s so alive.

You smell like you, like the trees and earth you died among.

He never says anything about how cold your hands are. He’ll miss the icy press of them through his soon enough.

“Of what?”

“Do you think we’ll find each other? When you die?” You pause. “Many, many years from now, of course.”

Joel tightens his arms around your waist, feels the contraction of your lungs. It’s so strange, hearing the in and out of your breath, the pump of your lungs, but not the beat of your heart. He slides his hand down your back, over the length of your spine to the small of your back. Your leg flexes against his hip, the warmth of you folded around him. “What if you move on? And I still don’t know how?” You only pause for a second, “Or what if I move on, and then you don’t know how?”

He pulls back to meet your eyes, watches you squint at him through the yellow gray of the afternoon air. Already the sun is arcing down through the sky, the end of another day within reach.

The curve of your cheekbone, the line of your jaw muted in the pale sunshine straining through the gray and purple mass of clouds that have not dissipated. Your brows are drawn together, lips pulled down into a frown. Maybe if it keeps on raining, you’ll get to stay longer, you’ll never have to leave him again.

There’s no world where he doesn’t tear it apart to find you, and he tells you so. He’ll find you, somehow.

“Joel,” you say gently, and it feels like being caught, being found out. He knows what you’re going to say before you say it. “I think you should tell me how I died.”

Joel shakes his head. “No.”

His voice comes out mean, a snarl, warning.

It’s the one thing you don’t remember, the one thing that remains out of your reach. You don’t know how you died. You don’t remember that day at all, not any of it, and it’s better that way. “It’s better you don’t know. Ain’t nothin’ you need to know.”

“But what if that’s—I do think I need to know, Joel. What are you trying to protect me from? Why don’t I know that? What if that’s why I can’t stop haunting you?”

He presses his forehead to yours, feels the warm swell of your breath against his lips, the slick slide of your body against his. “I can’t,” he repeats, softer this time.

It hurt too much to even think of. He’s lost too many people that way, bloodied and scared, but those are his memories to hold onto, not theirs, not yours. That’s something he can keep. He can keep you safe from the memory of that terrible moment, that horrible night.

“Why?” You stroke his hair, the shell of his ear, and he can’t help but think of how different you are in death. This sweet side of you, it must have been you before the outbreak, before everything. “Joel,” you say so softly. “Did you kill me?”

Driving a knife through his heart might have been kinder than asking, but it might have been kinder, it might have been right, to tell you the truth a long time ago too. He feels like he can’t breathe, the memory of your warm, sticky blood on his fingers, the way you’d gone so still and the way he hadn’t been able to move for hours afterwards, your cooling body in his arms, deadened inside, numb.

“Joel?” You don’t sound mad, even though it’s obvious you guessed right. “I’m already dead. If you killed me, I know you must have had a good reason to.”

You’re so level headed about things, in death. If you came to him in nightmares and horrors, ripped paintings off the walls, broke furniture, screamed and wailed and made the house bleed from the floorboards, at least that would be understandable.

You were rarely so reasonable in life.

He doesn’t answer, just palms that place at the base of your skull where a bullet hole should be, where the wound he inflicted should still be, but isn’t, shattered bone and viscera. “I killed you.”

“Why?”

“You—”

He spent hours with you, listening to you struggle to breathe, listening to you cry, listening to how afraid you were of what was to come, begging for him to do it, to kill you, that you couldn’t do it yourself.

I don’t want to be one of those things, Joel, not even for a second. I don’t want to know if they’re in there. I don’t want to know if people have been in there all this time. Please.

He had wrapped the bite on your ankle and felt eerily calm, trying to think his way out of something final.

Maybe, some part of him had desperately thought, you were like Ellie, immune. Maybe he was lucky enough for that to be true twice. But he’d seen Ellie breathe in spores, and she never sounded like you did then.

The rattle in your lungs was the worst of it, how you struggled to breathe and he wouldn’t let you die.

It had been raining that evening, and you had been angry at him about something. Even now, he can’t remember what you were arguing about—just that you were being stubborn and so was he, that you weren’t talking aside to bark at each other about something, that your feet were so sore you could barely walk and wouldn’t let him touch you. He’d been rolling his eyes, stiff shouldered, annoyed. It had reminded him of the first time he had to wrap your feet, two days after Sam and Henry died, your pace so slow you might have never made it out of the state, let alone the suburbs of that city, snapping that you were fine.

After the first time he wrapped your ankles and then found you better shoes a couple days on, you let him do it again without all the snarling and snapping at each other.

The night you died, you had been outside the wall without the horses, and he can’t remember how that happened either.

Why you were out there. If something happened and you lost the horses or—

He supposes it doesn’t matter, really.

It had been dark, the soft shush of rain against the canopy of leaves overhead the only sound in the caress of night. Then you had come on the soft, decaying bodies of several clickers leaking red into the burble of the creek.

They were all dead.

Or, he had thought they were all dead. Joel hadn’t been thinking about anyone getting bitten because they were all already dead, and the real problem had been who was that close to Jackson leaving bodies behind, and that he’d have to come back in the morning with Tommy to clean up the mess and look around, reckoning already with not being able to get any sleep.

He couldn’t look at you when he did it, that was the final injustice of it all, after hours of putting it off, dawn starting to leak over the horizon, the rain finally abating. So you laid face down and told him it was okay, and then he shot you. His hand didn’t shake until after it was done, and he couldn’t remember what your face looked like and there was no seeing it again, not after a shot like that one at point blank range.

He tells you all of this now in so many words, whatever he can manage to get out without losing it.

“Oh,” you say, your fingers drifting to the back of your neck, that place at the base of your skull he always touches so tenderly. “But none of that is on you. You did the right thing.” Your voice warbles. “I’m sorry I made you do that. I should have been able to do it myself.”

“That’s not—I wouldn’t have let you,” he says. “I wouldn’t have left you alone.”

He would not have let you die alone.

“No,” you agree, “you wouldn’t have.” For a moment, he thinks that’s it. It’s over, you know now, and maybe you’ll disappear but you don’t seem angry. “Joel,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry. It must have felt like I was—like I was waiting to—I don’t know. You didn’t just lose me once, you’ve lost me so many times. I can’t imagine losing you over and over and over again.”

He closes his eyes, can’t look at you. “We never learned how to grieve,” you continue. “Not for each other, and not for anyone else.”

“We were mad at each other,” he says instead of answering.

“Were we? About what?”

“That’s the damn thing. I don’t remember. Probably somethin’ stupid, like usual.”

You touch him again with your icy, cold fingertips. The press of it firm against his skin, like you might leave craters behind in his flesh, scars of you left over on his skin. “It was always something stupid.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, because it was. “I miss it.”

“I can fight with you right now, if you want.”

“That’s all right, honey,” he laughs.

“Was I always so mean and angry?”

“No,” he says. “You was always real nice to Ellie. Sam, too.”

“Kids.”

“Kids,” he agrees with a nod. “And me, after a while, in your own way. You got to be real easy with me. By the time we got here, to Jackson, you were nice enough to find Tommy tolerable.”

“We liked to tease you,” you say, like it’s something you’re just remembering. “Me and Tommy.”

“Yep. Sure did.”

"You can say I was mean."

He almost laughs. "You were a little mean. You almost killed me when we met."

You do laugh. You can; you aren't being left behind, being asked to move on. "I didn't trust you until you found me those shoes. Maybe I should have tried harder."

It's only quiet for a beat.

“Joel,” you say, and he has to look at you. “It’s not your fault. What was the alternative?”

The sun slides from behind a cloud then, the steady patter of rain not abating. “Maybe I was too quick with it.”

You breathe out sharply. “The way you tell it. . .we both know that’s not true. You did what I asked. I never had to find out what it’s like to be one of those things. Because of you.”

“Don’t make it any easier. Don’t make losin’ you easier.”

Doesn’t make the jagged sharp memory of your final hours any easier, doesn’t make the weight of that gun in his hand any easier to bear, your blood on his hands.

“And I’m still sorry for that.” You touch the back of his head with cold fingers, the place that echoes the would be wound on your own.

“I think. . .I’m here because you need me. Not because it was your fault. You don’t want to be alone.”

He can tell you anything, more than he ever did when you were alive. What did it matter? Really? You would leave and take those parts of him with you. You might never come back, might not remember, anyway.

Something cracks, spills from the center of his chest.

“I can’t do this again. I can’t lose someone like this again. I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

“You’ll be okay.”

You don’t understand, and he can’t unburden that on you. “I know.”

“Ellie will come around, Joel.”

His head jerks up, but you just nod and stroke his skin, the chill of your hands making a shiver run down his spine. “She will. I promise.”

“You know.”

“Of course I know.” You don’t look away. “I know you. I know her. Of course I know. Give it time.”

That’s pretty much the one thing he suddenly has too much of and not enough of.

When you kiss him, it’s gentle. You part your legs when he presses his fingers against you.

The drizzle returns to a downpour, the clouds blacken, bruised purple and green at the edges. The pattern of it against the window is distant, far away. He sinks into you, feels the hollow, shuttering intake of your breath like it’s your own, feels the sticky, warmth of you, easy, tight.

“I can’t do this again.”

It’s said against your throat, words he didn’t mean to say.

You cup the back of his neck, your lips press against his ear. “You have to let go. And I’ll always be sorry,” you cradle him close, “for these last few years. You deserved—more.” You shutter against him, words are lost.

He wakes.

Every window in the house is open.

Wet footprints lead from the bedroom to the landing, down the stairs and out the front door.

It’s a new day.

It’s not raining.

He dresses slowly, eats a hollow breakfast by the window, watches Ellie leave for the morning from the chair by the window.

By the time he has his boots on, the first patrols of the day are already gone.

Tommy doesn’t ask him where he’s headed.

He stops only once.

Most days, the graveyard is quiet.

Birdsong, the steady swish of water in the nearby creek, the sun moving through ever swaying branches of leafed trees.

But it’s spring, now, and the world is teeming with new life.

A pair of deer slink between the headstones, nosing at the sprouting grass and budding flowers. One makes a sound like a sneeze. They move away, hooves disappearing into the shallow creek bed before the trees and shadows swallow them whole. Birdsong and the chittering of little creatures. The hush of wind through trees, the fluttering sound of a cool morning breeze.

It’s nice.

It’s always nice, if a little lonely.

Then, the sound of footsteps cutting through it all, the steady, heavy fall of boot treads that send the deer deeper into the woods, send the rodents dashing, hiding under last year’s lost foliage, freezing the songs of a hundred birds and stilling their wings.

The world goes silent and very, very still.

The sunlight blinds you, and then he’s there, broad shoulders blocking the light, carefully stepping between graves until he reaches the edge of the graveyard where you perch on the top of a headstone.

You knew he’d come. He always does.

“Hey, honey,” he kneels and lays the bouquet of flowers by your swinging toes, replacing the wilting blooms from the last time he must have visited.

Ivy creeps along the stone, time and elements obscuring the carefully carved names and dates your fingers absently reach down to trace. Joel carved the words out with his own hands, and you hate that he had to.

“Hi, Joel.”

He doesn’t hear you, doesn’t feel your touch. You wish you could remember these moments when you’re with him, that you could tell him you know how he mourns, how he refuses to let go, and that it’s okay to.

He looks up.

You turn and look with him.

The marble statue, blinded eyes, one palm reaching up, cradling the whole wide world in a moss covered palm.

You scoff. “Jesus. She’s not me.”

He shakes his head.

“You need to let go.”

“I’m gonna let go. Try to.”

“Good. Tell Ellie to come see me.”

He rises from the ground, leads against the headstone next to you. “I’ll see about gettin’ her out here eventually. She was so mad at me when you—Well, hell, she’s mad about a lot more now.”

The air flutters with light. “You’ll figure it out.”

He nods, like he can hear you. You nudge your knee into his, just to make sure he can’t. “Wait for me, please.”

“I wouldn’t ever be that unfair to you. Of course I will.”

“There ain’t nobody else for me, so don’t go lettin’ anyone else take care of your ankles just yet.”

You laugh, the tree above your grave shivers, leaves turning. Joel looks up, and you track the little flecks of gold in his eyes.

When he gets up and starts back toward the overgrown path that leads to your graveyard, a scrap of paper falls from his pocket. You read over his shoulder.

I’m sorry for not being better to you.

“You weren’t that mean. Sorry for keepin’ things from you.”

“Thanks for being honest with me. You always get around to it eventually. No more wasting time. Go.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“See you around, Joel.”

💕 Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕

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325575 · 1 year ago

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does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This <s>new</s> temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

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325575 · 1 year ago

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uncharted 4 fanfic masterlist

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader

multi-chapter

say you wanna, say you wanna be

CHAPTERS 1 || 2 || 3 || 4…(to be continued)

Read on AO3

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325575 · 1 year ago

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say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn’t looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don’t think you’d be a good one anyway, but you two aren’t some one-night stand and it’s been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn’t realize would be. It’s uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

Keep reading

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325575 · 1 year ago

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As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 13:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Pheromones, sexually suggestive scenes (nothing explicit), major misunderstandings.

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Hunter threw the essentials into his bag and secured his armor with a satisfying click as the magseal activated, locking the plates into place.

“Hey you,” a warm voice sounded from the hatch.

Hunter looked up to see Tara standing on the ramp, leaning against the hatchway with her hand on her hip. She smiled.

“Ketch and Bozo over there let it slip that you were going after your friend. Need an extra hand?”

Hunter grunted halfheartedly, “No, not really.”

“You sure?” she asked, smiling coyly, taking a step inside, “Because you look like you could use all the help you can get.”

He frowned, “I told you I’m fine. We don’t have time for this right now, Tara.”

She sighed, “Hunter, she ran away from you. You got into an argument and she left!”

“I know!” he growled.

Tara sighed, “Hunter look, do you really think you should be going after her?” she asked gently, “She needs time.”

Hunter shook his head. “I can’t,” he snapped, “She needs me. She could be in trouble!”

Tara smiled softly, folding her arms, “Hunter, trust me. You need to give her time. That’s how women work! She’s a perfectly capable adult. You know this. Just give her some time. You need to rest too, you know.”

Hunter sighed, She is capable. Am I overthinking? Too overprotective?

Omega had said that to him before. He supposed he did have a bit of an overprotective nature, but he chalked that up only as his role as the team’s Sergeant during the war.

A good leader protects his squad.

“Nothing good comes from rushing headlong into things, Hunter,” Tara continued, “You and I both know that.” She paused tentitively then spoke softly, “I care for you too much to let you just run in blind.”

“I’m not running in blind!”

“Oh yeah? What’s the plan then?”

“Get to the coordinates. Find her. Bring her home.”

Tara nodded, “Okay, then what?”

I don’t know. Tell her I love her? Tell her that I can’t live without her?

Hunter didn’t know what to say so he was silent.

“Hunter…” Tara began, taking another step forward, “I…”

Hunter growled, “What is it that you want me to say, Tara? That I don’t know what I’m doing!? I...”

He could feel his heart beat pounding. The air felt different. He'd never said it aloud before. His mouth felt dry, almost as if he said the words it would mean that his feelings were real and that he’d be forced to face them head-on.

“You don’t understand, Tara. I love - “

She stepped forward placing a hand on his arm - a smile speading across her face.

Hunter froze at the touch, quickly turning away. He could smell her - the sweat on her dark skin, the relaxant in her hair. The pheromones in her perfume. It seemed to grab ahold of his senses, begging him to face her - to give her his full attentions. He stilled, taking a breath to steady himself.

“Do you like that, Hunter?” She said softly, tapping the panel beside the ramp as the hatch hissed closed.

Hunter felt himself begin to sweat. The scent enveloped his senses - warm and sweet. Intoxicating. It slipped through the cracks on his armor, pooling in a heat below his skin. It felt so good - so easy to relax. He bit back a groan as her fingers skimmed the skin below his chin, lifting his face towards her own. He felt his codpiece tighten.

So good. You’re so good to me.

He closed his eyes and there you were - eyes lit up in wonder at seeing the purrgil dance around the ship in hyperspace. There you were - dragging him to cover in a firefight, eyes full of concern. There you were - holding a cup of caf out to him, eyes glittering in the dim cockpit lighting.

“There you go, Hunter.” Tara murmured, “Relax. I bought this for you. For us.”

He inhaled slowly, feeling lighter than he had felt in a long time.

“I knew you’d like it,” she whispered, “Can I touch you?”

Hunter moaned - the throbbing beneath his codpiece felt stronger than ever. He wanted this - your fingers, your voice.

So good. So right. So… not you.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

His eyes flew open - alarm bells blaring dizzily through his skull - the scent too thick. Too much.

Not you. Not you. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He gasped and stumbled backwards. “Stop!” he panted, holding up a hand. “I don’t… What the kriff are you doing!?”

Tara stood up, tearing her hand from his chest, nearly falling as she stumbled backwards, hand forcefully slapping the bulkhead behind her until she hit the exit ramp and it hissed open.

“Oh my gods!” she gasped, hands flying to her face. “I thought… I thought you wanted this! I thought…” she sputtered horrified, “You said…you said… I thought…. Oh gods… I’m so sorry, Hunter!”

Tara backed down the ramp as Hunter stumbled into the open, gasping for air. He shook his head, guilt springing to the forefront of his mind, shame sprouted in his gut making him feel sick.

How could I have let this happen?

It was the essence of you, not Tara, that had blossomed up through that musky haze. It was your hands that had touched him, not hers.

Did I tell her that I wanted this? Did I inadvertently lead her on?

He looked up, seeing her stood frozen on the bottom of the ramp, eyes wide in embarrassment, heart beat still rapid in the aftermath of horror.

She shook her head.

How could I have been so stupid? The thought was written all over her face.

“It was never me, was it.” The words came as a quiet statement rather than a question.

Hunter stood up, gritting his teeth as he composed himself. “No, Tara. It wasn't.”

“You love her, don't you.”

Hunter paused.

Saying it aloud makes it real.

Saying it aloud would prove beyond a doubt that you belonged to him and he to you.

Tech's words echoed through his brain. “According to this, you are in fact, in love.”

He took a breath. “Yes. I do love her.”

Tara nodded and turned away, “Then you should probably tell her.”

--------------------------------------------------

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325575 · 2 years ago

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⇒ Salvatore teaser. ₊˚.༄

⇒ Felix Catton x Reader ❦

✧ summary.

⇒ It's not summer at Saltburn without guests. She came here for Farleigh, but a certain someone just can't seem to leave her alone.

✧ tags.

✦ 18+ content, MDNI ✦ yearning ✦ body worship ✦ jealousy ✦ ownership ✦ heavily alluded to oral (f receiving) ✦ the situationship from hell ✦ felix typical fuckboy behaviour ✦

✧ teaser word count: 422

✧ masterlist.

It isn’t until large hands are dragging you back by the waist into the shadow of a doorway that you start thinking that maybe your little sundress was a little too revealing. You smell his aftershave before your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, blinking up at him, hopelessly startled as he crowds you up against the wall. Those dark puppy dog eyes of his hold an intensity you weren’t used to. His gaze lingers for a moment, flicking down over the shape of your body, over where his hands pin you right where he wants you with a bruising grip on your hips. Your cheeks burn, embarrassed by the sudden attention, and how it had your heartrate spiking.

He leans in, slow, offering you more than enough time to turn away, to refuse him. The kiss he presses to your lips is surprisingly gentle, his lips soft. He soon pulls away, leaving you breathless, to trace gentle kisses over your cheek and jaw before he begins to trail downwards. Lingering brushes of lips creep lower, down your neck, your collarbones, your chest.

His eyes find yours, holding your gaze as he sinks slowly down onto his knees. He takes the hem of your dress into his hands, rubbing the material between thumb and forefinger for a moment before speaking.

“Hold onto this for me, darling” he half whispers, slowly lifting your skirt to where he wants it, waiting patiently for you to take the fabric into your somewhat trembling grip. He trails his fingers down your bare thighs, staring up at you with what could almost have been mistaken for reverence. He steadies you with a hand to your hip as he lifts your right leg, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of your knee. He trails more up the inside of your thigh, taking his time with it, completely unhurried as he carefully places your leg over his shoulder.

He breaks his gaze as he leans in closer, and you can feel the heat of his breath through your underwear. It’s not until he laughs softly and traces the pads of his fingers over your clothed cunt that it occurs to you that you’d likely soaked right through from the excitement of the moment. If your cheeks were already warm, they were burning now.

“I bet I don’t even need to take these off of you, do I?” he mutters, and you can hear the amusement in his tone.

✧ notes.

⇒ I was going to put something a little sweeter for the teaser but that felt somewhat dishonest. Instead you can have this fun bit <3

⇒ Not beta read because poor A didn't need to be reading all that, please make me aware of any mistakes and I'll fix them tomorrow :) - wording of teaser subject to change within about 24 hours if i read this tomorrow and find it super clunky

⇒ divider credits.

#saltburn #felix catton #felix catton x reader

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325575 · 2 years ago

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reblogs appreciated for sample size!

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325575 · 2 years ago

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┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

Heavenly Principles

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

pairing: higuruma hiromi x f!reader

warnings: spoilers for the jujutsu kaisen manga, angst, swearing, fighting, death penalty, accusation of cheating, mentions of smut, unprotected sex, fluff

notes: i havent written anything for a while, i missed it. also i fucking love hiromi like how fucking cool is he. cant wait to read more fics for him.

"so? do you recognize her?" itadori questioned the tired out shadow of a man that sat opposite him on his wooden chair "did you know my sensei?"

higuruma gulped, watching closely the teenager across him. teenagers. he thought. always so loud

"i did know her. is she- was she also one of the casualties"

"she's alive, although she's not doing too well. a curse user hit her with their technique and she's not able to communicate with us. we don't know how to bring her back... i don't know what to do anymore" at that he let the breath he thought he was holding in for years. she's alive.

he did know her. once upon a time when she walked in that bar in shibuya like she owned the place. he was having his own drink when he noticed her walking in like a godess. she was magnificent, elegant and superior to any other creature he had ever seen. what intrigued him even more was when walked towards him and took a seat in the stool right next to his.

"what kind of whiskey do you like"

"excuse me?"

"i asked you what kind of whiskey do you like." he looked at her puzzled, not quite taking in the intentions behind her question.

"yamazaki, why do you ask?"

"you sure have expensive taste" she admired, smiling at the man in front of her "keisuke-san, two yamazaki's with ice please" she spoke softly as the bartender, keisuke-san, as he nodded at the woman.

"i never said i drink it with ice"

"well time you start doing so" who even was she anyway? "y/n gojou" well maybe she might be actually owning the place. she was from the one of the wealthiest clans after all.

"hiruguma hiromi" he murmured looking at the round glass placed in front of him, swirling it around with his hand. "i work as-"

"a lawyer i already know that. i also knew your name actually"

"what do you want from me?" he questioned looking back at her e/c eyes, holding on for dear life not to gaze down at her decolte. "surely you don't want to just share drinks with a stranger. you came prepared"

"ah- you caught me there mr higuruma. i need your help"

"my help how?"

"i need a lawyer."

and this is how he met gojou y/n. a special grade sorcerer like her brother and a teacher at the tokyo metropolitan jujutsu college. a peculiar yet warming presence. an undeniably enticing woman with looks that could pass her as a heavenly principle. in higuruma's eyes she was higher than that and the more she entrusted about herself to him the more infatuated he had become.

yet again she was his client and her case was far more important at the moment than his feelings for her, even if she made it harder for him to focus.

"with how cold and distant you are you certainly remind me of a certain someone" she mused, eyeing the dark hair man from her place in the couch "don't you think you can let loose a bit?im tired and trial could wait"

"well im just trying to not get you in jail, or worse have you take the death penalty. i think we should-"

"im innocent, we're going to prove it whether they like it or not. that doesn't mean we should waste all of our energy in that"

"and what do you wanna waste your energy on, y/n" he asked, her eyes dark as she walked towards his desk office. slowly she lifted her hand to caress his cheek and lowered it down to rest on his shoulder. using her hand as leverage she hopped on his lap, with her legs on either side of his body. she was so close, drawing hiromi even closer with her magnitizing scent"

"you, hiromi"

he remembered how he took her right then and there, indulging into the mystery y/n was. how good she was for him as she moved up and down from his cock. how he became drunk to her every little moan, gasp and whisper of his name. how her lips felt on his neck and how she would gasp and move her hips faster every time he would smack her ass. how he pushed away every file of her case down on the floor so he could fuck her harder against his desk and claim her by pushing his seed deep into her womb after she practically begged him to do so.

"im not gonna let them do anything to you y/n" he had whispered in-between thrusts. "i won't let them take you away from me-" another sharp thrust "let the world be damned, im not letting them touch a single hair of your head" higuruma had noticed the tears slipping down her pretty face. he knew that those words meant so much for her as behind her strong persona she hid a fragile heart that had been corrupted one too many times for the sake of being a jujutsu sorcerer and for the whole year he had been working as her attorney he wanted nothing more than to ease her pain. he was desperate to prove her innocence. he really was.

the day before the final trial he had found her crying on her apartment, the whole place had been a mess and she was screaming as she pushed another one of her expensive vases to her marbled floors. running to her, she had tried pushing him away, telling him to get out. yet again he stayed. he held her in his arms and let her let it all out as she sobbed into his arms. she was scared. scared that they were going to kill her and that she would never see her brother, her students or hiromi again.

he let her cry it out and then kissed her softly, reassuring her that he would not let them, once more. that was his promise from him to her. afterwards, she had fallen asleep in his arms, on the marbled floors as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

he had told her, just how much he loved her.

and a day after he felt like he could fly. he had smiled as she cried while the judge claimed her as not guilty. she hugged him so tight, and he didn't even mind how everyone in the room was watching them. her older brother had thanked him, not missing the way his sister would look at hiromi, obviously using it as a way to tease them both. she could not stop smiling. all her friends were there too. he joined them for dinner right after court and he felt as if he could finally show his love for her in public, without fearing of losing his professionalism.

and after dinner he took her to his apartment and made love to her all night long, never leaving an inch of her skin unkissed and never letting her rest until he had given her as many orgasms as he could pull out of her body. he could never get enough of her anyways.

he knew that he would marry her one day, there was no doubt. however, life can change pretty fast and you see, the success y/n's case had meant that more and more people would opt for him as their attorney too. which meant that hiruguma's job as a lawyer would only keep getting more and more hectic.

without even realizing he had distanced himself from y/n who had also been pretty busy with her position as a jujutsu sorcerer. they rarely saw each other and when they did they were both just too tired to spend time as a couple.

that or they would just fight the stress off, taking their pain out on each other until they became sick of each other's presence.

you're never here for me.

you're always away

go fuck your other clients if you're bored

like you'd fuck your colleagues, i know you would

lies, lies, lies.

such meaningless fights. and then one day, right after she had gotten back from a month long mission in ōita prefecture, he just could not take the fights any longer.

"i want to break up with you. i-" he had told her the minute she was about to start another fight while they spoke in his office. y/n felt betrayed and infuriated. however she did not have the energy to fix it, no matter how badly she just wanted to stay. to be with him for the rest of her life.

"i hope i never fucking see you again, higuruma" she had said before slamming the door of his office, leaving as fast as she could before he could see the tears cloud her eyes. she left just as fast as she came in his life, leaving him sitting in his chair, with his head hidden in his hands. he had hoped she would fight on more, he wanted to be as stubborn as she had always been and not let him break up with her. yet why did he even care, if he was the one to suggest the break up?

that was the last time he eversaw her. exactly a year before all hell broke loose in shibuya. not a single minute had he thought about anyone else other than her during this whole entire year. she had been his first thought as he woke up and the last before he went to sleep. he loved her just as much as ever and he wished that maybe, somehow, their souls would cross paths again.

"sir? are you listening to me?"

"my apologies itadori-kun. repeat your question if you might"

"higuruma-san, will you help me bring gojou y/n? back?"

#jjk higuruma #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma #higuruma smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoiler #hiromi x reader #jjk #hiromi

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325575 · 2 years ago

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they make me ill .............. <3

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325575 · 2 years ago

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With you, I forget my goddess. I love you.

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325575 · 2 years ago

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This is for your y2k!

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.

Pairing: Toji x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip

Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal.

Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.

You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself.

Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different.

Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”

He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically.

Okay, maybe he’s not different.

~~~

Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.

“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”

He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same.

As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.

At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”

“Eat it.”

He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig.

After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together.

“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you.

The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking.

You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”

“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”

You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”

“Toji. Call me Toji.”

~~~

Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat.

Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind.

The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.

“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.”

Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”

He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”

“What?!”

Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”

You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really.

But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special.

Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life.

Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him.

It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water.

“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”

He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”

~~~

The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates.

“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars.

You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”

Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.

Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time.

Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”

Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”

He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”

Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”

You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”

“That’s what I like about you, though.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.

“Seriously? Why?”

“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”

He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”

You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger.

~~~

Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving.

When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle.

When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?”

“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”

He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”

He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”

“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.

You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”

“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.

You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.”

Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap.

Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.”

There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.

“But I thought you liked – ”

“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken.

It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear.

He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.

~~~

Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.

Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.

Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family.

He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.

#toji fushiguro #toji x you #toji zenin #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji #toji x reader

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325575 · 2 years ago

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Love this!!!!!

𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙦𝙪𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙 | ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ| fate's entanglements

characters: toji fushiguro x gojo!reader, toji zenin x gojo!reader

summary: fate had a sense of humor that you didn't appreciate.

tags: toji x gojo!reader, gojo’s older sister, pre-star plasma vessel arc/star plasma vessel arc, satoru content!, suggestive language, explicit language, symbolism (?), strangers to friends, angst, fluff.

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The ceiling lights that hung above your head did a very lackluster job of replicating the scenic starlit nights you had grown accustomed to. The wooden paneled walls littered with religious scrolls reminded everyone in the room of their purpose for being here. The matching floorboards had probably been polished by a low-ranking clan member. The room was filled with the voices of countless men trying to talk over one another believing their words were more important than the others.

When you first started to attend these meetings, you would listen as attentively as you could as you tried to adhere to the diligent daughter archetype. After a while, they would repeat the same things over and over again just with different wording. It made you realize that being inside this room, power was nothing but a word. None of these men truly cared for the life of anyone: not their families, not their clan, not the non-curse users that they had to save, and not the children that they sent off on missions. No, these men’s purpose for having these meetings was fueled by control and appearances.

“When are you going to just accept Osamu’s marriage proposal? My son is an impatient man with many women being offered to him. Why not make my boy’s day, Gojo?”

“Perhaps you should consider that there is a reason why I have never accepted his marriage proposals, Naobito. Along with any other son of yours you’ve tried to send my way over the years.” You retort as you take a sip of the sake in front of you. Like the others, Osamu wasn’t anything to look at. By far, the most unappealing of them all. You aren’t referring to his appearance but to him as an individual. With his mediocre skill set, you believed he entered the Hei on sheer luck. His only redeeming quality is that he was the same age as you. It contributed to his unattractive appeal as his mental age did not reflect his physical.

“When will you let go of this childish rebellion and accept one of their marriage proposals? Fairytale romances and true love do not exist for someone who is to ascend to be a clan leader.” His words are possibly the only logical thing that has been said during the entirety of the meeting. Love was never something you wanted and you don’t think it ever will. Partially because of the life you were set to have but also you have never felt those kinds of emotions for anyone before aside from familial love.

It was rich that he was talking to you about being childish. Don’t be blinded to believe that the Zenins were the only clan asking for your hand as that’s not the case. Naobito was the most persistent out of them all. Your father wasn’t even as concerned about your future spouse as Naobito was. “You may not understand my worth or even that of your sons but if I may express myself freely, let me pose an even far more daring question that could make you understand.” I did a horrendous job of defining you before. You were indeed still glorified that much hasn’t changed but you were a puppet with a consciousness with a life that could never be your own. “How many of your sons could put up a good fight against me?”

The expression he made was one that you wish you had taken a picture of to show Toji. His thin eyebrows furrowed with a hardening gaze that was on the brink of cracking with the tension that had been created. “Trust, the reason that you are the next head of your clan is purely because fate decided to gain a sense of humor and made you the firstborn. Your abilities aren’t enough to be considered your silver lining.” The man remarked with words that have been made known to you ever since Satoru was born. The only aspect of life that was out of reach for the elders was fate but if this life were a utopia for them, they would’ve had Satoru be born first. You were grateful that you could carry the burdens so that Satoru wouldn’t have to one day. That’s why everything was bearable since this was all for him.

“If you wanted to challenge me to a spar you could’ve asked instead of hiding it with this prolonged conversation. How about we-” The benevolent voice of your father that called your name was enough to stun you into silence. “ You’re dismissed.”

You believed that you inherited your father’s gift of having your tone of voice direct the atmosphere of a situation rather than the words spoken. He had spoken so little during the meeting you had momentarily let it slip your mind that he was present. People would say how similar you were to him and largely judge your character based on his. You didn’t consider yourself to be calm, calculated, or reserved but the world did. You considered yourself to be the complete opposite.

Standing up, you bow to your father, “My apologies.” You don’t even make the effort to see him with the gruff he let out as a response enough for you to know his disappointment. You also didn’t need to bother to look at Naobito to know that his eyes were hunting your retreating body.

You weren’t even allowed a moment to reflect on what had happened as a tiny body with tufted hair like yours was seated at the first steps that descended from the building. His back was facing away from you but you could make out that he was holding onto something, maybe a ball or a toy of his. You watched as his head turned as if he were inspecting the area to either avoid being seen or trying to look for someone.

“Toru, what are you doing here?” You asked, looking around to see if he had come here alone. Most of the meetings took place at either one of the campuses for Jujutsu High but today was the rare case of holding it at the Gojo compound.

“Finally! I thought I was going to have to wait all day for you to come out.” The tiny boy complained as you felt his hold tighten as he tried to tug you away with him. “Now come on! I want to play!”

Those meetings became bearable for him. You smiled at the boy before you ruffled his hair. “I thought we talked about being patient, ‘Toru? You can’t run away from training like this.”

He lifted his head toward you and pouted at your words. “But I missed you! This whole week has been training and it’s always the same thing over and over again. It’s so boring!”

Placing one of your hands into his, you allow him to lead the way, “It’s for good for you. How else do you think you’ll ever get stronger than me? I had to do the same thing at your age to get to this point.”

You didn’t wholeheartedly believe that to be true. He deserved to be a kid and be able to play, go to traditional primary school, and make friends. Naobito was right, fate had a sense of humor. A terrible one at that.

“Whatever, I can worry about getting stronger than you when I’m older. Right now, I just want to play with you!” As the eldest, you should’ve taken him back to the training grounds. As his sister, you let him coerce you into playing an array of different games. It started off physical with games like “Red Light, Green Light” then strayed into games like “I, Spy.” You often wondered if he enjoyed the life he had and if moments like these were as important to him as they were to you. I could tell you that you are naive to undermine your brother’s love for you. In many ways, you felt you were failing him as his sister. The previous comment you made is a prime example of that. You should be nurturing his childhood but at some points, you feel like you hinder it.

As a soft yawn escaped the little boy's voice, he made quick by covering his hands over his mouth. He wanted to keep spending with you. Lately, you’ve been busy with meetings and missions. This was one of the rare occasions that he’s been able to have you alone and away from everyone else. He didn’t want to go to sleep and then wake up with the uncertainty of if he’d even catch a glimpse of you throughout the day.

You smiled at him as you poked his cheek. “I spy with my little eye someone who needs to go to sleep.” You brought your hand out for him to take but the 7-year-old boy didn’t budge.

He shook his head, crossing his arms over one another, and with a pout, he affirmed, “I’m not tired!” His body was against him as another yawn came out.

You scooped him up into your arms and almost instantly he fell asleep. Thankfully, where you guys were was close to the main house so that walk wasn’t far. Once you had entered the house you took notice of the familiar silence that was present regardless if your family was home or not. Your mother prided herself in her image so you assumed she was out at a tea party with high-standing women from other clans. Your father could be anywhere from still being at the meeting from earlier or in this case right in front of you.

“Care to explain why Satoru is with you and not training?” He made no effort to lower his voice and you felt Satoru twist his body a bit at the sound of his voice.

“Father, he is a child. He should not be training as hard as he is now. At his age, I wasn’t-” You were never allowed to speak freely with him, and at times you forget that. No worries, he would always remind you in the form of cutting your words short.

“And that’s where I went wrong with you.” The blue in his eyes was darker and more menacing compared to yours and Satoru’s. His hair was long with half of it being held up in a top knot while the other half was down. His height aided in his uninviting aura standing at 6’4 and his yukata matched his cold exterior with it being a mixture of cool blues. “Naobito’s words hold merit, I hope you know that. Don’t bring your brother down with you.”

“Of course.” is all you say as you continue to make your way into Satoru’s bedroom. There wasn’t much personality to it as it was a traditional Japanese-style bedroom. The teddy bear on his bed that you had gifted him after winning it at a summer festival in high school was the only piece of personality his room had. Placing him down and tucking him in, you kiss his forehead.

“Love you, ‘Toru.” You were making your way out of his room when you heard a mumbled,

“Love you too.” from his direction. Turning to face him, you saw he was still asleep but now was hugging the bear. Your brother would always unknowingly find ways to make you smile which you did before leaving his room while trying to make your way out of the house.

“What are you doing going out at this time?” You heard your father call out from behind you and the smile soon fell. Turns out he hadn’t left when you took Satoru to his bedroom as he stood at the corner of the hallway with his arms crossed.

“I thought it would be a good idea to train. I haven’t been able to recently due to missions.” You lied and he seemed to buy it as he simply nodded before making his way to whoever knows where.

He would have you castrated if he knew you were meeting up with the renowned Sorceror Killer.

“Is that my damsel in distress? How much do you want this time?” You teased the bulky man that looked comedic sitting amongst all the flora. He yanked out a few flowers that were nearby before throwing them at you. Normally you would’ve reprimanded him for damaging your work like that but it wasn’t yours. You had somehow coerced the man into helping you plant/maintain your garden under the agreement that you’d give him money in return.

“That joke stopped being funny after the first time, doll.” He rolled his eyes at your other comment before rubbing two of his fingers together in a money motion before “poofing” it away. “You don’t pay me enough to even consider you another form of income.”

You laugh at this before grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt and pulling it down, you point to the prominent “love bites” he had received recently as you playfully pushed him away, “Maybe not, but those dates you take the women you swindle money from aren’t being paid from the money earned from that highly respectable job of yours.”

A while after you found out about his “hobbies”, you grew desensitized to them. Granted you only experienced the before/aftermath of them; the “borrowed money”, the nauseating perfume that mingled with his, and the poorly hidden hickeys. He described himself to be someone that was just experiencing the world and what it had to offer, good or bad.

“Getting so handsy with me but then pushing me away. You’re giving me mixed signals, doll.” The knack for being hypocritical had to be an inherited trait amongst the Zenin clan.

A year has passed and you both certainly were liars.

To an extent.

Yes, that was the closest that Toji had ever been allowed to get to you. That was in terms of physical contact. Over the year, you have gotten closer. You found out that he was a year older than you making him 22, how he got his scar, the night you talked for the first time he had only attended to tie off some loose ends with Naobito, and that he liked to gamble his money away.

After that initial meeting, the garden continued to be the designated meet-up spot. The number of times you’d see each other varied. Neither one of you had contact with one other outside of the garden so figuring out when the other would show up was a guessing game. You could either see each other every day or go months without any contact. The interactions held similar exchanges overall: talking about their days, stargazing, lingering touches, and unspoken words.

The mutual attraction from the start was palpable, but it had become difficult to deny as the years went by. This is more of an issue for yourself than for Toji, who vocalizes his attraction at any moment as long as there is an opportunity. You denied him for multiple reasons. The first is his instinct to wake up in other people’s beds rather than his own.

You were correct in assuming that Toji was a womanizer even if he heavily denied it.

“Trying to signal to you that we’re friends shouldn’t be viewed as a bad thing. It seems you keep conveniently forgetting that part.”

“Those women could be you if you just said yes.” As per the routine, you ignored him.

“You’re not usually the last one to show up between the both of us. Stuck in one of those meetings again or did something else take up your time?”

“Hmm.” Was the only response you gave him and he noticed your mood sour at mentioning your day.

“What did they do to piss you off this time?” He asked, chuckling at the irked expression you made. Anyone would consider your friendship to be an unlikely pairing that neither one of you could offer an answer to. In terms of bonding, if asked how you managed to remain friends you would bring up the mutual distaste for the higher powers of Jujutsu society.

Landing your head onto his lap and letting your hands run down your face, you groaned, “More like I pissed someone else off.”

He ran his fingers through your hair, pushing away a few strands that had fallen on top of your face. He gave up on trying to get rid of his habit of admiring your features. Though he has never admitted this to you, the women that he has hooked up with have never once come close to your beauty. It’s not like you made it easy with those eccentric features you had. “You know, usually someone has to piss you off before you piss someone else off. If I were to guess it was Naobito this time?”

You shook your head irritated at having to think of that man again before answering, “It’s always the same thing with him. With all due respect, none of your cousins are necessarily the most tolerable to be around.” You knew he didn’t take offense to that. He would’ve made the same remark about them too. Most likely an even harsher and more descriptive assortment of words.

“It was my father.”

“Oh, now that one is different. Don’t tell me I’m influencing bad behavior on you, doll.” He was joking but there was truth to that statement. His influence was not in your actions but more in the actions that you wouldn’t allow yourself to act upon. For reference, as you lay on his lap you wonder how he would feel inside your mouth as you see the imprint of his dick from his sweatpants from your peripheral, and judging based on the imprint alone you could see that he was well-endowed.

“It’s been a year and I still can tell you that you don’t have that kind of effect on me.” Lies like these remained a focal point in your relationship but Toji always knew when you were lying. You’d do what everyone else did when they lied like avoiding eye contact.

“Why don’t you leave?” He has posed this question to you previously and you’d always reply differently. Sometimes taking it seriously, sometimes not as much.

“Are you suggesting we become co-workers? With all due respect, I don’t think I’d take pleasure in knowing my livelihood is dependent on murder.” You chose the latter.

“Don’t knock yourself too short. That gaze of yours could certainly knock a man dead with just a look. Might as well play up your strengths.” He joked as he twirled a strand of your hair in between his fingers.

“You flatter me too much.”

He tugged on the strand his hand eliciting a reaction out of you that he had dreamed about on various nights, “You haven’t answered me. You keep complaining about the same things and the same people. Why not just leave it all?”

“And what? Leave Satoru by himself? I leave and then what becomes of him? The elders will just force him to be the next clan leader and fulfill my responsibilities. That’s not what I want for him.” You’ve fantasized about your life outside of all of this on multiple occasions. If fate had been fond of you right now, you’d be studying in college for a degree you weren’t a hundred percent certain of. Rest assured, you’d have a collective of people who would understand and make you feel certain that you’ll figure it out one day. You’d also be working a part-time job at a nearby cafe to sustain you and Satoru in a one-bedroom apartment near his elementary. He would certainly be a class clown that was adored by all as an individual. Craving the ordinary may seem foolish for other people and if it was then you were truly an idiot.

“You keep mentioning other people in your future but you haven’t said what you want yet.” Alongside the unspoken rule of not speaking about Toji’s sexual outings, topics such as these were hardly ever spoken about. Whether it was because it never came up in conversation or because it was believed to be too much you didn’t know.

“I don’t know what I want. I don’t have dreams. I don’t have aspirations. What’s the point of leaving if I have nothing worth leaving for? ” You shrugged after you removed yourself from his lap to sit upright but didn’t make an effort to create distance between the two of you.

“Do you need a reason to be free?” His tone of voice made his words feel like a throwaway statement. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. However, those words would continue to hang over your head for years to come, trust me I would know.

From his perspective, he was doing anything to get by. He became a mercenary because it was something he was good at and it paid well. It wasn’t a dream of his nor something he wanted to do. The only thing that it guaranteed him was freedom and a new life. Just like you, he didn’t particularly know what he wanted to do when he decided to leave the clan. He just knew that it was something he needed to do for himself.

Leaning your head into the conjugation of his neck and jaw, feeling yourself get drowsy you let your eyes fall shut. “Don’t feel like talking anymore. Just stay here.”

After hearing your soft breaths, he knew you had fallen asleep. This was the first time in a while that he noticed that you hadn’t even acknowledged the guests that would frequent the sky at this time of night. The illuminated decorations scattered throughout the sky form different shapes. He never actually retained any of the constellation shapes that you’d point out to him. It was mostly the stories and the names that were attached to the constellations that he’d remember. Orion and Artemis were apparently constellations that would appear frequently as that’s a prominent story he remembered you telling him. I would tell you their story but now is not the time.

He wrapped an arm around your sleeping body to keep you steady and leaned his head over yours as he spoke to the stars, “Friends? I think she’s the only one out of the both of us that believes that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

authors note: hope you enjoyed this chapter! please reblog, like, comment, or whatever you feel comfortable doing to let me know that you like this story and if I should continue it. Also, if you have anything you have questions about it don't be afraid to ask! I'll answer it to the best I can without spoiling too much :)

#jujutsu kaisen #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji

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325575 · 2 years ago

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The Best Friend Chronicles

Chapter 1 : You're Getting On My Nerves, Hargrove

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Warnings : Swearing

Word Count : 2, 282

A/N : The life in which Billy finds his family in his best friend.

He was loud in the hallways but in the classroom, he was surprisingly quiet, charming nonetheless. He plopped down beside you, the chair slightly creaking at the sudden weight being added to it. His book bag had nothing in it besides a few sheets of notebook paper, his cigarettes and a pen or two.

"Hey," he gruffly said. You looked up from the math sheet, hey flicking to his before you looked back at the math problems. He kicked your chair as you looked at him once more, glaring at him. "What?" He snickered, moving his chair slightly closer to yours.

"I'm Billy." You rolled your eyes, "I know who you are." He smiled, pearly whites being uncovered and on full display at you. "Yeah," he asked cockily before he came to a realization. "You're Carol's friend aren't you?" You shrugged, "Wouldn't exactly say I'm her friend, more like someone she talks to when she's bored." He nodded.

You told him your name, flashing him a smile before getting back to your work. "What's fun around here?" You rolled your eyes, trying so hard to do your work because you needed to pass the class or else you'd be held back from graduating in May.

"Nothing." He laughed beside you as he stripped off his denim jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair. "So, are you a senior too?" You nodded, scribbling out the math work that you had done after coming up with the wrong answer. He kept asking you questions before you finally snapped. "You're getting on my nerves, Hargrove."

You swore he giggled, seeing you annoyed before apologizing but there was no real sentiment behind it. You did your work in silence, gripping the pencil tightly as you did the work wrong again. A finger tapped your shoulder and you looked over, knowing exactly who had tapped you.

"Need help?" You looked at him. "You can do math, Cali?" He laughed and nodded, moving closer to you, his arm pressed to yours as he showed you how to do the math problems on the sheet, showing you different ways when you didn't quite understand the strategy that he had used. Class ended and you thanked him as you packed up your backpack.

"Are you coming to Tina's party?" You nodded as you tossed your binder into your backpack. "Are you?" He nodded, "First party here." You hummed, "Honestly, they're all the same. Drinking, drugs, sex, feels like deja-vu each time I step into that house." Billy nodded, "Just my crowd then." You laughed, shaking your head as you put your backpack on, giving him a farewell before going about your day.

Sixth period came as you looked down at your book, trying to catch up, hoping that there wouldn't be a pop quiz over it. You smelt his cologne and groaned causing Billy to laugh at you. "What? Don't enjoy my presence?" You scoffed, "Hell no." He laughed, plopping down and sweeping his hair back. "Nice perm." He looked at you quickly. "Shut the hell up." You laughed. "What? Offended?" He rolled his eyes, "No because it's not a perm."

You hummed, giggling to yourself, knowing you pushed his buttons just like he had done to you earlier in the day. "You said that shit on purpose huh?" You smiled, "Uh huh, payback for Mister Questions Questions Questions back there in math." He laughed, shaking his head. "Sue me for wanting to get to know the pretty girl next to me." You grimaced.

"No thank you, I'm not letting you into my pants, Hargrove. I've heard the stories." He scoffed, "I never said I wanted to fuck you. Damn." You rolled your eyes, picking your book back up. "So uh, what stories have you heard?" He sounded self-conscious, you wanted to joke about him so badly, you felt comfortable doing it, like you knew he wouldn't bite back.

"That you're diseased." His eyes quickly snapped you to you, worry in them. "Are you serious?" You laughed and shook your head. "No, just messing with you. I try to disregard the stories. But, no complaints from them so far." He laughed, wiping a faux bead of sweat from his brow. "Good, I was about to pack up and move again." You laughed, shaking your head.

"It's colder than a bitch in here." You nodded. "She's old, she needs it to be cold for her bones to work, the cold keeps her from rotting away." Billy laughed, near cackling as he threw his head back and you laughed with him. The teacher walked in. "You were right," he whispered to you and you laughed. "I know." You listened to the lesson, or trying to at least with the way you were shivering in your plastic chair. "Cold?" You nodded and Billy unbuttoned the button on his book bag, grabbing the brown leather jacket and offering it to you.

"You're cool, I think we could be friends." You hummed, taking the jacket from him, quietly thanking him as you shimmied into the slightly cold material. "No benefits, swear Hargrove, I will cut your dick off if you try to make a move on me." He put his hands up. "Solemnly swear or whatever the boy scouts say." You quietly laughed, his cologne surrounding you and invading your senses.

You slumped slightly so you were comfortable as Ms. Evans droned on and on about her rotting cat and Billy snickered beside you. "They're both rotting." You laughed, covering your mouth as your shoulders shook and he laughed with you, not trying to be quiet like you were. "Mister Hargrove, is something funny?" He looked up and shook his head, "No ma'am," he said, flashing her a pearly smile, a few girls around you giggling to themselves, undressing him with their eyes.

Class came and went before the last bell rung out. You quickly got up, throwing your things into your backpack before shrugging off the leather jacket, handing it back to it's rightful owner as you thanked him once more. "So, party tonight?" You nodded, "I'll be there, probably be late but I'll be there." He nodded, giving you a farewell before walking out of the classroom.

Hours passed as you put your outfit together, a groupie considering the invite said to show up in a costume. You drove yourself to the party, opting out on riding with Tommy and Carol, not wanting to see them exchange saliva at every stop sign and red light. Billy's Camaro was at the front of the house like he had been there for hours.

You parked as close as you could and passed through the swaying bodies in the yard as people threw up, trying to make room in their system for more alcohol, people passed around joints and cigarettes. You walked into the house, moving through the sea of sweaty bodies until you got outside to see Tommy, Carol and Billy at the kegs as other people took their turns.

Billy saw you, small smile on his face as he stuck two fingers up and curled them as he beckoned you over. You walked over, making sure not to step in any vomit as you made it to the group. Billy held out his pack of cigarettes to you and you shook your head. "She doesn't smoke," Carol said snootily as she took one from Billy's pack, his face screwing up at the action.

"You don't?" You shook your head, "Not nicotine, gives me a headache." He nodded, lighting his cigarette and taking a pull from it before releasing the smoke through his nose, scrunching it afterwards. "You do kegs?" You nodded before looking at your outfit, "Probably not tonight though, my boobs will fall out." He laughed and nodded.

You and Carol watched as Tommy lifted Billy's legs up, struggling slightly before adjusting his grip as Billy fixed his hands on the keg. As soon as he began, people began counting, beer dribbled out of his mouth, his hair got into his face. Carol looked at you as you crossed your arms, watching your newfound friend. "Oh my God. Are you guys fucking?" You shook your head, eyes still on Billy as he spit the alcohol out as soon as his feet were back on the ground and Tommy patted his shoulder.

You knew how Tommy and Carol were, they picked the most popular person to befriend and left them when they got the same amount of popularity. You followed Carol into the house before everyone separated and you sought out Billy, finding him in the kitchen with a red cup in his hand as he leaned against the counter.

He looked at you, wiggling his fingers as you joined him. "Carol thinks we're fucking." He laughed, shaking his head. "Tommy thinks the same. Do you fuck all of your friends?" You scoffed and he put his drink out to you and you hesitantly took it. "It's just beer, nothing else. Made it myself." You nodded and took a few sips before handing it back to him.

"What're you supposed to be?" You looked up at him, "A groupie." He hummed and nodded, "I can see it." You nodded and looked at his outfit. "What're you supposed to be?" He laughed, "The Terminator." You hummed, "Haven't seen it yet." He hummed, "I'll have to take you to see it." You smiled and nodded, "Okay." He downed about four more cups, staggering slightly.

"Billy. Hey, can I have your keys?" He shook his head, cheeks pink. "No, 'm driving," he slurred, grabbing onto the marble counter behind the two of you. "Billy, please, let me have your keys." He shook his head once more. "Okay, can I drive you home in my car?" He shook his head, curls gently slapping him in his face. "Don't wanna go home." His walls were crumbling around you and it scared him.

"Okay. Wanna come to my house? My parents won't tell." He nodded, giving you his car keys. "Don't wreck my car," he slurred quickly. You nodded and helped him navigate through the crowd of people as they bumped into the two of you and you both grumbled. You quickly noticed that your attitudes were one in the same. You grabbed his wrist and he quickly yanked it from you, his blue eyes were hazed over with fear.

"Billy, hey, sorry, I didn't mean to grab you." He shook his head. "It's okay, sorry, you spooked me." You nodded and he held your hand, letting you continue to lead him out of the house to his car and he got into the passenger seat, slamming his own car door and he winced. You made sure you grabbed your belongings from your car and you locked it before getting into the driver's seat.

Even in his drunken state, Billy could sense your nervousness. "She's easy to handle." You nodded and looked at him, "Seatbelt." He grumbled and put his seatbelt on as you started the car, putting it into gear before driving out of the driveway of Tina's house. The roads were dark as you slowly drove to your house. Billy was quiet, picking his nails and you glanced at him, "Everything okay?" He nodded as he looked out of his window.

You slowly pulled into your driveway and you grabbed your car keys as you unlocked your door, your mother still awake as she sat on the couch. "Have fun?" You smiled and nodded and Billy staggered in behind you and you shut the door. "I'll explain in the morning." She laughed and nodded and you led Billy to your room. He took his leather jacket off, dropping it to the floor. "Can I have my keys back?"

You handed him his keys and he put them down on your dresser. "Um, I don't have any clothes that will fit you. Sorry." He shook his head, waving you off. You walked into your bathroom to change into comfortable clothes and when you walked out, Billy was in his boxers. "Do you have a hair tie?" You nodded and found one and handed it to him as he tied his hair up. You got your bed ready and laid down as Billy awkwardly stood in his black boxers. "You can lay down, no crossing this line," you said as you made a line with your hand.

He nodded and laid down and hummed. "It's soft." You laughed and nodded. He turned to you, his eyes glassy from the alcohol. "Thank you." You smiled, "We're friends now, that's what friends do for each other." He nodded and rolled over to look at you. "Carol's a bitch to you." You shrugged, "That's okay, everyone is like that." He hummed and continued talking to you as he waved his hands as he talked excitedly about his home in California.

Soon, he had talked himself to sleep and you turned off the bedside lamp, rolling over and away from him as you closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep as he snored behind you. You wanted to hit him with a pillow to make him be quiet but he seemed relaxed and at ease beside you. You wondered why he didn't want to go home and why he was so quick to move away from your touch. You decided you'd ask him one day, not tomorrow, it was too early to ask about something personal like that.

Billy's snores turned into soft breaths, lulling you to sleep and sometime throughout the night, he moved so he was behind you, not pressed against you with an arm wrapped around your abdomen protectively.

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325575 · 2 years ago

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i’ve been waiting

geralt x you

warnings: angst!! fluff!! smut!! we have it all folks

words: 3.1k

summary: if you lose someone you were never supposed to have in the first place, is there really anyone but yourself to blame? you fell in love with a customer, and he’s asking something from you that you’re not in a position to give. but you want to.

“Your Witcher’s here.”

The words made your heart beat faster, but you kept your expression neutral, just as cool and demure as if it was any customer. “Ah, send him to room 12. I’ll be there in a moment.”

The mistress gave you a look before shaking her head. “You don’t have to take him, you know. None of the other houses do. From what I understand, he doesn’t even tip that well. Just because you did it once, doesn’t mean he’s entitled—“

“It’s fine,” you gave her an understanding smile, slipping on a black silk robe. “Just another customer to me.”

You understood the apprehension towards Geralt at first; the strange eyes and hair, the scars, the overall size of him, the murderous glare he gave everyone… you’d heard of Blaviken, probably should have been a bit more cautious with him.

But even if they didn’t understand him yet, you did.

She shrugged her shoulders and left. You carefully adjusted the robe, letting it drape sinfully over your bare shoulders. It really left little to the imagination.

You piled your hair up and made your way to room 12, knowing it was furthest away from any other occupied rooms on this floor. You slipped in, closing the door behind yourself before locking in, and finally turning around.

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325575 · 2 years ago

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Such a good read

Tatooine Girl

Chapter 2 of An Angel in Beskar

Part 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader x Paz Vizsla

Summary: You learn the names of the Mandalorians who you’re now traveling around the galaxy with, though one of them is more stubborn about opening up to you.

Word Count: 6,500

Rating: M for violence and sexual themes.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, injuries, dry humping and unresolved sexual tension. Basically Din is touch-starved the entire time while Paz can’t stop flirting lol.

Space is far more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

And utterly boring, as well.

The ship isn’t horribly small, but there’s only so many places you can go without bumping into one of the intimidating Mandos. The silver one is a bounty hunter, you learn one night when you find the blue Mandalorian in the cockpit, navigating the ship while his companion got some much needed rest.

The hunter seems to keep himself guarded for the exact reason the blue Mandalorian gave you days ago—that they’re not used to being around others that don’t want to kill them—and you can only surmise that it must be worse for a bounty hunter in the Outer Rim. He’s probably so used to sleeping with one eye open that it’s simply instinct for him at this point.

Eight rotations pass when the blue warrior tells you his name.

Paz Vizsla.

Short, sweet, and simple.

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325575 · 2 years ago

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Safe Place to Land: Part 4

—A Frankie Morales Series—

WC: 3600

Rating: none, language, mostly fluff with some angst

A/N: this is my favorite chapter by far, I’m so excited to share it with you all. Let me know if you guys want more of them, I have moodboards and playlists and all of the inspo!!

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5 (coming soon!)

June 2014

It didn’t happen often that your schedules lined up. The last time it did was the spring you got married, but Frankie was home for 3 months before heading to his final assignment at the same time you were on summer break. You didn’t have to go back and lesson plan until August, so you had all the time in the world to just be. You were going on a real vacation, your first ever with your husband. One blissful summer, one long waiting period, and then he would be home, for good. This would be your last year at the school too. He wasn’t kidding when he said you guys would be set between his regular pay and the bonuses he was getting. You would have a shot at a normal life. Buy a house, maybe have some kids, the whole American dream thing.

You had talked about vacation spots and opted for Big Sur. You had never been and wanted to spend a few weeks driving up the coast. It had been years since you had seen the ocean.

You were in the bedroom to your apartment packing the last of your things, triple checking your lists when you heard the front door clunk open. You headed into the main living area to see Frankie holding the door open with a boot while he struggled to get his keys out of the lock without dropping the bags of food he had just run out to get. You wordlessly grabbed one of the bags using your free hand to hold the knob steady so he could jiggle them free. “Thank you, mi amor,” he said swinging the door open and pressing a kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to be in our own place,” he grumbled, knocking the door closed behind him with his hip. Your pitbull lazily stretched before rising to greet him. His chocolate snout turning grey on the end. “Hey old boy,” Frankie cooed fishing a stray fry out of the bag he was still holding to toss to Rocky. He ate it happily and nudged Frankie’s hand for more. “He’s gonna get fat,” you called from across the kitchen pulling a few beers out of the fridge. “Good thing I love fat dogs,” he responded giving him another fry. You guys pulled out the bar stools to eat at the kitchen island and talk through your travel plans for the morning.

“So our flight leaves at 8, I figure we get there at 6:30. We should land by 11, get lunch, and then it’s all up to you,” he said checking the details of your tickets again even though he knew the info by heart. “Benny said he’ll be here by 9 to let Rocky out,” you confirmed. “It almost feels too easy,” you said narrowing your eyes. “Ah. Ever the optimist, my love,” Frankie joked and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m just saying I feel like we’re forgetting something,” you said pointedly.

“And I’m just saying that we’ve gone over it all five times. Relax, hermosa,” he smiled taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.

Your 5:15 alarm came too early. Neither of you getting much sleep between your late bedtime from making sure everything was clean for your dog sitter and the excitement of the trip itself.

“I’m not a morning person,” you grumbled burying your face in your pillow.

“You never have been mi amor,” Frankie teased draping an arm over you and pulling you into his bare chest. You nuzzled into his warmth and groaned, “You’re not helping.”

He traced a finger up your side causing a chill to dance down your spine. “You have beautiful ribs,” he murmured, “It would be a shame if someone,” your eyes shot open, “No Frankie,” he continued slowly, “Were to tickle them,” with that you launched yourself from the covers, hands up defensively. “I’m up!”

He cackled and followed you to the bathroom. You two were ready in no time. Frankie throwing clean sheets on the bed while you finalized the note on the counter for Benny. You counted out the money carefully, leaving some extra for groceries.

“Be good for uncle Benny,” Frankie said firmly giving Rocky a scratch behind his floppy ears. His tail thumped lazily against the floor. You both did a once over to make sure everything you needed was already in the car. You grabbed your purse, phone, and water bottle and followed Frankie out the door, locking it behind you.

You both napped on your flight. You leaned onto his shoulder, his fingers laced with yours. It still felt too good to be true that after all these years, he was still yours. The sun streaming in on his strong form, his hat pulled down over his eyes. You couldn’t help stealing these glances when you had him there next to you. You had missed so much time with him that you were thankful for every second.

A voice announcing that you would be landing soon pulled you both from your sleep. Frankie squeezed your hand before letting go to fix his hat and rub the sleep from his eyes. You both stretched and straightened your things to get ready to exit. Once you had collected your luggage, you switched on your phone to see a selfie of Benny and Rocky signaling his arrival at your apartment. You smiled fondly at the boy who had grown to be one of your closest friends too, turning your phone to Frankie who just laughed and shook his head.

Frankie had rented a black jeep wrangler for your California adventure. Top down, doors off, whiffs of salt spray hitting your face. You breathed deep the warm air while you cruised down the coastline, pulling off the main road to find a brunch spot that had been recommended to you by Sadie. She had been dating a guy from L. A. off and on, coast hopping on her off time from Broadway.

You ordered a spread of breakfast items and shared one of the best meals either of you had ever had. Perfectly fried eggs, bacon, lemon ricotta pancakes, and some of the best coffee you’ve ever had.

Frankie let out a deep sigh and pushed back from the table, “I could die happy after a meal like that.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, we’ve got 2 national parks to hit today,” you said pulling up the folder you had made on your phone.

“What if we went to the house and took a nap first,” he said grabbing your hand and batting his too good to be true eyelashes at you.

You sighed. “Fine, we’ll go unload, take a quick nap, and then hit the beach. We don’t have to rush,” you said with a smile. You meant it too. You had two weeks to take it as slow as you wanted, just enjoying each other’s company.

The beach house you had rented was about forty-five minutes from where you had stopped, so you stretched before getting back in the car for the last leg of your trip today. It was hard to live in the present with Frankie. It was hard for him too. Most of his nights were haunted by the things he had done and seen, but having you close helped. You had spent countless hours staring at your ceiling fan, praying that wherever he was, he was safe. He had sustained minor injuries here and there, nothing life changing. Every time he came home, you worshipped every inch of him, christening each new scar with soft kisses. His strong arms around you made you feel safe, reminded you that he was safe too. You never left the apartment the first few days after he was home from deployment. Truthfully, you barely left your bedroom, making up for lost time, whispering promises of devotion over and over. You were already thinking about him leaving again. Each time like ripping open a barely healed wound. You closed your eyes and leaned back, letting the warm sun kiss your neck.

“You alright over there?” Frankie asked leaning his hand over to rest on your thigh. His thumb rubbed a small line over your skin. You opened your eyes and rolled your head to face him, “My brain is getting ahead of itself,” you admitted. He knew you too well for you to bullshit him at this point.

“So is mine,” he admitted, “We’re almost there, my love. Just a few more months.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” you admitted picking up his hand to lace your fingers through.

“The wait has been well worth it,” he smiled lifting your hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss.

You turned the radio on and switched to some local pop station letting the sound of Taylor Swift drift through the speakers. You didn’t say much the rest of the ride. Just occasional comments on the view, which was absolutely breathtaking. Coves and mountains and rock formations carving out secret beaches below you. The water so blue you couldn’t tell where it ended and the sky began. You had planned to go star gazing on the beach tonight. The house Frankie found just a few hundred feet from the water. It was small, but you didn’t need much space. There were houses on either side all up the road you had parked on, but most of them seemed empty. It wasn’t peak season yet.

You had stopped at a grocery store on the way into the town you were staying to get a few things to make breakfast and snacks. Fresh fruit, cereal, stuff to make sandwiches, and some ice cream. Frankie went next door to a local donut shop to pick out a dozen and a bag of fresh coffee roasted in house. You could smell it wafting from the backseat mixing with the salt air. If you could bottle that scent you would, sneak it out at night when you couldn’t sleep and breathe deep taking you back to this moment.

You unloaded your suitcases and your small grocery haul and found yourselves flopped across a king sized bed overlooking the ocean. A large skylight above it cast beautiful mid afternoon light warming the crisp, white sheets. Frankie was on his stomach stretched out. He had on a white button up with little flamingos embroidered on it with the top two buttons undone paired with dark blue shorts. His brown eyes shining with flecks of amber in the soft light. You were on your stomach beside him running a hand through his hair. His hat nestled beside him on the pillow. You had on a led zeppelin shirt that you had cropped and cut off denim shorts. His hand rubbing the small patch of skin on your back where your shirt had lifted up.

His gaze locked on you, eyes burning fiercely in the light. “What are you thinking about,” you almost whispered, and in half a second he was on top of you. He had flipped you to your back and was straddling your waist. His dog tags peeking out of his shirt as he leaned down to lavish you in kisses, his strong hands on your jaw. You snaked your hands into the open collar of his shirt, letting them glide across his chest, his neck, anything you could touch.

“I was thinking,” he murmured pressing kisses to the hollow of your throat, “That when I get back,” his lips trailed back to yours, “I’m gonna put a baby in you,” his dark eyes bore into yours. Your stomach fluttered in a way you had never felt before as you returned his gaze. “You want to have a baby,” you whispered out and he nodded, eyes filling with tears. “I love you so much, I’m ready,” he continued, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm where it was cradling his face. You both wanted kids, that much had been established, the timing was the only thing that wasn’t settled.

“Okay,” you breathed out with a smile. He pressed his forehead to yours and you kissed him hungrily. “I’d do it right now,” he started, kissing your neck once more, “But I want to be here. I don’t want to miss a second of it, of you, how beautiful you’ll be,” he murmured brushing your hair out of your eyes.

“I’d let you,” you whispered back and saw something ignite in his eyes that you had never seen before. “But,” you said quickly drawing your hand to his chest, “I also want you to be here, for all of it.”

He laced his pinky with yours and nodded. “Doesn’t mean we can’t practice,” he smiled diving back into your neck.

——

The two weeks you spent in California refreshed you both. You rose early to watch the sunrise, ate breakfast together filling in the crossword from the local paper, took long afternoon naps, kissed each other languidly and often, as if you had all the time in the world. Every evening you strolled the beach at sunset, laid under the stars and talked about the future, the past, and everything in between.

The sound of the tide retreating and gentle waves crashing almost lulled you both to sleep. The fire had died down to just a few embers, enough to keep your feet warm as they stretched towards it.

“You know, I remember the day I met you,” Frankie said breaking the silence. The low velvet of his voice drawing you to turn on the blanket you shared and face him.

“Really?” you smiled softly.

“Clear as day,” he smiled over to you. His arms were stretched and folded under his head in support. “First day of Miss Peterson’s class in fourth grade. Your hair was in braids and you had on little green rain boots with daisies on them,” he said softly.

“The first time I saw you kick a home run in kickball I knew I was gonna marry you,” he continued. You let out a snort.

“It’s true, ask my dad, I went home and told him,” he laughed warmly.

“Is that why you always picked me to be on your team?” you grinned, propping yourself on your elbows and drawing your sweater in around you.

“The fact that you were good didn’t hurt, but you were also kind. I really loved the way you cheered for the kids who were afraid to make a fool of themselves whether they were on your team or not.”

“I always thought you were fearless,” you reminisced fondly, “Always the first one to volunteer or raise a hand or try something new.”

“And what do you think of me now,” he said softly rolling to his belly and laying his head on his arms to face you fully.

“I still think you’re fearless,” you mused, “Loyal, steadfast, a good driver but a bad board game partner,” you rattled on causing him to crack a smile.

“No one takes trivial pursuit that seriously,” he shot back.

“I think you have beautiful eyes, a kind smile. You’re a great lover and an even better friend. And one day, you’re gonna be one hell of a dad,” you said softly, a hand raising to run through his waves. The leftover salt water from your swim earlier had them sticking out more wildly than usual.

“You’re gonna be one hell of a mom,” he whispered back.

He leaned up to meet your lips in a slow kiss. “Let’s go hit the shower and go to bed, mi amor,” he whispered. The way his eyes locked on yours so intently still made you weak in the knees. Your heart had always belonged to him, and it always would.

For once, the fear of losing him didn’t creep up to tinge this moment with its black ink touch. You thought of an open ended future next to the man you loved, clear as the waters you swam in this morning, and you weren’t afraid.

You gathered your belongings into the tote you had brought, neatly folding the blanket over your arms and brushing away any remaining bits of sand while Frankie ensured that the fire was completely out. He poured a bucket of sea water over the embers causing the black ash to swirl with the white sand like a small galaxy. You took one more deep inhale of the salty air before walking slowly up the steps arm in arm. You shook off as much sand as you could on the back deck before heading through the sliding glass door that opened up to the living area. You set the tote and blanket on the small breakfast table and followed Frankie to the bathroom.

You shed your sand crusted clothes into a pile while he adjusted the water temperature. Steam quickly filled the large room while you attempted to brush your hair loose to make washing it easy. Frankie cast his clothes on top of yours and you wrapped yourself around him leaning into his bare chest. His heartbeat slow with sleep but strong. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before offering you a hand up into the spacious shower. The warm water met your body and you let out a sigh. If you weren’t aware of how sleepy you were before, you were now. You both wordlessly took turns standing under the stream rinsing your hair and scrubbing sand from between your toes. Frankie’s broad shoulders held a light pink tinge to them that would surely fade into a tan by morning. The smell of sunscreen slowly fading as it washed down the drain. Freckles danced across his shoulders and down his arms. You knew each mark by heart.

When you had both finished washing, you found yourself resting against his chest once more. You stood for just a moment enjoying the warmth of the water and the familiar smell of his soap on his ever soft skin.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, querida,” he chuckled softly snapping you out of your trance.

“Let’s get to bed,” you agreed. Both of you wrapped in plush cerulean towels, Frankie swiped some steam from the mirror so you could see to brush your teeth. You followed him upstairs still wrapped in your towel. You dried your hair roughly before discarding it into the floor next to the bed. You climbed in next to him with sleep heavy eyes savoring both the heat of his skin and the cool touch of the sheets. You drifted off wordlessly, your love echoed through the decades, not needing to be repeated in the moment, only needing to be felt as your chests rose and fell together, succumbing to the call of sleep.

——

The sun crept in to your little haven earlier than you had hoped, pouring in through the skylight pressing warm kisses to your exposed limbs. Your eyes fluttered open taking in the sound of the gentle waves below you and Frankie’s steady breath. He felt you stir and shifted to his side drawing his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

“We’ve gotta get going soon, my love,” you whispered pressing a kiss to his bicep. He nuzzled his nose into your bare shoulder blade and pressed a soft kiss. His lips lingered there as he was still lulling in and out of sleep.

“I don’t want to go back to the real world,” he murmured against your skin.

“We’ve still got the rest of the summer,” you reminded him. “C’mon, Rocky misses us.” With that you rolled out of bed and searched for a clean shirt and pair of shorts to wear. You heard frankie groan as his feet hit the floor. You glanced over to see his arms out as he stretched in the morning sun. His tan was richer after all your time in the sun. There was a stark difference on his thighs and where his sandals sat between his toes. His hair was a mess, but the good kind that looked right on him. You rummaged through his bag and tossed him his last pair of clean clothes before the two of you set to packing the remainder of your belongings.

You were our the door in thirty minutes wishing a solemn goodbye to your little getaway. You stopped to fill up the tank and grab a gas station breakfast before jumping on the freeway to head back to the airport. Your flight wasn’t for another three hours, so you had plenty of time to make the hour long trek and return the jeep.

Frankie was still half asleep despite the second coffee he was working on. “I need some music,” he grumbled switching on the radio. California Gurls started coming through the speakers and his face instantly lit up. He’d only admit it ironically, but he loved Katy Perry. He sang along rhythmically drumming on the steering wheel. You were doubled over laughing at him so you didn’t see the out of control SUV barreling diagonally towards you. The car impacted on your passenger side door and sent you flipping into the median. Everything was black, and then everything was fuzzy. You heard Frankie calling to you, but he sounded a hundred miles away. At least, you thought it was Frankie. Everything went dark again.

Taglist: @littlenosoul @shinypants13 @mirasantidotes @certifiedhunter @daff0dilfs @bannahrae74 @rav3n-pascal22 @evitamarija @reiya-djarin @wonwoosthetic

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