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penvisions · 20 days

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by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 7}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: A letter, clear words, the work forged by skilled but aching hands, all of it helps you to heal from what had been one of the worst weeks of your life.

Word Count: 13.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, age gap (reader is early 40's and joel is 57), pining, requited unrequited love, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, light angst, hurt and comfort, fighting, two (2) satisfying slaps, joel miller's hands need their own warning, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), soft joel, pet names (sweetheart), serious conversations, apologies, references to child loss, minor character death, blood, talk of female anatomy, reader has no assigned name but has a commonly used nickname, lemme know if i missed any major ones!

A/N: SURPRISE, Y'ALL!! i was supposed to have internet installed this week but it's been delayed again and my local library is only open today and since queues make me nervous, i threw caution to the wind and yeah - WE MADE IT. this is the final chapter! i am so delighted and humbled by the responses to this fic. i put a lot of myself into olive and for everyone to root for her and cheer her on means so, terribly much to my lil heart. i love y'all and i hope this finds you well ♡

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The hush of cardstock is the only sound in the room as Joel shuffles through the recipes you had written down for him, for him and Ellie. The fancy loops of your cursive are faded, a little blurred in some spots and he regretted your time and devotion getting smudged by his lack of attention. He had been too slow to retrieve all the index cards where they had landed, flying into the air as you had run straight into his back. It had taken so long because Marsha hadn’t seemed to get the hint or his direct words that he was not and would not be with her the way that she wished for him to be.

But she did now. She had been picking Millie up when Joel had all but kicked the door in, shouts of needing help echoing down the street. The woman had flattened herself to the wall, eyes taking in your unconscious form in Joel’s arms. How carefully he maneuvered, how mindful he was to not jostle your body too much, how frantic his expression was even as he tried to explain what he could to the nurse and doctor who sprang forward at the sight. His brows were drawn together, worry evident as he explained to them your stitches from a few days ago had opened, how you had been coughing up blood before he found you. The fear in his strong voice when he detailed how cold you were, how unresponsive. All of it combined was a reflection of his care for you. Something only seen in his interactions with Ellie. And now with you.

Joel had felt pride surge in his chest at seeing the damage you had inflicted on the other woman, guilt flaring just seconds after. You had been pushed to your breaking point, not just by her but by everyone in your life. Evidence of the fight was etched across your body from the scratches from the woman’s nails up and down your arms, the tangled tresses of your loose hair, to the bruises that had blossomed along your soft skin.

The most notable with the tearing of your stitches. The stain of blood on your skin in places he couldn’t wipe it away, for fear of harming you further, even in your unconscious state. It had been three days, and you still hadn’t woken up. Even after the repair to the wound, a better stitch pattern was implemented and two blood transfusions. One from him and one from Tommy.

He hadn’t wanted to leave your side since he brought you in, but he had things he needed to take care of. The few people who interacted with you coming in and checking on you, him coming to spend each evening by your bedside and staying through the night. Maria was across from him now, Macon sound asleep in her arms as the clock ticking on the wall displayed the post sunset hour.

“Marsha will be interrogated at the next town meetings, for her behavior and words towards Olive.”

“Good.” Joel croaked, his voice gravely from disuse.

“Millie will be on next week’s patrol with you, per your request. Once she’s adequately trained, she’ll be added to the rotation.”

“If she takes to being trained. I have a feeling she might pretend to not learn anythin’ just to get out of it.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Maria hummed in agreement, knowing more than Joel the small requests and complaints the woman has made in her time behind the walls. “It’s time some of the people who have been idle share the responsibility. Besides, Olive requested to be taken off patrol before. I’m sure she’ll double down on that once she’s recovered.”

“Please tell me she didn’t hate being forced to be my partner when Tommy asked. I don’t think I could ever apologize enough if it was somethin’ she didn’t want to-“

“Joel, she was okay with it, believe me.” Moving to stand, the woman reached to rest a hand on your legs beneath the blankets. “She was glad to feel like she was trusted enough to be asked. She never had any ill feelings toward you, even when she didn’t know you.”

She watches him, he can feel the weight of her stare on him as he continues to go over each of the cards contents. There’s a bag beside him, a small canvas thing he had loaded up with some spare pieces of lumber from bigger projects, scraps that he spent the evening hours whittling and carving as he sits beside you bed. He alternates between doing that and going over the cards, habits to keep him awake as he sits vigil and waits for you to return to him.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when you came back. But…you surprised me.”

“How so?” He knows he was always a sore and heavy subject between her and his brother. Even more so when he quite literally stumbled onto their doorstep. He had been determined to change, to give back into the second chance at life he had been handed, for Ellie, for his brother– for himself. Aligning himself with the customs and way of life carved out in the plains of Wyoming. He’s glad he hadn’t fallen completely to the depraved, hallowed out version he had adapted to, had been forced to become with the loss of everything he knew, with the loss of his daughter.

“You’ve meshed well with the lifestyle we created here, got onto good terms with one of the best people we have here.”

He didn’t look up from the cards in his hands, he knew that. Deep down, he knew you hadn’t minded patrolling with him. But it was hard to understand with how messed up everything was at the moment and he lost himself to the circling thoughts of how hurt you had looked as you stood your ground with him a few days ago in your kitchen. But his head shot up when a whimper sounded into the air that wasn’t from the woman or his nephew.

You were stirring in the bed, eyes still closed. Hands shaking as they raised to cradle your middle, mind no doubt recalling the circumstances of your last waking moments. Joel’s heartbeat was loud in his chest, echoing in the spot where they had drawn blood from the inside crook of his right elbow. Macon gurgled in Maria’s hold, wide eyes cut towards you as you shifted a little underneath the blankets.

“Joel…” You murmured, eyes clenching shut tightly. You weren’t rousing, you were still unconscious, though your mind seemed to be in working order if you were dreaming. Joel sets down the index cards atop the blankets over you, moving closer to grip a hand with both of his, the other laid out flat to ensure the line of the IV didn’t get tangled or kinked.

“I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.” He soothed you as best he could, the wrap of your fingers around his stirring his heart to beat faster in his ribcage.

As he’s leaving the morning, a patrol that he would be taking Ellie out on with the approval of the council to begin her training as well, he see’s the shadow of two figures approach your room out of the corner of his eye just as he’s placing a parting kiss on your forehead.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know anyone would be here this early.” It’s the sister and brother pair you had insisted on bringing back. The woman, Callie Joel thinks her name is, is holding a hand to her swollen stomach protruding out from beneath her long coat. It looks like it wouldn’t fasten with how far along she was. Nolan, the man who had been with you when this whole mess started was a step behind her and a bouquet of dried flowers clenching in his hand.

“It’s okay, was jus’ leavin’.”

“Look, Mr. Miller.” Nolan steps up to him, leaving a few feet of space as Joel turns to head to the door while Callie sidles up to take the chair he had slept in and scoot it close to your unconscious form. “I tried my best to tamp down the fight, but Olive, she’s…she’s a scrappy one. Was on that other girl before I could even blink.”

“Millie. The other one’s name is Millie.”

“Millie did this?” Callie questions from her spot holding your hand in hers, eyes wide. “She’s been so nice to me, I had dinner with her and her mom just last week…”

“Millie ‘n Olive don’t get along too well, bad history.” Joel hopes he isn’t overstepping your privacy by saying so, but if the two were intent on being at least friendly with you, they deserved to know that not everyone was so forward in their interactions with you. “Patrol gone wrong, they both lost someone important to them and Millie didn’t deal with it well.”

“She called her a whore, when she saw us talking.” Nolan explained, “Olive moved first and apologized, but all hell broke loose when Millie hit her back.”

“She what?” Joel felt anger burn hot through his veins, the implication of you being anything other than kind and thoughtful not sitting well with him. No wonder you had snapped, Joel hadn’t found out exactly what had occurred, the council stemming the raging gossip as best they could as soon as it began to spread. Reminding people to deal with personal issues in non-confrontational ways or punishment would be doled out and extra duties would be tacked on.

The two fell quiet, feeling the anger simmering in him. Joel’s face had darkened, brow furrowed deep and his jaw ticking as he tried to get a control on it.

“Y’all have a good day.” He manages before he’s out the door, his steps even and nearly silent as he makes his way out of the infirmary. He’s at Marsha’s in the blink of an eye, fist knocking against the wood of their front door.

“Marsha isn’t home, she’s serving out her punishment by taking over Olive’s morning shifts at the mess hall.” Maria’s voice calls to him as she strolls down the street. Macon is in her arms, but he’s fussing. She stops and places him in the baby carriage in front of her and quiets him with a pacifier. “Millie is out getting the rundown of how patrol works and what her responsibilities are.”

“Did you know that Millie called-“

“Yes. It’s been dealt with.” Maria’s voice implied she didn’t agree with what happened, that it was indeed being considered with much thought, not taken lightly with how it built up to the point of combustion in the town’s center on one of the busiest nights.

“Easy now, honey, there you go.” Tommy’s soothing voice allowed for you to feel less embarrassed about how slow moving you were, how long it was taking to trek from the infirmary to your house. His arm was around your waist, his other in front of him as he held onto your right hand for added support. “Joel will probably be knocking on your door the second he gets back from patrol and finds you gone from the clinic.”

“He can knock all he wants.” You huffed out, not too sure how you were feeling toward the man at the moment. Once you had woken up, the nurses told you he hadn’t left your side during the nights you had been there. Tommy and Maria sharing with you the way he had been frantic to find you the second he had found out about your fight with Millie. The decision of you no longer wanting to do patrol being portrayed as a punishment for your violent outburst. But the council held no real ill will toward you, having addressed the behavior you faced from more than a few of the townspeople.

“Marsha is due to cover your shifts at the mess hall, the early ones. Until you’re ready to go back.”

“Dunno, think she needs more ‘n a week or two tackling that hectic shift.”

“There’s my girl,” Tommy beamed, glad to know you weren’t too injured to show the side of yourself he knew.

As you turned down your street, Tommy let go of you at your insistence to try and support yourself. After a few stumbling steps, you managed to find your balance, even if your pace was still on the slow side.

“Joel ‘n I fixed your door. Well, we made a new one, actually. Old man did some damage to the other one when his big bulky frame was pushed into it by those storm winds,” He chuckled, most likely picturing the ordeal that was far more tense and serious than a mishap on Joel’s part. It had been…one of the hardest things you had to do, stand your ground and deny the man you had come to care. Especially in the face of him practically confessing to you that he shared in your feelings. “Cranked the heat up to get it back to the temperature you prefer. Even watered the plants for you, fed that stray that comes around sometimes. I think it found the crate you set up for it on your back porch.”

“You’re too sweet, Tommy. Thank you.” You watched as he unlocked the door and for the first time since leaving the infirmary you noticed how he was constantly shifting. His weight from foot to foot, his hands raking through his long, dark curls.

He helped you up the few steps of your stoop, his hands a gentle weight, arms ready to tense and catch you should you lose your balance. Once you were settled in your bed, a bottle of pain killers and a glass of water on your bedside, the man tentatively settled on the foot of your bed.

“I wanted to apologize, formally.” He started, brown eyes glittering in the midafternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds. You leaned up from the pillows propped up behind your back and up against the fabric headboard, about to say something but he held up a wide palm to stop you. “You told me ‘n Maria in passing the behavior people have toward you. It was out of our control, freedom of speech ‘n all but…we should’ve at least tried to tamp it down more than we did.”

“Tommy, everyone has already done so much in letting me in, giving me a chance. I did-didn’t want to stir any trouble and it wasn’t real-really anything I couldn’t handle.”

“Honey…” He stands up and nestles himself between you and the edge of the bed, his back on the headboard right next to you. He brings you into his chest and kisses into the crown of your head as you return the embrace. something he hadn’t done since you appeared back at Jackson’s gates with blood covering you head to toe and the corpse of your friend draped over the back of your horse. “You deserve to feel comfortable, to feel safe. No matter what.”

The next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, you shuffled down the hallway and into the kitchen without turning on a light. It was still dark out, using what little of the streetlight so close to the front of your house filtered in through the sheer curtains. When you sat at the kitchen table, you tried to set your mug down but there was a clatter as the bottom of it collided with something already resting there. And the space next to it, it seemed the whole table was covered in stuff, leaving no room for you to set it. Mumbling about people being in your house and rearranging your stuff, you shuffled over to the lamp atop the storage hutch’s middle shelf.

But you’re shocked when you flick the light on and turn back around to the table. It’s…covered. Every inch of the surface taken up by small stacks of what looks like intricately carved plates, serving trays, spoons, spatulas, and small figures that look like birds moving in a downward swoop. The coffee still in your hand splashes a little to the tile beneath your bare feet, starting you as it bounces up to kiss the skin of your ankles. But you pay it no mind as you absently set it on the hutch beside the light and move to the table with watering eyes.

It had to have been him. Joel.

The plates are beautiful, vaguely floral shaped and stained such a deep mahogany. They’re not too heavy, though they are very sturdy in your inspecting hands. Turning each one from the three separate stacks of them, each a different size from dessert to salad to serving plates, reveal a small J.M branded into the wood. Each of the leaf shaped serving trays reveal the same, though they are heavier and a bit harder for you to turn over in your weakened state. Large smoothed edged bowls are nestled in each other, the topmost one holding matching large serving spoons made your heart lurch and your stomach swoop.

The carving had been lovingly attended to because each rivet and swirl, each boarder and flat surface, it was all so seamlessly smooth. On evert single piece littering your table.

Tears are trailing down your cheeks to rest atop his intricate creations. The sight of two sets of spoons and two sets of spatulas held together with twine making you have to clap a hand over your mouth as a sob wracks through your body. The memory of hurling the ones you had requested from him flashing too bright and loud. You had taken something crafted by him and thrown in across this very kitchen, disrespecting the time and attention he had devoted to the request you had made.

Collapsing into the chair, you let the emotions of the last week take over you. Your coffee is lukewarm when you rise to retrieve it, but you twirl a carved bird in your hand as you sip from it, tears waned for the moment. That’s when you spot the large, flattened pieces on the other side of the table.

Cutting boards, three of them. Each one with a branding on the thick sides to label them individually for herbs, vegetables, and meat. The entire surface of each it sealed with a coating, but beneath it on the corners are floral patterns that you squint your eyes to take a closer look at. Gasping, you realize he had depicted the blooms often found on olive trees. His voice suddenly rings in your head as your mind recalls something you weren’t even conscious for but had filed away.

‘I made you one…I made them all for you. All of them, every single one….C’mon, sweetheart. You gotta let me save you so you’ll have one. I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything. Olive, please.’

‘I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.’

The tears flow, with no end in sight as you reach a shaking hand for the note you see laying atop the largest one.

‘Olive, I know I’m shit with words, I know I’ve sent such mixed signals with everything. But I want you to know, need you to know that seeing you is the best part of my day, of every day. Even if it’s just across the mess hall, across the street, as I walk home from patrol and see you in the window of your kitchen with a soft smile. The talks we have, the questions we share, every single word we’ve exchanged as made me feel worthy of the things you think of me, for the first time in a long while.

You are such an extraordinary, kind, thoughtful person and I am so lucky to have made it here to Jackson to cross paths with you. I can’t change what happened, but each hitch of your breath, each tug of the brim of your hat over your eyes, each moment spent with you makes me want to wrap you up in my arms and keep you close. I don’t want the first time you hear the words from me to be in writing, but, Olive. I fear I’ve fallen for you, and it’s made me such a fool. Please take these gifts for what they are, a representation of how I think of you every second of every day. Of how you inspire me to be a better person. Of how much love I have for you. J.M.’

Your coffee goes completely cold as you sit at the table, reading the note over and over again.

The gentle knock on your door kickstarted your heart, fluttering hard in your chest as you knew who was on the other side of the repaired wood. You turned the burner off on the stove top, shifting it to rest atop one of the cooler ones. You called for the man who held your heart to ‘wait a second, please’ before you turned to the table and reached for one of the serving bowls, spooning out the steamed contents of the pan into it and placed it back among the others already atop the table. The table was full, dishes coloring the spread laid out across the table. The rest of his gifts had been carefully places in the hutch along the back wall, some of them displayed behind the glass of the topmost part.

Toasted sandwiches cut into triangles rested atop one of the leaf serving trays, the one you had just filled up with three different types of steamed and roasted vegetables. A glass pitcher of fresh juice you pressed earlier a deep red and shining in the flames from candles interspersed between the trays and plates. You nervously ran your hands down the front of your apron, a worn but loved patterned thing that wrapped around the back of your neck and at the back of your waist.

The brownies looked a little thick, now that you took a second to consider them. A rich buttercream piped into a swirling tower amid them stacked up on one of the larger flower plates. The midsize ones set in front of two chairs with empty glasses and clean utensils beside them. All set up, all waiting.

For him, for Joel.

Moving to the door, you paused and took a deep breath to calm yourself, the titter of shyness you weren’t sure you would ever overcome when it came to the man on the other side. Reaching for the lock, you clicked it out of its setting and twisted the handle to open the door.

Joel was stood there, silhouetted against the bright winter sun, the broadness of his shoulders and the volume of his curls on display so close for you. His head had been hanging, one hand on the wall beside the door. And when he looked up to catch your eyes, your breath hitched and you felt your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close. To let him make his written words a reality and cradle you in his arms.

“I-I got your no-note. And the – the things you left f-for me.”

“Did you,” He cleared his throat, hand moving from where it was supporting him to fall to his side, clenching and unclenching in that own nervous habit he had. His eyes roved up and down your body, taking the image you were making in your doorway. You felt like you looked okay, but your hair was a little frizzed out from the heat of cooking. And you were so, incredibly self-conscious. He was such a handsome man, and you were��just you. His voice was shaky, something you couldn’t ever recall hearing from someone normally so controlled. “Did you…like everythin’ alright?”

“It’s all so perfect. Th-thank you.” You smoothed your hands down the front of the apron again, nervous and unsure of how to approach him even as your body hummed in anticipation from the thought of it. He loved you. And you loved him back.

“And the- the note?”

“Y-yeah.” You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his, too self-conscious with how all uncharted everything seemed to be.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I-“ He surged forward through the open door, but his boots scuffed as he cut the movement short. You had unconsciously stepped back, nerves alight from the last time you had been approached. Muscles twitching, your arms tingled with the way you tried to relax from the sudden tension that had flooded your entire body. Fight or flight activated. You could see the way his throat bobbed with the nervous swallow he took before sighing out a deep breath. “Olive, I swear to you, I- you’re so good. The sweetest, prettiest thing I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in my time and if you’ll let me, I’ll be a good man for you. I’ll be a good man with you.”

“Joel, I-“ Your words choked off into a sob, tears trialing hot down your cheeks as your emotions spiked and cascaded over you. Hands trembling as you did reach out for him, fingers wrapping around the unzipped edges of his thick jacket. He moved into you, his own hands coming up to cradle your cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here, I’m with you. Not goin’ anywhere unless you want me to, okay?” He holds you, letting you bury your tear-stained face into his neck. The flow of them still falling from your eyes dampening the fabric of his flannel.

“D-do you want some lunch?” A shy smile pulled at your lips, heat blooming in your chest even as the tears continue to fall.

He seems to release all of the tension in his shoulders as he sighs out something relieved. You can tell he’s a little confused by the question, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. The opportunity to spend time with you, to talk to you. He had come here, after all, not even knowing where you two stood after everything. Fresh from a patrol, you could smell the lingering scent of hay from the stables on him. The leather from his gloves sliding along and holding the reigns of his horse. Nodding, you finally manage to meet his eyes and your breath hitches even as a pang of worry echoes in your chest.

“H-how was patrol?” You wait for him to take a seat before you go to pick up the pitcher and pour him some of the juice you had made. His hands are a soft hush over yours as he takes it from you and pours himself a glass before reaching for your own empty one with a lopsided smile.

“It was good, took Ellie out for her first one. She’s been buggin’ me about it since the start of winter.”

“Is she going to be my replacement? I don’t want her to feel like she has to if she’s not ready.” His eyes move over your face as you spoon steaming vegetables onto his plate and then yours.

“Maria agreed with me that Millie should be trained up, she’s starting with me next week. It’s part of her punishment for instigating the fight.”

“Oh.” Another thing for the woman and her mother to hold against you. You worried for a second of how much damage you had done to her in your near fugue state but then realized if she was okay enough to start patrol then she was far better off than you happened to be.

“We don’t have to talk about that or we- we can, if you want to. Just…just want to talk with you. About anything.” About anythin’, about nothin’.”

The conversation isn’t much from then on, but it’s enough to hold his attention. You’re tired, so incredibly tired and lethargic from the emotional morning you had, from putting all the food spread over the table together, not much of it left after Joel devours a lot of it. Starvin’ he had said through a bite, pink tinging his ears as you offered to make another sandwich for him. He had assured you everything you had made was enough and now a half pot of coffee sits in mugs in front of you each, brownies bitten into after dipping it in the frosting you had made.

As soon as his two were swallowed, he turned beseeching, wide eyes to you and you found moving to stand between his legs. His arms were so warm around you, the food and his company weighing you down in the best way as you wrap your own around his neck. His face is buried in your chest while you press a kiss to his steel curls, something that worries you for a split second before he sighs out a small ‘you’re so soft, sweetheart’.

“I-I want to talk more, but,” Your weight sagged against him, his arms tightening around you to help keep you on your feet. “I’m so tired, Joel. I think I need to lay down.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand, lemme just- I’ll clean up lunch and get out of your hair, go on and rest.” But you didn’t move, your breath hitching as you leaned back enough to peer up at him. Your eyes surely gave away how drained you were, but you weren’t quite yet ready to let him go. Even if things were a little stilted and there was so much to discuss. Right now you just wanted to lay down, to get off your feet and relieve some of the tension on your stitches.

“W-will you stay?”

“Of course.”

He follows silently behind you, boots thudding on the hardwood flooring of the hallway. Each step matching the beating of your heart. Through the door and into your room, you realize he must’ve already been in here, it was so tidy and the laundry that had piled up was neatly folded atop your dresser.

If he’s just as nervous as you are, he doesn’t show it. Seemingly taking things as they come, letting you shrug him from the flannel you had unbuttoned. When you move your hands to the buckle of his belt, one of his large hands covers both of yours. Looking up, you reassure him nothing has to happen and that you aren’t ready for anything to happen but you don’t want the denim on your clean sheets. He nods, letting you continue to disrobe him. A shaky laugh falls from his plush lips as you notice the line of him through his boxer briefs, it twitches under your quick glance, and you feel a swoop in your own stomach in response.

He asks if you need to change to, offering to turn around. But you grip his wrists and bring his hands to the ties at the side. It’s a loose thing, to help you manage to move around better, the prospect of pants and a belt too daunting despite the season. He carefully lifts the fabric from your body, his eyes on your face the entire time, even as the clothing falls to pile on top of his. With a nervous giggle, you lead him to the bed and you both get comfortable underneath the covers. It’s early, not even the sun has set, but neither of you seem to mind the time.

He's settled against the pillows when you reach out a hand on your normal side of the bed, fingers tangling with his as you lay slightly on your side toward him. The bandages around your middle are obvious underneath the camisole you wear with your underwear. He’s facing you too, his other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I…I want to.” Your words are barely above a whisper, as you take in the image he creates beside you, filling the empty part of your bed with his broad frame. His steel curls flattened on the pillow, his warmth only a few inches away, his eyes soft and watching you as you collect the words from your mind to fill your tongue. It had been something you yearned for since that first brush of his hand against yours, that first smile you managed to pull from him with an offhand comment, from the first moment he asked you a question in return to one of your own. Even if someone else had shown you the same kindness, his would be the one you sought after. “Be with you.”

“I want that too, sweetheart, more’n anything, but…I hurt you. I know that, I was careless in my attempts to be careful, to not push you. To…surprise you with what I wanted to be the first thing I gifted you.”

“Tommy told me. You know I thought some kids stole that piece of the trunk?” Your eyes glitter with a hint of mirth, teasing tone light and reminiscent of times past. It’s fleeting, the bone deep exhaustion settled in your body not only physical but mental. “I…Joel, I worry about…everything. All the time. You deserve to the chance to thrive here, for Ellie to thrive here and…being with me would-“

“I’d choose you over the town any day, you’ve gotta know that. Me and Ellie, we’ve been through a lot but we’re tough, you don’t gotta worry about us. I know…that people see her lack of manners and anxious tendencies as something that needs to be fixed. Maybe, yeah, the little troublemaker could stand to hold her tongue sometimes but she’s so young, she’s got a lot to unlearn from being raised the way she was. She’s a good kid, she’s good but you are too. We’ll take it slow, because I haven’t done this dance in while, hell, ever really. And I want to do it right, I want to be what you want because I definitely know you don’t need me.”

“I haven’t needed for anything in a long time, but Joel Miller believe me when I saw my days are better when they’re spent with you. Even…even the bad ones to an extent.”

“I’ll apologize a thousand times.” He tightens his grip, tired eyes trained on them. There’s a sadness to them, the depths of which he had let you glimpse once before. Loss, pain, devastation in the wake of when the world has broken and then turned into. You share in that sadness, having lost the person you had devoted your life to protecting, having lost the life you had just begun to flourish in before it was ripped from your hands, having lost a child that you could still hear crying in your sleep some nights…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, the need for comfort from the one person you wanted it from, needed it from. It was true that you had been complacent before him, not concerned with the things people felt the need to pursue in the lives they felt safe enough to pursue here in the town. That he stroked yearning in the very core of who you were, something you hadn’t ever experienced even back when the world was thriving and bustling as it once had been.

“Can we j-just kiss a-and start to move for-forward?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I exactly deserve that right now…” Your face falls. The small, shy smile dipping and the sides of your mouth dropping into a frown as you feel the burn of tears prickle again behind your cheeks. The rejection hurts, even if you understand why he feels that way and agree with him to an extent that this situation isn’t going to magically fix itself.

“But I do.”

He doesn’t even think to argue, not with the way that he’s leaning close to touch his soft lips to yours as soon as the words leave them.

“I’ve gotta get goin’, sweetheart.” Joel’s whisper roused you, so close you reached for him. Long fingers curling around his wrist, nails lightly scratching the soft skin there. He felt the cumulation of inching out of bed slowly and quietly to not wake you as the vain attempt it was. He should’ve known his efforts would be fruitless, his resolve chipping away to nothing when you breathed his name out on a sleepy sigh. “I got training patrol. Be back early this afternoon, bring you something from the mess hall, alright sweetheart?”

You only hummed in response, lips pressed against his wrist now, sending tingling trickles of sensation all over his body at the easy way in which you displayed your affection for him now. It had been a couple of weeks. Two weeks of you making dinner one night, then walking him through another the next day. Of coffee in the mornings when he wasn’t busy, the never-ending list housed on the spiral notepad in his back pocket present in only the worn fabric over his pockets, the actual thing mysteriously gone. A break for the season, he has said when you asked him, palming the fabric of his back pockets one day.

As you lay in bed, dozing back off in the wake of his departure, Joel is outside the gates with a nervous Millie astride a horse beside him. They stop on as Joel figures an open field a few miles away would be the best bet for practice. Far enough for the sound of gunfire to not echo back and alarm people but close enough to rush back should something go awry.

“Know anythin’ about guns?” He looks over to the younger woman, her eyes wide and her head on a swivel as she constantly takes in her surrounds. He feels a little bad that she’s so on edge, but the only way to make her more comfortable is to get her out more and more. Allow her to see that it doesn’t have to be all bad. But he does understand her reaction, she’s never been outside the walls, had never been outside the town that it was before the walls went up. She had been younger than you when the world shattered, had people to look after her and care for her.

“My daddy taught me how to shoot them when the world fell apart. But that was…a long time ago now.”

“Okay, well, we’re gonna see what suits you better. On patrol we use shotguns, but a handgun will do in a pinch. The key is range, keeping any threat as far away as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” She watches him closely as he removes the shotgun slung around his back. He checks that the safety is secured and he holds it out to her as she moves to stand beside him at the beckoning of his hand. He walks her through the general mechanics of the gun, firm in her not placing her finger on the trigger until she was ready to shoot.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Um…I favor my left.” He hands off the gun to her, telling her to practice her grip on the large gun while he rummages in one of the packs attached to his saddle. He’s got a cloth bag that he fills with snow and ice that coats the ground, propping it up a good distance away on top of a long dead tree stump.

Time passes and her aim gets a little better, though she’s taking too long to line up her shots. Joel reminds her to just take a breath in and shoot as she exhales. But the words cut off as he sees movement on the horizon of their spot on in the field. He’s off a ways from her, by the target he had set up for the woman to practice on. He’s turned to hold a halting hand up to her before he takes his own gun out from the holster and puts one of them down.

Another sprints from the cover of the forest nearby, but he’s focused on taking down the other two far too close for comfort. Just as he turns to take out the one closing in on him, it lunges and he’s struggling not to fall with the sudden weight slamming into him. His gun goes flying and he curses out as he tries to fend it off with his arms, the snapping of its mangled teeth loud and far too close to his face.

He wishes he had spent a few more minutes with you in bed, pressing his lips to your forehead to your cheek, to your plush lips, to any part of your body he could as the bullet ripped through him and pain sparked hot across his entire chest. Through it, he manages throw the stunned thing to the ground, another shot flying from across the field to land directly in the back its head. Joel is looking up as he bends down to retrieve his gun, his other hand pressing hard to the burning in his shoulder. Millie is too focused on him to see the blur running toward her, too late in her shifting attention as it grips her shoulder tights. Taking a deep breath, Joel tries to focus as best he can to line up his aim and take out the single Infected that remained.

He shoots and it goes down.

His shoulder throbs and his vision darkens at the edges.

“Joel!” You shout, simmering panic making you forget common manners as you burst through the door leading into the main exam room of the infirmary. There are three beds lined up on the opposite wall, other rooms set up for more serious cases that required overnight stays. Millie and Joel are settled into two of them, the younger trembling and holding her right shoulder while Joel is pressing a kerchief to his front, blood soaking it through.

Marsha is already plastered to the side of her daughter’s bed. Making no noise whatsoever, which was just as uncomforting as you realized how pale she they both were. Blood splattered over Joel while Millie looked relatively unharmed.

Millie launches into a jumble of words as she gets up from the bed, but you stop her in your tracks with a chilling look over your shoulder as you go immediately to Joel’s side.

“You need to back the fuck up, Millie. I told you I’m not engaging with you anymore, now go back to your own bed and mind your business.”

Turning from them, your eyes land on Joel and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open as he lays across the bed. Your heart stutters, as does your voice the closer you get to him.

“You two are just perfect for each other with your penchant for harsh words.” Jealousy was ugly on the older woman, making her act out towards you but more concerningly towards Joel. He hadn’t done anything wrong, even in the moments he had let his anger flare around her and he scolded her for her manipulation and childish behavior. He had told you all about it, about every interaction between them to tide your hurt feelings and assumptions about them. He hadn’t needed to do it, but he had wanted to be completely transparent. To share with you the things he experienced.

“And you would be just perfect for recognizing harsh words, wouldn’t you?” You fire back, not even bothering to look over your shoulder at the woman who had caused so much grief and anxiety. Your words seem to stun her, as she doesn’t rebuff you in anyway, but you feel guilt flash at the kneejerk reaction, still so worried about upsetting anyone or instigating anything remotely unfriendly. But Joel was bleeding and it you were far more worried about him at the moment.

“What ha-hap-happened? That’s so mu-much blood!”.” You ask him quietly, concerned with how his unseen injuries could be affecting him. His fingers twitch, letting you know he was trying to reach out for you. You sidle up beside him, hands reaching for his left as your wide eyes take in the expanse of his naked chest. The nurse has on pink stained white. One of the nurses bursts through the open door, ignoring the tension in the room, quickly getting to work with the tray of equipment she brought in. Her pristine gloves immediately take on a pink stain, blood gushing over his front as she digs a pair of long tweezers into a large bullet hole. She exposes in his right shoulder once she peels back the collar of his jacket and cuts away the tattered collar of his undershirt. “J-Joel, did you g-get ambushed by In-Infected? Or was it peop-people?”

“Was an accident.” He grunts out, hand tightening over yours as the nurse works to stall the bleeding.

“Millie sh-shot you?” You feel ire bubble up ugly and thick, heart beating hard at the thought of Joel out there with no protection other than the person in question, the person who had no idea how to begin to fend for herself or an injured person beyond the walls. She had been so young when the world broke, a few years younger than Aiden had been when you took him as your responsibility, his parents being the first to turn in the restaurant.

“Oh, would you shut up with that god-awful stuttering? Grown woman can’t even speak properly in a moment of crisis.”

“Mother!”

“Making a bad situation worse by simply being here, why don’t you let the nurse take care of him and just leave?”

“Mother, enough! That is no way to talk to Olive, she puts her life on the line every time she goes out beyond the walls. She and Mr. Miller have helped to make this a safe place, you should show her respect and leave her be!”

“Millie Antoinette, that is no way to speak to me.”

“You’re going to lecture me on language with the way you’ve been slinging backhanded insults about Olive all these years? Blaming her for something completely out of her control, berating her for her stutter when you know she can’t help it because the whole town makes her feel like she’s walking on eggshells.”

“This conversation is not over, we will continue this at home.”

Finally turning to look over your shoulder at the way she began to take out her frustrations on Millie, your eyes were set hard and your displeasure was obvious as you took in the way Millie’s good arm was being held far too tightly by the woman.

“Why do-don’t you just keep my na-name out of any future conversations you may have. You’ve caused enough damage, your own daughter paying for your actions and getting injured because of it. Joel getting injured because of it. No one is to blame but you and the influence you’ve lorded over her all these years. Twisting and tainting the memory of the man she loved, the man I devoted my life to protecting and ensuring he got to live a somewhat normal one after the world fell apart. He wouldn’t have wanted her to harbor such ill feelings toward me, toward what happened. But you turned it into something to use against me and you hurt her worst of all, teaching her it was okay to behave like such a child!” Your

You’re breathing heavy by the end of your outburst, finding your voice after stuttering through the first words. Unconsciously reaching for and tightening the hold on Joel’s hand through the entire exchange. He squeezes it in reassurance, through the nurse’s ministrations.

“You tell ‘er.” Joel slurs as the nurse secured a large patch of gauze over his would, betadine staining the edges of the material. The action of pressing down the tape around the corners making him hiss out a pained breath and your attention focuses on him once again.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you ungrateful little-“ You could feel her approach you from behind and you let go of Joel’s hand, not wanting to jostle him should she push or shove you. She was about your height so when you swung your hand out, your palm landed right on her cheek with enough force to turn her head as the sharp slap echoed around the room.

Red blossomed bright on her skin. Her fingers twitched and you landed another hit without thinking before she could make a more intentional move.

“I know you were not about to touch me,” The feeling of your lip lifting up in a slight snarl was unpleasant, but you couldn’t help the visceral reaction to the woman after everything she had done.

Even in the wake of trying to be polite and cordial with her when you thought her and Joel were a thing, she had shown you thinly veiled niceness in return. Her eyes always watching, much like a hawk stalking its prey. But you wouldn’t be her prey any longer, unwilling to play the part she had bestowed upon you for no good reason. You weren’t a malicious person, you weren’t a violent person. Not anymore. You were kind and thoughtful and did everything you could to be nice and help out where you were needed or wanted, and you would not put up with the woman any longer.

She raised her hand up once the shock of your quick movement wore off and you used the back of your forearm to knock it down, your hand sliding down her arm to capture her wrist in your grip. Her widened eyes found yours and you hoped, fleetingly, that she was unnerved. She cried out when her wrist began to smart underneath the force of your grip, trying to pull it from you but you didn’t budge. She was a fool to think using her free hand to pry at the fingers you had wrapped around her to no avail. You saw the thought for her to raise it at you flash across her face before you felt Joel’s hand gently pull at the back of your sweater.

“That’s enough, Marsha.” Maria’s voice was harsh, cutting into the scene suddenly. “Seeing as your daughter is in good hands, let’s have a little chat.”

The woman’s harsh expression, the twist of her mouth about to shape around a degrading insult, the furrow of her brow as she focused on you, it all fell away the second she realized she had an audience.

The nurse tending to Joel moved silently from Joel’s bedside to Millie’s as you released Marsha from your hold to follow behind Maria.

“Olive, I am so sorry. For everything. You’re right, Aiden wouldn’t have wanted any of this. I-I feel so…badly for how I’ve ignored you all these years when I should’ve been there to comfort you. You lost him too.” Millie cries as the nurse tends to her bruised and swollen shoulder, there now that Joel is taken care of. There was a large bruise marring her skin that was around angry looking welts, scratches that looked like they hadn’t broken the skin, no doubt from whatever occurred outside the walls. You tried focus on her, but it was hard with the adrenaline of confronting Marha thumping harshly through your entire body, Joel could surely feel the trembles where he held onto you.

“We were practicing shootin’ and a group of five or six of ‘em came outta the trees.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you began to peel back his opened flannel and shoved up the shirt he had on underneath. Hands frantic as you felt all around his body for signs of a bite. When you brushed against his groin to move down to his legs to check underneath the denim, you noticed he had fallen quiet. Looking up at him from where you were inspecting his shins, you clocked the way he rested the inside of his wrist over his zipper and belt buckle. His face was tinged a little pink at his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

“You could’ve led with that!”

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Millie shot the one that almost got me, but the first shot missed and then she took it down. She didn’t see the one comin’ up behind her cause she was so focused on helpin’ me.”

“Just lay back,” You croon sweetly, gently pushing the bulk of him to sit atop the bed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel groans, adjusting his hips as he scoots up to lean against the plush headboard.

It’s soft everywhere in your room, from the fabric of the headboard to your sheets and covers, to the dried flowers and sheer curtains hanging over the windows. He feels swaddled in the best way, completely wrapped up in the little world you’ve created in your space. The mix of him seen interspersed between your many books lining new shelves he crafted for you to replace the old, creaking ones worn down over time. A carved serving plate he had made for you, atop your bedside table and housing a tube of hand lotion, a note left from him the other day when he had to leave in the early hours. One of his flannels hanging up from a set of floral hooks he had made to go on the back of your door.

He was just a present influence in your home as you were in his. From the multiple bottles of oil scattered about his stove top, to the leftovers clearly labeled and stored in his fridge, to the pair of underwear that had ended up nestled with his in the top drawer of his dresser. The very ones you wore underneath his shirts when you slept over in his bed, making the sheets smell a heady combination of you both that had him seeing you in his dreams even more.

It had been a slow dance of homemade dinners, of nights spent in each other’s bed, of searing kisses and soft words shared between you both over the last two months. Both healed from the events that had allowed for the confusing and heartbreaking one to shift to this one, where it was obvious you both wanted each other, both had so much adoration for each other. But you were still so shy around Joel, never letting things go further than wandering hands sneaking beneath clothing.

But tonight, you were feeling so encompassed by the need to see him, to touch him, to be seen and touched by him in return. Tommy had let slip it was your birthday tomorrow when he asked if you were still coming around his and Maria’s for dinner. Joel had been confused why you hadn’t shared that with him, you knew when his birthday was after all. And everything that came tangled with the date.

“Joel,” You whispered against his lips, having moved to hover over his lap with your arms atop his shoulders. His hair had grown long, the thick locks brushed back by his large hands to swoop into gorgeous curls behind his ears and over the back of his neck. Nearly brushing the tops of his broad shoulders, he groaned out as you toyed with the ends of the long locks now. Nervous energy made it hard to keep your hands still and you confessed quietly as you ran your fingers through the curls. “I…I need to tell you something before we- before we, um, do this.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes blink open, concern and worry glinting in them as he takes in the way you’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “We don’t have to do nothin’ if you don’t want to or aren’t ready. Just wanna be with you, no matter what.”

You start and stutter a few times, the words trailing off as your emotions spike and memories find their way to the surface. But it was the right thing to do, to share this part of your past with him. The potential for the mood to be ruined all to glaring as you realized it would be one of the heavier things you shared with the man who had become you partner in every definition of the word.

“Joel, I…I don’t have, um, I don’t have all my…parts.” Waving a hand over your lower stomach, right where you rested over his own. His confusion was obvious as he focused on the part of your body in question, his plush lips parting as he contemplated how to better ask for clarification. But you leaned back a little, your thighs tightened around his hips as you did so to pick up the hem of your camisole and unbutton the jeans you were still dressed in. A faded but thick scar ran from the bottom of your belly button, swooping below it in an imitation of a smile and then down in a straight line from the middle to disappear beneath the band of your underwear. It was completely healed, but still pink in discoloration.

“The doctors at the QZ we briefly stayed at in the beginning of everything…they did a hysterectomy after I had my…son.”

“Olive…” His hands raise from where they were around your hips, shaking slightly as he pauses in his reach to caress the marred skin. His eyes flash up to meet yours in a silent question for consent and at a small nod, he brushes the knuckle of his index finger over it. Shuddering at the soft touch, you watch the way emotions flit across his weathered face.

“They weren’t nice about it, I still…I still have pretty vivid nightmares about it because there was very little anesthesia, something about rationing the drugs and it…it was one of the most painful things I’ve had to endure. But…I thought you-you should know because I know you have some years on me, and you said you don’t think…an accident would happen and you seemed genuinely concerned because of my age. But it wo-won’t because of this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel presses the palm of his right hand over the scar, the warmth of his skin soothing just as much as the kiss he placed on your cheek. “You’re…you’re okay though?”

“As okay as I can be about it,” You consoled his worry, breath hitching as he gently caressed the skin beneath his hand. “I waited until I was healed a year, when the threat of infection was long gone, then I took Aiden and…and Ezra and I got us the hell out of there.”

He didn’t ask how you lost Ezra, he didn’t berate you for your choice to leave the QZ, he didn’t ask how you had even ended up in that situation in the first place. He didn’t do anything but slowly move to where your back was on the bed, and he was hovering over you. Soft kisses and the brush of his mustache trailing over every inch of skin he could see. His fingers slid beneath the thin straps of your top in a silent question, and you sat up enough to allow him to life the garment from your body. Willing to show yourself to him, to take the offer of his soothing comfort. His breath puffed out at the sight of your naked chest, his fingers skimming up to brush against the supple skin and hardened peaks now on full display.

He clocks the way your fingers move to the buttons of his flannel and fumble, prompting him to take over for you to push it off his own shoulders, his undershirt disappearing along with it to the floorboards. But before you can move onto his belt, he’s gently pressing you back to the bed and pressing the plush softness of his lips to your body, trailing lower and lower until he brushes them so lightly over your scar.

Your breath hitches and you can feel the small smile as he takes his time to worship your body. To sooth the emotions he must know it took to confess something so big, to engage with him in this way even if you wanted to. Mind’s always tickin’ he would tease, no heat behind his words, but adoration.

Fingers skimming over soft skin, the callouses of time and skill a heady sensation over it ahead of his lips, he slowly shimmies the undone fabric of your jeans down your legs. He takes the time to undo and step out of his own pair before he’s back on the bed, attention focused on your legs as he begins to move up, up, up. Only giving you the barest of chances to take in the thick line of his hard cock as it twitches beneath dark fabric.

His fingers slide underneath the waistband of your underwear from where his palms rest wide on your upper thighs, his mouth suckling the plush skin before him. His lips feel like heaven, like finally stepping through your front door after a long shift, like a hot bath after a long day, like a breath of fresh air after being in a stuffy room. It feels like home. Startling slightly at the sudden press of his nose to your clothed core, you feel more than hear the rumble of his chuckle.

“This okay, not too much?”

“Not too much,” you assure, lifting your hips to allow him to drag the fabric down. Heat blooms in your chest, worry for not being as pretty as someone else or as groomed as you used to be. But all of your anxieties and insecurities fade away as you look down and see the way his eyes are trained on your glistening cunt. He groans out as he drags the beck of a knuckle over your puffy outer lips, reveling in the jerk of your hips at the light contact.

“’s pretty, sweetheart. So perfect.” Is all the warning he gives you before he’s spreading you open with both of his hands and burying his face between your thighs. A long, warm wet lick with the flat of his tongue from one end of you to the other has your head thudding against the pillows and your hands searching for purchase in his hair. Pleasure sparkles all over your body, glitters behind your eyes as he tastes you, suckles that little bundle of nerves, as he gently glides two of his thick, warm fingers right inside and curves them up.

His name is a strangled sound puffed into the air, your breath hitching in the way he admitted to loving so much as he begins to pet your inside walls with his fingertips, his lips latched around your clit. His patchy scruff and mustache adding to the feel of him against your skin, against the most intimate part of you he’s taking his time in pleasuring. It takes everything you have to lift your head enough to peer through bleary eyes to find him already staring up at you. His pupils blown so wide there’s no hint of the deep brown they’re made up of. His brow is furrowed in concentration, the tops of his cheeks barely visible a deep hue of pink as he worships you.

While still holding your gaze, he purses his lips and sucks, turning the sparkles of pleasure into hot waves as they overtake you. Your body isn’t your own any longer as it tenses, back arching clean off bed, your thighs clenching around his ears. Your lost in the force of the pleasure he pulled from you as easily as breathing, taken every moan and sigh as signals to what you liked best, listening to your body like he was meant to. It’s no longer yours but his.

“They’re we go, so good, sweetheart. You taste so good,” He murmurs as he helps your through the crest before pulling again to palm at himself through his underwear with one hand, the other holding your bucking hips down to clean every last bit of your release from where his fingers are pulled from you.

Reaching for him, you tug at him, urging him up to his knees so you had run your palm over the trail of dark hair that disappears below his waistband. He moves his hand from where he’s holding himself through the fabric as your fingers sneak below and touch him for the first time. His hips cant, pressing firmly into your willing hand.

“Take these off, please.” You whisper as you wrap your hand around him, barely able to touch the tips of your fingers with the girth of him fully hard. He’s hot against your skin, velvet soft over the rigidness of his cock. Finally seeing all of him as he pulls the fabric down and pushes it past his thighs. You let him go for him to toss them over the side of the bed, eyes taking in the stretch of his body through the action.

He’s peppered with freckles over his tan skin, chest covered in thick hair that’s the same steel grey of his curls, thick thighs tensed with the way he sits before you on his knees. He’s littered with scars, some thin and crisscrossing over each other, some raised thick to disrupt the smoothness of his skin, though none hold the same untold story of the one at his temple. The one he lets you brush softly before sleep. But they don’t take away from his beauty, they enhance it and let you know without a doubt he’s a fighter.

His cock is thick and long, ruddy at the tip and bobbing despite the heft to kiss his stomach as you eye him up and down. Every inch of him is beautiful and you tell him with a sigh, body singing for him to come back to you. Locking eyes with him, you see his own insecurities wash away at the wonder and admiration you gaze at him with.

As soon as you move to reach for him, he’s doing the same. Mouths connecting and laying his body over yours to feel every bit of your skin against his that he can manage, your legs parting to wrap around his waist. You gasp at the bump of his tip to your folds, the breathy sound turning into a moan when he grinds down against you, his hands tangling in your hair as he swallows it straight from your lips.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he reaches down to grip himself, guiding the ruddy tip to your entrance and holding his breath for the barest of seconds. You nod, unable to form words so wrapped around him, so covered by him, to consumed by him and what he means to you. Twin moans decorate the air as he pushes in, the girth of him stretching you and causing heat to lick at every single nerve.

It’s soft and slow, sensual the way he moves against you. Taking in the moment for all that it is, showing you in the most intimate way what you mean to him as you feel how deep he gets with every thrust. But when you moan out for him to go harder, to go faster – he willingly obliges. The slow roll of his hips shifting into quick snaps against yours, a hand gripping your thigh over his shoulder as he presses down in such a delicious way. You can tell you startle him when you cry out, the head of his cock catching that perfect spot, as your hands scrabble at his shoulders and your nails dig into the freckles skin of his broad back.

Sighing, you take a moment to stretch out your shoulders once you remove the apron from around your neck. It’s well into February and you’ve take back control of the morning shift at the mess hall.

Marsha had done a…well, she hadn’t done the best, but Maria had stepped in the week before you had been due back. To ensure everything was exactly the way you preferred it. It had been a lot of long early morning shifts on top of staying through the lunch service. You had tried to stifle your amusement at Maria complaining about how fast the woman had tried to get through cleaning tasks to get home before the sun set. None of it had been good enough for Maria, knowing that you dedicated yourself to making sure things were not only clean but ‘Olive clean’ as she termed it. Turning the whole dining room and setting up the kitchen for a smooth open the next morning since dinner was normally left to the individual households or the Tipsy Bison.

Part of her punishment was formally apologizing to you and thanking you for your service to the town, but it hadn’t happened. You weren’t holding your breath for it to happen, either. It wouldn’t undo all the anxiety and hesitancy you still had even now interacting with anyone outside of your very small circle.

“Miss Olive?” The sudden voice of someone peeking their head through the swinging door that led into the kitchen caught you off guard. “Oh shoot, I am so sorry! I didn’t meant startle you.”

“Oh, it’s okay, just lost in my own head. How can I help you?”

They step inside, an older couple that comes at the same time everyday, enjoying the quiet before the rest of the residents make their way into the dining room.

“Just wanted to say it was a good meal this morning. We really appreciate all the work you put in providing for the town. Glad to have you back in the swing of things.”

“Oh! Well, th-thank you very much. I’m glad you enjoyed today, had a couple friends urge me to include the pastries.” They nod at you, waving before turning away and disappearing back through the door. A smile graces your lips as you shrug on your coat and wrap a scarf around your neck. The kind words help you to trudge your way through the built up snow from the night before, none of it having melted once the sun rose. The winds are still sharp, piercing in their added chill to the air.

Your home is nice and toasty when you enter, intending to shower the splash of porridge that had gotten you, sinking into your skin even after you had wiped off. But you pause when you catch the scent of fresh coffee and hear a distant grunting coming from your back room. Instincts taking over, you reach for the bat leaning up against the corner behind the front door.

“Hello?” You call out, unsure of who would be in house since Joel was supposed to be on patrol with Ellie. Maria and Tommy wrapped up in council meetings with Macon dropped off at the school to be watched over.

“Jus’ me! Shit-“ A loud thud cuts off Joel’s words and you’re rushing down the hall to find him crouching on the floor, hands busy holding the framework of a shelving unit where it had tilted over. “Hey, sweetheart, wanted to have this done by the time you got back.”

You had torn out the old shelves of the back room, the wall smoothed and painted over a few days ago when you had tried to reorganize everything and one of them came crashing down. Ellie had been over a week or so ago, indulging in your vinyl collection as she did homework while she stayed the night, Joel on an overnight patrol. Apparently, she had shared with him the scary moment that prompted the change to the wall.

“Are you okay?” The words rush out as you move around him to help push the large structure back onto it’s base. He sighs as he stands, knees cracking from the added weight of the wood against him as he tensed and braced against it. When he did, your eyes rove over him to ensure he really was okay. Then the bump on his forehead catches your attention as he looks over to you. It’s red and slightly swollen.

You see the small scrape on his cheek, blood beading up along the thin lines.

“Damn thing just shifted as I was adjusting the line up. ‘m okay, promise.”

But you close in on him, hands cupping his face as you pull it down to you, brushing your lips lightly against the bump as his hands wrap around your waist. Shifting down, you kiss just below the thin scrapes, not wanting to pull at them or irritate them further before reaching for a kerchief from your back pocket and dabbing lightly at the blood. Pulling back to peer into his eyes, you see the almost shy way he’s looking from you to the shelving unit.

“There,” You press your lips to his next, his eyes fluttering shut at the swipe of your tongue against his plush bottom one. He swallows the sound that bursts from your chest as he pulls you close. He tastes like the coffee you had smelled when you first walked through the front door. Humming out an, “All better.”

His grin is bright, the dimple in his right cheek fluttering your stomach as you catch sight of it hidden in his scruff.

“All better.” He parrots before shifting you both so your back is to the wall he had been working on installing the shelving unit against. “But you ain’t supposed to be home yet. Your present isn’t ready.”

“Present? I didn’t ask for anything, Joel Miller.” You crane your head around to try and look at what he was doing, too concerned with him to see what he had been trying to do exactly. But he brought a hand up from your waist to grip at your chin and he halted the movement. “And aren’t you supposed to be on patrol with Ellie?”

“Traded off with Tommy, told ‘im I had something important to do today.”

“Joel…”

“Nu-uh. You’ll have to wait to see it, birthday girl. Macon is due for pick up in an hour,” You huff a laugh as he bends his knees to lift your weight and toss it over his wide shoulder. Hair falling loose around your face, it’s impossible to see anything as he struts out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. He sets you down atop the vanity counter with a light of his own at how disheveled your hair got.

“So pretty,” He muses quietly as he brushes it from your face and tucks it behind an ear. Heat creeps up your face, still not used to such open compliments from the handsome man. Stepping away for a moment, he fiddles with the shower knobs to get the water going, ensuring it’s the perfect temperature that you prefer. He helps you to disrobe, trailing his lips over every inch of your upper body as it becomes exposed before ushering you into the stall with a parting kiss. We’ll head over to Tommy’s for an early dinner once I’m finished up here, yeah?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dinner was a small affair, Ellie using one of the recipe cards you had made for Joel to attempt her hand at a casserole and a cake. The noodles were far too mushy and the cheese was a little too crusted, but you wouldn’t trade her bright smile as she set it down with a flourish for anything in the world. The cake was a touch better, the frosting smooth in most places and the perfect amount of sweetness to counteract the rich chocolate she had been adventurous in trying out. Two candles were lit atop it after meal, her smile infectious as you thanked her and reached to squeeze her smaller frame to yours.

“Alright, alright. Now make a wish and blow them out!” She was excited, Macon imitating her as he bounced in your lap.

“Macon, want to help me?” He gurgled his agreement, barely able to hold his head up and only for short bursts of time. But he pursed his lips as you leaned closer to the cake and blew. He made a sputtering sound, bubbles forming at the corners of his lips and everyone laughed as he seemed shocked at the smoke lifting from the now spent candles. You looked over to Joel, catching the soft smile he was sporting as he watched on.

But you were both in your home now, having left at the assurance of dinner being cleaned up and the kitchen tidied. You were standing in the back room, taking in the sight of what he had been working on all day. Floor to ceiling shelves had been installed on the wall that was shared with the kitchen on the other side. The supplies you kept for the harvest from the olive trees aesthetically placed in the cubbies.

“Joel, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” You felt the heat of him as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle. His deep voice was so close as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. He guided you out of the room and across the hall to your bedroom, waddling his frame around yours as he refused to let go.

“What’d you wish for, sweetheart?” He whispered, as if it was a secret he was hoping to be privy to, your breath hitched as you turned in his arms and snaked your hands around his neck.

“Nothin’, just…for everything to keep on the way it has been. I’ve got everything I need.” You leaned up and kissed him, his hands tightened around your waist, and you giggled as he dipped you a little with his enthusiasm. You could feel his own smile as his lips moved against yours and you breathed out one last laugh before pivoting your bodies toward the bed. He let you, so willing underneath your touch.

The next morning you both rise early before the sun, helping each other dress and then walk hand in hand toward the stables, boots crunching over the thin ice that had formed overnight. Just as you lead Lowry through the gates, Joel astride is own horse, he turns to you with a lopsided grin.

Your eyes trail over him, landing on the worn fabric of his back pocket, the spiral top of his notepad tucked securely inside. It turns out the faded patch was your business after all and you smile at him in return as he speaks.

“So what’s your favorite movie?”

You answer him honestly, earning a huff of slight exasperation for your answer. Turning the question on him as the sound of steady hoofbeats and soft conversation flows over the open plains of your morning route.

previous chapter || end

taglist:

@joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal

@merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

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@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @amyispxnk @wand-erer5

dividers by the lovely: @/cafekitsune and /saradika-graphics

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forgeofthenine · 1 month

Note

How do you think things would play out if insecure human Tav had feelings for Dammon, but she mistakenly thought he was hitting on Karlach all those times he helped her with her heart? With Tav being oblivious and mistakes that it’s because she is human and that Karlach is a tiefling that he has no interest in her, but in reality he does. How do you think Dammon would respond if there’s a little comment like: “I know it’s Karlach you were hoping to see.”

I'm not sure if I leaned too into the insecure descriptor in the prompt, especially after not doing any writing for so long, but I hope everyone's able to enjoy. I missed my main man so much <3

She isn't you

"I know it's Karlach you were hoping to see."

You can see the whites of Dammons eyes grow as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, shock washing over him. It's something you'd tiptoed around for months. The way Dammon looks at Karlach, how he gravitates towards her, how that kills you inside. No one could blame you for falling for the sweet blacksmith with his easy smile and firm confidence.

He'd spent these past months giving your companion the gift of touch back, laughing at her raunchy remarks and looking at her like she'd hung the moon and stars. Hours were spent in his forge fixing her heart, idle chatter between the three of you the only real entertainment. Hours of inadvertently third wheeling them all because of your own unrequited crush. Karlach was your friend though, and if they were happy then you weren't going to interfere.

His lips part slowly. Beautiful, chapped lips you so desperately want to kiss but know you never will. Soon, Dammon finds his voice again. He seems so genuinely confused, as if he can't understand where you got that idea.

"Why would I want Karlach when you're here?"

A long tail flicks behind him, nearly taking out a table leg. A concerned look covers the blacksmiths face as he leans in, hands spreading over his workbench. "Not that Karlach isn't lovely, she is, but I'd prefer to have you here." Dammon clarifies carefully.

It's your own turn to gawk now, looking at the teifling standing there in the firelight. You'd never expected this, to have him so quickly disagree with something you were so certain of. "But... Aren't you and Karlach..." You trail off, unsure of how to word things, picking at your nails.

"Aren't we... what? Seeing each other?" Dammon asks, rounding his work bench with a small chuckle, the wooden floor creaking under steady steps. "Is that assumption what's held you back?" His calloused hand takes yours, smoothing a thumb over your skin as the tiefling draws in your gaze. Blue eyes crinkle at the corners with a small grin, a teasing smile appearing on the blacksmiths face.

"Well, isn't it true?" You gape, gripping his hand. The new brazenness draws a full laugh from the tiefling, topped off with a shake of his head. It's a dumbfounding revelation, after months of near torture watching the two of them only to find out none of your assumptions were true. "Stop laughing, I'm being serious-" You insist, a small frown growing on your face.

Dammon calms himself, still grinning down at your pout. "I know, and I'm sorry." His voice is lower now, missing that teasing lilt you love so much. "There's nothing happening between Karlach and I, promise. I did ask her for some advice, though." He adds, gently squeezing the hand enveloped in his.

You cock your head, wondering whatever advice he could've gotten from Karlach. Something to do with Avernus or leaving the hells? Something tiefling related? The visible confusion almost makes Dammon laugh again, but he contains himself. Instead, a firm tail snakes it's way around your leg, winding around you with a firm pressure.

"I wanted to know how best to ask one of her friends out."

#naming this was the absolute hardest #i just gave up and kept its draft name #bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #bg3 dammon x reader

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mavrintarou · 3 months

Text

[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [8]

A long-awaited chapter, thank you for being patient with me. Happy March everyone.

Warning: angst & hurt, smut

Seventh part Nineth part

“Teo, when do you think Y/n would be back?” Toru asked his son who was busy suckling his four fingers. He was drooling incredibly the last couple of days, having to go through three or four outfits in one day.

At the sound of Y/n’s name, the baby looked up and his eyes searched the room.

“She’s not back yet, but her appointment is taking longer than expected.” Toru sighed in disappointment. Even though he saw her about two hours ago, he missed her.

Not just physically…

He chuckled to himself, feeling like a teenager all over again.

He’s having the most sex in his life in the last couple of weeks. Toru believed he may have a problem.

A problem of not being able to keep his hands off of her. Or from being inside of her.

It’s astonishing how quickly they’ve grown close in such a short span. While it doesn’t compensate for the time that slipped away between them, he had a lifetime ahead to make amends, forging new memories to replace the lost time.

For a while, he bore the weighty burden of fearing that Y/n might find being with him and Mateo overwhelming, prompting her to consider leaving. However, with each passing day, she unwittingly reassures him that she desires him, that she wants to be with the both of them.

His heart fills with warmth witnessing their togetherness. It nearly overflows when strangers compliment them on what a beautiful family they make.

That’s his deepest desire – to create a loving family with them.

“Feeling tired? Ready for a nap?” Toru inquired, observing Mateo’s yawn and weary eyes. Lifting his son, he reached for his blanket, attempting to swaddle Mateo in the manner Y/n usually does, but finding it challenging. “One second…” he coos as Mateo begins to whine, fighting against his father.

Toru steps back, hands on his hips as he lets out a frustrated sigh while Mateo is wailing at the top of his lungs. He is never like this with Y/n when she puts him down for a nap…

“Okay, okay,” he coos, picking his son up and rocking him. He grabs the blanket and Mateo immediately grabs it, hugging it tightly. He calms down but continues to fuss.

Something clicked in Toru’s head as he walked into his bedroom picked up one of Y/n’s worn shirts out of his laundry basket and brought it close to his son. He remembered reading that babies were sensitive to scent.

True to the theory, Mateo immediately clutched onto Y/n’s shirt and calmed down.

With a loud sigh, Toru continued to rock his son who soon closed his eyes and napped.

Carefully, he laid down on his bed with his son on his chest. Closing his eyes, he figured he might as well take a nap too with this son. After all, it’ll make time go by faster until Y/n returns.

Y/n opened her eyes, alerted when she heard cooing and nails clawing at her jaw. “Hey you,” she smiled at Mateo who woke up from his nap.

After her doctor's appointment, she took a long walk along the river to clear her mind.

“W – what?” Y/n uttered.

To the doctor’s suspicion, she had no idea. She inhaled and exhaled deeply before repeating herself, “you are pregnant, Y/n. Did you not know?” She looked down at the piece of paper with all her messy scribbles. “Earlier when I was asking you basic questions you told me that you noticed how you had a lack of energy, just physically tired and napped more than usual?” Y/n stared at her with a blank stare. “When I conducted your physical examination you flinched when I felt for any abnormal lumps in your breast and you noted that your breasts have been sensitive lately?”

And she was embarrassed that her doctor had seen the red hickies on her chest that were left from Toru.

“Yes,” Y/n barely whispered, “I remember.” She swallowed, she didn’t know why it did not click prior but now everything was beginning to make sense. “Are you sure I’m pregnant? I didn’t have any morning sickness. Isn’t that a clear indication that someone is pregnant?”

The doctor shook her head, “no, not every woman will experience morning sickness. Some women don’t experience until a little further in their pregnancy.” She can see the distraught patient before her, handling the news she was not expecting to hear. “I know you were not expecting this news at all. I can’t let you go until I’ve known you’re okay to leave.”

Y/n swallowed again, leaning forward onto her knees and covering her eyes.

“How… how far along am I?” Y/n finally asked after a few minutes of silence.

“We will have to do an ultrasound to get a better idea of how far along you are. Do you remember the last time you had your period?”

Y/n grabbed her phone and checked her application which tracked her period. Her breath hitched as she realized she had not been logging her period for two months, going on to three months.

She had completely overlooked it as she was occupied with her sudden lifestyle changes with Toru and Mateo.

She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered, “can I get an ultrasound done today?”

As she lay on the padded bed waiting for the nurse, Y/n has never felt so alone before.

Her hands were placed against her lower abdomen, she still could not believe that she was pregnant.

She was joyous at the news yet she was terrified.

When the technician came in and performed the ultrasound, she spoke softly, making all Y/n’s worries and doubts fade.

Y/n paid close attention to the technician’s words, and finally, she tapped on the screen. “Here they are,” she said excitedly, pointing to the circle shape on the screen. “There’s your baby, Ms. Y/L/n.”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she covered her mouth. She couldn’t take her eyes off her baby.

The joys and excitement she felt all disappeared when the nurse spoke, “I believe you are roughly eight to nine weeks along, but that’s not a definite answer…”

Y/n did the math in her head if she was more than eight weeks along… there was no doubt that the baby she was carrying was Woojin’s.

Y/n spent almost an hour sitting on the bench and staring blankly at the river.

“What happens now?” she muttered to herself.

She had just found a safe place, a home with the man she had been hopelessly in love with.

Yet now she is pregnant.

With another man’s baby.

Burying her face in her hands, she leans over her knees and groans.

When she returned home, their units were quiet. Dropping off her bag on the couch, she heads to Toru’s room, finding the two of them sleeping soundlessly.

She needed them, that was all she needed.

Carefully she crawled over and laid behind Toru, her arm slipped around his waist as she buried her face against his broad back.

“You’re home.”

Yes, she was home, home to Toru and Mateo. Y/n nodded, tightening her arm around his waist. “I’m tired too.”

Chuckling, he rests his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers together. “Okay, let’s nap together.”

Mateo’s slobber against your cheek brings you back to reality.

“Ahh Mateo,” Y/n giggled, picking up the baby. “Is that a kiss?”

The baby laughed brightly at her question.

“Oh awesome, you both are up,” Toru stood at the doorway of his bedroom wearing an apron. “Just in time, I finished cooking dinner.”

“Dinner already?” Y/n stood up with Mateo on her hip, walking towards Toru. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips but Toru was quicker and turned so their lips met. Y/n smiled and pressed another kiss against his lips. “I missed you.”

Toru’s smiled, “I missed you too.”

. .

Toru was no fool, he knew something was bothering Y/n.

Over dinner, he mentioned the unexpected visit from the building management. They had come to assess the damage, and the following week, a construction crew will be handling the repairs.

But it appeared that the conversation had entered one ear and exited the other. She seemed distant during dinner, raising concern for Toru.

He could discern from the graceful movements of her fingers on the piano keys that the piece she played was infused with deep emotions, as if she were pouring her heart and soul into the music notes, expressing everything through her melody.

He sensed that something had occurred during her visit the moment he felt her snuggle against his back. The way she embraced him, as if fearing his disappearance, and the trembling of her hand indicated that something had frightened her or weighted heavily on her mind.

Y/n’s finger hit the last note, ending the piece she played.

Toru could hear her soft exhalation, soft yet heavy.

He approached her from behind and gently gripped her shoulders, squeezing them in a massaging manner. “Are you… okay?”

Y/n nodded before tilting her head back to look up at him, “I love you.”

Toru’s breath hitched, these were the three words he had been eagerly awaiting from her.

He feels his life is completed, having Y/n by his side, and hearing her true feelings for him.

Y/n rose from her seat, perching on the piano bench, her height still a few inches shy of his. Tenderly, she cradled his face and leaned in to share a kiss. “Toru,” she mumbled against his lips, “make love to me… make me scream your name…”

Any other time, he would have loved to make her scream his name but something didn’t feel right. He was about to protest when she begged, “please, Toru… I need you to take my mind off it …”

His arms wrapped underneath her backside and lifted her, carrying her in the opposite direction of his bedroom. “Let’s go to your room, that way you can be as loud as you want.”

Surprisingly, Toru has never been inside Y/n’s room before. He led them blindly to her room as Y/n distracted him with kisses.

“I love you,” she murmured repeatedly.

Chuckling, Toru couldn’t contain his smile, “I know, I love you too.” He set her down on her feet and began undressing her, first with her jeans and then reaching for her shirt. His fingers found the clip to her bra, undoing it and tossing it aside. He dropped to his knees, lips trailing down her belly until they reached the elastic part of her panties. His eyes are at direct eye level with her abdomen and for a split second, he stares at her belly.

Y/n’s breath caught. As she looked down from her perspective, uncertain if her eyes were deceiving her, she noticed a subtle bump.

“Let’s take these off,” Toru whispered, tugging down her panties. “Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed.”

Spinning around, Y/n got on her bed that she had not slept on for a while and got into the position. She could hear him taking off his clothes.

Without warning, he slams into her. Y/n had to brace herself as he pounded deep and hard. “Yes!” she moaned loudly. “Harder!”

Toru increased his speed and density, slamming his hips against her and causing the room to echo with only their flesh slapping. A sense of greed and selfishness overwhelmed him, and suddenly, a possessive feeling took hold. Y/n’s subtle indifference earlier was making him anxious. Did something happen? His mind began to conjure up all possible worst-case scenarios.

He had to grasp onto her; if she harbored any doubts about him and his son, he was determined to do whatever it took to sway her thoughts. They needed her.

Toru wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up and hugging her tight against his body. He continued to rut into her, needing her desperately.

“Love you… I love you so much, Y/n…” he nipped her skin at her shoulder. His teeth mark embedded into her delicate skin.

“Toru! Toru, oh God… I’m close… please…” Y/n turned to look over her shoulder. She pressed her lips to his, “cum inside me…”

He knows he shouldn’t but his body acted on its own accord. Y/n permitting him to cum inside her was all he could think about. His arms wrapped tighter around her as if to keep her forever next to him.

Y/n clenching around his cock and whimpering brought Toru over the edge as he came. His hips tremble and spasm as he ejaculates.

His head drops onto her shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

In an instant, his ears perked as he heard something that twisted his heart. “Y/n?” He released his hold around her, withdrawing before turning her around to face him. His eyes widen, “what’s wrong?” He shifted in front of her and cupped her face, searching for an answer. “Did – did I hurt you?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gasped, shaking her head. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Toru pulled her into his arms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry if I hurt you… if I scared you…”

Y/n continued to shake her head, unable to speak a word as she cried quietly.

Feeling completely hopeless and useless, he only continued to hold her, murmuring sweet words to her.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/n eventually eased her turmoil. Her hands lay on his bare chest, sensing the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her right palm – a sensation she wished to experience for the entirety of her life.

She loves this man. She loves Oikawa Toru.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Toru whispered gently, pressing his lips against her forehead. “But if I am the reason behind those tears, all I ask is that you let me fix it… whatever I did… please – “ his voice choked, “I promise that I will never make you cry again…”

Y/n pulled away from his arms and sat up, at some point, Toru had laid them down on her bed. She looked down at him and reached to brush his hair away, “it is not you, Toru.”

He wished to trust her, yet a part of him still clung to the belief that he was still the reason behind her tears.

“The truth is…” Y/n took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. “I am pregnant.”

Toru sat up abruptly, his voice faltering at her statement.

Her head bowed, and he sensed her shame. “I… I don’t think it’s your baby.”

. . .

E/n: I'm hurting everyone :(

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchia-98 @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abcde12345 @shotenvinsoot @princess-sunshyn @anonymoussimper @junglewoos @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @mih311 @m1nt-3lla @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whatamidoing89

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu oikawa toru #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa angst #oikawa smut #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu x y/n

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bluelikebruises · 4 months

Text

whispers of summer fervor || aegon ii targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: Fire and Blood—you were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy. or Being the disgraced child of King Viserys and abandoned by your eldest sister pushes you into the arms of her opposition, leading to your support of Aegon’s claim. wc: 5.1k tw: slight ooc aegon, angst, rhaenyra is usurped, rhaenyra slander, daddy issues, mommy issues, viserys is a shity dad, burn scars, reader is born from aemma but skintone & physical features are never discussed, canon divergence, incest cause yknow targaryens, bastard slander, hints of misogyny

a/n: i usually write (or try to) a reader who is neutral to the whole blacks vs green, but not today! rhaenyra is the rightful heir—always—but for the sake of this fic she is not. also i’ve been neglecting completing my uni assignments to finish this lol, enjoy!!! p.s. not proofread

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

Fire and Blood—the words of your House.

Fire and Blood—a warning to those who would ever think of opposing the Targaryen dynasty.

Fire and Blood—a declaration of war met with threats disguised as promises.

You were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy.

A fate you were lucky enough to not shoulder alone, Aegon like you was born of your mothers blood. Born out of a desperate need to uphold old customs and beliefs. While his birth was celebrated it also split the Realm, whispers of his right as future king followed him throughout his life. The notions of king left heavy expectations for him to shoulder, expectations he never met, always falling short in one way or another. Resulting in his feverish drinking and promiscuity.

You are both young when you realize the shortcomings of your livelihoods. The drop in your father’s voice whenever he spoke of you. The frigid overcast that glazed over his eyes when his eyes set on you. The blatant favoritism he showed towards your much older sister—the tenderness in his eyes was a warmth you had never felt. His disdain leaked into your interactions; an uncomfortable shadow fell upon his brow whenever you were in his presence. As if your very being pained him, and how could it not? You were the walking reminder of his wife’s death, of his failure as not just a husband but a King.

Aegon knows the resentment his mother harbors towards him despite her denial. Her first born conceived of a loveless marriage. She had been a girl and made a monarch overnight and some months later a mother. She was robbed of her girlhood and tied to the crown forever and Aegon had been the first nail in her coffin. Aegon represented every sacrifice she had made and his constant rebellion felt like an insult to everything Alicent lost.

You understood one another, in ways many could not. Cut from the same cloth amalgamations of Targaryen indulgence, stubbornness, and passion. The least favored children of the King and Queen, bonded over neglect and resentment.

Years forged your attachment into blind fidelity, a sickly devotion that was rooted in your hearts like oaths. The world hardly existed outside the two of you and it didn’t stop for anyone without the Targaryen name. While many believed there were no exceptions to your coterie, they would find themselves proven wrong. For nearest and dearest to you was Helaena and Aemond, both as intertwined with one another as you and Aegon.

Though the four of you were close none of you shared an inkling of a relationship with your eldest sister. Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone and never turned back, no word or ravens ever arrived in her stead.

When she had resided in the Keep she made no effort to hide her aversion towards you. She was a specter in your memory and marked as a heathen by the Queen. The Queen marked Rhaenyra a great many things and left a bitter child you swallowed her words like water.

It came to no surprise to anyone when the Queen announced that Vaemond Velaryon was bringing into question the validity of your nephew’s claim to Driftmark. After all Rhaenyra had done a very poor job of hiding her indiscretions.

━━☆━━

On the day of the trial you sit in front of the hearth dreading the affair that was to come. As the hours passed you prepared to become a part of the circus, another spectacle for the Lord and Ladies of the Kingdom to gawk at. Prying eyes were always trying to glimpse at your injury, trying to validate the whispers of gossip they had heard. They were children and you, a parable came to life—a reminder of how cruel the Gods could be. The Cursed Targaryen Princess who could not hatch or claim a dragon. A clear demonstration that even the Targaryens were exempt from their own fire.

Eyes followed you even when not a single body was around. They haunted you mercilessly. The constant feeling never allows you to inhabit your body comfortably. It was the reason many of your dresses had been tailored towards your lesions. Tailored towards the concealment of the damaged skin of your shoulder and upper arm.

Your dresses always had long sleeves even during the hot summers. The scars that could not be hidden with fabric were hidden by your hair. Never was your hair tied up or styled in extravagant fashion. It was only ever neatly placed out of your face in a simple manner.

With the sound of your chambers doors opening you surface from thought. Aegon steps into view, freshly bathed with his hair combed and wearing an exasperated look.

“The Keep is a mess” he says slumping down next to you. He throws his head back leaning uncomfortably on the divan

“Your sisters arrival warrants pageantry”

“Your sister” he clarifies

You scoff, Rhaenyra had not been your sister in years. She had always tried to marry you off to a Lannister or whatever Lord presented himself as willing. She thought you incompetent and arrogant, endowments she believed were smears of her mothers memory.

She was one to cast judgment, you’re sure Aemma would not have been keen on having illegitimate grandsons. What was the saying of House Arryn… As High as Honor. Bastards were anything but.

“Has she not summoned you?” he looks at you curiously

“She has,” you respond boredly. A servant had entered your chambers the day prior, her head tilted towards the floor as she spoke. Her timidness struck you as odd and instantly you knew she was one of Rhaenyra’s. With a smile you sent her back to her mistress, refusing to tangle yourself in her web.

Aegon smirks, “She is to be Queen and you deny her”

“She pedals falsehoods and you forget she is not Queen yet”

He laughs shifting in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. While you hated being watched, Aegon's gaze was different. He was never trying to pry you open or overzealous with morbid curiosity. He always regarded you with esteemed affection and tenderness.

After a long pause you say, “Is there something on my face?”

His stare doesn’t waiver and he doesn’t respond. It is rare when he forgets how bewitching you could be but when it strikes him, he is at a loss for words—overwhelmed by the realization. His eyes shine with novelty as if it is the first time he has ever laid eyes on you. As if you were the grand encompass of the ocean and he was ready to dive in.

You utter his name and he’s awoken from the spell he had been under.

He stands offering his hand, “We should take our leave now”

“You’ve never been one for punctuality” you tease and he smiles

“No, but I have been informed to behave. To present an image of regalness and grace” a laugh escapes his lips, “As if I am Aemond”

Now you laugh taking his hand, “He is much more regal than you”

Aegon clutches his chest just over his heart, feigning hurt, “You injure me”

With your arms laced together you set off to find Aemond and Helaena. It would have been improper for Aegon to enter without his wife and for you to show up in the arms of a married man—regardless if he was your brother. It was a rule the four of you rarely followed but today was not the day to deter away from customs.

Helaena is the first to spot you in the halls, Aemond is with her. A bright smile displayed on her face as she said your name. You can’t help but admire her, always effortlessly beautiful and far more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for. The picture of what women of your house were to be, beautiful, intelligent, and dragon riders. Everything you were not and though she did not hatch an egg she had claimed Dreamfyre. You should have been mad with envy but no such ill feeling ever came.

You loved her, perhaps no envy was born due to your ever present feeling of having to protect her. Of shielding her from the claws that embedded themselves into Keep. Destroying any sight of light or innocence. Fearing she would be treated like you had been.

You depart from Aegon to greet Helaena with a kiss on the cheek. Moving towards Aemond to do the same, he greets you with a compliment before extending his arm for you to take.

“Always so chivalrous” you say loud enough for Aegon to hear

━━☆━━

The hearing had gone to shit. Your father made a surprising appearance, Vaemond had died, Lucerys was still heir to Driftmark, and everything was as it had been the day before.

You stand beside Aegon and Aemond in the dining hall, the room is lit by candle light as chatter fills the air.

“What a waste of time” Aegon huffs

“Dinner or the hearing?”

“Both. Lucerys is still heir and Daemon suffers no consequences.”

Aemond chimes in, “Their breaths are an insult to everything we stand for”

You nod about to speak when the sound of the wooden door opening announces the arrival of the King. Quickly everyone settles to stand before their seats, seating only after the King is seated.

Your father greets everyone with a hoarse voice. He wears a golden mask on the rotten side of his face and he breathes as though it pains him.

“Prayer before we begin?” The Queen asks and he nods

Instantly your head is bowed, your hands are in your lap, and your eyes are closed. Prayer had become a daily ritual before dinner and it was always led by the Queen.

Before the prayer is over you feel the sensation of eyes on your skin. You think it to be one of your nephews but when the prayer is over you see it is Rhaenyra.

Her eyes are casted with an emotion you cannot read and they soon drop to your shoulder. Eyeing the scars that edged just above your shoulder and the base of your neck.

Feeling the scrutiny of her gaze, your hands find your hair moving it to disrupt her viewing. You had been judged by the vultures of the Seven Kingdoms, you would not allow Rhaenyra to do the same.

The expression on your face is clear, Rhaenyra has gotten to you.

Aegon notices your discomfort, notices how your hair now falls over your chest, and how your eyes are focused on the empty plate before you. Instantly he knows someone is to blame. He first assumes it to be Daemon, his uncle was crude and unceremonious. Having little regard for the people around him, not bothering with niceties.

But when he sees Rhaenyra attentively watching you—casting judgment—he knows it was her. Aegon almost laughs at her hypocrisy, as if she out of anyone had any right to look down upon others.

If his sister wanted something to look at, then he as a gracious brother would oblige in the only way he knew how, by causing a scene. The one thing Aegon was adept at was getting under people's skin, poking and prodding until they burst.

He leans towards Jacaerys spewing his obnoxious rambling. When his nephew bites back Aegon leans back in his chair reveling in the beginning of his antics.

The sound of wood scraping against stone makes you cringe, your father is standing removing his mask displaying the rot that has taken over the left side of his face. Eye’s are averted at the bare sight of the King’s face, but you are accustomed to seeing rotten skin. His teeth can be seen through his cheek, the muscle stretching and contracting as he speaks—it's a morbid sight.

He speaks of reconciliation and forgiveness but you pay him no mind. Besides you, Aemond keeps his eyes forward, Helaena has her eyes on the wooden table, and Aegon’s jaw is tight as he stares at his wine cup.

You spent the next couple of moments with your head in the clouds. Surfacing from thought when Rhaenyra toasts to the Queen, thanking her for looking after the King. You’re surprised when the Queen follows after, her kind words confound you. But you have no time to think them over as Aegon stands from his seat. Stepping between Jacaerys and Baela pouring wine into his cup.

Aemond looks suspiciously towards you but you had no answers to give him. When his eye leaves you the table shakes and Jacaerys stands as Aegon sits. With furrowed brows you look at Aegon who sips on his wine with ease.

The room falls silent and Aegon is reviling in the tension, trying not to smile triumphantly as he uses his cup as a shield.

The tension in the room grows thicker when Aemond stands. He’s looking at Jacaerys with the marksmanship of a hunter who had spotted their prey.

Eyes shift and concern is painted on the faces of almost everyone.

Jacaerys playfully hits his uncle on the shoulder, raising his cup as he smiles at Aemond, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth” Jacaerys pauses looking between his uncles, “And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles”

Across the table you see the snarky smiles of Jacaerys’ betrothed and Lucerys. Their smugness lights a flame in the furnace of your heart. You have half a mind to stand with Aemond, to show that their disrespect would not be tolerated.

“To you as well,” Aegon says

When Aemond sits you lean towards him, “Fucking miscreants”

“Vermin” he responds as Helaena stands.

She smiles excitedly holding her cup of wine, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon” she turns to them, “It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk” she smiles

You let out a small laugh at her words. Aegon was rather whinny when drunk, he became a rambling needy mess who desperately wanted attention. And you were always there to give it to him in any shape or form that he needed it in.

Smiling, you raise your cup towards Helaena, “Hear, Hear”. The scarlet wine falls down your throat with ease and your moment of enjoyment is shortly ruined by an approaching Jacaerys.

His eyes are set on Helaena as he extends his hand asking her to dance. To your dismay she takes his hand without hesitation. You’re staring daggers at the Prince, indignation replaces the taste of wine in your mouth. Helaena was far too kind for the world.

Aegon’s eyes catch yours before he looks at Jacaerys dancing with his wife, disbelief and annoyance clear in his face.

In one swift motion you move to stand beside Aegon, “The apple does not fall from the tree” you glare at the hazel haired prince, expecting a response from Aegon but you get none. Confused, you turn towards Aegon only to find him gazing across the table. He’s quiet as he sips from the cup in his hand watching Rhaenyra laugh and talk with their father. Viserys is smiling and coughing through his laughter and it is the most alive he has been in years.

“She arrives and suddenly he can will himself to walk and attend supper” he says only for you to hear

You look up towards the sight of his words—your father and Rhaenyra and you understand. His jab was not said out of anger but out of a feeling of lacking. All the traits and characteristics Rhaenyra had that he did not, the love of their father she had that he did not.

“You’re jealous”

He turns towards you, “Are you not?”

“No”, you lie

“She’s father’s favorite”, he’s looking up at you through his lashes, “I’m the son he killed for and it is not enough”

You avert your gaze, his words struck like an arrow. A part of you had always felt responsible for the birth of Aegon. At fault for the death of your mother, the death of your brother, and the birth of Aegon. If you had not been a butcher, if you had been a boy his burden would be yours.

“You didn’t kill anyone Aegon” you sip wine solemnly, your posture falters, and your head is half hung.

Aegon notices your somber spirit and his eyes soften realizing the error in his words, “I’m sorry, I meant no offense”

“I know”, is all you say returning to your seat

As the night passes you eat and make conversation with Aemond. For most of the night his eye is set on the dancing prince and princess. Occasionally when he looks at you his lips pull upwards in a smile.

After your father retires for the night, servants enter with more food. A cooked pig is laid out before you and before you can think Aemond’s fist hits the table as he stands.

“Final tribute”

All eyes fall on Aemond and the room goes quiet.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace…Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he pauses and it is as if all the air in the room has been cast out, “strong”

Your eyes widen in shock as the Queen pleads with Aemond.

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again”

Aemond turns towards Jacaerys, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment”, they both walk towards one another, “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Lucerys rises from his seat as Jacaerys strikes Aemond, Aegon is not far behind grabbing his nephew and slamming him against the table.

Bolting upwards you grab Helaena pulling her away from the chaos. She grips your hand tightly frightened by the scene.

“Are you alright?” you ask

She nods, “Yes but Aemond” her hand points at the exiting prince. Understanding, you pull Helaena, following Aemond.

Once you’re in the halls you follow the sounds of Aemond’s steps, Helaena runs towards him. She latches onto the side of his arm soothing the riled prince. You’re about to do the same when laughter echoes from beyond the hallway—Aegon.

Grabbing the side of your dresses you hold it up allowing yourself quicker movements. With your approach the shadow of Aegon grows smaller and his laughter grows louder.

You say his name as you grab his arm. When he lays his eyes on you they widen excitedly, your name falls from his lips, “You are a vision. Have I told you that? Come, come, let us retreat into our burrow”. He gives you no time to respond as he throws an arm around you and leads you away.

The burrow was a small unfinished room at the far end of the Keep that had been hidden by a suit of armor; it had been discovered by Aegon when he was ten and two. Immediately he ran to inform you about it, dragging you into the room. It is not large like either of your chambers but it’s spacious enough that both of you can move without bumping into one another. Rugs and sheets hung throughout the floor and walls hiding the decaying walls. Bottles of wine littered the room, both empty and full.

Aegon is drunkenly rambling, as you make sure there is no one around to see you gently push past the suit, “”Twas only a compliment” he mimics Aemond’s voice.

Sitting near the corner of the room you grab a bottle and Aegon moves towards you. He rests his head against your lap spilling wine into your dress, not that you cared. He’s laughing recalling the events of the night.

With a laugh you respond, “Jacaerys’ stance was laughable, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum”

“He is to be King”, his laugh dies as the sentence leaves his lips, “He is to be King”

You both grow quiet, the words weigh heavy over the both of you. The realities of a future that is so close to becoming reality. If you were believed to be a stain on the Targaryen legacy, Rhaenyra's children were desecrations to the Targaryen dynasty.

“Perhaps your mother is right,” you sip from the bottle of wine not fully thinking about the words as you speak, “Perhaps you should be King”

Aegon half laughs, pushing himself into a sitting position, “You speak of treachery”

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is crazed on a notion that we will be slain”

You wish you could believe him, but the image of your sister's husband swinging his sword without mercy does not leave your mind. How easy it would be for Rhaenyra to rid herself of you once she is Queen; there were fates far worse than death.

“Enough talk of foreboding futures. Let us drink ourselves blind”

“Hear! Hear!” you eagerly agree

True to Aegon’s words you both drink until your visions are blurred and the room spins. You both dance and drink carelessly, laughing as though the events of the night had no effect on you. It comes as no surprise when Aegon leans towards you and presses his lip on yours. The kiss is sloppy and full of hunger, your teeth clash and tongues swipe over one another. There’s a desperation in his hands—in the way he holds your face obstructing any movement. In the heat of passion you bite his bottom lip earning a yelp from Aegon.

He pulls away with a smile, “Ow”

Your hand rest on his chest playfully, “Don’t be a child, I didn’t draw blood”

The rest of the night blurs into a giant mirage of jubilation.

━━☆━━

As the sun rose you wake with a yawn, your body aching from the uncomfortable position it had been in all night. Your head had been on Aegon’s lap and his arm had been thrown over your body. Maneuvering from his embrace you press your back firmly on the brick wall, your head throbbing feeling as though it had been repeatedly bashed.

The sun’s rays kiss your cheeks, it's warm and gentle and for a brief moment the world around you falls into obscurity. Nothing else matters beside the sun’s golden touch and the beating of your own heart.

The body besides you grumbles and your moment of serenity shatters as Aegon slowly stirs into consciousness. You’re brought back into the arms of reality.

“Wine,” he says, “More wine”

You don’t waste your breath, instead you make your way to your chambers. Stumbling the first few steps out of the room. Peeking your head out of the door way you make sure there is no one around before exiting.

Walking down the corridors there is an air of urgency within the Keep. There were twice as many Knights as you were accustomed to seeing and servants hurried into the direction of the Great Hall. Regardless you carry on, not bothering to greet any of the people who greeted or called after you.

Approaching the hallway to your chambers you’re unexpectedly faced with the sight of your wooden doors wide open. Stepping closer you see three figures standing at the center of your room; Aemond, Ser Criston, and the Queen.

Puzzlement rests on your brow, what had transpired in the hours you and Aegon had disappeared. As you continue your approach you can see the faces of your visitors all displaying an array of emotions.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston states as you walk through the threshold, “The Princess”

The Queen turns towards you instantly, wasting no time in embracing you, “Oh sweet girl”

Her embrace wasn’t foreign but the sudden action confuses you further.

“Where have you been? Where is Aegon?” she pulls away but keeps her hands on your arms

You looked towards Aemond trying to find any answers on his face but there were none.

“I’ve just left Aegon. Has something happened?”

“Where is he?” The Queen’s grip on your arm tightens. Desperation is in her eyes and it frightens you, enough that you decided to keep Aegon's whereabouts to yourself for the time being.

“We snuck out of the Keep last night. Upon returning to the castle Aegon left my side”

She turns towards her sworn Knight an unsaid order ushering him quickly from your chambers, Aemond follows suit.

When they’re gone you repeat your question, “Has something happened?”

“Your father is dead, he died in his sleep”

Her voice was grave and her words echo in your mind but you can’t decipher them. It’s as if you have lost the ability to comprehend the common tongue.

A moment passes and you realize what your step mother had said. Silently you wait for grief but it never arrives, there is no sadness in your heart, no invading sorrow. Your father is dead and you shed no tears for his memory.

“I–I need a moment,” you pull away but before you can leave the Queen pulls you towards her. Her hand is under your chin lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are round and full of distress, “You know where Aegon is, I beg of you, bring him to me. It was the King’s dying wish. Do not let my father get his hands on him first”

You nod and hurriedly walk out of your chambers, returning to your burrow. The throbbing in your head returns but you try to disregard the discomfort, there were far more pressing matters.

The closer you got towards Aegon the faster your move, breaths of air forcibly escape as enter through the hidden door. You thank the Gods when you see Aegon in the same position he had been when you left. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees shaking him.

“Aegon, Aegon. Wake up, Wake up”

He groans and his speech is slurs. Letting his arms go, he slouches into a half sitting position half laying. His eyes flutter open for a moment and your name falls from his lips.

“‘Tis me,” you cup the cheeks of his face almost painfully. He tries to move away from you but you do not yield, “Aegon, father is dead”

You watch your words register in his mind. He blinks his eyes open and takes a breath, pushing you aside.

“Your jest are not appreciated, my head is murderous”

“It is no jest, the King died in his sleep”

Like you had with the Queen, Aegon takes a moment, his eyes are wide looking through you making sense of your words.

“Father is dead” he repeats. His hand passes through his hair, a look of distress clear on his sunken face

“Yes and your mother and grand feather are searching for you”

“For me? What could they want—”

Realization hits you both like a strong gust of wind, knocking all the air out of the room. The line of succession crosses your mind for the first time. You had thought nothing of the Queen’s words about your fathers dying wish but you understood them now. Of course, the Keep was in disarray because the Hand was trying to sit Aegon on the throne before news of the King’s death spread.

“They mean to crown you”

Crowning Aegon would be treason and all those who participated would be punished with death. The idea does not frighten you as much as the idea of Rhaenyra on the throne. You’d surely be sent away, sold off to be the pretty little Targaryen wife of Lord who’d defile you. And the realm would fall to pieces with a spiteful malicious woman at its helm.

Aegon looks at you horrified, “No. They can’t. I am not heir”

“That does not matter, it was the King’s dying wish to have you succeed him”

“On whose word?”

“Your mother’s”

Aegon scoffs, “She is crazed, fuelled by her hatred for Rhaenyra”

“You may think her crazed, but your mother is a woman of the Gods, she would not lie about a matter of this caliber”

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. His back is against the wall, he looks disheveled, dirty, and disarranged. Tears swell in his eyes and he swipes them away with his sleeve.

“A dying wish he had years to fulfill”

“I know not the whims of old Kings, but I know regret. It is clear in the words he spoke to your mother that he wanted you on the throne, his first born son”

“What kind of brother would I be to take the throne from Rhaenyra?”

“By the law of Gods and Men the throne is yours. You cannot steal what is rightfully yours”

“I do not want the throne” he argues

“Aegon” you plead

“No! I will not take it,” swiftly his hand grab yours, “Let us climb on board a ship escape to Essos or on dragonback—”

You interrupt his crazed thoughts squeezing his hands, “Listen, Rhaenyra only cares for her own, she has never cared for us. If you let her ascend the throne what will come of your mother? Of Aemond? Of Helaena and your children? ” you pause, “Of me? She sees my existence as blasphemous and yours as opposition. If we leave we are leaving those we love to die. Ascend the throne Aegon, protect us”

Silence encompassed the room, Aegon ran his eyes over your face searching for answers, trying to understand what was being asked of him and if he could undertake such a task. You return his gaze with soft eyes and gentle hands.

He had never thought himself a leader let alone a King. He did not want the pressures and responsibilities of leading an entire land. Aegon would no longer be able to hide under his title of prince, as King. He would have to be the picture of Targaryen greatness and regalness—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He wants to laugh at the notion but his chest is heavy with your words.

“Do you understand?” there’s a desperate edge in your voice and he doesn’t respond, “Aegon, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nods

#targaryen reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader fic #aegon ii targaryen/reader #hotd x reader #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fic

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baeshijima · 10 months

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there’s an undeniable serenity which follows your voice. how it traverses within the room’s dome-like structure, reverberating through the surrounding space before ultimately touching the hearts and souls of those who hear your solo piece. it captivates and impassions, an underlying force woven beneath layers of harmonies forged under years of dedication holding one’s attention as they await in baited breath for the forthcoming emotions which swirl and soar at the mercy of your voice.

having never missed one of your performances to date, neuvillette believes he would know this best.

in his life, he has found there are many difficulties which arise when overseeing trials of various levels of severity — some being a life-defining case whereas others may delve into a more… menial aspect of things.

(“to bring some entertainment for once!” …is what he would usually hear in response to his unvoiced thoughts before having to reprimand a certain archon for levity in the court.)

but in spite of the blurred lines between professionalism and public entertainment, neuvillette finds himself at ease once he steps into the grand hall, finding his seat as stated on his ticket, waiting patiently as the chatters die down the moment the lights dim and the curtains draw, watching in content as vocals and instrumentals resound until the lights dim once more to signify the end of the opera.

amidst his day-to-day life, he has come to anticipate the dates which mark your performances.

ever since he first started attending, he has discovered that when sitting amongst the crowd enjoying your voice and performance, he is neither the iduex nor the chief justice of fontaine; he is simply neuvillette — a man who finds peace and respite in your presence, regardless of how near or far you may be from him.

he claps just as everyone else does, watching as you stoop into a bow on centre stage once the final note dissipates into the air where rounds of applause take over. there’s an ever-present smile stretching your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you wave to the crowd surrounding him.

neuvillette recognises this expression as one you’d wear after a performance you deem satisfactory and finds his heart fluttering at the glow in your expression. (your smile doesn’t reach your eyes if you think it is anything less, despite his internal thoughts believing otherwise.)

he remains seated as the orchestra begins to arise and gather their instruments, as the conductor steps down from their podium, as the singers line up and shuffle off stage, as you turn and take your leave in close pursuit.

he glances at the bouquet settled atop his lap. oddly enough, the colours he chose coordinate with your attire, and he cannot help but to think this is some twist of fate playing with his convictions.

no matter, he thinks to himself as he rises from his seat, the bouquet cradled within his hold. with brisk steps, he makes his way past the crowd. it’s easier once people step away the moment they identify him and opt to gawk at his presence, allowing an easy passage for a quick escape.

it is not much later when he finds himself walking down a familiar hallway, the bright lights illuminating the name plaques hanging on the dressing room doors. his feet naturally come to a stop in front of a dressing room six doors down, the words [name] [last name] neatly engraved into the stainless steel nailed to the door.

his eyes trace over your name a few times, the flowers in his hand seemingly heavier than they were mere moments prior.

perhaps this time…

neuvillette attempts to push back the lump lodged within his throat. there’s a slight trepidation which hangs overhead as he gently raises a fist to your dressing room door, one which is all-too familiar in the way he hesitates and rethinks his actions over and over when in regards to you.

he stops before his knuckles touch the door. before he knows it he falls back into his usual routine: place the bouquet in front of your dressing room door, gently knock three times, turn and walk down the hall, disappearing before you can see him loitering around and make the connection of him being the anonymous bouquet gifter after each performance.

rounding a corner, neuvillette comes to a halt. with a glance over his shoulder he watches you peek your head out the door, looking around the hall in search of who knocked. when you take note of the bouquet he left, he fights back a smile of his own when you beam and thumb at the petals as he wills himself to turn and resume his exit.

perhaps after your next performance he will finally gather the resolve to speak to you.

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: When Oliver's lies are revealed to you and Felix, you have a much better time understanding his reasoning for it all, and Oliver convinces you to help talk Felix around into hopefully forgiving him. Felix, however, just grows more frustrated as it appears that you've very quickly moved on from the betray, and are urging him to do so too. Meanwhile, Oliver has come to realise that no matter the outcome, Felix will never really want anyone else if he has you by his side.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: death (YOU DIE IN THIS ONE), murder via overdose, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader and felix arguing a lot, felix being a bit of a dick, angst with an unhappy ending, toxic felix/oliver endgame, heavy drinking and drug use

{ now with an epilogue }

A/N: 6267 words. ooft ouch ooft my heart. i dont like reader & fi fighting and this whole thing fucked me up bigtime. like bigtime bigtime. big angst, please heed the warnings. what do you think about this one? i like it even if it made me cryyyy

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Please," Oliver's lip trembles when he grabs your sleeve. He doesn't try and chase Felix after you all get back from the disastrous trip to his parents' house, perhaps part of him knew he wouldn't get through to him in this state, so he latches on to you instead, "you- you know," and even just the helpless sense of desire in his voice is familiar to you, "I just wanted to be his friend, be your friend; be close to you both -" Oliver's fidgeting with your sleeve and your heart's breaking for him, despite the betrayal of his lies.

"Ollie-" you sighed, but he took both your hands in his, tears gathering in the beautiful blue eyes you've come to care so deeply about in the past year.

"I never meant any harm," he insists. His hands are shaking.

"I know, Ollie," you finally concede, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

"He won't listen to me- won't believe me; please, please, I need you to believe me, I need Felix -" and though he can't seem to finish the request, it's enough. The lies he's told, what they mean for the friendship you've all forged, it makes you feel more than a little queasy, but you think you understand him. At least better than Felix would in this moment.

"I'll try," though your tone doesn't inspire confidence, "just give him space, give him time -"

"I don't have time," Oliver croaks out weakly, gave dropping to the floor, "he'll throw me out tomorrow and never look at me again," this time, when his grip on your hands tightens, it becomes almost painful, face scrunching up as if dreading the tears he was about to shed, the things he was about to say; "and even if you don't hate me the way he does, I'll be losing you too."

Your silence speaks volumes. You hate that he's right.

"You know you're the only hope I've got left." Oliver's nails dig into your skin, but your hands don't shake.

"I will try, that's all I can do."

By the time you get to your room, Felix is already cutting up lines of coke with a delicate little razor from one of the various stashes you and the other wards of the Saltburn Estate had hidden throughout the building over the years. He doesn't look up when you enter, quietly, and furiously focused on the task at hand, cross-legged in the middle of your bed.

Sitting behind him, you lean in to press your forehead between his shoulders, sighing deeply.

"Yeah," Felix mumbles, "it's a bit like that, isn't it?"

Squeezing your eyes closed, all you can see is the love and desperation in OIiver's eyes as he'd held you back, begged for your understanding, forgiveness, friendship -

"You never loved someone so much you'd do anything to keep them around?" You asked softly, and feel Felix go still, "you never lied about your family because you were worried about how people would react if they knew the truth?" The more you consider, the less anger you feel towards what Oliver had done.

"You're different," Felix's voice is carefully neutral. There's a pause, a snort, a line of white powder going up his nose, "you didn't pretend that your dad died just to get sympathy out of me," he points out, already picking at the threads of similarity that you'd laid before him in hopes of softening the betrayal he felt so strongly.

Then he's moving again, doing things you're still not sure of, forehead still pressed to the fabric of his shirt between his shoulders. Sighing, louder this time, you go to say something more, to try and argue your case further, but Felix cuts you off. It's the sharpest he's ever been with you, you think, practically orders you not to talk about this anymore.

Then, he shifts, he reaches for you behind himself, and you move with him, without prompting. Felix leans back, and you move to his side, allow yourself to settle your head on his chest, looking up at him. One hand loosely draped over you, Felix tucks his other behind his head, eyes closed; even if they were open, he wouldn't be looking at you.

"Just shut up about Ollie, just shut up -" his tone is much softer now, but his words still bite more than you're used to, "I don't want to hear anything about fucking Oliver Quick right now." There's a nausea twisting in your gut that you're unfamiliar with, heavy and upsetting, that you somehow know has everything to do with Felix's tone. Part of you feels so embarrassed for even feeling like this, for being so wrapped up in pleasing him that even the slightest hint of disapproval for the first time in years has you so viscerally uncomfortable.

The other part of you ducks your gaze, and curls up against his side, obedient.

"Sure, Fi."

A long silence, softened only by Felix's deep breathing for several long moments before you finally feel him relax.

"I love you," it sounds almost like an apology. You wonder if he knows how to do that. Still, the nausea in your gut immediately begins to clear. This time, when you close your eyes, you try to just be present in the moment for what it is, Felix's arm around you, his steady heartbeat warm beneath your ear; you can find contentment here if you tried.

Much to your chagrin, Felix's mood and feelings of betrayal also meant he was no longer interested in the full costume you'd put together for him for Oliver's birthday party. He's well aware his mother would be appalled if he just showed up in jeans and a shirt, so he reluctantly pulls on the wings you'd spray painted up on the roof a few days before.

"I put time into this, Fi," you pleaded softly, looking at the rest of the costume you'd put together hanging sadly, untouched in his wardrobe.

"Maybe I just want to save it for a happy occasion," Felix refused to even sit down at the dresser, despite where you'd neatly set out both of your accessories for the night. He doesn't even spare the various, gold accoutrements that you'd curated for his costume a second glance, simply fusses with his hair in a way that won't even last.

"You're being ridiculous about this," you finally voice, unable to stop yourself, "he's still Our Oliver, his family doesn't change that -"

Felix goes still in the mirror, expression displeased when he meets your eyes in the reflection. Nausea again. You never want him to look at you like this ever again; you half want to apologise already.

"I don't care about his family, I care about how I don't know if I can believe anything he says! He lied to you, to me, he was clearly lying to his family, considering they have no idea he'd be nothing but a fucking joke at uni if it wasn't for me!" The outburst blindsides you, it seems to even blindside Felix, who has to take a few moments to compose himself before he can look you in the eyes again. Softly, that look of betrayal is turned upon you, "how can you be okay with that?"

A million answers blow through your mind - love, compartmentalisation, hypocrisy - but none feel right. There's no way for you to justify this to Felix, at least, not one that would make him happy, make him understand.

"Our Oliver-" but as he's standing, he cuts himself off, shaking his head, "Your Oliver -" but the words get stuck in his throat. After a beat, he scrubs his face over his hands, "I just don't understand," far calmer, he lets out a deep breath and continues, "how you got over this so fast," but before you can answer, his eyes open, and there's no fire, nor fury, just hurt; "and I need you right now, but not if you're going to be like this."

Oh, you're going to be sick.

It's apologies that spew out of you, nervous, still only half ready, and regretting every word that made Felix look at you like that. He tries awkwardly to tell you that it's not that bad, that he just wishes it felt like you were on his team. Insisting that you are gets you a weak smile from your best friend, but he still leaves seeming unconvinced.

There are voices outside, on the grounds. The party has begun, the sun will be set soon.

Half of your costume hangs up beside Felix's, your elegant, green gossamer robe shining next to the matching, gold gossamer pirate shirt that you had made for Felix. Neither leave the wardrobe, and perhaps you are underdressed in what was basically a set of incredibly ornate, bejewelled, and bedazzled lingerie, and boots, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care.

Perhaps, you consider, if Felix had blown up before you'd gotten this much on, you'd be as dressed down as he was for the event.

Before you leave, however, you go to double check yourself in the mirror, and don't think to knock. Oliver catches sight of you in the mirror before you properly realise he's there. Both freeze, both deer trapped in each other's proverbial headlights. Both with red-rimmed eyes. You wonder if he knows, if he waited with baited breath and an ear pressed to the bedroom door as Felix tore him down and you immediately gave him up to keep your best friend happy.

"You look like a dream," Oliver's voice is hoarse, and he turns to properly face you, to give your costume a generous look over, "merry wanderer of the night," he offers, meeting your gaze again. The line, pulled straight from the play upon which the whole night was based, was one you'd gleefully recounted to him when you told him you would be going as Puck.

There's a slight, sad smile on his lips, a shyness to the way he leans against the counter, but none of the awkwardness he carries around others. There, in his boxers alone, you realise how vulnerable he truly is in this moment, the moment you've so callously interrupted. But Oliver doesn't call you out, nor does he shy away from your gaze.

All words have escaped you in this moment, however. Even the idea of Felix's reaction to his moment makes you feel ill, but part of your heart still breaks for Oliver, for this boy so overwhelmed with love that he would do anything for it.

"I can go," Oliver says softly, apologetically, when you seem frozen even still. It breaks you out, however, and you shake your head vigorously.

"No, its okay Ollie."

"Your," he says slowly, pointedly, "Ollie." He'd heard. Fuck; how much? "I heard all of it," he admits slowly, approaching you. This time, you are the wild animal, cornered in the bathroom. Oliver doesn't look at you like prey, he doesn't approach you like a predator; he doesn't want to spook you, "I didn't mean to get between you and Felix," his voice is soft, and he sniffles a little, but tries to smile through it, "ever; back at Oxford, over Summer, ever."

But you can't bring yourself to look at him. Gently, you loop a finger through the fine, silver chain around his throat, keeping your gaze focused on it without ever tugging it too hard.

"I'm trying," you whisper, voice watery despite your best effort, tears gathering in your eyes, "but I -"

Oliver pulls you into a hug as the damn finally bursts, and the tension, the pressure of the day that had already been pressing down upon you finally breaks. Oliver lets you cry on his shoulder, petting your hair gently.

"But you're a good dog," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you're too distraught to catch the echoes of resentment in his tone.

"It's all I know how to be!"

"I know, pet, I know."

Once you've calmed down, you apologise for your outburst, for having him comfort you at a time like this. There's something different about him, about his smile, the look in his eyes, as he just assures you that it's fine, that he's going to still try and enjoy his night.

After cleaning yourself up and fixing your makeup, finally you make it downstairs. There's more people on the first floor than you'd been expecting, so you have to worm your way through the crowd to search for Felix.

"My gentle puck, come hither!" Felix voice rises through the crowd; if your ears could prick up, they probably would. Just the brightness in his voice lifts you from your melancholy, and when you finally reach him you're beaming.

And he's already drunk.

Which you would like to be too. As if anticipating your requests, he puts two fruity looking drinks in your hands, and picks up another two with a wide smile. You trot along behind him as he cuts a path through the crowd towards the sofas where your friends from Oxford had found themselves. A cheer rises when they see you, all glad for your company, all desperate to hear how your Summer had been so far.

At first, you're simply sitting on the arm of the sofa, beside Felix, bright and animatedly engaging in conversation with the others. Felix finishes his first drink and his arm goes around India, tucked up against his other side, but as soon as his second drink is finished, and you've leaned across him to put your own empty cup on the coffee table between you all, he uses it as an excuse to pull you into his lap.

"Felix," India says when she means what the fuck are you playing at right now? Felix gives a surprisingly cold smile, his hand slipping from her shoulder, moving lower to grip her side rather possessively. You simply wait, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"What?" There's something biting in Felix's voice, something that sounds so uncharacteristically mean as he raises his voice enough for the group to hear, "aren't you all still deluding yourselves about me and Y/N? Don't you still think we're related - or whatever it was Farleigh told you all?" Immediately the tension in your little circle of friends spikes. Felix's hand is practically between your thighs, gripping your thigh like he owns you. In any other circumstance you'd probably enjoy this, but every single one of your friends is suddenly looking at you like they'd never seen you before.

"You hot people disgust me," India finally breaks the tension flippantly, and everyone else cackles with laughter. Felix does actually grin at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"No we don't," he teases gently, and India tries to continue playing at being annoyed, by insisting that she needs something stronger than the bar could offer. As she stands, she looks back, holding out her hands to you and Felix.

"Come on, disgusting hot people; I know you're both already high and probably want some more."

"Knew there was a reason I liked you, India," you grinned, glad to have escaped that encounter without much of a mental or physical scratch, though Felix does make a point of grabbing your ass as you stand, even with India holding his other hand.

However you're another line deep in the bathroom, with India, Felix, and two of the others who'd followed along, when that good mood evaporates. Oliver stands in the door, waiting, watching; you're the first to notice him, to catch his gaze properly, but all he does is clear his throat. Felix looks to him when Oliver finally calls his name, but pointedly acts like he doesn't in the next moment.

"Can I, er, talk to you for one second?" Oliver asks faintly, but is met with no response. Instead of looking at Oliver, Felix momentarily flicks a frustrated gaze at you, like he feels your sudden discomfort and fidgeting is a personal betrayal, "you can't ignore me forever," Oliver tries, but Felix gives him a cold smile.

"I can try."

"Fi," you hissed, but all you get is another glare.

"Felix, we need to talk," Oliver was begging now, but he turned his attention to you, pleading, "can you get him to please listen to me, just for a moment -" but his words have your heart freezing in your chest. You can't even stutter Felix's name out before he's dismissing you both.

"I tried being nice about this," Felix huffed, "but if you're still insisting on playing Devil's Advocate for him, the both of you can fuck off and go bother the rest of the party." He relights his cigarette, but he doesn't even look at you once. One more time you try, reaching out, apology on your tongue, but he shrugs you off and finally gives a cutting look, "no I told you, okay? You're over it; fucking great for you. I'm not, and I don't have to be, so piss off and be over it away from me."

You stand, momentarily unsteady on your feet before you regain your balance and head to the door. Everything in your mind is a mess of emotions. The drugs and alcohol are sending you into overdrive, though neither is the reason you're feeling so sick. Still, while you know where Felix is coming from, one look at Oliver as you reach the door and you can't help but stop. Turning back, you hope Felix can read how damn hurt you are by all this;

"I'm not a monster for having a heart, Felix."

And you take some small victory from the surprise in his eyes. Before he can respond, however, you grab Oliver's hand and lead him away.

With another two fruity drinks, you and Oliver sit on the edge of the fountain outside, watching the revelry, mirroring each other's weary slump.

"How are you finding your birthday party?" You asked lamely after a few minutes. Oliver took a few moments to deliberate, while you sipped down your drink quite quickly.

"Don't know anyone," he says mildly, "and the people I do know think I'm a joke -" right, he'd heard Felix's earlier comments about the group from Oxford's feelings, "and I was aware kind of from the start of knowing youse," he casts his gaze to you now, turning to you, eyes meeting yours, "that my two best friends were bonded like those cats at the shelter, the kind you can't separate from each other or they'll cry all day and refuse to eat until you put them back together," the smile he gives you is humourless, and doesn't even reach his eyes, "but one hates me and the other has no spine," he shrugged like he hadn't just insulted you, going back to people-watching, "so I don't think it'll go down as my best birthday ever."

"I have a spine," you scowled, as if straightening your posture proved his point at all.

"Why? You don't need it," still as mild as before, Oliver takes a long, loud sip of his drink, "you've got Felix."

"I'm trying to help you, Oliver, I swear -"

"You don't know how to stand up for yourself, Y/N," this time, the look that he gives you is simply pitying, "I'm sorry I asked you to try and stand up for me." The words ache like a punch to the gut, "you're not even trying to help me for me, or for how much you supposedly love me; you love that I love Felix."

"Oliver, I love you!" You insisted through angry tears and gritted teeth, "how your mind works, how you figure things out, the books you like, the way you're constantly watching and cataloguing and remembering, it shows you care about the world around you and the people in it. I love that you're obsessive and ambitious and that you can be ruthless -" it comes out messy and unrehearsed, but you slowly see the shock and genuine awe on Oliver's face as he comes to terms with the fact that you're being genuine. For the first time all evening, you think you see guilt in his eyes. It's gone too fast, Oliver turning away.

"I love you too," he says gently, following it carefully with, "but we both know who you crawl into bed with at the end of every night." Then, under his breath, sounding so forlorn, "do not separate."

"Oliver-" but he stands, stretches, and finishes off his beer.

"He's probably already missing you, waiting to forgive you," he puts his empty beer bottle down on the edge of the fountain, and for just a moment, he reaches out and gently holds your face. Nothing is said, but there's endless, unreadable emotions in his eyes as he gazes into yours.

Then he's gone.

Making your way back to the estate itself, you forgo looking for Felix, half ashamed of the idea that Oliver was right, and instead slip beneath the velvet rope that cordoned off the upper floors of the house. Back in your bedroom, the stash of coke Felix had raided before the party was still reasonably well stocked, and the bottle of bourbon that you'd stashed in the broken piano last Christmas was thankfully untouched. There was something seriously sad, you think to yourself, about drinking and snorting alone in your room, upstairs from a party where you know your friends are all doing it too. But you don't want to see them. Don't want to see anyone.

The remainder of yours and Felix's matching outfits taunt you silently from the closet door on which they hang. They're beautiful and vapid and cold; you hate them.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realise you were -" it's Felix at the door - of course it is, who else would it be? - who startles you out of your thoughts. There's no frustration in his eyes anymore, no anger, just surprise. His gaze roams over you, from the drugs balanced on your knee to the half-full bottle cradled in your lap, "you okay?" Oliver's right, of course. Oliver's right about a lot of things.

"Yeah," you sniffle, taking another swig of the drink, "what did you need?"

"Think they're gonna sing happy birthday to Ollie soon," Felix leans against the doorframe. You share in an awkward silence for a long moment.

"That why you're here?"

"I came up to see if there was any of that coke left from before," he says, looking at the mirror on your knee and the still mostly full baggie on the bed next to you. Then, he gives a sheepish little grin, "yeah," he admits.

"We should be down there," you say without thinking. Felix's expression falls, and he kicks at the doorframe for a moment, "you do care about his family," spills from you; you're not even sure from where. Felix's expression grows darker.

"Why are you so insistent about doing this?"

"Because you love him, Felix," you remind him firmly, before putting down the bottle and rolling up the already significantly curved bill beside you, "and he loves you, and you know that," picking up the mirror, you make short work of the last line to avoid looking at Felix. Dragging your finger across the glass, you pick up the last of the residue, wiping it on your gums. Your hands remain busy as you pack the remainder of it all into the little, wooden box it was kept in, as you spoke, "you hate the parts of you he figured out, the buttons he learned how to push; Oliver," you snapped the box shut, looking up at him, "was too good to be true, and that's why you're hurt; you're scared it's like Eddie all over again, too good to be true -"

"You shut up about Eddie -" Felix warned, but you stood, box in hand, approaching him with a fierce, intoxicated determination.

"Eddie was never too good, you were just in love! Eddie wasn't even loyal!" You cried, shoving him with the box, letting out a desperate sentiment that you'd let fester in the darkest part of your heart for over a year, "he was never going to be loyal! He never loved you as much as you loved him! Never! And you were so blinded by how happy he seemed to be with this 'better life' you were offering him, you could never bloody see it -"

"You are drunk and high," Felix spits at you, clearly holding himself back from tears.

"But all I ever want is you to be happy," hanging your head, you push the box into his grip and stumble back to the bed, searching for the bottle, "why can't you trust me about this?"

"Oliver fucking lie to me, betrayed me -"

"Us!" You shouted, unscrewing the lid with vigour, "to keep you in his life. You just don't like what the lies he used to keep you around say about you." And with that you furiously started chugging more of the drink.

"I'm done with you," Felix's voice is weak, hands coming up to cover his face. Lowering the bottle, all you can do is stare at him. It's like you've been splashed with ice water.

"Fi -"

"I need space; I need you out of my room for the rest of Summer."

"Fi, please -"

"I thought you were fucking better than this!" He snapped, finally stalking away, while you were too disorientated to even go after him.

The first thing you manage to do is stumble to the bathroom and throw your guts up into the sink. Physically you feel a bit better, but the nausea you can now tell is psychological. Downstairs, though you don't know how much time has passed, the house has transformed itself into a rave. Too bright. Too hot. Too sticky. You think you catch sight of Ollie, but your gaze quickly moves to Felix, silhouetted by neon and haze, looking like an angel. Beside him, India sparkles and giggles and her hands are all over him. You want him to be happy, you don't want to interrupt but you have to -

Someone catches you before you faceplant in the middle of the dancefloor, and it turns out it is Oliver.

"You look like a bit of a mess," he says, aiming for a light, joking tone, but it almost sets you off. Seeing you about to start crying, Oliver starts to panic, and suggests the two of you get some air. Though you want to protest, you see Felix and India, hand in hand, making their way to the side doors. Oliver, champagne in one hand, has his other arm under yours, supporting you as the two of you made your way out too.

The night air is cool, a sharp contrast from inside, so sharp it almost stings.

"I should'a kept my mouth shut," you whimpered, "I didn't need a spine, why did I listen to you?" Oliver is simply quiet, listening to you ramble, getting the gist of what had happened between you and Felix as you slowly made your way to the maze.

"I don't wanna go in," you whispered at the entrance, looking down it's tall, green corridor. Oliver looked at you strangely.

"Worried you'll get lost?"

"I could never get lost, Felix made sure of that plenty of times." Carefully, you extract yourself from Oliver, sitting cross-legged by the entrance of the maze, looking out over the rest of Saltburn with your back to the hedges; Oliver watches you curiously, "I can wait for Fi here."

"I can't wait," Oliver finally says, "I don't have the time. I have to try."

You, surprisingly serene and content with your decision, more at peace than you'd been during the entire walk over, make no attempt to stop him. You just tell him you'll be here when he gets back. This time you genuinely smile, insisting he go in without you.

"I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

So he goes, and you listen to his footsteps retreating. After a few minutes, however, he returns.

"I think you need this more than I do," and he hands you the bottle of champagne he'd been carrying. Turns out there's only really a quarter of the bottle left, but at least you think it won't be enough to make you sick again.

As frustrated as Felix could get, he's never not forgiven you. That's all you can think about as you finish off the bottle.

You would apologise. You would make it up to him. You could make this better again.

Except...

Hang on, wait, who was that who just ran out of the maze? Someone ran out of the maze? You were pretty sure someone did anyways... maybe India, if Oliver had confronted -

Oliver is the second to escape the maze. Instead of heading directly back, he waits, unseen for Felix to leave, observing the way he'd stumble out, not even glancing around enough to see you on the ground in the shadow of the maze itself. Once he was sure he was alone, Oliver crept over to your catatonic body, mouth agape, bottle still clutched but empty in one hand. Still breathing, though it was shallow, he checked your pulse only to feel a heartrate like a humming bird. If he called out now, Felix could hear him, could get help, could save your life.

But Felix would want for nothing as long as he had you by his side.

When you start convulsing, Oliver leaps away, startled. But he watches, and remains quiet. He takes the bottle, and just for a moment presses his forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," it almost gets caught in his throat, "I loved you, I promise I did."

And he leaves.

Oliver wakes to a knock on the door. While Felix doesn't exactly seem happy to see him, it appears he has bigger things to worry about.

"Is Y/N in here?" He cuts right to the chase; there's dark circles under his eyes.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" Oliver yawns. Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I've checked literally every other room in this house," ignoring him, Felix explains himself, "I told them last night I wanted them to stay somewhere else, but I didn't mean it," he frowns, peering around Oliver as best he could, trying to see for himself. Oliver, who already knew this, but still played dumb, went wide-eyed.

"You didn't talk to them last night?"

"I was talking to them a lot last night -"

"They were waiting outside the maze for you; they were there when I left."

Oliver's never seen Felix run so fast.

It takes Duncan informing the rest of the family over breakfast that a gardener has spotted Felix sat by the edge of the maze for the past hour, to clear up his whereabouts.

"And have you heard from Y/N?" Elspeth adds, though Venetia buts in.

"Probably at the maze with Felix," she rolls her eyes; Oliver looks at his eggs, his runny, sickening eggs, and keeps his mouth shut. Elspeth sighs and requests someone go and collect them, tell them that lunch is ready, and promptly directs a smile at Oliver, asking how he'd enjoyed his birthday.

Oliver's halfway through an awkward thanks, assuring her it was grand, before Duncan re-enters. For the first time since Oliver first laid eyes on him, he looks genuinely shaken.

"I, uh, I do apologise," his words keep getting caught, and he can't seem to focus his gaze for too long, "I have some tragic news; Captain Y/N has passed away."

The world stops.

Felix Catton sits in the shadow of the hedge maze with you, his best friend, the love of his life, dead in his arms.

"I thought you were fucking better than this!"

His last words to you echo endlessly in his head as he cradles you to him. He'd found you slumped over at a painful angle, clearly having been sitting cross-legged on the grass, waiting, just as Oliver had said, still wearing part of the outfit you'd prepared. You looked so cold, so he'd wrapped you up in the robe he'd been wearing, maroon; you'd always said it was your favourite of his, but you'd never wear it, said it looked better on him.

"Can't believe I made you wait," it wasn't the first time he'd muttered it since finding you, "I'm so sorry, I won't do it again," he assured, and leaned in, pressing his forehead to your cold shoulder and collarbone, "and I didn't mean it about needing space from you; I couldn't even do it for one night, I got so lonely I spent the entire night searching all hundred and bloody something rooms we have, for you."

"Felix?" Venetia's voice is the first one he's heard since Oliver's, and it shakes, "Feef?" And maybe it's the way he can tell she's started crying, or the nickname he hasn't heard since he was six, but it all hits him at once. Finally he starts to cry, the shock giving way to anguish as Venetia drapes herself over him at the sight of you. Farleigh goes into shock, silent, falling to his knees before he brings his head down too, completely shutting down.

Oliver doesn't know how to react, doesn't know if he can. He stands back from the others, back from even James and Elspeth, silent. He did what he had to do. It takes him a long time to realise he's even started crying too.

Elspeth and Sir James try to keep up a sense of normalcy around the house, but barely anyone is able to keep up. Farleigh and Venetia show up and barely speak, Oliver can't bring himself to even look at anyone at the dining table, and Felix hasn't shown up for three days straight. He's been locked in his room, and none of them blame him.

None of the others know that he comes out at night. Well, he opens the door during the day since the staff have started leaving plates of food for him at his mother's request. But during the night, Felix leaves his room to crawl into Oliver's bed. Oliver never makes comments, but he always makes room, and Felix still hasn't kicked him out of the house. Small steps to victory.

"All those lies, all that shit you told us, you did it because you'd do anything to keep us around," on the third night, Felix speaks into the darkness, back to Oliver under the expensive sheets.

"To keep you around," Oliver corrected quietly, "I knew as long as I had you around, I would have them too." After a few moments, he could hear Felix start to sniffle. Carefully, testing his luck, Oliver shuffled around to face Felix. Wriggling closer, he draped an arm over Felix's chest and pulled him close, pressing himself against Felix's back. In the moment, Felix takes Oliver's hand and laces their fingers together.

"They always loved you, Felix; I never saw anything like it."

Small steps to victory.

At your funeral, Felix finally sees your parents. He wonders if looking at them is anything like looking at the idea of who you would have grown into. He doesn't think so; their expressions are so cold beneath their performance of grief.

They do, however, seek him out, ask his name, and hand him a framed photo. They say they won't be needed it anymore. It's you and Felix beneath the Eiffel Tower, arms around each other, each of you using your free hand to together form a heart between you, laughing at something just off camera. Oliver makes a disdainful remark about your parents, but slips his hand in Felix's, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Elspeth asks if Felix wants to keep the photo in his room, and when he remarks that he doesn't know, she suggests it gets placed with the other family photos over the fireplace in the television room. It fits in perfectly.

"I love you," Felix mumbles in the dead of night, pressed up along Oliver's back, lips in his hair, arm around him, "like proper love you." Oliver is quiet, "the kind of love I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but now I'm terrified that the reasons I love you aren't even real."

It's been a few weeks, he's intergraded back into life at home, but has taken a leave of absence from Oxford. As has Oliver. He still hasn't left Saltburn, he wonders if he ever will, if he ever has to.

"What parts?" Oliver said, voice barely more than a whisper, "I'll never lie to you again; I want you to know the truth of me." There's a rush of electricity, his fingers and toes feel all tingly; he doesn't want to sound too enthusiastic, but can't help but feel a giddy rush.

"I like how you can figure heaps of stuff out, but," Felix hesitates and hums, "I don't think I like what you figured out about me," he admits.

"I'll never bring that up again," Oliver reassures him, but Felix just hums once more, "and I figured out more stuff about you, good stuff; I figured out what made me love you too."

Felix presses a kiss to the back of his head. He doesn't smile, but that's to be expected nowadays. Felix doesn't really smile a lot anymore.

But Oliver takes it for what it is; his victory.

{ epilogue }

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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dearmantis · 1 year

Text

Dried Flowers

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!Reader

Summary: After killing another person who tried to earn your hand in marriage, Aleksander finally manages to get you right where he has always wanted you.

Warning: murder, slut-shaming, blood, obsession, manipulation, dacryphilia (kind of? not sexual, he's just weird about tears??)

Word Count: 2k

Authors' Note: My ability to form sentences in English is slowly disappearing. What is grammar? I don't know anymore. What is logic? I don't know that either. I think I know nothing at all, actually. I also didn't proofread this at all and this isn't my native language, just fyi.

The blood tints the water a beautiful rose colour, similar to the petals of a flower Aleksander has seen you wear in your hair a few days ago.

He's washing his hands slowly, making sure to get every single drop off using the strongest smelling soap he owns in hopes of removing the metallic smell from his skin and a small brush to get the dried flakes out from under his nails.

His gaze moves over to the mirror, checking his shirt for blood splatter in the reflection, but he luckily finds nothing. There are some drops on his face, the red covering his cheek, nose, and parts of his forehead.

He has licked the ones that landed on his lips off a while ago, enjoying the taste of it like an expensive wine as he watched the man bleed out on the floor, his blood forming a small puddle beneath his body while his weak voice begged for mercy.

When he's sure that he got everything off his hands, he grabs a small handkerchief and dips it into the water before using it to remove the blood from his face. He has no time to waste, but he wants to make sure he looks right nonetheless.

In an hour, you will realize that your Lord Peter will not come to your planned shared breakfast. You will send servants to his room to check on him and they will discover the letter he forged, explaining how the Lord wanted to use you as a distraction after falling for a young woman in Ketterdam during his travels and recently decided that he loves her too much to stay away from her any longer.

It will break your heart, but sacrifices must be made, and breaking your heart now would be better than breaking it later after you truly lost your heart to him.

It was a shame, really. Lord Peter had been nice, one of the few nobles in Ravka who did not openly talk badly about Grisha, but Aleksander still couldn't let you marry him. No, you had to stay here, right in the Grand Palace, and Peter would've dragged you to his estate close to the border, never to be seen again.

And Aleksander needs you here. You can't leave. Ever.

After the blood is fully washed off his face he washes the handkerchief and places it on the windowsill to dry in the rising morning sun before opening the window and moving to dump the bloody water into the bed of flowers growing below.

Then he sits back down at his desk and moves to continue with todays paperwork while he waits, patient like a cat that knows that the little mouse will walk right into its mouth.

An hour later you are sitting on his lap, hands tightly holding onto his kefta while he uses the handkerchief he used to remove the blood from his face to dry your tears, carefully dabbing the soft, freshly washed fabric against your skin.

"I just don't understand why this keeps happening." He hears you whisper under your breath, his eyes still focused on the tears rolling down your cheeks. You look so beautiful when you cry. Ethereal. Magical. "Why am I never enough? Why not?"

He can feel a painful pinch in his heart when he hears your words. It's not you who isn't good enough for them. They aren't good enough for you.

You, his beautiful little Princess who boldly stands up for his Grisha and gets harassed with horrible rumours in return. Who gets shamed and threatened and withstands it all despite your softness, like a wild flower surviving the most destructive storms.

"She's under the Darklings spell."

"Nobody wants to marry her except the General and now she defends him to make sure he doesn't loose interest."

"The poor girl is being manipulated by him. He uses her as a shield to protect the Grisha and the stupid thing is too blind to see it."

"He must've fucked his magic into her and it scrambled her mind."

So much gossip surrounds you, but you never complain. You don't even mention what they say about you, probably fearing that he will distance himself from you as well after finding out how people talk about you. That the last friend you have left will leave, unwilling to have his reputation ruined even more.

But he would never leave you. In Aleksanders eyes, you're the only honourable otkazat'sya currently alive in all of Ravka. He will do everything in his power to make sure you stay right here with him and influence politics further. You're a sensible person. Good. Kind. And you work hard to make sure people understand and respect the way you see the world. You fight for change.

So you have to stay right here with him.

"You're more than enough." He answers softly, dropping the handkerchief onto the sofa next to you before his hands move up to cup your face, making sure you're looking him in the face and see the truth in his eyes.

"You are so much better than anyone in Ravka understands. You have a soft, caring heart, and those who do not understand it see it as weakness. But I understand. I understand your strength."

Every single word that falls from his lips is calculated, his voice soft and kind in hopes of making you more susceptible to him.

"And you understand me. You understand how I see the world. What needs to change to make sure Grisha and otkazat'sya can live together in peace. You are perfect."

You don't understand him, not yet, at least, but you will. He will make sure of it. You will understand it all. His little flower.

He lets his hands move down to your waist, and your head immediately drops to rest on his shoulder, your face pressing into his neck.

"Why can't I just marry you..." Aleksander hears you murmur, almost entirely soundless, and he has to fight the smirk trying to find its way onto his lips.

"What was that?"

An embarrassed whimper leaves your lips, a sweet, pathetic sound that he would love to hear forever. "Forget it."

"No, no. Come on, don't be shy." Aleksander encourages, carefully drawing circles on your back while you press your face closer to his neck.

"It's stupid."

The Shadow Summoner doesn't respond, instead choosing to simply wait until you manage to collect enough confidence to repeat and explain yourself. You need to make this step on your own.

"My father will not stop until I'm married. He will continue to set me up with new people in hopes of marrying me off to get me out of the Palace."

You lift your head to look into his face, probably fearing that he won't understand you if you keep whispering against his neck, forcing you to repeat this whole thing a third time.

"And the people he chooses will continue to run away from me. Even the nicest people leave me behind and instead pick a different fate for themselves. For some reason, everyone seems to agree that marrying me is not worth it, a destiny too cruel to live through. No one ever stays with me. No one except you."

New tears sparkle in your eyes, and Aleksander decides it's the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege of witnessing. When you cry, all of your emotions are so visible in your eyes. You hide nothing, the mask that all nobles in Ravka wear washed away by the tears rolling down your face. The fact that you trust him to see all of your vulnerability and weakness fills him with glee.

"So I thought that maybe... maybe it would be an option for us to marry."

Before Aleksander gets the chance to respond, you begin talking once more, making it clear to him that you will probably start rambling.

"Of course, that's stupid. We're friends, and I really don't want to ruin this, and I know that I just did that by mentioning that I think we should marry, and I'm really sorry. It's pathetic and honestly disrespectful to you to ask you to marry me just because I'm sick of being alone and I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't even allow it so we would have to do it in secret which isn't fair to you and I-"

He cuts you off by carefully touching your face once more, willing his gaze to soften. He needs to at least pretend to be vulnerable right now to fully get you where he wants you to be.

"It would be an honour to marry you, moya tsarevna. It doesn't matter if in secret or in front of all of Ravka. You are my best friend, and it would be a privilege to be tied to you legally and free you from this constant pain of losing every person you get close to in the same breath."

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against yours, hoping that the physical proximity will make him seem more honest than he truly is.

"But I don't want you to marry me just because you fear that you will end up alone. I want you to decide for yourself that you want a future with me. One where we can fight side by side for Grisha and Otkazat'sya to live in harmony."

He would marry you right now if you simply ask him. It's the ideal end to his plan, after all. If you were married to him, he wouldn't have to keep killing all of your friends and possible marriage candidates because you would already be tied to him and the Little Palace. You could never leave. You would be here with him forever.

Or, well... until you died from old age. But that's a problem he can solve, he's sure of it. He will make sure his little flower will live on and continue fighting with him. You're part of this eternal battle now, and he will not let you escape it though something like death.

It really doesn't matter why you want to marry him, but it would make the future easier for him and yourself if you simply learned to love him romantically. You'd also probably be more likely to forgive him for the more controversial ideas he has if your heart is full with love for him. As much as he wants to grab you and drag you over to a church to get it over with, he needs to be patient.

The end is in sight, there is no reason to rush things and risk mistakes later. This is the foundation for a bright future.

The worst thing that could happen is that you choose to wait and get to know another Lord who your father wants you to marry.

Another person for Aleksander to kill.

And then, when his dead body slowly starts to decompose in the flowerbeds of the Little Palace alongside the other people he has killed for this, you will find your way back into his arms for comfort and decide that you will marry him. There's no reason to force you to marry him now.

"I would love to be married to you, General. It would be an honour for me as well. You are a great general and an even greater man. I respect you more than anyone else. I promise it's not just because I fear to disappoint my family and end up alone. I have always admired your protective and caring nature, and I genuinely believe that you could be a great husband. One that I can easily love."

He moves your face back to the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing you tightly against his body. He can't hide the wide grin on his face.

The mouse walked into the cats open mouth. You are his.

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #darkling x reader

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itsabouttimex2 · 6 months

Text

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should’ve seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn’t pick up on. Looking back on it now, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? All those little things should’ve added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can’t explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn’t understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

MK has already had so much placed on his shoulders, and all of it was without his asking. The fate of his friends. The fate of the city. The fate of the world. Time after time, countless lives are placed into his hands, and he does his very best to bring them safely through the danger posed by ancient threats and lurking demons.

Once, living out the dream of being a hero had been fun. Back then, all he had to do was master a new power or bust down another bad guy, and then everyone laughed and went on with their peaceful lives. Back when every adventure ended before the day was over and he was back home just in time for Pigsy to start scolding him for being reckless.

But as he grows stronger, so too does his vast array of enemies. As he trains his body and masters his skills, all those who seek to oppose him are doing the same.

Which means higher stakes. More danger. More destruction. More lives on the line day by day. It means that every last friend and companion of his will end up finding themselves in danger just on account of being associated with him. His enemies are rarely noble, most of them willing to target his friends in an attempt to devastate his heart and mind, hoping to leave him mourning and unsettled. He thwarts these attempts one after another, always saving the day in the end.

His greatest fear is that a day will come where he falls short of such an accomplishment.

A fear that the Lady Bone Demon brings to the forefront of his mind. She brings this hidden terror to light, and exacerbates it.

“Foolish child. Do you really think that one person can save everyone from pain and suffering? Or are you truly arrogant enough to believe that your strength alone can forge a better tomorrow?”

She makes him want to be stronger. Smarter. Better. Good enough to protect anyone who’d ever be put in danger. Especially you.

“Y/N! Let’s hang out today! Come on, I’ve got my room set up for a Monkey Cop marathon!” He takes you by the hand, dragging you along after him with a big smile that he struggles to maintain. When he’s sad or upset, he turns to you. In turn, he makes it clear that you can always rely on him to protect you.

If he were a bit more mature, a little more confident and self-assured, he’d make for a wonderful older brother figure. He’s spontaneous, energetic, supportive… and entirely terrified that he might lose you.

That fear drives him to train harder, to work harder… to be someone you are truly and honestly proud of. To be someone you can rely on and turn to in any time of need. He tackles his training with a renewed vigor, all in preparation for the moment that you might need his protecting.

And now that said moment has come, he’s more scared than ever before. The person he fears most bears down on him as he stands in front of the person he fears losing most, and all he can do is hold strong.

“You will not stand between me and my destiny!” The Lady Bone Demon’s voice is furious, her eyes crackling with arcane energy.

The very same eyes that you have. MK doesn’t know exactly what started his suspicions, but your eyes are what confirmed his little hunch. The two of you are related in some way, he’s sure of it.

And with how insistent she is with getting her hands on you, it’s only a further nail into the coffin. There’s no denying that you and the Lady Bone Demon have some sort of connection. But what? Are you her descendant? Did she plant a seed of her essence into your forefathers long ago to ensure that some part of her would go on, and only now is returning to reclaim it? Are you simply powerful enough for her to see use in you? Does she think she could sway you to her side?

There’s a dozen explanations that could be true. However, he has no way to prove which one of them it is, because the Lady Bone Demon is staying tight lipped on why exactly she wants you, perhaps as to not give MK a chance to counter her plans.

It doesn’t matter, MK reminds himself. What she wants with you doesn’t matter. What matters is that she wants you, full stop. And if he can stop her and her well-intentioned plans, then he can save you and everybody else too. All he has to do is push a little harder.

And then?

Maybe he can just… forget about it all. Forget about the Lady. Forget about your nebulous ties to her. And everything can go back to the way it was, when he didn’t jump every time you spoke to him, when he could look into your eyes without feeling like someone had dumped ice down his shirt, when he could fall asleep next to you without waking up in a cold sweat.

He’ll forget all about it, burying it deep inside his brain.

And then things will go back to normal, with you safely under his protection.

Right?

He knows right from the start. I sincerely believe that if someone was the Lady Bone Demon’s descendant, Wukong would be aware the very moment he met them.

A dread chill races down his spine the moment he see you, freezing him for just a second as he contemplates one of his worst fears coming true. The Lady Bone Demon is back.

Except… no, not really. That’s not her at all, is it? You’re just… some kid. With the exact same crushing spiritual pressure that she personally exerted. And the same eyes that she had.

Yeah, this isn’t a coincidence. There’s just no way. He goes off to do some digging, but not before subtly tasking MK with keeping an eye out for you while he searches for anything that could prove your ties to one of his greatest enemies.

And this is Sun Wukong we’re talking about, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. It doesn’t take him very long, whether through cleverness and trickery or sheer brute force.

Maybe the monkey demon twists a few heavenly arms to get the information he wants. Maybe he utilizes the 72 Transformations to eavesdrop on a keeper of records. Maybe he’s just got a sacred book of lineage hidden away in some pile of junk somewhere.

However he does it, he gets the job done well, with just the conclusion he’s looking for- you are indeed, of the Lady Bone Demon’s blood.

But Sun Wukong has come far from his days before Five Phases mountain. He’s not some vicious demon who bullies those around him, nor does he jump to outright murder as a solution for every last problem.

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, just so you can maybe prove yourself to him.

It starts with him crashing at your house without an excuse, he himself writing it off with a very unconvincing “bout of motion sickness” that would supposedly leave him incapable of comfortably riding his cloud back to Flower Fruit Mountain.

His true intention is to see what you’ll do while he’s “asleep”, laid across your couch with his head rested on a cushy pillow, tantalizingly propped-up for one who might wish to try and crush his skull or slice his throat.

Instead, you usher him to a cozy guest room, asking him to call you if he needs anything. He makes use of this several times, asking for food and water to see if you’ll poison it.

But you don’t. There’s no hand-made poison sourced from the Underworld slipped into his peach tea. No sacred knife hidden inside your sleeve. No Heaven-forged needles baked into the slice of pie you bring when he mentions being hungry.

You aren’t a scheming demon, he realizes. You’re just a good kid.

You remind kind to him, even as he intentionally tries to fray your nerves. You don’t snap or argue or whine, instead tending to his false needs with a smile on your face.

He drifts comfortably to sleep in the guest room, stomach satiated and his brain whirling. Before he passes out, he realizes with a pang of sympathy that he’s clearly the first person to have ever slept here. Stocked and furnished comfortably for anyone who might stop by and spend time with you… it’s instead been rotting without occupancy, left unused for what may well have been years.

You aren’t a bad person. You really, really aren’t. You’re just a good kid who clearly needs someone to quell the stomach-turning loneliness that finds you down each path you take.

At first, he decides to be that person out of pity. He stops by sometimes, ducking in to snag a bite from your fridge, engaging in a short but friendly conversation, watching sympathetically as the mere exchange of several sentences boosts your mood to healthy levels.

You start to anticipate his visits, making sure you have food and drink he’ll enjoy on hand. Lots of peach-filled pastries, to nobody’s surprise. Pies, tarts, cookies… it turns out that Sun Wukong has a pretty unabashed sweet tooth. He’s actually somewhat touched that you out in the effort just to make sure that he’ll have something nice to eat when he stops by.

Just as pity went to warmth, slowly that warmth comes to a peak, igniting.

Eventually, he starts taking you back to Flower Fruit Mountain to spend time with you there, trying to acclimate you to an eventual residency there with him to repay every kindness you’ve done for him.

There’s not a single pivotal moment where he realizes that he wants to keep you beside him, just a slow, day by day fall into platonic obsession. He gets attached, hard.

From your point of view, your kindness and determination to forge bonds with those around you has finally earned you a friend.

From his point of view, you’re a lonely, wayward child who needs someone nearby to protect and shelter you.

This is far from the truth, but his delusions grow by the day, in part an innocuous desire to repay your kindness, in part an unhealthy attachment to someone who has no hope of escaping from his grasp.

Really, though… if he did spirit you away, would you complain or argue? Fight or run?

Even if you did, there’s no way you’d get away from him. Just sit back, and let him take care of you, just the way you took care of him.

That’s what family does, after all.

You’re another one of his weird kids. That’s where it starts and ends for Pigsy. You fit snugly between Mei and MK, forming a neat little trio that he wants to both throttle and hug. Just as often as you three make him feel like he’s heading to an aneurysm-induced early grave, you make him feel fulfilled and content. His noodle shop, his two best friends, his three high-energy goofy kids.

Pigsy is happy with the life he has. He’s happy with the life he’s provided for MK. He’s happy to see Mei overcome her insecurities with her family and gain their approval. He’s happy that Sandy has found peace and improved himself. He’s even happy when Tang comes to visit, though he’ll gripe about the man “freeloading” whenever he stops by.

It’s a strange, stressful life that he’s built for himself, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

A world he wishes was just a little kinder.

It has served him kindly enough, though. Success, family, friends, some degree of fame. Most things a person can want, Pigsy has in decent abundance.

His problem is the way it treats you.

You’re a good kid. You really are. You’ve been visiting since you were a child, and he’s watched you grow up. If it weren’t for Tang, you’d be his most frequent customer. (Because you actually pay for your food, he calls you his favorite customer, to Tang’s dismay) And because you’ve spent so much time here with him and his family, he has a pretty good feeling he understands you.

Is isn’t just the renowned food you’re coming back for. It’s the company, too.

You always come in alone and drag out your visits to last as long as possible. You make conversation whenever and wherever you get the chance, stretching out these moments of companionship for as long as you can.

You’re lonely. Not for a lack of trying, of course. You try to strike up conversations, try to reach out to others wherever you can. People seem consistently unsettled and unnerved in your presence, immediately looking for an out when you come around. No matter how kind you are or how often you try to make connection, you get left in the dust.

If you aren’t at Pigsy’s Noodles, then you’re alone. So you keep coming back, again and again. Not just for the incredible food, but for them.

For him.

It’s sad, but it warms his heart a little at the same time. You rely on him. Maybe he could go as far as to say that you need him. Who would he be, if he didn’t welcome you with open arms?

Pigsy wants you to be happy. He wants to keep you safe. And eventually, those feelings grind slowly towards wanting to keep you close.

And close he keeps you, there and then, and then, here and now.

Pigsy does not let go of you. Even as the manic wide-eyed man he only knows as “the Mayor” demands your unconscious body from him, talking about “bloodlines” and “destiny” and “the power she requires”, the chef refuses to be parted from you.

Since he can’t run, he has no chance but to stand and fight, wielding a nine-toothed rake with one hand and keeping you slung safely over his shoulder with the other. He’s never been good at fighting, so it isn’t truly an even match. He’s instead trying to block and dodge the Lady Bone Demon’s sycophantic servant, barely warding him off after each blow.

His efforts to hold out eventually do pay out, with MK stepping shortly in to knock the “Mayor” away from you both, punting him across the landscape and then into the ground from there.

Leaving Pigsy to weigh the options left before him. However, it’s not much as much of a struggle as one might assume. You’re a kid, he thinks to himself, holding you close as he examines your bruises and scrapes. You don’t need to know. What would it accomplish? Do you need to know why people fear you? Why they think of you as unapproachable? Why they run away from the kindness and warmth you offer?

Would it help you, to know the reason? No, Pigsy decides. It could only lead to trouble and heartbreak. What if you ran away from both yourself and your friends, and never came back for fear of hurting them? What if you lost the ability to trust yourself? What if you hurt yourself?

He can’t run the risk of losing you. From now on, he’s going to take a much more personal role in your life, very potentially bringing you to live in the restaurant with him and MK.

“You don’t have to worry about those two freaks, kid. Just let me look out for ya, from now on.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Crystal Heir #Yandere MK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Pigsy

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