#(you’re the destination so you don’t get to be part of the journey)

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

Do you think there’s w reason shanks doesn’t want to met luffy or does he actually believe in that stupid promise from years ago 😭 And why is he always so melancholic

the thing about shanks is that he prioritizes other peoples’ desires over his own. to an unhealthy extent. like, to the extent that he may have sacrificed his own dreams in order to fulfill a final request from his captain.

so, if luffy says the next time he sees shanks, he’s going to be the captain of his own crew, and a crew much better than shanks’ at that? shanks will do whatever he can to make that happen, even if all he can do is delay their next meeting.

if oden says he doesn’t want shanks involved in saving wano, shanks will stay uninvolved. once wano’s been saved, though, he’s free to interfere—if just to keep the navy from interfering.

if buggy leaves, saying they’ll be enemies the next time they see each other… well, probably best not to see each other, then, if shanks doesn’t want to treat buggy as an enemy.

i think it’s pretty clear shanks doesn’t want to do any of this. he wants to see luffy, he wants to see buggy, he wants to help wano and see momo and hiyori… but what he wants doesn’t matter to him.

[slickchickchocolatier]

Little Red Riding Hood - Part One

Pairings: Jake X fem!y/n

Warnings: Werewolf Jake, there will be smut in his werewolf form, knotting, CNC smut, non/dub-con, kidnapping, Jake is Yandere in this one. Based off the fairytale. This is part one.

Authors note: Hello my lovely readers! Finally had some time to post part one, will be posting part two tonight. Please note that I have not had any time to go over and fix the structure or grammar, I wanted to but that would have furthered delayed in posting the parts and I just didn’t know when I’d get the time to do that. So please ignore any mistakes as this is not at all proofread. But I’m excited to write for you guys again! Enjoy! ♥️

“Y/n! Don’t forget the basket of fruit.”

Your mother trails behind, hand delivering the goods as you enter the uber. “Oh! Thanks mom. I’ll be back later.”

She nods. “Okay, have fun with granny!” waving goodbye, she sees you off as your driver pulls out of the driveway. The ride was silent, at least up until he entered the back road. “Visiting grandma’s house, huh?” he presents, attempting to make conversation. You nod. “Mmhmm.”

You take a moment to respond to unanswered texts, losing track of the value of time as the driver takes a backroad. It went unnoticed until you looked up the window and failed to recognize the scenery. “Um…sir? Which road is this?”

“Oh, just a shortcut. It will cut our trip in half this way.” Your brows frowned. Your grandma wasn’t far at all, only five miles down from the main road. The robust driver continued to travel along the long windy path, which ultimately surpassed the length of time it would normally take to reach your grandmother’s home. “Sir, please drop me off here.” You spoke sternly as you felt uneasy by the driver's response. His caucasian features presented a stoic countenance as he kept flashing a perverse gaze through the rearview mirror, making eye contact.

“Sir, I said drop me off here!” you demanded, yet all it did was make him chuckle laconically. “And leave a pretty girl like you stranded?”

You hissed. “I’m calling the police. Either you drop me off here, or I’m giving them your information.” A sudden turn of the vehicle gives you some relief, until he spoke out. “Fine, I'll drop you off.”

You quickly exit the vehicle. He berated and demanded extra payment for the inconvenience of the trip, in which you scolded him. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re the one who took me out here! I am nowhere near my destination, just what were your intentions? You sicko!”

After a spat that continued to go back and forth, you figured that this pathetic man was only trying to buy time and continue to view you from his mirror. It was the only sensible explanation, seeing as how he didn’t pose a greater threat other than lashing cursings and insults. Finally, with you dialing the number to the police yet again, the driver darts off, seeing that you weren’t bluffing. “Idiot.” you hissed as you watched the car disappear in the distance.

You attempted to make a phone call to your mother, but the call never went through. Figures. Being out here in the country, it seemed that the entire region was undeveloped. Your best chance was to walk on foot and knock at the first house you see. Carrying the basket, you start your journey and head in the direction of where you last saw the vehicle.

The windy breeze began picking up, fluttering the hem of your short sundress. An idea pops in your head and you remove the protective cover of the basket–a long red sash. Wrapping it around your body, it was wide enough to cloak your bodice and mid thigh. The length provided enough material for you to tie loosely around your waist as it draped over your hair, just as if it were really a cloak. “Perfect!” you whisper.

About a quarter of a mile out, and still there was no sign of any inhabitants. You can’t wait to get back home and report that driver to the head of the company. “He should be fired.” you huffed as you continued to walk. The sun started to set, which escalated your fear of not being able to make it back in time before nightfall. The massive forestry arching the road didn't make it easier. You looked back repeatedly to see if a car would come by. You’re not one to hitchhike, but there’s a first time for everything, you guess.

Your low heeled shoes started to feel uncomfortable as you reached a full mile. You wondered if turning back and heading in the opposite direction was a better option at this point. Just as you were reconsidering your approach, a lone vehicle pulls up from behind. It was black, and a luxury brand. Counting your lucky stars, you instantly greet the driver as the window pulls down.

“Hello, are you lost?”

From the angle you stood, you could only view the man’s lips and his seated position. He was finely dressed, and had on an intricate designed leather glove that partially decorated his left hand. “Yes! Could you please give me a lift to the next town?”

You watch as his lips give off a half smile, and the clicking of the locking feature puts you at ease when he reaches over the center console and opens the door for you. “Hop in.”

You settle yourself in the fine leather seating and then it hits you internally.

‘Whoa…’

The man presents a hand initiating the formal manners of introduction as he bids you to shake his. “I’m Jake.”

You gently take his hand with your fingertips and give a subtle shake. “I’m y/n.” The man was too handsome. His wide glasses gave him a classic appeal, while his lengthy hair enhanced it all as it swooped over the side. He looked as smooth as aged liquor, and as fine as fresh silk. Given the luxury of his attire and car, you figured he either came from a wealthy family or made his own fortune, which proposed the bigger question in what he was doing driving on this lonesome road. There was absolutely nothing industrious about this entire place, what could a fashionable man possibly be doing here?

You figured it would be too rude to inquire, so you merely relaxed and made conversation instead. “Thank you for giving me a ride. My uber driver had left me stranded and i am unfamiliar with this part of town.”

He kept his eyes on the road, relaxed in his seat as he steered the vehicle with one hand. His suit outlined his lean muscle and broad chest. You’ve never seen such an incredible looking man before. “Left you stranded, huh? That wasn’t nice of him.”

His voice was deep and equally as smooth as his looks. “Where was he taking you?” he inquires softly. You answer, which propelled him to continue on. “Your grandmother’s house is this far out?”

“No.” you respond. “He took this route while I was on my phone and I’m not sure why. I started to feel uneasy so I told him to drop me off here. I figured it was better to take chances on foot than it was to stay inside the car with him.”

“And what was he driving?”

You were somewhat confused at his inquiry of the driver's vehicle, yet it somehow made you flattered that the man appeared to indicate that he was going to take action against the rude driver. “It was a white car, I can't remember the make or model but its on my uber app.”

He nods. “I see. I suppose you want me to take you to the police station?”

You shook your head and asked if he wouldn’t mind bringing you to your grandmother’s home, to which he agreed. He gently taps on the wide screen on the dashboard. “You can put in the address.”

Once the gps feature was set, you frowned and internally cursed the uber driver in seeing that you were thirty minutes out from where your grandmother’s house was located. Feeling terrible that man, Jake, had to go out of his way to bring you there, you offered to pay him gas money, to which he declined. “Its alright. No need.”

As much as you hated the fact that you were so far out, you found yourself grateful at the fact that you had so much time to spend talking with Jake. His voice was so light and airy, yet deep with a lustful bravado. His features were perfect, and you had to keep reminding yourself to avoid staring.

Finally, you reach your destination as he pulls up to your grandmother’s mailbox. “We’re here.” A man of few words, yet somehow that just made him more attractive. You thanked him as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “One moment.” You halt your movements at the sound of his voice, and watch as he leans in. His chest hovering over the center console as he delicately unbuckles your seatbelt for you. With his face close to yours, you slightly blush and clear your throat as the smell of his cologne dances in your nostrils. He smirks as he unravels the seatbelt and lets it free from his grip. “Let me get the door for you.”

You watch through the windshield as he walks around the front of the car. Hand in pocket, his frame and stature in full sight was equally as impressive as his profile. God this man was so sexy.

He opens the door and helps you out. “Oh…thank you.” you softly express your gratitude while he takes your hand and stabilizes your posture as you hold onto the hem of your dress while getting out. His smooth tone had a faint–a very faint chuckle as he responded. “Hmph. No problem.”

The sunset fired the sky with an orange red hue. “Looks like it's going to be a full moon tonight.”

You chuckled. Confused by his deduction, you sought clarification. “What makes you think so?”

He remains staring at the sky and you feel his thumb stroking the back of your palm while your hand remains resting in his. You feel the heat of bloodrush as he continues to do so before gently releasing your hand at your side. “Just by the way the sun is setting. The color and direction can tell you these things.”

You look up to view the sky before he says goodbye. “It was nice meeting you. Please be careful. I would have someone else drive you home tonight.”

He was so kind. The fact that he had considered your safety made you fall for him, more so than what is considered normal considering you didn’t know this man. Still, how can someone be so beautiful inside and out? “Thank you…Jake.”

He flashes a smile–a real one this time. His teeth were pearly white and straight, enhancing the dashing value of his appeal. “Take care, y/n.”

He drives off after seeing you reach the front door. You sigh as sadness settles in your heart and soul watching him go. “I wish I could see you again…Jake.”

Entering the house, you announce your presence aloud, hoping that your grandma wouldn’t be startled as you let yourself in. Noticing the lack of response, you venture in and explore the house, and see no one was home. It figures. Your grandmother spent a lot of time at one of the neighbors' homes. She probably assumed you weren’t coming and went to spend time with some friends. You reached into the basket and noticed that your phone was not inside. “Oh no–my phone…my phone!”

Since your dress didn’t have any pockets, you had it nestled in the basket during the drive. It must have fallen out on the ride here, which posed another dilemma. You pick up the landline and dial your mother’s phone number, when a stagnant tone indicates that the line was busy or unresponsive.

After a few minutes of pondering, you figured it was best to take your grandmother's car and head back home. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind.

You make your way out and head to the main road, when construction signs indicated that all routes to the path were blocked. With your phone in Jake’s car and no GPS feature in your grandmother’s older vehicle, you had no choice but to head back the way you came in—the backroad. At least this time you had a car and didn’t have to face traveling by foot anymore.

Driving the same route, you turn the bright lights on as night falls. It wasn’t long before you saw red flashing beams blurring up around the bend. You make the curve and rest your eyes on a vehicle stalled to the side. The blinking lights continue to flicker on a steady tempo as you slowly pull from behind. The driver was nowhere to be seen, yet the door remained ajar. You felt uneasy, but you couldn’t leave without confirming that the passenger was unharmed. You place the car in park directly behind and call out–but no answer. You check your surroundings before breaching the driver side and peeking in–a sight that sends shivers down your spine. The windshield was stained with the words “she’s mine” all in blood. The bright red color combined with the ongoing dripping indicated that it was fresh. It only got worse as you continued to look around.

“Polaroids?”

A stack of small prints laid sporadically on the seats and floorboard–some were smeared with hints of blood. Looking closely at the photos, your breath paused as you squint in confusion. You pick up one of the prints and gasp in horror.

“This is–”

You held the photo in a pinched grip as your heartbeat escalated. The photos all were images of you during the uber ride. The angle of the camera was primarily pointed under the skirt of your dress, while others captured the fleshy softness of your cleavage, your defined collarbone, and delicate shoulders. Your hair draping over your bosom with your side profile reflecting your thoughtful gaze as you stared through the window. Everything became clear as you recognized the vehicle and its interior.

The Uber driver…

Part two coming soon…

[rex101111]

Things that happen within the first few hours of AC6:

1. You get shot with a huge-ass laser mid-atmosphere entry. You barely survive this, landing several miles away from your intended landing zone.  Welcome to Rubicon 3.

2. You have a mech built with bargain bin parts, barely held together with hope and spite. It has a energy sword though, so that’s nice.

3. Not even two seconds after your, very rough, landing, you get a call from your “Handler”. He is ostensibly in charge of your well-being. This begins and ends with him sending you off on missions he’s fairly certain you’ll survive and charges you for the damage you get to your mech, the bullets you use, and he’s also cut out a piece of your brain to put in augmentations that will make you a slightly better mech pilot. In the top Most Horrible People On This Planet contest, he wouldn’t make it to the top 10.

4. You make your way through a derelict hunk of junk that’s threatening to collapse on top of you. Not even two minutes into this journey, you’re getting shot at with missiles. 

5. You finally reach your intended destination, a burning husk of a city filled with scavengers and low lives who will shoot you on sight. You are here to grave rob.

6. The reason you are grave robbing is connected to the fact you got shot in orbit, you are here illegally, and you need to find a license from any fresh corpse so you can steal the identity on it and be able to do mercenary work.

7. You go through four corpses before you find one with a license that can pass muster.

8. Mid corpse robbing a gunship sent by The Space Police spots you and you have to shot it down so it can’t kill you or, even worse, stop you from stealing the identity you just found. 

9. As soon as you get registered in the Mercenary Rolodex, which takes less then a second of an A.I taking a look and saying “alright checks out”, you have two missions. One of them has you killing a bunch of resistance fighters from the planet’s native population on behalf of a weapons company that really wants to do business here. 10. The next mission has you going to a base owned by that very same company and blowing up everything you can find there. This does not anger that company one bit, if anything it just convinces them you are a very thorough worker. 11. Very shortly after that, you are tasked with destroying a prototype mech by another company before it can get into mass production. That mech is being piloted by what can only be described as an Anime Protag who is in the worst possible franchise for his type of character. You can murder him in less then two minutes if you know what you’re doing. You can hear him desperately fight for his life the entire time. 12. After that, before you even get to clean the blood and oil and broken dreams off your robot, you get a call from a merc group leader saying that he’s seen you murder that guy real good, a guy who was auditioning to join his group, and likes the cut of your jib. He gives you the callsign he was gonna give Anime Protag before you blew him the fuck up. He laughs and tells you to be careful since it’s an unlucky number. This is the least morally repugnant thing you’ll do all game.   

13. A while after that, you go into a power plant and destroy the generator, it promptly blasts you in the face with the red radioactive Super Fuel that toasted this planet a few years back.

14. You survive, somehow, and you get a disembodied voice of some girl in your ear. You tell your handler about this and he just shrugs it off with “oh yeah that’s probably a symptom of the lobotomy, don’t worry about it”. The voice is probably the most moral person on this fire blasted hell scape of a planet.

[laurenairay]

felt like magic - N. Hischier

Summary: Nico has been pining for years – maybe this summer is a chance to finally do something about his feelings for you.

I’m jumping in as a pinch-hitter as part of @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange 2k24, with a Nico Hischier story for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten! I really hope you enjoy this – I had a lot of fun creating something from the prompts you gave me. And who doesn’t love Summer Nico?

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: pining, childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, some bad language

Title (and song lyrics) from Caffeine, by Jack Kays

~

Stay with me, If it’s not our time then will you wait for me? I know that we’re young, but this is destiny I couldn’t be me without you, without you

~

Travelling from Bern to Zurich wasn’t something you’d do for just anyone. An hour and a half driving across the country, surrounded by drivers who were just as impatient to get through their journeys as you were? Not your idea of fun. At least the destination was more than worth it.

“Happy birthday Jonas!”

The man in question turned around at the sound of your voice, a big grin sliding onto his face.

“You made it, liebling! Thanks for coming!” Jonas said happily.

It wasn’t every year that you got to celebrate the birthday of one of your favourite people – early May wasn’t exactly the most consistent time of year for hockey players after all. And the last thing you wanted to do was remind him of the early end to his season. So when Jonas had called you to say that he was hosting a birthday party at his house in Zurich and invited you to spend the weekend, there was no way you were saying no.

“As if I’d miss the event of the summer,” you teased.

Jonas just beamed at you.

“Schatzi! You survived the A1!”

You peered around Jonas’s broad shoulders to see another one of your favourite people – Nico. It was through Nico, one of your childhood best friends – that you’d met Jonas in the first place so you should’ve guessed that he wouldn’t be too far away. Usually you would’ve made the journey with Nico, both of you coming from Bern after all, but he’d already been visiting in Zurich so you’d been stuck with a solo trip this time.

And damn did he look good. It wasn’t something that you let yourself think about often, being just his friend, but Nico was genuinely one of the most handsome people you’d ever seen, let alone become good friends with. It wouldn’t do you any good to travel down that road of thoughts though, so you were always careful to nip those feelings in the bud. You were friends. Great friends. Incredible friends, and that’s how it was always going to be.

“I’m here,” you mused, “had to greet the birthday boy before anyone else.”

“Yeah don’t be jealous,” Jonas teased.

Interestingly, Nico blushed slightly and glared at the taller man, before clearing his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’ll grab something myself in a minute, but thank you,” you said, smiling sweetly, “Let me just give Jonas his birthday present first.”

You handed over the thick envelope, Jonas eagerly ripping into it, making you laugh softly.

“Oh shit, you’re the best,” Jonas gasped.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased.

“What did you get?” Nico asked, curious.

“A tattoo voucher. Far more than enough to cover the gap fillers I’ve been looking at getting. This is amazing, thank you, this is way too generous,” Jonas explained, looking gratefully at you.

“You’re welcome. I know you’ve been talking about filling the spaces for a while,” you shrugged.

While you didn’t have any tattoos of your own, you knew how Nico and Jonas felt about their own tattoos, and how much they meant to them – it was an easy decision.

“Are we ever going to get you into a tattoo chair, hm?” Nico teased.

“Maybe if I have someone holding my hand,” you teased back, trying to fight the giddy heat rising to your cheeks.

His lips parted slightly in shock, speechless for once, Jonas just cackling at his response.

“And on that note, I’m going to go say hi to Andreas and Julia. See you both later?” you grinned.

“Yeah, see you liebling,” Jonas nodded.

Nico just nodded, cheeks aflame. His silence was a bit concerning – he wasn’t exactly one to be shy or awkward, especially not around you – but you knew Jonas would figure out whatever was going on with him. Hopefully.

~

“So that was smooth,” Jonas mused.

“Shut up,” Nico groaned.

“No really, that was one of your best efforts,” Jonas snickered.

“You’re the worst,” Nico shot back.

He ran a hand through his hair, watching you walk across the backyard with a confidence he wished he had. There was just something about you that had always reduced him to feeling like a hapless fool, ever since he’d first moved to Bern as a teenager and met you within the first few weeks of living there. You’d been a constant feature in his life for 10 years now, always there with a wide smile and open arms whether it was in Bern, Zurich, or New Jersey, and he didn’t know what he would do with his life if you weren’t in it.

Nico was head over heels in love with you, and you had no idea.

Everyone else in his life knew how he felt for you, obviously, not just Jonas. His parents, his siblings, even Jack had figured it out within an hour of your first visit to New Jersey all those years ago. If Jack Hughes of all people could read it off his face then he didn’t know how much more obvious he could be – other than actually telling you with words, of course.

But how could he say anything to you, when he knew for certain that you didn’t feel the same way?

~

“Are you sure your billet family don’t mind us being down here?”

Nico smiled down at you, shaking his head. The two of you were down in the basement where his billet family’s entertainment room was, the rest of the house having gone out for the night, and Nico had invited you round for a movie night. He’d only been in Bern for a few weeks, and you were the only non-hockey friend he’d made so far, so he hadn’t hesitated to invite you over to get to know you better.

There was just something about you that made him want to put in the effort

“They really don’t mind. They even left us money for takeout,” he insisted.

“Oh, well alright then. What are we watching first?”

The evening flew by, pizza ravenously consumed between movies, the two of you shifting closer and closer on the sofa until you were fully leaning up against each other, Nico’s hockey bulk giving you a solid pillow to rest on. He didn’t mind it at all, if he was being honest with himself, although he wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

“That was so terrible though! They had no chemistry at all!” you giggled as the credits rolled.

“I guess not all actors are going to like kissing everyone they work with,” Nico snickered.

Even in the dim light of the room, he noticed the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

“What?” Nico frowned.

“It’s nothing,” you said, shaking your head quickly.

He might not know you that well yet, but he knew that was a lie.

“Come on, tell me what’s wrong?” he prompted.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“We’re 15 years old – everything we do is stupid,” Nico pointed out.

You huffed out a laugh, breath a little shaky. “I was just thinking about the fact that I wouldn’t know what it was like.”

“What what was like?” Nico asked, confused.

“To kiss someone,” you all but whispered.

His lips parted in surprise, not expecting those words to fall from your lips, and you immediately grimaced.

“See I told you it was stupid,” you groaned.

As you shifted to move away from him, Nico instinctively gripped your shoulder, not letting you go. You startled but looked up at him, staying silent in confusion.

“It’s not stupid. Not everyone has had their first kiss. You’re only 15,” he murmured.

“You’ve kissed someone though?”

Nico bit his bottom lip but nodded. He’d had multiple kisses, all harmless, all essentially meaningless, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Kissing was fun – he always liked the way it made his heart race with adrenaline.

And it was the memory of that feeling that fuelled his bravery.

“I could kiss you, if you want?”

“What?”

He took a steadying breath, before nodding. “I could kiss you. So you have a good first kiss, with a friend.”

There was nothing worse than doing something scary for the first time only to have someone make you feel like an idiot. If Nico could stop that feeling for you, then he absolutely would.

“Are you sure?” you said hesitantly, “You really don’t have to.”

“Of course I am,” he said, smiling to reassure you.

He could feel how fast your heart was beating as he rested a hand on the side of your neck, echoing the beating of his own heart. You closed your eyes as he leaned down towards you, making him smile slightly before he pressed his lips to yours. As he slowly kissed you, he could feel how hesitant and nervous you were, but as you continued to kiss him back he didn’t regret his offer for a moment. Nico kissed you over and over and over again, almost feeling dizzy with how the embrace was consuming him, his thumb stroking over your jaw as you melted into his arms. This was heaven. This was bliss. This was everything he didn’t realise he’d wanted.

After what felt like hours, but could only have been a few moments, you pulled away from the kiss. Nico made a soft noise of protest, opening his eyes to see you looking stunned, lips as swollen as his felt.

“Schatzi,” he managed to murmur.

You just bit your bottom lip, smiling softly, before leaning backwards out of his hands. He tried not to frown, not understanding why his heart was pounding, even though you didn’t look mad.

“I should probably get home. My parents will be wondering where I am by now,” you said, voice quiet, almost as if you were still a little in shock.

Nico glanced at the clock on the wall, grimacing at the late hour. Where had the time gone? Did you really have to leave, after a kiss like that?

“O-Okay, if you’re sure. Text me when you get back safe?”

“I will. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

~

After that kiss 10 years ago, the two of you had never spoken about it again. The morning after you’d acted like nothing had ever happened, and Nico had been too nervous to say anything to risk losing the blossoming friendship. He knew now that it was his first experience of heartbreak, as youthful and innocent as that had been – and he also knew that’s when he’d first started having feelings for you. What was meant to have been a friend helping out another friend had started a decade of unrequited feelings, and it was far too late for him to say anything now.

He could only hold on to the incredible friendship that had grown between the two of you with both hands. If this was all he could ever have then he was going to cherish it, no matter how what Jonas said.

“Come on bud, let’s get you a drink,” Jonas said, smiling sadly.

Nico huffed out a laugh but nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need one.”

~

Hours passed by, drinking, eating, catching up with friends and making new ones, until the evening was late and only the last few straggling partygoers were making their way out of the house. You’d volunteered to start cleaning up while Jonas said goodbye to his guests, needing something to do after a long day of socialising. You were making good progress on cleaning up the empty food containers and empty drink bottles when Nico wandered into the living room, holding out a bottle of water for you.

“Looks like thirsty work,” he grinned, leaning against the arm of the sofa.

“Thanks, you should try it some time,” you teased, taking the bottle from him.

You unscrewed the cap and took a couple of long gulps with your head tilted back, needing the refreshment more than you thought, but when you put the cap back on the bottle, you noticed Nico staring at you transfixed.

“What?” you frowned, “Did I spill some water?”

“No, no, it isn’t that,” he said quickly, cheeks heating.

Why was he blushing? What was going through his mind?

“Then what is it?” you prompted, putting the bottle down on the table.

“It’s just…I was thinking about…well…”

“Yes?” you prompted again, a soft smile on your face at his awkwardness.

“It wouldn’t take a tattoo for me to hold your hand,” he blurted out.

“What?”

What was he talking about…oh. Oh. What?

“Wait, shit, no, that came out wrong…”

Nico trailed off with a groan, punctuated only by the sound of a snort. You whirled around to see Jonas standing in the doorway, and he cackled at the look on both your faces.

“Yeah I’m going upstairs. Have fun dealing with your years of feelings,” Jonas grinned, shaking his head.

Oh damn. Jonas knew?

Wait, years of feelings?

With that he left you and Nico alone, a murmur suspiciously sounding like ‘lovestruck idiots’ lingering behind him. Hesitantly you looked back at Nico to see his face full of embarrassment, cheeks tinged with red.

“What was Jonas talking about?” you asked, voice a little shaky.

Because you were damn sure that Jonas didn’t know a thing about how you felt for Nico. So he had to be talking about Nico…which only succeeded in sending your heart into a flutter.

“This was not how I wanted it all to come out,” he murmured.

“Nico, please. No more talking in circles,” you all but begged.

He inhaled shakily but nodded, finally looking you in the eyes once more. “I’ve loved you ever since the movie night where we kissed.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “That was 10 years ago, Nico. We were 15! You’ve loved me since then?”

Ten long years.

“I know,” he winced, “But yes, since then.”

“You never said anything?” you said hesitantly.

Not about the kiss, and not about his feelings.

“You didn’t either? I mean, like, we never talked about the kiss. At all. I just assumed you didn’t say anything because you regretted it, and there was no way I wanted to lose you as a friend,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Of all the things he could’ve said.

“I thought you regretted it,” you admitted, “You were this up-and-coming hockey star, and I was just the neighbour down the street.”

Nico burst out laughing, hands rising to cover his face briefly.

“We’re both idiots,” he managed to choke out between laughs, “maybe me more than you.”

Maybe.

Maybe you both were idiots, but that didn’t mean you had to waste any more time. If Nico really wanted to try being more than friends, you weren’t about to stop him.

“Hey Nico?” you said, reaching forward to place a hand on his chest.

You could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart, but it was the hope in his eyes that gave you courage.

“Yes, schatzi?”

“It’s been a long ten years…kiss me again?”

Nico’s only response was to do as you’d asked.

~

I’m sitting patiently, Hoping for the day to come where you can see, All the stars, they fall in line for you and me, I can’t wait for you to see too, yes, you’ll do.

[nochukoo97]

new beginnings

pairing: ceo!jungkook x figureskater!oc

warnings/summary: oc takes up a new job as a cashier, and she gets a CAT, jk is a little grumpy but he gets better, he’s also annoying by calling oc’s cat a cottonbud LOL, he calls her sweetheart, and oc has a little crushy crush on this hot neighbour, they bump into each other three times, basically they’re destined to meet each other even when they barely know each other

word count: 2.4k+ / TAGLIST OPEN

series masterlist!

“Goddamn, how many pieces of clothing do you own?” Yeji grunts as she helps to pull along two of your suitcases into her apartment’s lift.

“It’s all costumes for my competitions, my coach keeps insisting to keep them in case we need it in the future,” You internally sigh at the thought of your coach, she wasn’t bad by all means, but she constantly pushed you to your limits with countless competitions she enrolled you in. But after all, you didn’t come to Seoul and join the national team expecting a smooth and comfortable journey.

“Anyways, you’ve gotta tap the card right here,” She explains the whole crazy security system here, then passes you the access card to the apartment. One week ago you would’ve probably not expected to be in this situation, now moving in with your best friend, as well as her boyfriend who has begun to sleepover at her place more often than necessary. But right now if it meant that less money would fall out of your bank account, putting up with whatever third-wheeling you were about to go through would make it all worth it.

You pull your other two suitcases into the lift, noticing a man shuffling into the corner to make space for the two of you and your four huge suitcases. The lift door closes and there’s this deafening silence that fills the lift, with the way Yeji widens her eyes at you but says nothing, you assume it might be about the latter standing in the corner of the lift.

“What kind of signals were you trying to send me in there?” You whine when the lift door finally closes, as Yeji abandons the now-rolling-away suitcases to grab onto your hands.

“It’s rolling!” You exclaim, as she jumps slightly, your voice raising a little louder than usual in panic.

“Sorry-sorry, anyways, he’s the guy I told you about! Maybe I can set you up with him,” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, giving you the same taunting look she did when she had proposed moving into her apartment.

“No! I don’t even know that man, anyways with those looks he might already be taken,” You brush your best friend off, anyways, you didn’t want a relationship right? When Yeji had told you about the hot guy in her apartment, you had immediately brushed the idea of being set up off, since that’s exactly how you met your ex, and it definitely did not end on a good note.

“Oh, so you’re attracted to him?” She jogs in front of you to look you in the eye, seemingly much more excited at her sudden discovery than you.

“What? No I didn’t say that? I just- whatever! Open the door!”

She only smirks at your stuttering, but complies as she opens the front door to her unit, and you’re greeted with a familiar sight that you now need to get used to calling home.

-

People had always praised you for being dainty and sweet, always dressed up in elegant costumes during your competitions, your moves on ice had always charmed the audience with how smooth you twirled and jumped.

You would like to say that they might change their minds when they spot you in this current situation: no makeup on, eyebags peeking through, in a neon green vest as you stare at the rows of cigarettes behind the cashier.

The younger you would have never expected to end up working part time in this convenience store, but here you are.

But somehow it didn’t seem too bad, you were the only worker here, besides a sweet lady who comes and sweeps the floor every evening, and the best part: you got to control the music.

To be honest, you may have been enjoying yourself a little too much with the way you hum to the music as you drink the complimentary-one-a-day coffee your manager had given you.

“One pack of menthol,” Your sudden peace is abruptly disrupted as you whip your head around, jumping slightly as you hear the voice sound from behind you.

Oh. It’s the same man from the lift, this time he’s wearing another suit in a different colour, but this time he seems much more drained than before.

“I said-” He repeats himself again, noticing your spaced out look as you stare straight at him.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry sorry, it’s been a long day,” You quickly gather yourself, mentally cursing yourself for checking out the man in front of you so shamelessly, but he only scoffs at your little mistake.

He’s either a total dickhead or is just having a bad day. Hopefully its the latter since as much as you hate to admit it, maybe he perhaps has caught your attention.

But the same man quickly walks out of the store the moment you return his black credit card, as you’re now once alone in the store, gathering your things to finally end your shift.

-

It’s only a few days later where you meet your next crisis, or rather a blessing in disguise.

An innocent trip to the local fair turned into you signing adoption papers for this fluffy little furball that you absolutely could not leave. To be fair, you were mainly there to find some cute accessories to buy, but the newly put up adoption booth had caught your eye.

The moment your eyes had met the beady little eyes of the small white cat, you couldn’t say no. Even if it meant paying thrice your income from working at the convenience store, anything would be worth this cat.

But then again, your heart sank further once the lady at the counter had told you the animals put up were free to adopt, or else they would be euthanised the following day. It almost made you attempt to calculate just how much it would cost to take care of all the animals here, but in the end you had settled to just bring the cat home.

“Yeji, hypothetically how mad would you be on a scale of 1 to 10 if I brought a cat home?” You press your phone in between your shoulder and cheek as you wrap the little cat in its blanket, snuggling the animal close to your chest in hopes to provide it more warmth.

“You’re kidding me right now,” You hear her sigh at the other end, “What makes you think we can raise a cat? Let alone you working night shifts and being out at training in the day?”

She wasn’t wrong, but you’re pretty sure it’ll all be okay.

“Trust me, the lady managing the adoption booth told me cats are way more independent, we can get her an automatic feeder and I’ll need to get a litter box too, and maybe some toys and treats on the side too…”

She sighs again, “And that’ll cost a gajillion dollars, where are you going to get that from?”

“I’ll find a way, trust me,”

-

Truth to be told, the package deal you had got for litter and food was a little more pricey than you had anticipated, but you were confident that it would save you money in the future anyways.

Cloud, the newly named cat, of which you spent many hours deciding on a name for her, was easier to handle than expected, she often played with the little gadget toy Yeji had got her, and learnt how to use her litterbox in a day, which made you come to a conclusion that you had raised a genius.

But yet your oh-so-smart furkid may also be a little too intelligent, the absence of a certain cat in the apartment has now caused your anxiety and hysteria.

“How did she manage to escape with us not noticing again! The last time I saw her crawl through your legs but this time I swear she disappeared into thin air!” You’re on the verge of tears as you tell Yeji, who only rubs her palm up and down your back as a offering of comfort.

“But you’ve got her tagged up, your number and her name is attached to her collar, I’m sure anyone who finds her will definitely call you immediately,” She tells you, watching as you now begin to hiccup, tears forming and rolling down your cheeks.

“What if she got run down by a car? Or some psychopath who hates cats found her? Oh my poor baby, she must be missing me already,” There’s a million different scenarios that play through your head, all leading to Cloud ending up in nowhere else but cat heaven.

“She’ll be fine, calm down, my friend’s cat often runs out of the house but the cat always returns every few days, some of them prefer to go out and explore, perhaps Cloud is the same,”

You can only sigh and hope for the best.

-

unknown number: hey

unknown number: did you lose a cat?

You gasp to yourself when your eyes scan the new text that had appeared on your screen, someone had found her.

you: YES

you: DON’T DO ANYTHING TO HER PLEASE

you: i promise ill pay anything for you not to do anything

Your heart beats frantically in your chest watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again. There was no way a psychopath had truly found Cloud and already decided to perform whatever possible traumatic procedure on her right?

unknown number: why would i do anything to it??

unknown number: in fact your cat is the one who had run into my apartment and marked her territory all over.

Oh. That was the last thing you had expected.

you: do you have a litter box in your house?

The three dots taunt you as they appear once and pause for a good minute, as if whoever is on the other side is pondering hard to answer your simple question.

unknown number: what kind of question is that??

unknown number: i dont own a cat, why tf would i own a litter box??

You frown at the reply, you were grateful he didn’t do anything to Cloud, but a simple no would be great.

you: just send me your address!!

you: i need to see if she’s alright, she probably is crying for me right now

unknown number: it’s sleeping peacefully under my bed right now, i dont think its upset at all.

unknown number: here’s the address: xxx

You sigh in relief when you realise it’s the unit above your apartment, which meant she couldn’t have gone too far.

you: first of all, you never know if she’s crying in her heart

you: second of all, stop calling Cloud an it!!! she has a name and she is a girl

you: third of all, im coming upstairs im in the same apartment complex

You roll your eyes when a reply comes in faster than it did before, mostly because it’s an insult to your cat:

unknown number: who names a cat cloud?? she looks more like a cotton bud, hurry and get her.

-

When you reach the floor above you, you’re met with a black door, no doorbell in sight. So you simply knock, sure that it had been the person that found Cloud since it was the only unit on the floor.

What you didn’t expect is to be met with the same man you saw whilst working at the convenience store. Instead he’s in a loose shirt and some shorts, hair not styled as a few pieces of bangs fall over his eyes. His presence daunts you a little, considering how darkly lit his place was, and how he towered over you.

“Oh? So we meet again,” He seems to recognise you as he steps aside, watching as you take off your bedroom slippers, which you now curse at yourself for wearing since it was pink and fluffy.

You think you hear a little laugh when he spots your slippers but you choose to believe he didn’t anyways.

“Where is my baby?” You step in now, taking in the view of his place. It’s a little larger than Yeji’s apartment, and the interior seems… lacking some colour. It’s mostly black and grey furniture, with hints of marble and some white chairs here and there, but it’s a total opposite of your apartment.

“Don’t think she cares enough to be your baby, but your baby pissed all over my balenciaga shoes and my dumbbells,” He deadpans, nodding his head to show you the dark pair of shoes that now hang at the window, you assume to dry them out.

“Your what shoes?!” You almost turn pale at the mention of the designer brand, there’s no way he might ask you to get him a new pair right?

“Forget about that, go and get Cottonbud out of my room,” He walks into the hallway, looking back once to check if you follow him.

“What did you just call her?!” You yell at him from behind as he enters a room, a bed coming into sight and a much too familiar tail that sticks out from under the bed.

“Cloud!” You’re far too busy attempting to reunite with your cat to bother hearing another reply from the man, but the moment you come closer to the swaying tail, Cloud dashes away from your grasp and hides at the very deep end from under the bed.

“Looks like someone isn’t too keen on seeing you,”

You whip around, a frown on your face as you are met with the man who smirks, almost taunting you.

“Shut up,”

“What’re you gonna do now then? The cat’s gone further under the bed, I can’t reach there either,” He has his hands on his hips, standing and waiting for your reply.

His gaze and posture makes you feel small, and not having a single clue what to do fuels this feeling in you. And perhaps add some butterflies in too and it’ll perfectly describe how you are feeling.

“I- I don’t know! I’ve never had to deal with this situation before!” You’re pacing up and down, glancing at the bed, hoping Cloud would magically pop out and leap into your arms so you can run home away from this man.

“Well I’ve got all day sweetheart, you can slowly find a way to get Cottonbud out of my house,”

“Her name is not Cottonbud!”

“Whatever,”

TAGLIST: @skzthinker @cherrysainttt @vminkookgf @lilaissa @jjeonjjk7 @armystay89 @canyon-lwt @junecat18

[digital-domain]

Change

Mahito x Reader // word count 2k

In which Mahito offers to make your insecurities disappear. Quite literally.

Tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, implied noncon, body horror, kidnapped reader, biting, blood, non-consensual kissing, discussion of death, gender neutral reader, reader has body image issues and is implied to have dealt with them in unhealthy ways 

A/N: Not as painstakingly edited as usual because I'm trying to get out of the write-something-and-then-pick-at-it-until-I-hate-it time loop

You are sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, facing the wall of the sewer. It is not the first time you have sat like this, nor the first time you have spent so long in this position. In the early days, Mahito would tell you to turn around and watch him experiment, and you’d feel your stomach writhe in time with the contorted things on the floor. But he lets you look away now. You’re not sure why, but you don’t bother wondering. It’s easier not to look, to pretend that you are alone, to tell yourself that the almost-human sounds echoing in the tunnel are merely figments of your imagination. That his laughter is only a memory from your nightmares, and not a constant reminder of what your life has become.

There isn’t much laughing this time. It’s mostly noises of surprise and keen interest, the kind a normal person might make upon viewing something mundane under a microscope, and seeing its hidden world beneath. You do not know what worlds Mahito is discovering, and you hope he doesn’t force you to find out. 

The worst part, of course, comes after his mouth finally closes. When you hear nothing but his footsteps upon the ground. Coming closer. You don’t run from it, or lash out, like you used to. Your stomach churns, and your pulse quickens, but you still let him spread his legs on either side of you, press his chest to your back, and wrap his arms around your waist. His hands cross beneath your ribcage, and you try not to think about what they were touching before. What you might see if you turn around. What he might be feeling, now that he has you so close.

“You would’ve liked it this time,” he says, as if he actually believes it. “It was interesting. And less…hm. Less dramatic than usual, I guess. For a while.” A high-pitched little spurt of laughter ruptures in your ear. “I got really carried away at the end. But I did try.”

“Why does that matter?” Even hearing him talk about it makes you nauseous, but not so much that you can’t speak. Not anymore. “It ends the same no matter how it starts.”

“Maybe! But you’ve got a saying about that. It’s…ah. What is it…?” He presses his face into the side of your neck and inhales deeply. Kisses your skin with cold lips before breaking away with a sudden start. “Oh! I remember. ‘The journey’s more important than the destination.’ It’s a very nice saying. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

You don’t like the way his mind drifts when he touches you. He makes you go rigid, takes away your ability to blink and breathe, but you seem to do the opposite to him. He kisses you again, in the same place, and then bares his grin, scrapes at you with his teeth and tongue, pulls and sucks and bites at your skin -

It is a long time before he says anything again. Long enough for you to be grateful that you have no way to see your reflection, to assess the damage he’s left behind, the growing collection of reminders on your body.

“I could take you on a journey, too.” He tightens his arms around you, presses in until you can barely tell where he ends and you begin. “I could change you, like I changed them…well.” He giggles. “Not quite like that. You’d still be alive at the end.” 

You go stiff. Breath catches in your throat. “No.” Your voice creaks out, so quiet that he might not even notice how terrified you are. “No.” Louder. There’s more, there, if only you could find the strength to say it. Don’t touch me, let go of me, stay far, far away, let me go -

“Don’t worry. I’d let you decide what you wanted me to do. Although I’m pretty sure I already know.” You squirm desperately against his hold, and he sighs, and presses his lips to your ear. “I’m not trying to scare you, you know. I don’t want to change anything about you. You’re so so cute already. But…”

There is a trickle of blood dripping down your neck. Slow, already drying. How long has it been there? How long have you tuned it out? 

“I know there are parts of your body that you don’t like.” His voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and you search it for any hint of amusement. “You really don’t like them. I was watching you for a while before I brought you here, so I saw the things you did to hide them. To change them. It’s not so different from what I do.” He lifts his hand from your waist, wiggles his fingers in the air. “I’m just way, way better at it.”

“No.” You don’t even know what you look like anymore. Even if you did -

Maybe you’d still hate it. But it doesn’t matter here.

“I know I could do it.” He lets go of you for a moment, repositions his hands, and spins you around, the force of the sudden movement knocking your own hands from the places where they dug into your shins. You splay them flat against the floor, and keep your eyes down. “Here.” He crouches in front of you, and points. “And here. And here. I could make all of it look just how you want it to.” 

You close your eyes, scared to get a glimpse of what lies behind him. (That’s not the only reason, is it?) It’s better not to look at him, either. (And…)

“It’s really a very tiny difference between what you have and what you want, so it won’t be easy to do perfectly,” he admits. “But it also means that you probably wouldn’t die. And if I mess up, I can always just try again!”

He’s so close to you. Breathing on your face, even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have to breathe at all. If you open your eyes, you won’t be able to see what’s behind him - his stare will take up your entire field of view.

“I don’t want to mess up, though. You wouldn’t be very happy if I did that. And I want you to be happy.” He touches the side of your jaw, and then tugs carefully at the corner of your mouth, like he thinks it might rip open if he pulls too hard. “You smiled a lot before I brought you here. It was cute.”

Your eyes are still closed. His hand is just as cold as his lips. You could even feel it through your clothes, moments before. Here, and here, and here…you wish he didn’t understand the way you think about yourself. He’d be so much easier to tune out if he was wrong.

“I want you to smile because of me.” His hand crawls up the side of your face, and pulls at your eyelids, his touch a bit less gentle than it was a moment before. “If that means making you look a tiny bit different, I don’t mind. As long as I don’t have to change your mouth”-

You look at him, because you truly believe your eyelids might rip off if you don’t.

“Oh. Or those eyes. Not those, either.” He’s leaning so far forward that his nose brushes yours. So that you can see him, and only him - and you. Just a bit of you, in his eyes, the tiniest glimpse of your own reflection that you wish you could erase. “I’ve been practicing a lot,” he says, “but I never change those.”

Practicing. 

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure if you actually say it, or if it’s only in your head. Either way, he doesn’t answer you with words. Instead it’s with a kiss, which is worse, because his tongue is in your mouth now, and his hands are on all the places that he just pointed out on your body, and they don’t change. You’re exactly who you are, far too grounded inside yourself as this thing makes you wish you had no body to touch at all.

And yet, you don’t want it to end. Because when it ends -

He sits down at your side.

And with that, there is nothing between you and the rest of the mess he’s created.

And you cannot tear your eyes away.

“I told you it was interesting.” He folds his hand over yours. “You really should have watched. I almost got it right this time.”

There is the usual mess. Fleshy and fluid things, undulating slightly, with holes that open up as if to scream but make no sound. The vague suggestions of limbs, on some, nothing but huddled slimy masses remaining of others. Eye sockets, empty, migrated into strange places. Colors and textures stolen from the insides and outsides of human bodies, so that you can’t for a moment forget what you’re looking at. That’s usually all that there is. And it’s enough to send your guts crawling up the walls of your throat, all on its own. 

But the one there -

It is not moving at all. And it has eyes. Glazed. And it has limbs, twisted off at the ends, but clearly four, clearly only half-heartedly destroyed. And it has lips. And teeth. And they are stretched out in a grimace, pasted-on even after its heart stopped pumping blood to the muscles of its face, even after its chest caved in and its lungs burst out from under the wreckage and the rest of its head fell away -

“I’m getting very good at making copies.” He leans his head against your shoulder. “Your body is easy…it’s just your face that’s hard. But that one had a face kind of like yours to begin with, so I did okay.” His grip on your hand tightens. “Not perfect, though. So I had to get rid of it.”

The mouth does not look familiar. Not anymore. But the eyes, lifeless as they are -

“I’ll show you once I get it right,” he sighs. “Once I make one look exactly like you. And then you can tell me how you want me to fix it, and once we’ve got it all figured out”-

You retch. But everything stays inside. You wrap your free arm around your waist for a moment, and then snatch it away, repulsed for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

“Don’t worry, cutie. It won’t take too many more.” Mahito lifts his hand from yours and turns towards you. “I wouldn’t mind if it did, though.” You look at him, if only to avoid looking at the other things in the room, and watch as he smiles back at you. His head is tilted, eyes shining, mouth closed. He stares at you for far too long, and slowly, slowly, his lips curl back, revealing the bleach-white grin underneath. “For you…I wouldn’t mind doing anything.”

You don’t see him move, not through the spots of black in your eyes and the haze of blood that’s rushed to your head. But you feel yourself falling, feel your back hit the ground, and feel him flattening himself on top of you. You feel every inch of your body where it presses back against his. And you feel radiating, all-consuming disgust at every place where you connect.

“If you want to stay like this,” he murmurs, “forever, that’s okay too. I’ll change you, or I’ll keep you the same…you’ll be my favorite human no matter what.”

You do not want to stay like this, trapped in your skin as he worms his way over and beneath it. But that isn’t the question, and the answer - that it doesn’t matter what body you panic inside of, or what, exactly, he touches, that nothing will make it better -

Even if you tried to say it, he’d swallow it up before a single word made it off your tongue.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART VI

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: tw - mention of death, injuries, emotional smut (minors: DNI), language, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You felt like you could sleep for five years. 

That electric fence had robbed you of your energy, draining your battery completely.  No doubt you were useless at this point.  But you were just so exhausted, you couldn’t even bring yourself to fight against what you were physically experiencing.

Everything hurts.  Your chest.  Your shoulders and back.  Your legs, your lungs.  Even your neck. 

Guess being brought back from the dead can take it outta you.

A lot of what went down after you…well…blacked out… It’s honestly a blur. 

You remember Steve eventually lifting you up, carrying you bridal style.  And you remember seeing his eyes. Dark brown orbs, scanning you like a hawk and uncharacteristically glassy.  You also remember Hopper over the walkie, telling your group to abort the plan and head back to base for a re-group.  His crew was on their way back, and Group 1 would be back with the supplies later that night.

Jonathan offered multiple times to help carry you, along with Eddie. But Steve just shook his head every time, insisting he was fine, clinging to you tightly while tucking your head against his chest. Dustin worriedly asked them if you would be alright a handful of times, and you kept wanting to tell this sweet kid all sorts of sweet comforting things. But damn, you were wiped. So you just let the guys assure him that you are fine.

The way Steve held you felt so…safe.  Almost familiar, despite the nurturing touch from him being so foreign.  Just last week, you never would have thought him capable of being so gentle.  Then again, it seemed that the ones who show the least amount of affection tend to be the most capable. He definitely struck you as someone who is affectionate in a relationship, given how he used to be with Nancy.  You gathered that much.  Touchy, flirty, all that jazz. 

But this?  This was different.

He was different.

You were right.  You fucking knew it.

The past few days had changed so much between you and Steve. And if you could think straight at the moment, or even think at all, it would overwhelm you. You knew that it would eventually.

…you also knew that your uncle was never gonna let you live this down.  The thought made you internally laugh, as you were carried through the trees until you all reached your destination.  Although, Murray probably would cut you some slack. Given the whole… temporarily dying thing.  At least that would work to your benefit, you think to yourself morbidly.

You had drifted off in Steve’s arms during the journey back.  As you all approached the house, you stirred back awake.  You could hear everyone shuffling out the front door, getting closer to you guys.

Murray was the first to race his way over to you, hovering above you in Steve’s arms.  His eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, his scruffy face etched with worry and relief.  He struggled with what else to do or say.  Sentimentality did not come naturally to the Bauman bloodline…

But after he swallowed, thickly, he told you — “Don’t do that to me again kiddo, alright?  The rest of our family is crazy, you’re gonna have to…stick around.  Got it?”

You smiled faintly.  “Love you too, Murray.” 

Your uncle gave you a curt nod, but you could see him tearing up.  He sniffed aggressively, biting back emotion and looking up at Steve.  Lucas and Erica stepped closer, coming into view for you.  Poor babies looked so worried.

Murray managed to convince Steve to hand you over to him, but that didn’t stop him from staying glued to your uncle’s hip.  Everyone else shuffled inside, too.  Steve asked Eddie to stay and watch the kids, giving his shoulder a grateful squeeze.  Jonathan said he’d wait up for the rest of the gang to make it back while Steve moved to give Dustin a bone-crushing hug.

You were carried off to the master bedroom downstairs, where Joyce and Hopper have been sleeping.  Suddenly you hissed in pain as Murray sat you down on the bed. 

Steve knelt in front of you, immediately asked you nervously, voice soft, “What is it, what hurts, talk to me...”

You tried to lift your arm but couldn’t.  The adrenaline was wearing off, now letting your body really feel the damage done.  “M’shoulder.”

Your uncle and Steve looked you over, realizing. 

“Might be broken,” your uncle murmured, then sighing, “shit.”

“We have to tell Owens,” Steve said, his hand on your thigh. 

Murray nodded, “I’ll tell Jim we need to get him over here.”

Your uncle watched Steve gingerly take your hands into his, assessing the deep tears in your palms from where the fence had scorched through them.  Even Murray had to admit — the Harrington kid definitely exudes sex appeal, especially when he looks dismayed.  It’s very Patrick Swayze.  But more than that, your uncle could tell this wasn’t just some puppy love thing.  It seemed like the real deal.

...ahh fuck, he thought.

When Jim answered his call, Murray walked away to talk and let him know they’d need to get you medical attention.  Steve was examining every single inch of you, touching you carefully and protectively.  He stood, moving to carefully lift your good arm over his shoulders.

“Bathroom.  Need to wrap up those hands.”

You leaned into him, and when you finally got into the restroom inside of the master, Steve put the toilet seat down and helped you sit before moving to get the first aid kit out from underneath the sink.  Steve was back in seconds, kneeling in front of you and pulling out the items he needed for patching you up.  You watched his perfect hair flop in front of his eyes while his head was down, admiring him silently.

“Here,” he spoke gently, moving to delicately hold one of your hands.  He looked up at you, his eyes rimmed red from earlier.  “S’gonna sting.  But we’ll get them done quickly, yeah?  Tell me if I need to stop?” 

Off your dazed nod, he moved to peck the swiftest of kisses to your cheek before getting to work.

Your eyes were closed while he did, scrunched shut in pain with a small hiss as the antiseptic made contact with your ripped palms.  Steve murmured, so quietly, “Sorry, baby, I know,” along with other whispered apologies that included the word baby or angel.  It made something strange flutter inside your stomach, despite all the pain.

You made yourself find joy in the unlikeliness of it all, grateful for the fact that you all were still alive and in one piece.  Otherwise, the dreaded truth that you were all a day behind schedule — putting you all in even bigger trouble — would consume your mind. You felt guilty. Everyone had to slow down because you’d been the one to get hurt. You’re the one who went and died on everyone, having to be resuscitated. 

Jesus, you thought. As if I wasn’t already a nag.

The feeling of Steve’s fingers tenderly closing around both of your hands made you realize that Steve's self-appointed nurse work was finished. Yours hands were freshly wrapped up and covering the raw, bloody cuts that the electric fence had seared into your palms.

Steve carefully brought all of your fingers, curled around his, to his lips.  He planted a long, soft kiss over all of your knuckles. You opened your eyes and saw his gaze fixed on the gauze wrapped in a makeshift pattern, encasing your small damaged hands.  He held them delicately, more than you ever thought him capable. He was always so brash, cocky and arrogant with you. But right now, that person didn’t seem to exist. This Steve was gentle. Soft.  His pretty brown eyes seemed lost, deep in thought.

You looked at him fondly.  God, you loved this boy.  You realized that now, that you loved him. Truly loved him. You couldn’t help but reach one of your gauzed hands up to his cheek, and he turned his head to lightly kiss your palm and hold it there, his large hand curling around your wrist.

“Steve,” you breathed.

He still stared at nothing, but finally his eyes glanced up at you.  They were sad, bloodshot and strained.  You hated it.  This was your fault.  

“You alright?” you breathed.

He pinched his brows together, nodding with feigned assurance, pressing his lips into a tight-lipped smile.  But he didn’t speak.  And you knew that was because he wasn’t alright.  Not at all. 

But he clearly was not ready to say that.  He sniffed, standing up.  “Let’s get you some water, yeah?” he asked tightly. 

You nodded, letting him help you stand while minding your bad shoulder.

The kids were already outside of the bedroom door, anxious to see you.  Lucas, Erica, Mike, Will and El.  They all went to ask questions, hesitant but unable to help themselves.  They kept their voices lower, knowing they needed to not bombard you fully.  You gave the kids all a soft smile, wobbly on your legs as you reached to pull them in for a little group hug. 

“Careful of her arm, guys, it might be broken,” Steve told them, motherly.  They obeyed.  “Let’s get her some water,” Steve added.

Erica immediately went off to fulfill the request.

Steve and El guided you over to the living room with Murray, who walked over to you to put an arm around you and walk you over to sit. 

Hopper now stood in the living room.  Jonathan was standing with Argyle.  Dustin was there still, with Eddie.  Poor kid looked so shaken up.  You gave him an apologetic look, extending an arm to him -- and he raced over to you after you’d sat down.

You ruffled his hair, letting him wrap his arms around your waist for a hug.  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your jacket. 

Your heart broke.  “Dude, don’t be.  Better me than you.  Still, I’m…m'sorry you had to see that.” 

Hopper was looking over at you with a relieved expression, walking in your direction.  He glanced over at Steve as he did, seeing him standing there with his arms crossed and teeth sunk into his bottom lip with a pensive expression.  Hopper gave his shoulder an assuring squeeze, and a hard pat on the shoulder. 

Then, looking back at you and kneeling, “How you doin’, champ?”

You sighed.  “Feel like my battery’s on its last percent.”

Hopper nodded, breathing a light laugh.  He ruffled your hair.  “A little static-y up here.  You been sticking your finger into some sockets?”  You snorted, feeling tired all over again.  

Erica got back with water for you, handing it over.  You sipped, feeling the couch sink down beside you.  It was Steve, sitting next to you.  He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms, knowing that the kids — well, aside from Dustin — didn’t know anything yet, or Hopper.  Maybe not even Murray.  Although, Steve was beginning to highly doubt that now.

Everyone began talking about what happened.  What went wrong, why didn’t it work?  Lucas explained that the calculations weren’t wrong, regarding the hacking into the breaker switch system.  Murray flusteredly agreed, saying it didn’t add up. 

But then Eleven spoke up, saying, “Another hacker.” 

You all looked at her, confused.  She explained. 

“With their mind.  Someone used their mind.” 

It turns out, she had used her powers to see that it was being tampered with by some invisible figure.  Meaning that they had sensed your whereabouts.  Who “they” were, exactly?  That had yet to be figured out.  Point was, you all were doomed from the start. 

The kids started saying something about El being able to control it with her mind — to “counter the counter.” 

Hopper wasn’t keen on the idea, nor was Murray.  Steve definitely had his doubts.  Eddie and Jonathan did, too.  But Eleven said it could work, as long as she went there in her mind. 

But that raised an even bigger question: were you all at even bigger risk now that your visit had clearly been known by someone?  Something? 

Eleven said it was just an entity.  Not human.  But that made everyone gulp… Was it Vecna?  Was he not dead after all?

“Regardless,” Hopper was saying.  “We’ll need to lay low.  The evacuation mandate starts next week.  If we’re gonna stay here and figure this thing out, we’ll need an entirely new plan.”

“Orrrr,” Mike interjected.  “We do this before the mandate happens.”

It was definitely a light argument amongst the group now.  More of a debate than anything.  The kids were insisting that it could work, while Steve was insistent it was too dangerous to risk it again. 

“Hopping that fence is clearly out of the question right now,” he said, shuddering. 

Jonathan looked at him sympathetically, along with you. 

“...what if we go over it?”

Everyone turned to look at Eddie, confused.  He looked at everyone nervously, but with an idea clearly in mind.  The lightbulb over his head flashed. 

“What if Miss Superpowers here — gets us over it?  Meaning we don’t climb it, or mount it.  We just…float…?...over it…?”

Dustin begins to grin, looking over and Mike and Lucas.  Even Eleven looks hopeful.  She turns to Hopper.  “I can do that.”

Hopper sighs, battling it still.  “That doesn’t mean we aren’t in for a rude awakening on the other side.”

“We’re in for a rude awakening no matter what we do,”  Lucas speaks with fervency.

It’s a lot of back and forth from there, and you feel Steve’s arm slip across the back of the couch so that he can massage your neck with his fingers.  You sigh at the touch, relieved to have him touching you somehow.  You inch closer to him, and he does everything in his power not to lift your legs so that they can drape over his.

“But if we all wait until after the mandate,” Jonathan is saying.  “That’ll only put us in even more danger rather than doing it now.  Or, well, before this weekend.  Before next week.”

“I think it’s worth it.” 

Your voice causes everyone to look in your directions.  Steve’s fingers halt but stay in place.  You take a breath, continuing. 

“If we…branch off again.  In our groups.  This time we’d only need 2.  The group here, and group 1, can go with us, or with Hopper and El over to where the gate might be re-opening.”

“That’s true,” your uncle agrees.

“Actually, no, we’d need 3,” Jonathan points out.  “Someone has to stay here.  Make sure no one seeks shelter here, or tries to break in and steal supplies.  Shit’s getting gnarly out there.  Nancy said so over the walkie.”

“Okay, so 3 groups,” Mike said.  “That’s worth it.” 

Lucas and Dustin verbally agreed with him.

Hopper was contemplating it deeply. 

Murray nodded at him, “Jim, this could work.” 

The retired cop pursed his lips, still thinking.  But he didn’t argue it.

Just then, the others got back.  Will, Joyce, Robin and Nancy all walked in.  When they saw you, they sagged with relief. 

Joyce made her way over with Robin, kneeling in front of you.

“Sweetie, how’re you doing?” Joyce stroked your arms while Robin gave you the saddest of smiles. 

You returned their smiles, weekly.  “M’alright.”

Joyce fawned over you like a doting mother, and you saw Robin looking over at Steve with a furrowed brow.  She could tell he wasn’t okay, and it worried her.

“We have a plan,” Dustin said enthusiastically.

“Nooo.  We have an idea,” Jim corrected firmly.  Dustin scoffed along with Mike, both beginning to argue back.

“Guys, we have to make sure no one else dies out there, alright?”

Steve’s words come out harsher than he meant for them too, and his voice slightly hitches at the end. 

Everyone stares, and the silence is thick. 

You look over to see Steve, his eyes hardened with trauma.  He sighs, feeling bad and running a hand through his hair as he looks down and mutters an apology to Dustin and Mike -- who both honestly can't even blame him. 

You reach out to squeeze Steve's thigh, unable to not offer him comfort.  You really don’t care who sees it right now as your thumb massages his pant leg.

Robin definitely pinches her brows together, looking between the two of you.  But she figures that Steve just probably feels bad, given how he has treated you like shit then had to deal with bringing you back from the dead.  That’s probably it…right?

But Nancy knows that look in Steve’s eyes.  He doesn’t ever look that way unless he’s…in love.  No matter how traumatizing or upsetting something is, this look is different.  And that’s confirmed for her whenever Steve goes back to massaging your neck, instinctively tilting his head towards you, even as he stares down at his lap.

Jim clocks Steve’s outburst, frowning.  “Exactly,” he agrees in a low voice, carefully.  “No one’s going through that again.”

Everyone shuffles their feet.  After some silence, Mike speaks first: “I’m really glad you’re alright, Bauman.” 

That breaks the ice, and everyone adds their verbal agreements.  You feel your cheeks flush.

“Bauman Squared is a badass,” Jonathan adds, smiling softly.

“Never seen someone cheat death like that,” Eddie nods.  “Most metal shit I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a breathy, sheepish chuckle while Steve’s fingers absentmindedly trace the nape of your neck and top of your spine, seeking silent comfort. 

“You guys saving my life was way more metal,” you say, voice weak but grateful.  You look at Eddie and Jonathan, then turn to Steve — squeezing his leg again.  His hand on your neck slips to rest there, wrapped around the curve protectively.  Almost possessively.

Now Robin is onto something.

“Steve never stopped,” Dustin adds.  "Not for a second."

Jonathan's nodding. "Not one."

Steve digs his toe into the ground, eyes staring a hole into the carpet.  He’s seated so close to you, letting it ground him as he frowns at the ground.

Jonathan can tell someone needs to change the subject, for both your sakes.  He clears his throat.  “So let’s figure this out then.  A plan that won’t cost any of us our lives again.”

You turn to look at him, nodding.  Everyone else nods, too.

Hopper takes a deep breath, looking at everyone intently before turning to Joyce.  “Alright.  First, let’s sift through the supplies you all got today.  Get it stashed.  We also need to start storing things in the basement soon, so that we can all stay there safely after the mandate gets put in place.  We'll need to do it this weekend.”

Joyce gets everyone to follow her outside to her car and unload everything into the kitchen, so that they can all sort through the canned food and other supplies.  Robin quickly knelt to give you a tight hug first, saying how fucking relieved she was that you were still here.  You hugged her back before she ran off to help the others.  Hopper stays behind with you, Murray and Steve.

“Dr. Owens will be coming here in the morning to check on your shoulder,” Hopper is telling you.  He really is a comforting father figure, and a strangely calming presence.  “Here, lemme take a look real quick.” 

You let him feel around, swallowing down the urge to hiss out in pain.  Hopper says it could just be sprained, or maybe even fractured.  But he says it's best if you don’t take any chances.  “Go ahead and lay down for the rest of the day, alright?  Get some sleep.  You’ve done…more than enough.”

You look down, ashamed.  “I’m so sorry.”

That makes Hopper look at you quizzically, brow furrowed.  Murray does too. 

“Why in the world are you sorry?” Hopper asks.

Steve looks at you in silent dismay. But you're sighing with your eyes downcast, not noticing...instead feeling his gaze.

“...'cause, if this hadn’t happened," you were saying, "We might’ve actually gotten something.  This put everyone behind.  I just…hate that I did that.”

Your uncle looked so disheartened.  “Kiddo, this isn’t your fault.  You didn’t do this.”

“It’s my fault,” Steve murmured, shamefully.  “I should’ve – should’ve…”

“No one is at fault here.  Period.”  Hopper spoke firmly, but with parental empathy and assurance.  He looked at Steve, hard now.  Then back at you.  “You guys did everything you could.  Alright?  We’re not behind.  If anything, we’re farther along now that we’re all safe and can actually come up with a better plan.”

You nodded.  He was right.  Hopper gave your knee a squeeze, ruffingling your hair for a moment before looking back at Steve sadly.  Steve hadn’t looked up again, frowning at his lap.  Hopper ducked his head to his eye level.  “Hey, kid.  You busted ass in making sure we didn’t let us lose a soldier today.  You get that, right?”

Steve shuddered a deep breath through his nose, curling in his lips.  After a few beats, he gave a curt nod.  Hopper’s frown deepened. 

“Steve.  You saved a life today.”

Steve looked up at him with the saddest eyes.  Murray was watching him with more empathy than you’ve ever seen.  You reached over to take Steve’s hand with your wrapped one.  He clutched it instantly, mindful of your injured palms and applying the pressure of his grasp to your fingers. 

“Yeah, you did,” you added softly.

Murray swallows, shuffling.  “Thank you.  For saving my niece today, Steve.”

Steve gives him the quickest of smiles and nods.  It’s clear that he’s fighting off emotion.

Hopper can tell that Steve is really struggling, and he gives his shoulder a squeeze before rising to stand.  He looks between the two of you.  He’s…picking up on the vibe.  He thought that maybe Steve just felt really shaken up about having to watch someone actually die today, then save their life.  That shit causes lifelong PTSD.  But Hopper could tell, it was more than that.  He cleared his throat.  “Let’s help her upstairs.”

But Steve immediately stood. “I got her.” 

Hopper and Murray watched him help you up, hooking your good arm over his shoulders.  Tenderly.  Kindly.  Protectively.  Steve's eyes, soft and fond, never looked away from you.

…yeah, the two grown men knew. They were 19 once.

Robin rounded the corner.  “Steve, can I help?”

Steve was walking up the stairs with you.  “S’okay, I got it.  Love you, Robs.” 

Robin scrunched her eyebrows together, confused as she watched her best friend continue to mount the stairs with you.  But Hopper, who was still watching you both as you walked upstairs, just gave her a reassuring nod.  Robin cocked an eyebrow.  What did Hopper know that she didn’t yet?  And Murray, who had an all-knowing expression on his face.  It was much more somber, compared to his usual shit-eating-grins that he wears when he’s onto something.  But still.  He was onto something. 

Murray cleared his throat awkwardly, before moving towards the kitchen. 

Hopper stopped him.  “Hey.  You alright?”

The smart-alec know-it-all actually paused to reflect before answering that question.  He took a deep breath. 

“You know that feeling you get when you’re worried sick El won’t come back, or something’ll take her?” 

Something flashes in Murray’s eyes, and it holds more vulnerability than he has ever shown. 

“I get it now.  That’s how I felt today.  And it did get her.  And I was the one here, telling them –” Murray stopped, intasking a sharp inhale and collecting himself.  “I get it now.”

Hopper’s concerned gaze exuded empathy and kindness towards Murray.  He patted his shoulder, hard, before Murray nodded and walked off to his room, muttering something about being back to help in a bit.  Hopper let him go.

Robin was still standing there, awkwardly.  “Hop, should I…do something?  I mean, my best friend just brought someone back from the dead today, and I’m not really sure he’s alright because he’s never one to crack but I know that he needs to eventually and —”

Hopper sighed, giving her a polite shake of the head and gently cutting her off.  “I think he needs to be with her for a while.  Trust me.  He’ll thank you for it.”

With a pat on her shoulder, he walked to the kitchen.  Robin stood there, perplexed.  Because while the circumstances were grim, and Steve was the most giving person that she knew — since when did her best friend fall hard for the girl he hated the most?

***

Steve was helping you slip out of your combat boots and socks.  Then your army pants.  He carefully helped slip some of his sweatpants over your legs, fasting them over your hips and tightening the string as tight as they’d go.  Then, he gingerly peeled your shirt off — mindful of your bad arm.  He slipped your hands into the arms of his yellow crewneck before you ducked to let him pull it over your head.  It was all definitely baggy on you...which you found yourself adoring. It felt intimate. Special.

The whole time, Steve was quiet.  The air felt tense.  And you knew that he was not about to make it much longer without finally releasing whatever it was that he was holding back.

Until today, you had never seen Steve Harrington cry.  You began to wonder if he ever let himself cry.  Even when the Russians were torturing him, he panicked instead of crying.  The only time that Steve had allowed himself to even get tearful was about Max.  But even so, he didn’t let it show much.  You figured that he maybe let himself cry whenever he was alone, or whenever it was just him in Max’s room.  He’d shown vulnerability that one day, when you both sat with her, when you read her letter to him out loud.  Steve was just…determined not to break down. 

So yeah, seeing him like that today?  Bawling his eyes out over you, of all things?  You were still processing that.

“Hey… How you feeling?” you asked him in a low voice, ducking your head and trying to catch his gaze.  Reaching up with your good arm, you played with the ends of his hair.  But he didn’t answer.  He seemed distracted, lost in thought as he stared at his shirt on you, his hands on your hips.

You swallowed, trying again.  “...wanna talk about it?”

He pursed his lips so you wouldn’t see them tremble. The words he should have said got stuck in his throat.  He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing.  He settled for —

“M’gonna shower real quick, okay?” 

Your heart sank at his words, breathed more than spoken.

Steve looked up at you with his best tight-lipped smile. You almost cried at the pain you saw behind it.  It was unfamiliar.  Completely foreign for him.  But there was a time for everything, and you knew it best not to push him right now. Not that anything had stopped you before. Normally, you’d grill him and not pay any mind to whatever argument it would cause.  But something about the way that Steve looked right now — so solemn, almost defeated — made you want to forget any sort of friction that the two of you so often had. It had seemed to subside a bit.

After that night.

Not completely, of course. Would it ever be gone completely? This catastrophic rivalry between the two of you? Unlikely. Then again, maybe it was just a matter of figuring out what to do with it.  For now, you knew it best to let him be.

You cautiously cupped his cheeks and dared to peck his lips. “Okay.  I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew that he was silently grateful.  He gave you a nod and headed into the bathroom.

You laid in bed, waiting patiently.  Some time passed before you heard the shower turning on.  Maybe ten minutes or so.  Finally, you could hear the faucet squeaking and the water began to run.  You laid underneath the covers, twiddling your thumbs and trying to not feel the pain in your shoulder.  But when another 20 minutes went by…then another 10…you couldn’t help but feel worried.  Something inside of you told you to go check on him.  It was like this…gut feeling. Still, you waited.

...and then you heard it.

A strangled choke.

The door had been left cracked, so you followed the sound and slowly pushed it open.  The air was hot, steamy.  You swallowed hard, hesitant to speak.

“Steve?”  Your tone was wary, timid. “I just…wanted to check on you.”

The silence that followed felt like it lasted a year.  The water splashing onto the ceramic floor of the tub is all you heard behind the shower curtain. 

"Can I come in?" you asked softly, pleading.

Then finally, a tight voice answered —

“Please."

Your clothes were on the floor in seconds, even though you grunted and hissed in pain when removing the shirt.  You couldn’t get into the shower fast enough.

Peeling back the shower curtain, you found Steve’s back to you with his head underneath the stream of water. He was engulfed in steam and mist, yet you could make out his back muscles and how tense he was as he leaned a palm against the tile wall.  His head was down, the hot water seeping down and hard onto the tub at his feet near the drain.  God, he was beautiful.  Even when he was such a prick in high school, you knew even then that Steve was still pretty. If you were being honest, though, he seemed far more beautiful now.  His toned, athletic torso glistened underneath the shower head, his skin the perfect shade of sun kissed tan.

Steve turned his head over his shoulder in your direction, slowly.  Almost afraid.  His gorgeous brown eyes were red and bloodshot, even more than they had been before.  Sad brown orbs stared back at you, water clinging to his lashes and his soaked hair.  There were unshed tears pooling inside those eyes, and he was just a blink away from letting them all fall down. 

He finally turned his whole body to you as you looked back at him, heartbroken, stepping towards him and reaching for his waist.  You could see his breathing intakes were short, the way you get just before you have a breakdown.

“Steve,” you started, devastated.

“I just — c-can you just —”

Hold me, you knew he was trying to ask.  Just hold me.

Steve’s voice broke halfway, timid in a way you’d never heard before. Not even that night, when you two had let all the walls come down. You knew what he was asking now. To be held, comforted. He just couldn’t say it, because he didn’t know how. For a fleeting second, you wondered if he considered the possibility of you saying no. If he thought that maybe his pain was some kind of burden, or shameful.

You brought him into your arms without saying a word, using your good arm to wrap up around his neck and your bad arm — screw it — to hold his waist.  You stroked and gripped at the wet hair that sat at the nape of his neck, feeling his lips dig into your shoulder.  You turned your head so that your lips were pressed to his temple, breathing against him.  Steve clung to you desperately, as if trying to use it as confirmation that you were actually still here...

Despite the last two nights, this is the first time you both truly felt naked in front of each other. You both stood, skin to skin, the water falling around you both, and while there was nothing sexual about this time — that seemed to make it stronger.  It felt as though your bodies were connecting in some sort of irreversible way.  Two souls being tethered, permanently intertwined.

“I almost lost you today.”  

Steve’s words sent shivers against your skin. You felt them more than you heard them. 

The memory of it was haunting for you, yes — but the way that his body trembled against yours with a barely restrained sob in his throat while in your hold, made you believe it had been even worse for him. It’s not every day that you witness someone’s eyes go lifeless in front of you. It’s not every day that you almost have the person you began to care about be taken from you in the worst possible way.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Harrington,” you tried, but when the only answer you got was him squeezing you tighter, you stopped deflecting. 

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, brushing your lips against his skin. “M’really, really sorry.”

You felt him shake his head against you. No, don’t be sorry.

“I know that you…” you trailed off, sighing.  “You guys went through hell.  Bringing me back. But hey, I knew that you’d be there for me. Even when I was astral planing.”

He still didn’t laugh.  Not even a little.  He just clung to you like a lifeline, trembling against you and haunted by the memory. 

You knew he was mentally fucked up from it.  Hell, you were too. But if you were being honest, there’s not much hell you’d had to go through on your end.  You were out like a light, then back again.  Sure, the pain was excruciating.  But for you, it was over just as soon as it had started.

Steve didn’t have such luxury, though.  You realized now that he’d had to watch you.  

Watch you fall.  

Watch you get hurt.  

Watch you die. Before —

“You saved me, okay? I’m right here.”

Pulling back only enough to look at him, you dared to cup his cheeks again and brush away his stray tears with your thumbs. Normally, he’d cringe at the mere thought of being emotional in front of you. That just wasn’t like him to be that way in front of anyone, least of all you. But right now, he looked lost and afraid. And he didn’t seem to care in the slightest how weak he looked or felt in front of you right now. 

In fact, the way he was looking at you — so haunted and traumatized — brought your heart a sense of pain that it never usually felt. You wanted to take it away from him, make it go away.

“Not going anywhere,” you promised him in a whisper, gently pulling the nape of his neck towards you so that he was leaning his forehead against yours.

In this moment, you thought back on how Steve had always had an oddly comforting presence about him, despite his cocky attitude. It surprised you, really. It came so naturally to him. But right now, it’s him who needed it. And that was alright with you.

“You guys got me,” you murmured.

Steve closed his eyes, his sharp nose nuzzling yours. 

“But what if we didn’t?” he breathed.

You watched as trails of shower droplets and tears made trails, finally released and passing over his perfectly placed moles and faint freckles.

“Fuck, Bauman, if I didn’t — if you’d…”

You held your breath as he choked on his whispered words, scared of them as he bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t. 

“God,” he shuddered in a whisper, clenching his eyes shut again as he leaned his forehead to yours. “If you were gone…”

“Hey, hey,” you shushed him gently.  

“After everything I’ve said, fuck…”

“Steve, it’s okay,” you breathed, your fingers stroking the wet locks of his hair near the nape of his neck.

“Can’t lose you,” Steve said in the most inaudible, croaked whisper.

“You didn’t, okay?” 

“I did,” he managed to wheeze, whispered and cracked. “I fucking did.”

You pulled back, forcing him to look at you.  His chocolate brown eyes were rimmed red, strained and distraught at the memory. 

Your hands still cupped his cheeks, gently tugging at the skin beneath his anguished eyes.  “You didn’t, and you won’t.”

You carded your fingers through his dropping locks of hair, pushing it away from his face so that you could look him dead in the eye when speaking to him.  You spoken in that foreign hushed tone that you seemed to only have reserved for Steve, breathing the words against his skin in the hot mist of the shower.  You pecked his lips between the words of comfort, letting each one linger long and longer.  And Steve leaned into each one, becoming more desperate and passionate each time.  And he physically refused to part his lips from yours, even when coming up for air was something you both needed. He just kept pressing short kisses, both feather-like yet urgent, to your lips in a series multiple pecks before burying his head back into your shoulder again. Steve curled more into you as you stroked his back.

“I’m right here, Steve,” you murmured to him.

Finally, he choked on a broken sob that he’d been so desperately holding back. The way it sounded so strangled and strained, you could tell just how painfully lodged it had been in his throat this whole time. It broke your heart into a million microscopic pieces, and as you held him in your arms you realized just how vulnerable this boy was despite never letting it show. Steve Harrington might’ve been an arrogant heartthrob in his teen years, but underneath it all he was just a boy longing for something more. He had so much love to give, despite not knowing what it felt like to have it given to him.

Except with you. With you, he could. 

He would.  He did.

“Here as long as you’ll have me,” you promised him.

The two of you stood there in the shower for God knows how long. You let him break down for however long he needed, which still felt cut off too soon. And after you both finally got out, Steve kissed you all the way from the bathroom to the bed, mindful of your injury. You let him lift you up and carry you there, lowering you onto the mattress with his lips still glued to yours. You let him feel every inch of your skin, delicately exploring it with hunger and need, as his lips glided across your jaw and his perfect teeth nipped at your neck. You let him suck your nipples as he squeezed your hips, keening in his grasp and allowing yourself to let go. 

And when Steve’s hard length pushed against your thigh, you let his hand lift you from underneath the bend of your knee so that he could push into you until you felt him up in your ribcage.

Everything was slow, lovesick and heartfelt.

This time it wasn't sex. This was lovemaking.

You let him groan into your mouth as you moaned into his. You let him whisper things to you that were somehow dirty yet beautiful, and when he began to quietly murmur into your lips something about needing you — something about not leaving him alone — you pulled his perfect mess of damp hair and swore into his lips that you would never leave him. Never never never, thrust thrust thrust.  He fell apart, and so did you. He was desperate, and so were you. He needed you, and you needed him.

Steve loves you.

And you love Steve.

Neither of you said it yet. But it didn't matter, because your uncle was right. 

We do love Steve.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

thank u angels sm or supporting this series. :''') it's been so fun writing a reader related to someone other than Dustin or Hopper, or even the Wheelers. feel free to send me requests related to this series -- do you have ideas or things you might wanna see unfold in this? I'm open.

tag list (thank u guys ily): @xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers @pleuviors @pumpkinonice @ihaveproblemsihaveproblems @brinleighsstuff @definitelynotherr Originalthingparadise @goosy-goose @frostandflamesfanfic @x-theolivia @beesox @definitelynotherr

IF I FORGOT YOUR TAG, PLS LMK! SOME OF THEM, TUMBLR WOULD NOT NOT LET ME TAG :( BUT FOLLOW ME FOR UPDATES:)

[she-whatshername]

Tyrrish Men Headcanons I made you vote for

Prompt: travel edition

Garrick:

When we getting to the airport: 3 hours ahead, the man is the son of aide of a duke. He is prompt

And yes, he does have a folder of everyone’s passports and flight information

He 100% owns TSA precheck/global entry

Is he holding your bags: Yes. You won’t touch a thing on your journey.

Will drop you off at check in and then go park through car so you don’t have to walk

Where are you sitting? Okay, I know he’s wealthy but are the aides of dukes aristocrats themselves or just well off people? I’m guessing you’ll do economy premium, maybe first class.

Honestly this man is a social butterfly and will just chat with the gate attendants and you’ll be bumped to first class. And yeah, he’s probably sweet talking with all the flight attendants.

Snacks and drinks: will order for you and be polite about it like “you wanted a whisky, right baby?”

He’d probably be that guy to clap when the plane lands. Idk why I just feel it lolol

Bodhi:

When we getting to the airport: maybe 2 hours before you take off.

Let’s be real, Bodhi is easy going by nature and Xaden forced him to be prompt and on top of things due to the revolution

Bodhi probably snoozes his alarm at least 4 times and takes awhile to actually get out of bed. So showing up to the airport early, meh.

Also let’s be real, you’re flying first class so you literally breeze through security and get to hang out in a lounge before take off

This man takes care of you. Literally everything is booked and you just have to show up.

Is he holding your bags: of course. Not only that, he packed all your stuff in his carry on so you could have more room to pack

Will hold your hand the entire way to the gate, on the flight, he’s got you

Where are you sitting: first class bb. Like the fancy fancy first class. You board the plane first and the attendants are like “welcome Mr. Durran.” lol

Snacks and drinks: duh. Champagne. Fancy snacks. Also he packed your favorite snacks in his bag for you.

He’s also checking in on you often, “comfortable, love? Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll wake you up when food gets here.”

An Angel this man is

Also if you’re napping he is 100% gushing to the flight crew about you.

Xaden:

Lolol

When we getting to the airport: whenever the fuck you want

You think this man is flying commercial.

Baby

You are in a car rolling up to the runway to a private jet. Crew waiting for your arrival

Is he holding your bag: nope. But neither are you. He’s got staff to take care of that.

You have the whole private jet to yourselves. You can sit wherever.

Snacks and drinks: your favorite drinks, snacks and foods are on board waiting for you. He’s got it all taken care of.

He will also ask the flight crew to take scenic routes to your destination, avoid paths where it could be bumpy, and basically treat you like the royalty you are

NSFW: Mile high club?? Skies the limit, BB.

His plane. His seats. His woman/man/partner

Also I feel like he’d be the guy to just get up and hop in the pilot seat like, “let me fly my girl to our destination”. And the flight crew is like, 👍🏽

If he had to fly commercial I think he’d be a wreck honestly lol. His trust issues would never

The Marked ones would draw straws/fight over who has to sit next to him lolol

Garrick is like “I usually handle him every day, it’s my vacation too. Bodhi, you get him on the way there and Im, you sit next to him when we go back.”

Liam:

I don’t think this man flies. He’s more of a roadtrip type.

Loves the joy of the journey with you, it’s part of the trip

And that suites you just fine

And he will absolutely drive the whole way unless you want to.

[dhampling]

the shepherd, the black sheep gn!reader, 2k

“Oh, come on now. It’s ok. They’ll come back, or they won’t.’ He sidles over and sits next to you. A toothy grin.  ‘It could be worse. We could be here without each other.” - a plummet into a chasm leaves you and your light-fingered friend stuck. together, you wonder if you'll ever emerge again.

word count: 2,054

as always, a big thank you to the nonnie who sent me the prompt: 'Tav/Reader & Astarion get trapped together somewhere during a mission and have to deal with the isolation and anxiety of waiting to be rescued by their other companions' - i hope i did it justice <3

-

He rolls his thumb and forefinger as he casts an absent glare into your makeshift fire. Sniffs. Whets his lips.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” He asks into the open space. 

You’re on the other side of the cavern, triple checking for access points you may have missed on your prior patrols.

It’s been a fraught few days but with the rescue of Halsin came much-needed information. A path to the heart of the Absolute. Finally your journey had a destination, and you’d started to gather momentum in knowing you had a set route to travel.

If Astarion’s revelation had only come a little later there’s no doubt your friends would be clamouring to save you both now.

He knows the camp is wary of him, even more so than before. You made clear in no uncertain terms that anyone unhappy with his vampiric presence was welcome to leave the party as soon as they pleased. He heard the rumbles, the whispers. The staunch distaste for your decision and the following questions on your capacity to make them.

The threat of a power vacuum seems only amplified by your current situation.

Lost in a deep cavern following a fall from a hefty chunk of loose rock, just the two of you. The shepherd, the black sheep. Your companions promising to return but with little by way of a plan to do so. 

It was only your decision to cast Feather Fall prior to crossing that you both survived the plummet.

He is simultaneously overwhelmed with gratitude, and furious beyond measure. 

Overwhelmed to the point of nausea. Deep, horrid nausea that seeps into his bones every time he’s conscious of it. A pounding headache, a splitting skull, a million times ‘why’; the way you reach for his hand in the darkest nights and it feels like a balm. Your neck on a platter. You listen to him and it feels as if the gods finally heard his call.

Incensed - pitifully - because he wishes with hindsight that he’d found a means to stop you casting the spell. He’d finally be dead, somewhere Cazador would never find him; and whatever tale the sordid scars on his back told would rot with him. He’d be left in peace in this cool, damp darkness and nothing would be able to mutilate any part of him again, minus the rats that’d very likely feast on his corpse.

How very funny. It almost seemed a shame to deprive himself of experiencing that one while still having a brain. The irony.

There’s peace here, in the drip-drops and the echoes. An ambience of sorts. A spacious tomb for his undead soul to frolic and haunt for all eternity. Maybe he’d set up his tent so he’d have somewhere for his ethereal spirit to lounge, put the bottles and bedrolls out. He did fall with his pack, after all. 

But you’d be dead, too.

He’d suffer the fall twice. Break his own neck, garrotte himself in unholy witness of whichever reaper came for you. Slam onto the floor of the cavern, repeatedly; until whatever remained of his mangled brain could be assured of your own safety and he could finally fucking die.

Having something to die for.

Now that’s a novel concept.

You amble your way back over to him, rubbing your forearm as you search the darkness mindlessly.

“Don’t know. They’re under no obligation to, I suppose.”

“Easy way to do away with us.” Astarion ponders.

“You might just be right.”

You sink to the floor, wrapping your arms around now-crossed legs and exhaling softly.

“Oh, come on now. It’s ok. They’ll come back, or they won’t.’

He sidles over and sits next to you. A toothy grin. 

‘It could be worse. We could be here without each other.”

When he says this, he expects you to flail your arms and chide him for his ill-timed attempt at humour. Tell him that you’d rather be here with anyone else in camp, that you hate the fact you’re so uncertain as to whether they’re coming back for you. Freak out in the way mortals often do. Reveal all those horrid little doubts over your staunch protection of him that he fears are stewing under the skin.

Instead, you meet his eyes and freely give a small smile. 

“Right again. Making a habit of this.”

“I’ll be careful darling. I wouldn’t want to set expectations now, would I?”

He can tell you’re uneasy, but he doesn’t seem to be the cause. Not remotely. If your body is anything to go by then he’s a solace here for you. 

For some reason, that suspicion makes him feel warmer. 

You look over the packs. You’re unsure how long you’ll be down here, or whether you should be preparing for the worst case scenario where food is concerned; but hunger pangs are worming their way through you already and you’re cursing the single coffee you had back at camp.

You’d like to think your new friends wouldn’t leave you here. Obviously far too optimistic a perspective for someone with a mind flayer parasite currently lodged in their head, but without hope you wager you’d very quickly become completely despondent.

In your mind, either possibility is a very real one. 

Astarion tilts his head to the side to make room for your own atop his shoulder.

The gesture surprises you in its intimacy. Not that you’ve noticed in any way aside from the purely observational, but his desire for physical contact seems relegated to that which is utterly necessary and nothing more.

The nights he has touched you have felt so.

This doesn’t feel necessary.

But it’s welcome, nonetheless.

“What can I do, my sweet? How can we make - this - easier.” He poses with a hint of a playful tone.

“I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are, Astarion.”

He shakes his head and smiles with mirth.

“No, no. Not unless that was a proposition on your part?”

He turns and looks down at you softly.

“Maybe later. I’m just cold.” You speak with little conviction.

No emotion, just absence. He wonders if you’re actually considering letting him warm you through. A service he finds himself surprisingly willing to offer, wanting to even; his brain struggling to consider it a service when he’d derive such genuine pleasure from burying his icy fingers deep into the valleys of your warm flesh, head reverently planting kisses on your heated belly; holding your blazing torso against his. Tarse twitches. 

Astarion hums.

“I could try to make you something, if you like?”

You scoff, a slight smile returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you, but I’ll decline. Tell me when the last time you cooked was again?”

He errs a little, wobbling his head and gesticulating softly.

“Details, darling, details.”

You both sit in silence for a few moments, undoubtedly thinking the same things. Mulling over the choices that led you here. There’s a fondness, though. A lack of regret. What will be, will be. 

“Was there wine in your pack?” You break the silence. 

His head perks up.

“Fancy a lock-in?” He grins cattishly. 

For the first time since your fall, you smile completely uninhibited.

“Gods, I think so. Not much else to be done, is there?”

-

It’s cosy. 

Inside Astarion’s tent are both bedrolls, plus whatever cushions and blankets you could find within your bags of holding; and copious bottles of wine plucked unceremoniously from the stockpile before heading out.

“I didn’t know if they’d take it as an opportunity to mutiny. Cast me aside, leave me to die. I had to take some of the good stuff with me just in case.” He grins.

“I can’t believe I’m so glad to find out you’ve been stealing from the group’s resources.” You lean back, enjoying the warmth of the fire on your icy flesh.

He scoffs.

“What?! It’s hardly an ongoing pursuit.’

He sips. Lowers his voice.

‘I don’t particularly want to give them more of a reason to stake me.” 

Hearing his resigned tone makes your heart ache a little.

“They’d have to stake me too. I’d move too fast for that, obviously.” You mimic quick gestures with your hands, monk-style. He splutters on his wine. 

“What on earth was that?”

“A demonstration of my battle prowess?”

You chop again with your hands, moving quicker as he folds with laughter.

“The focus in your eyes, darling. It’s remarkable.” He breathes heavily.

“Obviously? I’m ensuring they can’t stake either of us?” 

You commit to the bit, chopping in the space all around you until your companion has tears in his eyes and is gasping for unnecessary breath.

“Thank gods I have a hero like you to protect me, hm? My knight in shining armour.” He practically purrs, wiping the tears and resting on his elbow.

“Just be thankful you’re not the one who has to fight against these hands.” You shake your head and dust them off with exaggerated finesse. 

“I’d feel sorry for the poor bastard who does.”

He likes how absolutely ridiculous you are at this moment. It’s sobering. Two hundred years and he hasn’t seen someone with quite the ability to create a levity like you just brought to the situation.

Your devotion - though used in jest - doesn’t pass him by unnoticed, either.

A beat of silence.

You pour another big goblet of wine and stare into the abyss.

“What if we are just stuck down here?”

He ruminates, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Then we have three options.’

He looks at you.

‘One. We find a way to climb that crag right to the very top.’

You both look up to where he points. Above you, minus some jutting rock, is a chasm as wide as the sky.

‘Two. We repopulate down here somehow and create our very own race of awfully mutilated creatures to fool the gang into thinking it’s someone else they lost down here. We can’t replicate Gale exactly, obviously, but I think they’ll begin to look similar after a couple generations of natural inbreeding.’

You pull a face and shiver. He shrugs.

“Three. We get cosy, and go out happy. There’s nothing we can do from here.”

Astarion lifts his chalice in a moribund toast, gesturing for yours to meet him in the air.

“I’m grateful you’re here.” Your cup clinks against his.

A moment’s silence. 

“I’m grateful it’s you.”

He looks at you once more. 

He could’ve been down here with anyone. Most of them would have staked him immediately. Said the Feather Fall had worn off, that nothing could be done. He’d have been left here, dead, with nobody to remember the only weeks of freedom belonging to him in the last two hundred years of his miserable existence.

But there’s you. There’s always you.

He wonders how you would react. Whether you’d shrug and remain stoic, returning back to the wants of the masses, just another fallen body. Throw some nightshade into the abyss in memory and move on.

Of course you wouldn’t.

“I don’t regret it, you know.” You speak as you sip, still looking up into the cavern’s sky.

“I- Thank you.’

You sit in silence for a few minutes, the drip-drops of the cavern a calm backdrop.

‘Between friends - you’re a little in love with me, aren’t you?”

You swallow a gulp of wine and wobble your head. Gesture lazily into the air around you.

“Not yet, no.”

He moves to object, but is caught mid-breath. 

“We’re doomed anyway. What if I said it? Those three little words?”

You laugh and sip again.

“What the hells. I’d say it back. Hope we live long enough to see it play out.”

Astarion looks at you fondly. There’s a genuine reverence in his eyes, soft and considered; and for the first time you see no barriers. If there’s a future in which the two of you don’t starve to death then he sees you there aside him.

“I love you.”

You bring his palm to your cheek and hold it there for a moment, closing your eyes and nuzzling against it.

“I love you, too.”

He swills the last of his current chalice in his mouth and swallows, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it reverently.

“Now we drink, and we wait.”

-

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Options for the next web serial Patreon vote

It's time to vote on what the next derinwrites web serial will be. Sample chapters for each option will be provided shortly, then a poll will go up so that patrons can vote on what web serial I should write next.

Inner Life

Nobody knows who they really are when they’re first born. But most people get time to figure it out, and when you’re a body-snatching alien parasite, you don’t get that luxury. The parasites that find themselves on the starship Jolly Codger don’t know what a human is, or what their spaceship’s mission is, or where they’re going. They don’t know who on the ship is an ally, and who is an uninfected human who’ll kill them the moment they’re detected. But they’d better figure it out, because the Jolly Codger has its own secrets and its own enemies, and the real threat isn’t the crew – it’s what’s chasing them.

Child of a Wandering Star

Tyk is a normal adolescent girl, interested in normal adolescent things – earning gems for her carapace, learning to be the best burrower for the hive, making her mother and father and altmother and altfather proud of her. But Tyk was born under a Wandering Star, destined to be a traveller, and it’s hard to really feel a part of a hive that raises you with the expectation of watching you leave them someday. Tyk doesn’t want to go. She’s ready to fight destiny.

But her destiny finds her when a star-egg falls from the sky and hatches a baby god. Soft-shelled, two-legged and clawless, this larva is all but helpless on its own and quickly attaches itself to Tyk. The Stargazers divine that it should be brought to Starspire, the place where earth meets sky, so that it can be returned to its people. This, here, is the destiny that Tyk was born to.

But Tyk’s not sure she’s cut out for such a gruelling journey, and she’s certainly not cut out for raising a baby god. Is this really her journey to make?

Silverbane

Jade was just looking to fulfil her jobseeker requirements and get her Centrelink payment. She didn’t expect to actually get the job working at the mysterious new pawn shop full of weird, creepy artefacts. She had no interest in dealing with bleeding knives, ghost dolls, and whatever the hell it is that keeps using all the mugs in the break room without washing them, even when nobody’s present in the shop but her.

Jade would like to be able to shrug and say that it’s none of her business. She really, really wishes that she was the kind of person who could leave things alone if they weren’t her business. But after snooping a little too deep a little too often, she finds herself tangled up in something a lot scarier than the occasional haunted doll, working for the kind of… “people”… who are perfectly happy to eliminate something the moment it becomes more dangerous to them than useful. And through them, she can learn more about how the world really works than she ever expected.

She just has to hope that it’s worth it.

Our Side of the River Styx

A woman who can see the dead joins forces with her zombie wife to become exorcists-for-hire, helping the dead and living alike find peace. But there’s something strange going on with the barrier between worlds; something stranger than murderous phantoms in white or menacing shadowy figures in hotels. Something… organised. Something growing.

The exorcists are out to pay the rent, not save the world. But when a string of supposedly unconnected jobs forms such an obvious trail of bread crumbs, what is there to do but follow it? Will our Styx-crossed lovers figure out what’s at the heart of this conspiracy in time to thwart it, or does this adventure end in a long-overdue funeral?

The Princess of Ruby Island

Every little girl dreams of being whisked away to be the princess of a magical world on their tenth birthday. But for Jessica Nyle, born on February 29th, finding herself in a strange magical realm on her tenth birthday at age 40 is surprising, to say the least. And what they don’t tell little girls about fantastical magical realms built from dreams is that they’re prone to environmental instability, which can cause mass famine. And that magical limitations can cause factionalisation and extreme power imbalances, which leads to oppression and war. And that the idea of an island made entirely of ruby sounds fantastic, but ruby loses its charm and value as a gemstone when it’s literally the ground you walk on and, as a probably unimportant side detail, one thing you can’t do with ruby is grow crops in it. So that’s less than ideal.

This isn’t the whimsical adventure that mass media had lead Jessica to expect as a child, where all you needed to do to save the world was be brave and true and hold love in your heart and believe in yourself despite everything. Being the Princess of Ruby Island is a dirty job that requires cunning, hard work, political acumen, and a whole lot of luck. And it certainly doesn’t help that forces festering on Ruby Island were quite comfortable filling the previous power vacuum and would very much prefer it if there was no Princess bustling about and messing up their plans.

This is gonna take the power of a LOT of friendships to sort out.

The Cinder Boy

Owen is a wizard’s servant, and has been since he was old enough to walk. He doesn’t remember the mother who abandoned him there or the world she came from, and has never really thought much on the issue. Until the day the old crone comes to the wizard’s tower and, defying the wizard who tries to throw her out (Owen had never, until that moment, see anybody successfully defy the wizard), tells him that his mother was one of the Cinderellae, the hidden organisation of destiny-weavers named for the punishment doled out to them if they are caught – to be burned alive on the town pyre. Other people, she tells him, will try to get their hooks in him, and this tower can no longer keep him safe.

With the help of three friendly breezes trapped in the bodies of helpful mice and a shard of mage glass for protection, Owen must journey into the dangerous world that the wizard’s tower has sheltered him from his whole life. He’s watched the wizard weave people’s destinies for years, but until now, he’s never had to weave his own.

He’d better figure it out fast. Because danger is brewing in the kingdom, and he seems to be somebody’s pawn. He just wishes he knew whose.

Drops of Blood Like Neon Stars

This one is already being written on and off in my free time. Promoting it to main story would allow me to spend my full time on it and ensure weekly updates.

Vampires are good at stability. Life in the Scarlet City has been stable, despite the competing blood factions, for a long time, as has been their mutually beneficial relationship with the human city above. But when a drastic political play by young vampires coincides with a mysterious slate of human murders, Lissa needs to find out what’s going on and put a stop to it before the City is plunged into all-out war.

Holy Light

It’s been 164 years since the Rapture, and 157 years since the end of the world, but humanity’s still doing what humanity does best: holding on. Ageless and resistant to damage and disease, the people who had the luck and quick thinking to hide themselves from God’s purifying light as it uplifted every soul it touched a century and a half ago live on in the dark, doing their best to keep going forward in a world trying to end. But with no new souls coming into Earth, no children have been born since the end. And all it takes to be abducted to heaven is one mistake, one small kiss of sunlight. Eventually, humanity is going to lose this fight.

But Claire thinks she might have found an answer. A way to bring new children into the world once more, a way to return to the flow of normal time. And if it works, then just maybe, they can save the world.

I Am Not The Chosen One

Hannah is having mysterious dreams of a gate on a hill. Jake is getting urgent messages from a strange man in the mirror. Victoria might have accidentally summoned a demon, and Blaire is the luckiest unlucky seventeen year old in the world and has almost died three times this week alone, which is great for his tiktok career but less so for his long-term survival. But the thing that’s really interfering with all of their lives is the shadowy organisation of strangers who keep trying to abduct them.

They’re looking for the Chosen One. The Chosen One, firstborn child of the lost princess of Vanalia, needs to go with them through a portal to a magical land to save everyone there from a tyrannical dark lord, but anyone other than the Chosen One would almost certainly die. Hannah, Jake, Victoria and Blaire are pretty sure that none of them are the Chosen One, but the strangers seem dead set on trying anyway. The only way out seems to be to find this lost princess or her firstborn child for these strangers, and send them off on a magical coming-of-age adventure. But how does one even go about tracking down a Chosen One?

Denise Frank’s Feelgood Recipe Blog

Join me, Denise Frank, on my blog, where every week I share one of my favourite recipes! Every recipe blog needs long, rambling personal stories before getting to the recipe, and mine is no exception. I’ve had a lot of time to cook and not many people to talk to since The Event, so you can expect a high quality blog from me, full of recipes that have been tried hundreds if not thousands of times! Thousands of times over thousands of days. Thousands and thousands of days. I’d have thought I’d be noticeably older by now, but I’m not. I guess that’s what good food and a positive attitude can do for you!

Come and visit my blog for delicious recipes and happy memories, and positive affirmations to help you make it through the day! After all, we gotta get through today to see tomorrow, and there’s gotta be something worth seeing tomorrow! Experience suggests that it probably won’t be something pleasant, but it’ll definitely be something worth seeing! This has to end eventually. Join me to learn to make delicious apple crumble, a microwave brownie for every day of the week, and a beef jerky recipe that my husband used to love! Can’t wait to see you there!

I’d really like to see you.

[celestoria]

Royal Scandals

Summary: Who knew the beloved princess of the kingdom was so debaucherous?

Characters: duke!ayato, butler!thoma, wizard!albedo, prince!scaramouche (seperate)

Tags: cockwarming (ayato), blindfolds, restraints, oral (male receiving), dom!reader (thoma), aphrodisiacs, fingering (albedo), semi-public, degradation. asphyxiation (scaramouche)

A/n: I have been binging villainess manwha again. Everyone say thank you to Villains are Destined to Die for this super self indulgent brainrot of mine.

Do not interact if you are 16 or below (17+)

Ayato, the duke

Papers scattered over Ayato’s desk while you leaned on his chest. Your restless hips squirmed and your walls tightly clenched on the duke’s shaft. You were so full of him and you want him to make you feel like you’re in heaven.

“Your Grace, please move. This is too much to bear,” you whined. 

Ayato giggled. “Didn’t we agree that we’ll do it when all of this is done? Be patient, Your Highness.” 

You were about to lose it if at any moment if he goes on to tease you like this any longer. All you could think about is how he’d ruin your insides as you had yourself wrapped tightly around him.  

Finally, Ayato placed down his pen. His gentle hands ghosted your soft thighs before finding their way to your delicate bud. Hisfingers circled your most sensitive spot, causing whimpers to spill from your mouth.

“Now, what kind of loyal subject would I be if I can’t give Your Highness what she wants,” he whispered into your ear. 

Ayato roughly slammed himself in and out of you as if you were his human fleshlight. Dukes don’t have power over royalty but when you are with him, you’re in total submission. 

Thoma, the butler 

Thoma sat in the middle of your room with his hands bound and a blindfold covering his eyes. You slowly undid his dress shirt and loosened his tie before pecking lipstick stain marks his chest.

“Your Highness, I don’t think this is right. What if the king finds o-“ Thoma complained only to be stopped by your lips colliding. 

Sloppy kisses made your mouth numb. Thoma’s cheeks were burning up as your lips peppered his neck with your love only for you to part yourself from his flushed skin.

“No one will catch us. Have faith in me,” you reassured before you slowly descended to the carpet floor and undid Thoma’s pants. 

Thoma’s cock stood hard and beads of precum formed at the tip. Your hands slowly moved up and down and your mouth took him from the tip of his cock. Thoma jerked and whimpered. How can a butler like him receive such an intimate form of affection from a princess such as yourself?

“Your Highness, I think I’m going to cum,” his breathy whimpers cried. Seconds after his semen spilled into your mouth, leaving you with the sweet taste of him. His cock twitched and his head rolled to the back as he panted. 

“Now, now. Thoma,” you cooed. “Don’t get tired just now. We’ve only just begun.”

Albedo, the royal wizard 

Albedo pinned you down by the wooden bookshelf of notes and sketchbooks. Your flushed, delicate skin was so sensitive to his touch that it was as if it’s enough to make you cum. His teeth tugged on your lower lip as he slowly pulled away before he looked deep into your eyes with lust and desire. 

“It seems like the potion is taking effect. Wouldn’t you say the same, Your Highness?” He was foolish to fall for your little dares since now Albedo wants nothing but his cock balls deep inside of you. 

However, he didn’t dare to hurt the sweet princess who conveniently snuck her way into the isolated tower with her most revealing dress. 

Slender fingers made their way under the slit of your dress as it hooked down your undergarments. One hand skillfully circled your clit, letting out a satisfied moan escape your lips, while the other grabbed you by the wrists and placed it above your head. Trails of hickeys covered your collarbone as his kisses journeyed to your neck. Your legs trembled under his touch and your cries were getting louder.

Oh, how he loved it when you moan out his name like that. 

Soon after, Albedo split the skirt’s slit wider and pulled your thigh up. His hips sloppily grinding on you as his crotch started to form a bulge.

Either it’s you or the aphrodisiac talking, but you can’t wait for him to fuck you until you’re a complete mess.

Scaramouche, the prince of a rival kingdom

Only the winding woods acted as a border for both of your kingdoms. Reckless as it is, it’s your meet-up spot with Scaramouche, prince of your father’s loathed kingdom but your most devious secret of secrets. 

Your hands pressed on the trunk of a maple tree and your ass bent over to the man behind you. His dick pumped you roughly and deeply while he pulled you by your neck to his chest. 

“I wonder what your father would say when he finds out his darling daughter is fucking his enemy’s son, wouldn’t you agree? You’re such a slut,” he said with such disdain before he grunts from how your walls clenched around him like a snug fit. “But I love that about you.” Scaramouche’s voice brought shivers down your spine as he whispered those honey-coated words in your ear. 

The grip on your neck slowly loosened and he went down to pinch your erect nipples. Your head starts to roll back and your moans are more saturated in pleasure.

But you felt like that wasn’t enough.

“Are you planning to make me cum by hurting me or are you just too scared to admit this is the fastest you can go,” you teased, clearly agitating the prince. 

“Tch, I’ll show you.” Scaramouche pressed you down by the tree once again. His hips collided with yours at a speed so merciless. Rough hands held your hips so firmly you were sure it’s gonna leave a bruise. Your mindless whimpers brought a sense of triumph to the prince knowing that to get you to this state was all on him.

“I thought you were here complaining? Seems like you can’t take me, huh,” he said arrogantly. “Fuck, you’re so tight. I can’t wait to make you my little cum dump for the night.” 

[rpmemes-galore]

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides ... sentence starters

“Oh! A knife?”

“Walk or die.“

“You're killing her!”

“All part of the plan, yes?“

“Such beauty. Yet deadly.“

“Admit it. You still love me.”

“You are aware of the ritual?“

“You bastard, how could you?“

“Wait! I am with child... yours.“

“I heard where you're headed.“

“How can you say I used you?“

“All die. Even you. Soon, I hear.“

“The lies I told you were not lies.”

“That's very good, may I use that?“

“As do I. Always have, always will.”

Oh no, no, I've seen a thing or two.”

“You're either with us or against us!“

“I can save you. You need only ask.“

“I've actually never been that drunk.“

“He's religious, I believe it's required.“

“Who's to say I won't live forever, eh?“

And how will I get free of these bonds?“

“You lied to me by telling me the truth?“

“Mistook it for a brothel. Honest mistake.“

“I'm not with you, neither am I against you!“

“You will go. You will return. Or I will kill her.“

“I was wrong. Not every soul can be saved.“

“Maybe you don't believe in the supernatural?”

“I may have had... briefly, mind you... stirrings.”

“Face is familiar. Have I... threatened you before?“

“I cannot save you both. One of you must sacrifice.“

“You've stolen me. And I'm here to take meself back.“

“If not for me, you would never have been captured...”

“I think you might be better off if you just... stay out of it.”

“I'm starting to think you don't know where you're going.“

“It's not the destination so much as the journey, they say.“

“Have I mentioned, sir, what a lovely daughter you have?“

“Mutiny served me well. It gained me an audience with you.“

“Your father saved you. Perhaps his soul is now redeemed.“

“Does this face looks like it's been to the Fountain of Youth?“

“Did everyone see that? Because I will not be doing it, again.”

“You're the one who insisted on bringing the bloody mermaid!“

“If I don't kill a man every now and then, they forget who I am.“

“How is it we can never meet without you pointing something at me?“

“Captain, I wish to report a mutiny. I can name fingers and point names.“

“Seeing as how you're still alive, I say it's all been very successful thus far.“

“You demonstrated a lot of technique for someone I supposedly corrupted.“

“I thought I should give you fair warning, we're taking the ship. Nothing personal.“

“No, no, no, no, not quite all the way to feelings. More like... All right feelings, damn you.“

“You broke free of your bonds thirty minutes ago, waiting for the precise moment to pounce.“

“You know the feeling you get when standing in a high place, the sudden urge to jump... I don’t have it.”

“My God, you will not take her. If you have taken her, give her back. Give her back...please...”

“I be placed in a bewilderment. There I were, resting. And upon a sudden, I hear an ungodly row on deck.“

“Sailors abandoning their posts, without orders, without leave. Men before the mast, taking the ship for themselves.“

“Better to not know which moment may be your last. Every morsel of your entire being alive to the infinite mystery of it all.“

We shall need a crossbow, an hourglass, three goats, one of us must learn to play the trumpet, whilst the other one goes like this.”

Such beauty. Surely you are one of God's own creations and not a descendant of those dark creatures who found no refuge on the Ark.“

[whenlostinthedarkness]

Afterglow: Chapter 5 - No Idea

Lead Singer!Reader x Lead Guitarist!Ellie Williams

Summary: Your band journeys to California for a performance where you and Ellie just may have taken things too far.

Warnings: Angst, Infidelity, and a small bit of sexual content (thigh riding)

WC: 5.2k

A/N: You know the drill! Listen to the song No Idea by MUNA and watch the performance while you're at it too - here . Enjoy!

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✮ taglist: @diddiqueen @camillecrellin @teawithnosugar

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“You’re an idiot, you know that!” Your elbow dug into the side of Ellie’s ribs, causing her to mouth a yelping sound along with a mischievous grin.

“I didn’t do shit! You’re the one who liked it.”

You didn’t say anything to her teasing, instead, you opted for a smile that said every word.

Eventually, Ellie’s attention was caught on the screen of her phone, leaving you to look around the first class section of the plane. Per usual, you felt a shaking in your limbs as you watched other passengers find their seats or stick their luggage in an overhead compartment. Everyone seemed so excited to be lifted into the air inside an enclosed capsule, flown across thousands of miles of land and sea, and dropped off at their desired destination just like that. Is that not crazy to anyone else?

As if she already knew, Ellie’s hand slid to fit in between your fingers, making you jolt slightly.

“You okay?” She spoke softly into your ear as her hand gave yours a slight squeeze before settling to hold your palm with hers. 

You hesitantly nodded, because sure, you weren’t hyperventilating on the floor (yet), but you also weren’t sunshine and rainbows either. “You know how I am with these damn things.”

Ellie nodded in understanding as she took both of your interlocked hands and brought them down to rest on the top of her thigh that was crossed widely over her leg. If you had asked yourself days ago if you’d ever be in a situation like this with Ellie again, you would’ve said not a million years.

 Look at you now.

“You never liked things that you couldn’t control.”

This made you winch a bit, even though Ellie had no intention of bringing up some of the very words that were spoken minutes before she stormed out of your shared apartment those years ago. It stung and Ellie could see that all over your face.

“I-i mean like you know, roller coasters and shit. You never liked things that you couldn’t know the outcome of..”

There Ellie was, digging herself into an even deeper hole. Thankfully, you found that humor outweighed the remembered pain, at least for now.

“You’re fine Ellie.”

Her dough eyes looked up at your warm, grinning face with the sincerest of apologies, you couldn’t help but bring your other hand to pinch at the skin on the tip of her chin. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Don’t say that,” Ellie shook her head with playfulness to her pupils, “I'll have to be way more nervous from now on if you’re going to grab my chin like that.”

Her suggestive eyes made your mouth lower as your mind thought of playfully smacking Ellie on the side of her cheek, but opted that she may enjoy that part a little too much as well.

“You can’t say shit like that out loud!” you whispered through gritted teeth as your eyes scanned your surface area to make sure no one had laid their attention on the both of you.

Ellie grinned cheekily, knowing that her flirtations would get a rise of a reaction from you, and damn was she right.

It was scary how much comfort she was finding in using the old tricks she had sitting in a metaphorical box. Now, it was like the box had never been super glued shut, tossed in a corner, and cursed from ever being ripped open again. Instead, Ellie found the box cutter and took that bait the second she was able to. Not that you weren’t a willing participant either.

Just then, a voice came over the intercom as it warned that lift-off would be happening shortly and seatbelts were mandatory - something you’d buckled yourself into the second your ass sat in your seat thirty minutes ago.

Ellie pulled the strap of the seatbelt across the entire length of her mid-half, snapping the buckle shut before her eyes went directly back to you.

Your hands were tense as they pinched the top fabric on the leg of your sweatpants. Your knees bounced at an alarming rate, one that made Ellie’s seat vibrate and alert her to just how well, or not well, you were holding up.

“Hey,” Ellie nearly whispered as she tucked away the hair blocking your side profile from her view. Your eyes glanced over towards her just as you were letting out a breath through your nose.

“C’mere.”

Without much thought, Ellie wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close to her as possible. The only time she released her comfort was when the plane made a graceful landing in its designated location. 

—-

It was much warmer in California.

Your skin was sticky as you peeled the hoodie off of your arms-in desperate need of some free flowing air to cool down your rapidly growing body temperature.

“Damn”, Ellie said as her hand shielded her eyes from the bright sun. “This is a fucking contrast.”

Jesse laughed, “Yeah seriously.”

The entire band stood in a circle formation just outside the back entrance of the music venue. It was a type of space that you always appreciated. The ethereal architecture, vintage warm wallpaper, and high ceilings almost made you feel as if you were in a church, except this building held far less trauma.

Ellie flicked her finger along her lighter as a loose cigarette emerged from behind her ear. Even though you tried your hardest to ignore her plump lips as they wrapped around the thin white cylinder, your eyes betrayed you.

As Ellie exhaled her first intake, her eyes moved upwards and instantly met with yours. You quickly moved your eyes, but knew that you were caught. Except this time it didn’t feel as though you were caught doing something you weren’t allowed to do. This time felt more like that embarrassment you feel after getting caught doodling someone’s name over and over in a notebook. 

Ellie felt flattered and cocky all in one knowing that you were watching her with that look that she knew had you creating scenarios she would hopefully get to act out on you later. She couldn’t help but smirk as she silently teased and taunted you in the friendliest way possible.

Sadly, the quiet flirting came to a halt as Ellie’s hands began digging in each of her Jean pockets as she searched for her vibrating phone. 

Immediately, a new pinch of guilt and fear hit Ellie like a ton of bricks as her eyes nervously looked back at yours. 

“I uh-gotta take this.”, Ellie addressed the group while holding up her phone just before she slid her thumb along the screen. Her voice was low as she walked away from the group, but you were still able to make out the gut wrenching  “hey babe”  she spoke to her girlfriend on the receiving end.

Dina studied you. The way your body tensed and the way your pupils grew twice their normal size. She didn’t want it to be true-god, she really didn’t, but She was growing tired of having zero answers to her inquiries so she took matters into her own hands while she had the opportunity.

“You wanna go on a walk?”, Dina said as she nodded towards you with her hands stuffed inside her front pockets.

You nodded with guilt graffitied all over your face as you mentally scorned yourself about being less obvious from here on out. Now, you just had to face your friend and ensure that everything was fine.

“What’s up with you and Ellie?”

Dina didn’t waste time beating around the bush once the both of you made your way into the venue and began walking through the large empty space. You were just happy she was bringing this up when it was just the two of you instead of in a group setting.

“What do you mean? Everything’s fine.”

Dina shook her head, humored, “It is so clear that things are different between you and Ellie..I don’t know what happened at the hotel that night, but ever since then you’ve both been acting weird around each other.”

“Weird how?”

Again, Dina shook her head, but this time, her feet came to a halt. “Don’t lie to me like that babe. I know you and Ellie better than that.”

She was right. She had known every phase of you and Ellie all the way from roommates to crushes to girlfriends to ex’s. This was going to be tough to hide from her, not to mention, it didn’t feel right keeping something like this from someone who was your best friend. But what else could you do?

“Alright-yeah… Something did happen last night.” You started as Dina braced herself for the worst while she nodded to encourage you to continue.

“It just kind of happened… I didn’t mean for it too, but… me and Ellie talked about everything. Our break up and relationship. We’d never really gotten that closure from each other after everything went down and we sort of laid it all out on the table.”

You hated lying to her-your best friend and confidant, but you couldn’t have her thinking you were a home wrecker either. Her opinion was much too valuable to you and jeopardizing that would feel like letting down your parents or guardian.

“Awe babe,” Dina relaxed honestly as she smiled and rested a reassuring hand on the top of your shoulder. “Is that why you guys have been-I don’t know, “she trailed off, then made direct eye contact, “...more friendly with one another? I almost swore you guys were flirting, but it makes sense now that you were both just more comfortable around each other.”

You knew she was buying everything you were feeding her and that’s what made the sting of it that much worse. Lying to one of your best friends never felt good, but gaslighting her into believing what she was seeing was incorrect, somehow felt that much more betraying.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nodded, “It’s like a weight has been lifted or something. We can talk to each other without this weird barrier now ya know?”

Dina smiled and nodded along as she grabbed both of your hands. “All I ever wanted for the both of you was for you to find happiness. Even if that happiness isn’t with one another in a romantic sense.”

Your front teeth jammed into your lower lip at the mention, but you kept your lips pinched together in a smile that you hoped didn’t look too much like a disguise.

“...i’m just fucking glad this is out of the way now. I’m sure it’s easier on your friendship now that everything's out in the open.”

The guilt began to weigh heavier and heavier the longer this conversation went on. You were desperately searching for a way to end it in a way that wasn’t abrupt or obvious. 

“Yeah it is for sure. It’s been nice,” you said with eyes that swiveled around the room until you laid eyes on your escape.  “Hey, I'm going to hit up the bathroom.”

With departing words, you and Dina both split off in opposite directions and Thank god, because you were in desperate need of breathing room.

As you entered the bathroom, the first thing you did was press your palms on the bathroom sink and look at yourself in the mirror. You felt uneasy staring back at the person who just lied repeatedly to their friend and bandmate. You’d never had anything happen that you didn’t feel comfortable telling Dina. It felt weird to have this type of confidential information, with no one to share it with. Well, except for-

Suddenly, the squealing of a stall door opened and out walked the very thing that had lie after lie rolling off of your tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

“So I'm not allowed to use the bathroom now?” Ellie quirked as she walked to the long double sink next to the one you still had your hands pressed against.

“I didn’t see you come in-you scared the shit out of me.”

Ellie’s damp hands reached for a nearby paper towel just before she, so slowly it almost felt like slow motion, slipped two silver rings over one finger on each hand.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t watch. Ellie would be lying if she said she didn’t do it on purpose.

“So..how are you?”

“Seriously Ellie?”, you disputed as your lower back rested along the porcelain of the white sink.

Of course, Ellie came to stand directly in front of you, but not without checking her surroundings first to make sure you were truly alone.

She had a look in her eyes that had you aching for her hands to reach out and touch you. You invited her in closer with a silent nod.

“Can I kiss you?” Ellie spoke with the softest voice you’d ever heard. Of course, you couldn’t help but nod at the green eyes that were glistening at you.

Her mouth tasted like honey and Marlboro as the dew from her chapstick spread onto your lips, making you rub them together once both of your mouths had departed the others.

“I missed this.”

You nodded in agreement, “I did too.”

“For how long?”

You looked at her puzzled, “What?”

“How long have you missed this?”

Her forehead rested against yours as she asked you the question that made you want to crawl under a rock and never, ever reveal your true answer. You stayed silent as a large gulp moved through your throat.

“What if I said that I've missed this for a really long time.”

You shook your head at her confession as if what she said wasn’t true or that you didn’t want to believe it was true. “Don’t say that.”

Ellie’s forehead creased up as she questioned, “Why?”

Because in your eyes Ellie had it all. She had a loving girlfriend that supported her entirely and to the ends of the earth. They both seemed so happy and so in love and everyone else thought the same as you, but how can two people be so in love if the other is desiring secret affection with another person, let alone a person who is their ex.

Ellie didn’t like your puzzled face or the silence. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I missed it?”

Your eyes burned the second they locked with hers, making you pull them away quickly. “What about Kat Ellie?”

“What about her?”

You sighed loudly as your hands raised in the air briefly before smacking back down against your legs in frustration. “How can you say that you missed this when you and Kat seem so happy together.”

“We are happy together,” Ellie verified with lips that sat in an unreadable straight line and yes that were avoidant.

“Then how can you miss us kissing and..doing whatever this is and be happy with your girlfriend?”

That one had Ellie stumped. She searched every crevice, unpacked every suitcase, and unraveled every scrap piece of paper that was floating around in her brain, but she didn’t have an answer. Instead, she stood with arms crossed in front of her chest until she thought of what to say next.

“If you don’t want to do this just say so-.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” Ellie questioned with a voice that begged to raise an octave, but she fought the urge. “Why can’t you just accept the fact that I like kissing you and touching you and being around you? This is exactly what we did when we were dating.”

“Because we aren’t dating Ellie! We are sleeping around behind your girlfriend's back which is the complete opposite of dating.”

A build-up that felt like fire rose in Ellie’s brain. She couldn’t tell the difference between anger and tension. “Then tell me that you want to stop! I don’t know what you want from me!.” 

“God fucking damn it Ellie!” You began pacing in a circle until your forehead gently met the white bathroom wall. With closed eyes, you rested in her words. What were you trying to do by bringing this up? Were you trying to find a reason to stop this? Why would you stop something that felt so damn good?

Ellie was hesitant, yet followed through as she slowly wrapped her arms around your center and rested her chin on your shoulder. “What are you feeling right now?”

You didn’t know or you didn’t care to know. Everything felt so damn complicated.

“I don’t know”, you simply stated before a layer of silence comfortably filled the porcelain filled room.

To both of your shock, the bathroom door flew open. Surely not with enough time for you and Ellie to part and act as if you were having a normal gathering with your bandmate.

Luckily it wasn’t anyone either of you knew. Ellie mumbled a fuck under her breath as she silently ushered you to the door as quickly as possible.

———

“How are we feeling so far California?!” You spoke into your microphone just before bringing a water bottle to your parched lips. Your question was answered by the screams of the crowd that seemed to never end as you peered over the tops of thousands of people’s heads.

“I don’t think we could hear you,” Ellie smirked as she shouted excitedly into the microphone, “How are we feeling tonight?!”

You found yourself smiling as you watched the way Ellie could command a crowd to scream louder than you thought possible. She was always so good at complimenting your stage presence and ensuring that the crowd was meeting your exact energy.

As the crowd’s yells died down, the entire venue went pitch black with only a handful of red lights pointed toward the stage lighting up the room. The voices of those who were familiar with your setlist began to rise in anticipation and excitement; you found your smiling lips grace the caged foam of the microphone as you opened your mouth and began to sing the beginning of the first verse.

One thing you knew how to do was flirt with the crowd. Your eyes scanned as you sang, making sure to stop and hold eye contact with someone in the crowd for at least a couple of seconds to really engage with them. Something that you’d never do when off stage, yet when you were up here in the lights and with your favorite people, you felt so powerful and confident. 

As you got to the chorus, your hips swayed along with the beat and the lyrics that were suggestive in a very clear way. You remembered when you sat down to write this sing after having been on a date where the girl said you, “looked so innocent and sweet”. You found yourself with your hands in between your legs that night, thinking about that very girl and how you wanted to do things that weren’t so sweet and innocent. You could say the thought of you being perceived as innocent in a sexual sense got you off.

As you got to the second verse, your eyes caught on Ellie who, unbeknownst to you, had been watching you the entire performance. Her expression was somehow challenging you, but to what? You weren’t quite sure.

You managed to pull your eyes away from hers as your legs carried you to the opposite side of the stage. The crowd’s voices began to rise as they prepared for your lazily choreographed dancing that always drew screams and camera flashes from the audience.

You continued singing as you watched Dina as if she were your prey. You drew closer and closer until your front came in contact with Dina’s back. Yours and her hips began to move back and forth in sync with one another as you sang the lyrics that expressed how there was a ring around your finger that you’d pulled from your lips. Jokingly, your hand felt up Dina’s ass, as she swatted you away with a smile that had the both of you laughing. 

Now, it was time for your bit with Ellie, except this time you felt nervous.

Night after night; concert after concert, you’d done this small dance with her in the center of the stage that had you both swaying in sync. However, that was all before this entire thing with Ellie began. Now, you were dancing with your ex-girlfriend turned secret affair to a song that spoke of how badly you wanted to fuck someone.

Having to look Ellie in the eye, sing those lyrics, and move in a sexually indicative way with her just felt scary somehow. It seemed Ellie wasn’t feeling any of those same feelings or at least she was just better at hiding them

You turned on the ball of your foot and sauntered towards a girl who still wore that overconfident smirk all while her fingers were busy strumming on the electric guitar that hung around her shoulders. Just as the beat for the chorus began, you both stood in front of the other and began swaying your hips from side to side, just as you did every performance.

The crowd’s high-pitched screams squealed through the venue as you and Ellie stood so close to one another, that your knees were bumping with every movement. Then, Ellie got on her knees.

Your legs spread even further apart to make room for her to sit right in between them as you throw your hips in a circular motion, nearly making Ellie’s face collide directly with your crotch if it weren’t for the guitar she held in her hands. 

She looked up at you as if you were her goddess. The way the light hit you, the way you looked so confident as you moved your body with your eyes half lidded-she was lusting after you in front of thousands of people and she didn’t care because you were all that she could focus on. 

Then, you bent down and rested your palms against the tops of your knees, which brought your face so close to hers. The sweet glistened over your top lip and Ellie found herself missing notes that should’ve been muscle memory by now, all because she was envisioning how your mouth, and other things, tasted right this very second. 

Your eyes locked onto Ellies as the both of your faces began to move closer and closer to one another's, something that wasn’t unusual for this performance…that is until you felt her bottom lip brush along your mouth. That definitely wasn’t a common occurrence.

You jerked back to a full standing position so fast, in the hopes that no one caught on to what sins nearly happened on center stage. Meanwhile Ellie stayed low on the ground with a smile that spoke of zero guilt. You found it amusing how little she could care or worry.

You patted her head as if she were your guard dog- Ellie replied by nuzzling her face against your thigh with the cheekiest smile on her face.

Eventually, Ellie moved back to her place on stage left; it seemed that smirk was permanently etched into her smooth lips for the entirety of the performance. Somehow you were able to recover quickly, most likely due to the pressure to perform in front of thousands of pairs of eyes, especially when you were only halfway through the setlist. 

—-

The air was chillier now that the sun had been long gone for the day. You hugged your jacket around your body as a gust of wind caused your hair to fly out in various directions.

“What are we doing tonight fellas? Bar? Club?”

You winced at the mention of the social places that were the furthest thing from what you wanted right now. “How are you not tired Jesse?”

“C’mon. It’s LA. There’s gotta be some cool elite clubs or some shit.”

You shook your head with a grin, “Can’t tonight. I already have reservations with the bed in my hotel room.”

“Ah, whatever. D you coming with me?”

Dina had her mouth open ready to answer, but a crowd of several dozen concert goer’s had taken up camp in the parking lot that was just over the fence that separated the band from the admirerers. As you, Ellie, Dina, and Jesse came into their view, the eyes and voices of those who kindly waited just to catch a glimpse and a wave from the foursome began to rise. 

You gave a wave and a kiss that spread from your lips to the tips of your fingers as you extended the gesture to the fans who awaited your departure from the venue. 

“Gimme a sec.”

The onlookers hands shook rapidly the closer you got. Phones and pens and anything else you could imagine were being extended to you and you were quick to please the crowd.

“I love you so much!! ” You answered with a genuine “i love you too” as you placed the pen back in the fans hand.

“When is your next album coming out.” You smiled as your finger hit the shutter button before you handed the phone back to it’s owner. “Soon enough I promise.”

“You and Ellie were so hot tonight.” You prayed no one could see the wince that was mixed in with your smile as the mention of a nearly fatal mistake to your reputation. “Thank you for coming tonight,” was all you could manage to say.

Your cheeks nearly felt as if they would fall off the second you got into the safety of the dark SUV. Your body met the plush cushion of the seat and you felt like you could fall asleep right then and there if you closed your eyes for even a millisecond.

Ellie scooted in closer to you in the most back row of seats as her hand pushed the still sweat drenched waves from her forehead. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her struggle to maintain control of the locks that seemed to defy gravity.

“Let me,” you said as you reached for the keys that were hung around a hot pink carabiner that hung freely from the loop of your jeans.

Ellie looked at you confused until you moved your finger in a twirl-like motion. “Turn around.”

Ellies cheeks were warm and grin severe as she turned around in her seat. Meanwhile, your hands lightly touched the thin strands of her hair as you began to gather the top layer in your hands. The black hair tie snuggly held half of Ellie’s hair up in a messy bun that enunciated every single one of her facial features.

“Thanks”, Ellie whispered with that same grin still on her face as you nodded and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. She made you feel like a high schooler who had the biggest crush on the coolest girl in school. 

“How was tonight for you?”, Ellie said as she got comfortable in her seat and angled her body towards you. She still had a grin on her face, but this one was much more boyish-filled with a hint of humor and a dash of admiration.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Ellie shrugged her shoulders confidently, “I asked you first.”

You could feel your eyes rolling already as your grin became a teeth-baring one.

“You guys cool if we go out tonight?” Dian interrupted as she gazed back at the both of you from her seat a row ahead.

“As long as you don’t wake me up I don’t give a fuck what you kids get up to,” Ellie clapped the back of Jesse’s shoulder teasingly as he shook his head and shoved her hand as if they were two kids having a playful fight.

“Me and Jesse could always room together so we don’t wake you guys up only if that’s okay with you guys.”

Ellie shrugged in such a nonchalant way, you’d never know that she had been scheming on  how to get Dina and Jesse to share a hotel room again so she could be alone with you. 

“Works with me if it works with you.”

As Ellie’s eyes scanned yours, you felt a rush of goosebumps cover your arms and legs. You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on Ellie, “Yeah, that’s chill with me too.”

—

You were both so impatient.

The second the hotel door shut behind Ellie, your hands were in her hair and hers around your waist as both of your lips smacked together.

“The way your eyes get dark like that makes me lose my mind”, you spoke breathlessly as your forehead rested against Ellie’s.

Her eyes pinched together in confusion, “What?”

Your lips ghosted along her jawline as they made headway towards her neck, forcing Ellie to close her eyes as she caved into the pleasure. 

“When you want to fuck me your eyes turn almost jet black.” Ellie groaned as her fingertips dug into your hips while your lips continued assaulting her neck. This time your teeth joined in as they gently ground into the tight flesh that tasted of mild salt of previous sweat.

“I love it when you make that sound.” The most Ellie could reply was another pitiful little whine.

Slowly, the both of you started making your way towards the nearby bed until Ellie’s back was colliding with the mattresses and you were straddling her waist.

“Get back down here, we’re not done.” Ellie’s hand that rested on the back of your head guided your face and body to bend downwards at her command. Your mouths consumed one another again and again.

Your hands clutched the white duvet as your hips desperately ground down to meet Ellie’s as your lips continued moving in synchrony. That is until, without cause, Ellie grabbed your hips harshly as she fought your back-and-forth movements, causing you to slow down drastically against her force.

You looked at her with widened eyes that were begging her to allow you to writhe against her freely, but then she did it. With a couple of wriggles of yours and her body, she bent her leg upwards, sending her kneecap to gently bump against the thumping space between your legs.

Your eyes instantly softened as you moved slowly against the hill her knee created. “You really thought I wouldn’t remember how much you like to get off on my thigh? Please, give me a little more credit than that.”

As good as it felt, you couldn’t keep a straight face as you chuckled and lifted one of your hands to playfully smack Ellie’s chest. “Shut the fuck up”.

“Am I wrong?” Ellie said with an amused grin that you didn’t respond to. Instead, you ground your hips down to rub your center against her knee that was hitting exactly where you needed it to hit.

With a shaky breath and your head bent low, Ellie watched you grind against her covered knee until you were a stuttered, wet mess. She loved every minute of it.

[thelastofhyde]

ii. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? read part one, the likeability paradox, here !!

warnings. no use of y/n ( joel’s nickname for the reader is sol ), panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k ( my dumbass really thought this would be shorter than part one- )

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it ) &lt;3

taglist. @kayleezra , @newavenger , @luthienaliceisilra​ , @str84pedro , @baebee35 , @aheartgonewild ( if you’re crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for whatever reason ) + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3. (capitalisation available )

the journey has been one of silence.

it all begins three days prior to arriving at their destination, with a dishevelled joel startling awake. sitting himself upright, a string of grunts and groans flow from him as several new pains in his back make themselves known, one for each year he’s lived. sleeping on the couch is no place for a man of his age, but it has become his abode more frequently as of late whilst tess has let herself get acquainted with the likes of a recently widowed woman.

why on earth the two women seem to insist on occupying his and tess’ shared mattress for their sweat-provoking and sheet-tangling endeavours when the widow’s own bed now harbours one less occupant, joel is none the wiser.

“you sly fox!” it occurs at an hour much too early for tess’ level of excitement, a spark of something in her voice he’s not quite heard in nearly a decade now, back when she’d let it slip that she’d made contact with someone over the radio. “keeping this all to yourself!”

blinking out the sleep-induced blur in his vision, his hands rub over them in a further effort to clear his sight. the couch squeaks beneath the weight of him as he leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his pointed knees. confusion leaves him in a questioning grunt.

“c’mon, joel, the jig is up!” she’s insisting on maintaining her enthusiasm, and the man has to wonder just how good her night must have been for her to be so chipper come barely an hour past sunrise. “so, who is she?”

with only the sparing of a clueless, sleep-filled glance, joel’s risen to his feet and shouldered past his companion. headed straight for the minuscule kitchen, where once he would have boiled a kettle and prepped himself a mug of instant coffee, nowadays he’s lucky to find enough water to fill a single unwashed cup. he does just that, watching the water fill only a third of the plastic before downing it in one gulp.

tess is hot on his heels, following him through their cramped living space. he sighs, resigning himself to the reality he’s faced with: this is not a conversation she will let him walk away from. be whatever it may be, the woman is hunting for some answers. “what’re ya talkin’ about? ain’t keepin’ shit from you.”

he’s reminded, much to his own dismay, of a time she’d accused him of cutting deals on the side without her, back when her distrust and his aloofness had kept their newfound partnership on edge.

“oh, really?” her voice never loses that sense of excitement, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be grateful or resentful of this. the smile on her lips spreads wider over her face. “then explain these, casanova.”

there, dangling over her extended pointer finger, lays a blur of lace.

it is a dainty little thing, a blush of some pastel colour that’s oh so feminine it makes his toes curl at the thought. a tangle of fabrics so delicate he fears they’d fall apart with just a taste of his calloused touch.

it is delicate, it is soft, it is dirty.

and it is yours.

was yours, till he’d ripped it down your legs and stuffed the fabric into the back of his jeans. it was a mindless action, at the time, and one he’d forgotten about, tucked away in the unmarked box in his mind where he’d learned to place most things involving you. sleep-filled eyes, and wine-stained lips, and serenity-inducing laughter, and heavenly-soiled lace. forgotten about, until he’d been stripping himself off at the end of the night and the garment stumbled to the floor at his feet, calling for him like tess’ lover cried her name in pleas of more.

he’d tasted the softness of lace that night, first on his lips and then around his cock, tangled in the unforgiving grip of his frantic hands.

the fabric had not been forgotten since, always within reach of the man. where some kept trinkets of silvers and golds as their symbols of luck, he kept your lace, tucked safely in the back left pocket of his jeans, awaiting his nervous fiddling in times when stress ran high and only the softness of the fabric would pull him back down to earth

“they ain’t mine.” still, he snatches them out of her grasp.

back left pocket, tucked back into safety.

“never said they were,” she has a point, but it only serves to frustrate him. because of course she wasn’t implying they were his to wear- never in a month of sundays would the likes of joel miller fit himself into such well-kept lace-, but she sure as hell believes they are his. “thought i’d be nice for once and clean some of your clothes, since you seem to have forgotten how to. they fell out your pocket while i was busy folding some trousers.”

convenient.

that’s what it is, considering that in their who-knows-how-many years of partnership, the woman has not taken the time to tend to his washing. he’d asked her, once, body recovering from a near-fatal stab he’d taken to the abdomen. she had not said no to his request. or, rather, she had not simply used the word no. ask me again and i’ll finish what those raider’s started.

every surface of the room captures his attention, from the ripped wallpaper to the tattered remains of what once were curtains, anything other than tess, who hovers at his shoulder like a fly to shit.

he needs something to do, to distract.

thinking of the days ahead, he begins a list of things they’ll need- gauze, food rations, water, more gauze. joel has still yet to sharpen their knives, displeased with them since the moment he’d noticed tess’ struggling to cut through a cable wire. did they have enough ammo? maybe he’d need to grovel for some more off of bill-

“who’ve you been fucking, sunshine?”

frozen where he stands. mind in disarray, heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, blood somehow both everywhere and nowhere in his body at once. all he can think is that tess knows. sunshine. she knows, she knows, she knows.

she knows and she’s going to tell frank, who’ll tell bill, who’ll place a target on joel’s head and hit bullseye the moment he so much as tries to step anywhere near you, and then where will joel be? back to facing only the dull grey skies and locking himself away in bone-chilling solitude.

clarity befalls him.

she’s teasing. sunshine. it’s not an answer to her question, it’s a name meant to mock him. tess has no clue, not a single incline to guess what events had transpired in the stillness of the night the last time she’d dragged them out to bill and frank’s. she doesn’t know.

“if you don’t want to tell me,” the words leave her in a sing-song tone, and for a moment he needs to remind himself this is a woman his own age, not a teenager. it would be easy to confuse the two. “i’ll just have to figure it out myself!”

he won’t be the one to tell.

“laura silver.” it’s the first name that comes to mind, and the image it paints in his head brings forth a repulsion unlike no other. he’d rather lick shit off a stick than subject himself to her company willingly. by the twisted-up look on tess’ face, she seems to agree.

“really? isn’t she a bit... chatty for you? and, like, way too happy?”

she has no idea.

the questioning glances only amplify once the two set off, each stop they make along the way- to eat, to sleep, to rest their deteriorating joints- punctuated with that feeling in the air that joel dislikes so much. the unsaid, the unfinished, the more. it makes his stomach lurch with anxious thoughts and his heartbeat cease under the stress they bring.

birds tweeting, wind howling, leaves rustling becomes the soundtrack to their travels, guiding them onwards with encouraging notes and filling the empty pockets of silence that sit between the four, five, six steps he walks ahead of her, fingers curled around a weapon and eyes trained on anything that moves the wrong way. the guts and gore of clickers stabbed and bloaters beaten wet their clothes in the early hours, yet they dry come noon, coating their every inch in a sickening syrup.

“you both got another thing coming if you think he’s gonna let you through the door like that.” joel had not experienced anything like it since the ages where he’d arrive home hours past his curfew, knees scrapped on gravel and clothes stained in mud, stood beneath the dimming porch light as his mother washed him.

only, it is bill who holds the hose instead of the woman who’d raised him.

freshly hosed down, a trail of dripped water marks the space he crosses through the house out into the backyard, losing tess along the way as she calls dibs on showering first- as if joel wouldn’t immediately put himself last in any scenario that involves her.

what he finds is a garden in gloom, infant rosebuds so young and new to life they’ve yet to lose that tinge of green that separates them from the rest of the bush they inhabit. it is the image of winter, casting its blue hue on everything it touches, from the leafless trees to the wolf-eyed dog, who’s tail begins a slow wag from its place upon the floor before the mutt’s jumping up all four paws and bounding its way over to him.

the german shepherd crashes into him like a wave, nearly sending him stumbling backwards. it’s grown in the past weeks, he realises, large paws a little more suited to the length of its stretched back. he fights a fearsome battle to contain the man within him who longs to clap his hands down on the dog’s fur, with an inhale of breath he hopes will drag down the words of praise and greeting aimed towards the pointy-eared creature, joel manages to dismiss the animal with a shrug.

it follows him, even so, as he takes another step out into the yard.

frank’s familiar figure sits within a chair. he’s calm, staring out at his decayed world as though he’s merely waiting for the passing of time to bring back the colourfulness his flowerbeds once possessed. his hair sits the same, his clothes look the same and, yet, something is off. joel can’t quite put his finger on it, all he knows is that this man is half the man he’d bid goodbye to weeks ago.

“sorry for dragging you guys out here again so soon,” his words are gentle, like always, yet his voice is ragged. joel wonders if he too had caught that damn cold. maybe him and tess brought it into the house, leaving behind a tally of germs for the three occupants of the home to choke on. maybe you’d caught it too. maybe you were in need of someone to make you soup and fret over the temperature your body keeps. maybe he should have returned sooner. “but i’m sure bill’s already filled you in.”

bill has done no such thing.

joel shakes his head. frank’s never one to push him to talk, accustomed to the likes of a man who’s short on words and spreads any dose of warmth his soul may posses sparingly. it’s a trait he appreciates, the patience to never expect more. frank talks, joel listens, both of them agree on this dynamic.

“we’ve got nothing for you this time, i’m afraid," joel swallows a snarky then what d’ya call us out for. he’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man who’s known him too long, who chooses to combat the raising of his hackles and the frowning of his brow with calmly spoken words. “but we’ll owe you one. a favour, i mean.”

that recaptures his attention. his shoulders lower in tow with his hostility and the dog nuzzles its muzzle into his hand, forcing him to uncurl his fist. “what’s the catch?” he asks because he knows frank, and he knows that frank knows him, that frank chooses his words wisely when they’re alone. he wouldn’t be beating around the bush, keeping his words vague and his tone secretive, if it weren’t for the fact that joel, likely, will not enjoy partaking in whatever favour they’re about to ask of him.

“we’ve got a truck, in the garage,” he shares, like this is news to joel, like he’d never seen the vehicle in question. “and it’s been a while since it’s had a run-around, breaks are probably squeaky as sin, and-”

“get to the point.”

frank smiles, less uneasy as joel’s usual candor nature gets in the way of his brooding image, interrupting his silent streak with a rushed out jumble of words the man’s sure would sound harsher were they directed at anyone other than the friendly-eyed artist. “can you teach the girl to drive?”

joel’s ability is not being questioned, in truth, but rather his willingness.

the request is sensical, understandable for a girl your age- whatever that may be- to have no experience behind the wheel. the damned mushrooms had likely already taken hold of the world by the time you’d reached the legal driving age.

it is not a difficult task either, he supposes, with no need for every intricate little road rule to be passed down. so long as you can learn to spin the wheel, shift the gears and control the pedals, you’d be good to go.

agreeing to it would also, in theory, be agreeing to the prospective scenario where joel miller finds himself trapped inside the small, four-wheeled confines of a moving vehicle with someone who grinds his gears and haunts his thoughts. there’s so much room to suffer in the solitude of your presence, so much potential to think up what-ifs and if-onlys in his head as you stare back at him, eyes beaming rays of pure-heartedness. i don’t like you, joel. it’ll echo in the distance between you.

“bill can’t do it?” his question is met with a grimace, and he wonders if the man had already attempted. perhaps you are beyond teaching in his eyes and so they’ve settled for calling in joel to deal with your unsalvageable driving skills. perhaps they know you already dislike the man and figured there’d be no harm in giving you more reason to, when he loses his patience and scrutinises your driving skills.

“she won’t let him,” joel’s head snaps up from the floor, eyes shifting from the mutt enjoying the carding of his fingers over its head back to frank. the greys in the man’s hair seem to have multiplied, the wrinkles on his face a little deeper. joel’s struck, his stomach twisting up, with the reality of noticing his friend is growing old. “said she’d sooner trust a clicker behind the wheel than bill. she asked us to call you guys.”

you called.

you wanted him here.

you guys. sure, it may be the collective of both him and tess. but he’s still a part of that equation, meaning you’d willingly brought him close, beckoned his return to the heaven he’d left you in.

one shower later and he’s wadding his way out back, into the garage. hair still a mess of towel-dried curls, clothes fresh and a little unfitting- he’d stolen them from frank, after overhearing the man inform tess he’d taken the liberty of burning their blood soaked clothing.

he’d agreed to the deal, much to frank’s delight and his own shame, mind too enraptured by the prospect of solitude with you to judge the situation at hand clearly.

the door creaks, a beg for oil, and announces joel’s arrival far sooner than he would have preferred, stumbling upon the scene of you. more specifically, the back of you, doubled over. everything from the waist up digging through the backseats of the vehicle, seemingly searching for something, while everything downwards sits on full display for his starved eyes to feast upon. boot covered feet, the hem of the most nonsensical skirt resting upon bare calves, the curvature of thighs beneath silk, the stretch of tightened fabric against your ass.

joel thinks himself a strong man, but he is weakened by the sight.

you startle at his entrance, rushing to straighten yourself so quickly your head smacks against the top of the car’s door frame. a hiss and a pressing of a hand to your head is not enough to comfort the witness of your harm, crossing those three steps forward needed to grip your jumper-covered shoulders and spin you to face him, eyes immediate with their scanning of your features, frantic to confirm you’re not teary-eyed, nor pouty-lipped, nor in the beginnings of a concussion.

“i never heard-" you pause whatever you wish to say when one of his hands covers your own, cradling the back of your head. he’s well-aware this is too close, too unlike him, too noteworthy. but he can not seem to care enough to welcomed back the distance that so often sits between you. “oh, it’s you.”

“sorry to disappoint ya.”

he surely is.

disappointed, confused, conflicted. here you stand, no runny nose, no bloodshot eyes, no scratch in your voice, no need to be cared for. it’s a selfish thing, to feel his heart lurch at the fact you’re in full-health, no pesky cough in sight, but his distaste towards the feeling only makes it double in size.

“no! sorry, i just,” you’re the first to inch back, head tilting to meet his stare with your own. he follows suit, taking your unvocalised desires and stepping away from you, hands back by his own side and vowing to keep themselves there. “i thought it would be tess teaching me.”

so maybe you’d never called for him.

he’s just the tag-along, the con to tess’ pro, the consequence to tess’ presence. you view him like the sun views the moon: a small, dim, lifeless rock that sits in wait every waking day, orbiting around tess’ planet.

it is not news, yet it stings like it. a fresh wound added onto the litter of marks that ache his soul. the pain leaves him in the only way he knows how anymore; a face devoid of emotion.

“not,” you’re uneasy. thrown-off. squitterish. hands tuck up into the sleeves of your sweater and eyes glass over with worry. the possibility that he scares you both lights his soul on fire and sends it to drown in a lake made of his sorrows. “that there’s anything wrong with you! i just... figured you’d have better stuff to do.”

he doesn’t.

“yeah, well, i ain’t doin’ it for free,” his proverbial foot shoots into his mouth, slamming shut whatever small window of opportunity he’d stumbled upon to say the kind thing, to do nice by you for once. i don’t like you, joel. but he could change that, if he just changed his attitude. and his nature. and his sense of being. so, just about everything about himself. it would not be much for the promise of a piece of his sol. it’s  much too late for that now and, so, he commits to the role life’s already chosen for him to play, the heartless bastard. “let’s get this over with.”

“jesus christ, sol, didn’t your daddy ever put ya behind the wheel?”

joel’s anger is unjustified.

he’s aware of this, in the back of his mind, yet any rational voices burn into silence at the heat of his ire. only twenty, or thirty, or forty minutes since you’ve hit the open road, since he’d buckled himself into the idea of being alone with you, and the car feels like it’s closing in on itself. every inhale a struggle for oxygen, every exhale a subdued desire.

perfectly manicured nails grip the steering wheel.

counting trees had worked, if only for a while, to keep his focus off everything occupying the driver’s side. the novelty wore off as you passed the thirty seventh in a row, where joel’s eyes finally drifted off from the view ahead to the one on his left.

a pair of lips sit parted in concentration.

he’d needed a new distraction, one he found as he popped open the glove compartment and found a man of his taste’s holy grail. well, at least the holy grail that was found in materials rather than between the thighs of- cds! rock, country, punk. the 70s, the 80s, the 90s. fleetwood mac, the rolling stones, johnny cash. that’s what he’d found, a collection bill must keep to hold an emblem of what the world once was: loud, rhythmic, lively. now static, quiet, lonely. not even a full verse into ring of fire and you’d switched the volume off. “i can’t concentrate with that crap playing.”

half a thigh, exposed by the slit up a skirt.

now he has nowhere to turn, to let himself run off to in thoughts that promise the sweet salvation of distraction. facing forward is not an option, the empty road ahead holding no ounce of his attention. focusing on the right as the world passes by outside the window holds no merit, and no amount of trinkets nor garbage that litter the nooks and crannies of the car helps. his eyes always find their way back to you.

breathtaking in the most painful way, you sit unaware of the effect you have on him. as you shift from third to fourth gear, as your thigh tenses to press down harder on the gas pedal, as nimble fingers unnecessarily practice using the indicators. you don’t see how his frown deepens and he scorns you with his stare.

“he was a bit busy making a name for himself,” you utter a reply minutes too late, when he’s already convinced himself you hadn’t heard him.

your focus is strict, eyes glued on the road as if you’re afraid an obstacle- be it something infected, or something animal, or something malevolent- will come your way. and all the while, joel’s sat in shock, pure fucking eye-widening shock, as the words you utter slowly seep into his brain. minute as it may be, it’s the first detail, the first piece of history you’ve offered of yourself. an absent father, the words cause a dull ache in the left side of his chest. 

god, he’s being too quiet, he needs to ask more while you’re willing to answer.

you switch to fifth gear with a delay that would have cost you points back in the days of capitalistic civilisations. the gear-box makes an ugly noise of which the engine follows up with a growl of its own. 

panicked, your hand shoots straight back to the gear-shift, curling around it so tight the white bones beneath your knuckles threaten to rip through your skin and put themselves on display. the car slows with the release of your foot off the pedal and he presumes you mean to lower the gears too- perhaps, you’ve thought it best to maintain the safety net provided in the third gear- but you must not be thinking straight, must lack proper motor-control over your body, as your hand pushes down on the stick and, slam!

the car comes to a complete stop.

the sharp pain that cuts up his neck as whiplash takes over, the weight of his upper-half flying forward and stopped only by the seatbelt that crosses over him, it becomes near non-existent as a strangled cry and a whimper of pain comes from the driver’s seat.

a scrambling of hands, a forceful push onto the pedal, a handful of panicked breaths and fearful mutterings of something involving bill and kill and will. none of it helps in the face of your problem. you’re stubborn, however, trying once more to push the stick forward, and getting nowhere. joel tells himself to remain delicate in his touch and composed in his heart as his hand clamps down on top yours, curling his longer digits around the gear-stick and giving it a tug upwards, effortless in his attempt to shift the car out of reverse and back into the first gear.

your eyes meet his. watery, and big, and full of fear.

“musician?” conversation, that will distract you in your moments of panic. he’ll talk you through the fierce currents of racing heartbeats and sweaty palms, till your waters are calm as can be.

the hand that still sits atop your own gives a soft squeeze.

“deep breath, sol,” he leads by example, filling his lungs with a sharp, deep inhale through his nose. you follow, nodding as if you’re in a trance yet you mimic him nonetheless. deep inhale, through the nose, inflate your chest. “atta girl. you’re fine. car’s fine. ya just stalled it, s’all. happens all the time.”

he’s hopeful to be helpful, but then the first tear wins the war over your composure, slipping down your cheek as you shakily exhale. another few- four, he thinks, but can not say for sure- follow suit, staining ugly cristaline rivers down the globes of your cheeks. another inhale from joel, another exhale from you. you breathe in tandem, as if relying on the other to remember such a human act is necessary for survival.

it’s purely instinctual, something as uncontrollable and unpracticed as the beating of his heart or the blinking of his eyes, the way his free hand captures ahold of your cheek. the rough pad of his thumb swipes over the bottom of your eye, so close that he feels the tickle of your lower lashes, collecting whatever tears threaten to fall next.

let them stain his skin instead of yours.

“ya dad,” maybe you need clarification, something to stall the rapidly speeding thoughts that race through your mind. “was he a musician?”

at first, silence. more deep breathing, less shaky exhales. your tears still wet his thumb but they no longer seem to be spilling down your cheek, collecting on your lashes like the dust on a shelf. he thinks of wiping the tears off the untouched side of your face, mostly to settle whatever part of him feels shaken at your distress, yet, as he slowly raises the hand that sits atop yours on the gear-stick, you halt him. fingers tangle messily with his own and squeeze so hard he feels the pressure deep in his bones, threatening to snap like twigs.

and, then, you shake you head.

no.

nonverbal, yet entirely understood by him.

your dad was not a singer. you hear him as much as you feel him. you’re slowly returning. to the car, and to a rational state of mind, and to him. a few moments pass, slipping between you with as much ease as his thumb stroking over your wrist, pushing down just that little bit till he feels the fading thrump-thrumps of a panicked heart. he speaks once you’re ready, once the slow rise and fall of your chest lulls his own self into a state of calm. “gonna need ya to turn the keys in the ignition, think ya can do that?”

you do as he says, inadvertently placing your trust in him and his words, and turn the key. when the car shudders yet fails to come alive, your head snaps right back to him, eyes a pleading mess for answers, guidance, help.

it does wonders to his ego, to that caveman mentality that sadly resides in some corner of his mind. needed, useful, protective. things he doesn’t get to feel with tess, doesn’t need to feel with tess. she takes care of herself, and him, and never asks for a damn thing in return. but you need him, need his calming words and his knowledge of vehicles.

for once, he’s a necessity instead of a casualty in your life.

“foot on the clutch, sol,” his pointed words hold no mockery, becoming a metaphorical rubber-dingy that he tosses your way, one more thing to pull you into the safety of a calm shore.

this time, the engine roars back to life.

you’re elated, a smile splitting up your cheeks even as you let the car crawl to a start, wheels turning slowly as you give the gas a light tap. he sees the way your shoulders sag, like a ten-ton weight has just been stripped off them. 

“told ya, s’just a stall,” it’s the nicest i told you so he can offer, especially as the lingering of that nasty feeling still creeps over your actions, subduing you in a way he doesn’t quite enjoy. you should not be meek, nor placid, nor doubtful yet that is all he sees as he watches you hesitantly drive the car into second gear. “used to happen t’me all the time. at the worst times, too. like... intersections and shit. can’t count the times i got flipped off by some truck driver.”

you giggle. quiet, girlish, subtle. joel almost mistakes it for a tickle in your throat, a discomfort you catch yourself coughing over. but, no. your shoulders dance, your lips tilt up, rapid little breaths sneak out your nose. it doesn’t even matter that it’s at his expense, the fact he’s the one to rouse such a delicate reaction despite his rough voice, and rough words and, well, rough everything, it’s enough to settle his soul with a deep contempt.

you continue slowly, not daring to test the power of the car. he says nothing, not a word about the waste of bill’s fuel nor the painfully boring pace at which the world flies by outside the window. you’ll speed up, he knows it, once you get your momentarily lost confidence back. talking seems to be your first approach to easing the tension in your stiff arms. “actor.”

he hums in question, quirking a brow despite your gaze being fixated on nothing but what sits ahead.

“he was an actor. a wannabe actor,” you’re soft spoken, trying your best to keep that shake in your voice under control. “my dad. so... you almost had it right.”

“anything i might know him from?” he tries, and fails, to match the lightness of your voice, his own far too gruff, and dark, and jagged to replicate the smooth edges of your own. 

“not unless you had a thing for cheesy teenage romcoms.”

the words seem to take control of him, forcing their way out before he can so much as recognise their existence. “i didn’t but my dau-” if you notice the way he halts himself, you say nothing.

“wanna know the most ironic thing?” he senses no real humour behind the few chuckles you let out, eyes lost ahead. joel wonders if you’re truly seeing the road, or merely looking at it, letting the world blur as your focus sits elsewhere. you await no response before continuing. “the only role he could never master was the present father.”

a father placing his dreams over his child, the idea is one he can’t quite wrap his head around.

joel had had big dreams, once. dreams that involved world tours, and golden records, and screaming fans. those dreams were shoved aside, not even a whisper to be heard in his mind, the moment he held his bundle of joy for the first time. screaming her little lungs off, tiny body covered in fluids he could never name, eyes staring wide back at him as she took in the image of her father for the first time. she became his new dream, his only dream. to hold, protect and love.

just like the stage, he eventually lost that dream too.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes the words out, quiet beneath the hum of the engine.

“why?” you’re not harsh with your delivery. in fact, you even glance momentarily in his direction and shoot him one of those smiles, the ones that steal the spotlight away from everything else and render him frozen beneath it’s shine. nonetheless, joel fears he’s done it once more, offended you without even trying. “it’s not your job to apologise for someone else’s mistake, joel.”

the silence which settles between you once more feels less like the awful quiet of drowning beneath crashing waves and more akin to the static of an untuned radio, with its antenna out of place and detecting no signals. it’s calming to sit like that with you and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the world passing by outside the windows, joel’s mind wanders off into dangerous territories.

territories where he thinks of this exact setting, you driving and him sitting in the passengers side fighting off the sudden languid feeling that grips his soul, only in his imagination it’s later, deep into the night. you’re not alone on the road, a collection of cars passing by and driving ahead, and the smell of cheap beer fills the car. snoring from the backseats, a sleepy girl finally given into the call of sleep after a long day. the image of his hand reaching over the console to find yours, matching silver bands clinking together as he lets himself entwine his fingers with yours.

he jolts up straight, head no longer resting on the window and eyes blinking away whatever make-believe daydream he’d inflicted upon himself, when a sound of anguish comes from your seat.

selfishly indulging in his silly fantasies, joel’d failed to notice your silence was not the same as his. while he bathed in warmth, you quivered in coldness. your nails now threaten to leave marks on the steering wheel, your lips point downwards in a frown, your thigh shakes nervously with each measly push of fuel you give the car.

it’s cruel of him to keep you driving in this state.

“there’s a gas station a few miles from ‘ere,” his words are punctuated by a defeated sigh, already beating himself up mentally for not noticing soon enough the state you’ve been sat in. “pull into it.”

if joel had a nickel for every time he’s seen you in this position, he’d have two nickels.

your chest heaving with every breath, your back pressed to his front, your closed legs stood between his own. flashbacks to the kitchen, all you’re missing is a knife in your hand and a counter-top for him to box you in against.

he’d believe the idea of popping the car’s hood and teaching you a little about the interior of a vehicle was a good one, a smart one, a chance to gain some knowledge that may prove itself useful. the plan was to show you where things sat- the engine, the dip-stick for the oil, the battery- and hope the momentary distraction would be enough to unravel your nerves, leaving you primed and prepped to drive you both back to the home joel would never share with you.

as marvellously innocent and simple as his plan was, he’d failed to take into account one important detail: you’re your own person, capable of things he’d never think to predict. so, when you’d stepped out the now parked truck a few minutes after him, sweater left behind and nothing but some flimsy, practically see-through white tank top, he’d just about felt all the blood drain from his face- and head straight to his crotch- while his eyes done little to hide the glaringly obvious staring at your breasts they indulged in, the blush of colour from pebbled nipples beneath the fabric enough to have him salivating at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “i’m not staining my favourite sweater with oil”, that had been your excuse for torturing him so cruelly.

he’s no better than the old perverts who used to drool over a woman jogging down the street.

“ok, so, this,” you shuffle forwards, feet crunching down on some crumbling gravel below. before joel can let relief flood over his senses at having just that slightest bit of distance between you both, you bend at the hip and lean across the vehicle, hands grabbing at a familiar yellow stick. “is the dip-stick?”

hearing your voice but rendered incapable of listening, he’s frozen. the fingers at his side ball into fists as that familiar beast seduces itself over his senses, flashing images in his mind of all the places he’s yet to place his hands. your neck, your waist, your thighs, the wanton desire to map out your every trace and burn it into his memory is endless, all-consuming.

your voice calls out his name.

he hums, you repeat your question, to which he huffs out an agreement, tongue too heavy to form words.

“then this,” you stretch further, fingertips reaching for the top right corner. not quite reaching your desired object, you shuffle two steps back and send him into turmoil as your ass presses tightly into his crotch. like a wounded animal, he sucks air in through his teeth and clamps his hands down on your hips. initially he means to move you but, inevitably, he holds you against him. “must be the battery.”

the jeans he wears seem to have grown a little tighter. uncomfortably so. still, he can’t bring himself to care, nor to readjust them, grip only clamping itself down tighter on you at the sheer threat of removing them.

he’d thought back to that night, more times that he cares to admit to himself. at first, it was a means to an end, a memory of lustful images to drive him towards some quick pleasure and relieve the pressure of stress off his shoulders, giving him the chance to actually get some sleep. your taste on his tongue, your hands in his hair, the weight of your body keening back into him. he felt it for days. weeks, even, ghosts that haunted his skin.

then came the guilt, seeping in like rain through the crack in tess’ and his ceiling.

he had no right to touching you the way he had. here you are, a glimmer of light that brings warmth into the coldest of place, while there he is, a thunderstorm of emotions all wrapped up in the darkness of rain clouds, threatening to stain and dampen everything he puts his care into. his daughter, dead. his brother, gone. and, hell, even tess has nearly slipped through his weak hold countless times. so, how dare he subject you to the danger of his caress, mark you with the touch of death his heart seems to bring?

hours of tossing and turning, unwrapping himself from tess’ arms as he’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to go wear his footprints into the floorboards of their living room, pacing back and forth as withered hands ran through greying hair, searching for some solution to this... this swelling in his heart, ache in his bones, longing in his loins at the memory of you.

bill had asked him once, years ago, what his greatest weakness was. he’d been wise enough to gruff out a harsh nothin’.

his answer has changed, since then.

you reach into the darkness of his spiralling mind and drag him back with three words. “texas, you good?”

he doesn’t quite give you an answer. not a vocal one, at least, settling for giving each of your hips a squeeze when words fail him. he’s gazing in admiration and wonder, eyes trailing themselves over the way you’re struggling to stretch further, the tips of your fingers fighting to reach the object you’d been trying to identify. one moment, you’re huffing over the fight to touch the car’s battery, and the next, you’re sending two tidal waves down joel’s spine: panic and arousal.

maybe, you don’t mean to do it. it could be purely accidental, an action you don’t even take a second to consider after years of living solely in the presence of two men who bare no interest in bending you over any surface. but, you do it.

you whine.

it’s born from pain, your entire frame shooting upright while clutching your hand close to your chest. joel knows that alone should be enough to vanish any explicit thoughts from his mind. the hunger only grows though, his insides twisting up at the notion of you being hurt, needing comfort. a kiss to a bleeding wound, he’d deliver it no questions asked.

his hands are still around your waist. your bodies are still pressed together. he feels every shaky inhale, every heaved exhale. it’s a struggle to pry your injured hand away from the safety of your chest, pulling backwards till your elbow juts outwards and your open palm sits level with his mouth.

it’s your pointer finger, a dark, angry looking mark running halfway down your fingerprints.

“‘s the matter with ya,” worry has always been something joel expresses loudly. raised voices, frantic movements, heavy steps. his brother had called him out on it, the morning after his parental care led to a heated argument and the slamming of doors, from both the pre-teen and the adult in the miller household. it’s a flaw that’s only worsened, with time and circumstance, and it keeps him from saying what he really means. are you okay? “you some kind of idiot or somethin’?” i can’t stand to see you hurt.

“i didn’t think-”

“clearly fuckin’ not!” be more careful. “touchin’ the damn battery like the car ain’t just been stopped!” please.

he’s better with actions, gentle in the physical even as he berates you verbally. he pulls in air through his nostrils before blowing it out through his puckered lips, directly onto the mild burn imprinting itself on your delicate skin. you hiss as his cooling breath makes initial contact and your hand jerks back, fighting to stray away from him. joel fixes his grip, making sure you don’t get too far before he blows a second breath.

“i’m fine,” you’re an awful liar, the grimace on your lips doing nothing to reassure him. at least you’re smart enough to not waste any more energy on fighting against him, slumping forward to rest your hand on the truck’s open hood. “didn’t even hurt that much. i just wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”

with no acknowledgement thrown your way, he huffs out another couple of breaths, mind already running off in thoughts of what comes next. a superficial burn, it should heal in a matter of days. if you’re lucky, the injured skin will merely peal away to reveal a fresh layer. if you’re unlucky, a blister will swell in it’s place.

joel only aims to ensure your luck.

bowing his head and leaning down, he captures your finger between his lips. your breaths catches in your throat as this new angle, new proximity to your face allows his eyes to take in the way your own seem to roll back, lips parted with something unsaid. he drags the tip of his tongue over your wound, which pulses and burns hot beneath his muscle. his tongue flicks back over only for him to lick at the burn once more, this time with a flattened tongue, smothering it in his saliva.

the suckle his lips give is purely selfish.

“that kinda-” a fluttery sort of noise leaves you, a pleasant little thing that seems unable to decide if it wants to be a giggle or a moan. it settles for something in between, unknowingly spurring joel on to suck around your digit again. “it kinda tickles.”

the hand he holds against your hip travels north, halting abruptly as the top of his thumb reaches the swell of your breast. being so affected by a braless chest is something joel thought he’d left behind in teenage-hood. the way his cock twitches in his pants at the knowledge that yours sit bare beneath the thin cotton camisole gives him deja-vu.

in a rushed- and entirely unthought over decision- joel switches the direction of his trail of fingerprints to move south, slipping down past where cotton sits tucked beneath silk. the skirt is soft and inviting. all his sick mind can do is picture you lain across a bed with silk sheets, your naked curves, and pert nipples, and dribbling cunt a whole different kind of soft and inviting.

skin meets skin when he arrives at the top of the skirt’s slit. he wastes no time, fingers dragging themselves under the material to feel the recently discovered terrain of your full thighs. with supple skin, warm and pliable beneath his hold, he indulges himself in letting his grip dig in and squeeze the meaty flesh.

all the while, his tongue licks over your burn.

“otis does that too,” you’re struggling to keep your grip on the car, a delightful realisation for joel. you’d played the innocent for far too long last time, hardly exposing your desires till push came to shove and your knife went clattering out your hand. now you force yourself deeper into his touch, your finger applying pressure to his tongue as it pushes down on the muscle and tickles his tastebuds with the bite of your painted nail. the quiet voice of his subconscious wants you to push deeper, till your digit hits the back of his throat, his eyes sting with tears and he’s gagging around you. “tries to lick wounds better-”

the sight of you shutting up, lips parted in some unheard noise as his hand cups the entirety of your clothed pussy, sends a wave of heat to joel’s already burning loins.

the furnace of your two intertwined bodies shields you both to the slowly dropping temperatures, with no time to spare and no care to give to the grey skies that roll in while he rolls your concealed clit beneath two fingers, pinching once or twice, possibly thrice, in hopes of pushing his emotional aches onto you physically.

fighting against the tight squeeze of your underwear’s band around his wrist, two fingers, a pointer and a middle, smooth their way past your pubic bone, over your aching mound and dip down to swipe over your slit. a soaked mess, a warm and sticky coating, welcomes them as joel strokes the outer surface of your cunt in a lax manner, taking his time to admire how soft your lips feel, how warm your skin burns, how hard your entrance throbs, all the while he’s coating your cunt it’s own liquid pleasure. his mouth drops your hand, the grip his own has on it tightening once more. though, this time, it’s not from the need to keep you in place but from a primal, possessive desire that seduces his rationality. “quit comparin’ me to your fuckin’ dog.”

the hand down your pants has a mind of its own, trading the teasing strokes up the length of your seam for the tight squeeze of your walls around his fingers as they penetrate you- two at the same time, no consideration for the discomfort the sudden sting of breaching your entrance brings.

you seem to like the pain, enough to let go of the vehicle and melt back into joel. your head meets his shoulder as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack, legs writhing to fight for more friction. he remains frozen, face a stoic slab void of expression if not for the crease in his brow where his eyebrows have furrowed. the fingers in your cunt curl, slightly, testing your patience with the way they press into the spongy tissue.

“joe- ah...” you fail to say his name, your two lips barely getting the chance to touch as he curls his finger a second time. this time harder, with more certainty in the way he’s touching you. “move, please.”

your lips, parted in gasps and cries that threaten to cut his fun short with the way they likely have his cock staining his briefs in precum, become public enemy number one as he decides they need to be shut, silenced, occupied so that he can hold off blowing his load again before he’s even had the chance to feel you clench around his cock.

with your finger still drenched in his spit, a fat bead of it dripping down the back of your hand, he shoves it into your own mouth, disgustingly intrigued with the way you welcome it so eagerly and drink down the taste of his saliva.

now you’re silenced, joel gives an experimental thrust of his hand, dragging both his fingers out till only the tips tease at your entrance before slamming them back in. the moan you let out is muffled, a sound that titillates him yet no longer threatens his sanity. you find another way to ruin him, however, body jolting and ass rolling back into his form when he starts to set a steady pace to leisurely fuck his fingers into your cunt.

“tried to be fuckin’ good. kept my hands to myself, didn’t- fuck!” he must reach something inside of you, knuckles deep and slick spilling down his hand, that has you mewling, eyes no longer shut as you crane your neck to stare up at him and your hips roll backwards, momentarily smothering his clothed cock between the swell of your silk covered cheeks. “didn’t bring up anythin’ ‘bout the last time i saw ya. but you just ‘ad to go and ruin it now, didn’t ya?”

“leasehmm,” you hum the incoherent babble around your own finger and joel can’t stop himself from forcing it further into your mouth, laser stare sharp enough to burn holes into your throat as he watches you gag.

“c’mon, you can do it,” you’ve got him trapped between your legs, both your thighs and the walls of your cunt clenching his hand in a vice grip as he continues his ministrations, satiating the taste for warm flesh he’s been craving since he slammed the door to the kitchen and tried to fool himself into thinking he could simply make his way back to tess in her drunken state, crash down to sleep on the couch and wake up the next day as if everything that had transpired in the moonlight was just another one of his perverted fantasies. awakening with the taste of you still on his tongue threw all hope out the window. “use your words, pretty girl.”

with an awkward bend, the pad of his thumb brushes over your neglected clit in a gentle circling motion, coaxing you further and further to that ledge of ecstasy he aims to throw you off, plunge you into the heavens of a blinding orgasm. crooking his fingers and grinding his cock into the base of your spine become practiced movements, a kind of push and pull dance his body plays with yours, guiding you both to the beats of your erratic hearts.

“mmmoel,” bless you, really, for trying so hard to speak while chocking on yourself, yet making no attempt to shove his hand away. your well-mannered nature has never made him so hard- and, trust that it has done so plenty of times- as you melt yourself into a writhing mess in his arms, blown out pupils and spit dribbling out the corner of your mouth all the while you do as he bids. “mmhop.”

“‘s the matter, sweet girl? hmm?” you’re close, he knows it. feels it, when your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist through the soft skirt, nails biting flesh even through the layer of silk. he half wonders if this is it, this is where you’re going to rip him off you and slap him in the face with the harsh truth: you’re too good to be touched by the likes of him. only, you simply clutch onto him and let him continue to play you like he’d once played a guitar, fingers plucking at the right strings and pressing on the right cords to make you sing a melody so sweet even the angels themselves would cry at its sound. “cat got your tongue? feels good, i know. ‘s okay, you can let go f’me, not gonna hold it against ya. just gonna hold ya through it, yeah? keep ya real safe in my arms while this pretty little pussy of yours takes what she needs, m’kay?”

the longer you take to tell him to stop, the more debauched the images of you in his mind become. once wishes of butterfly kisses and sweet surrenders beneath his naked embrace, now desires to have you on your knees crying, begging, praying for him to smother you with his sins.

with another thrust, he fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you even wider and trying his damn best to ignore the fact you’re still so tight despite the thickness of his fingers. that’ll only lead to his thoughts derailing to how much tighter you’d feel clamped around the girth of his cock.

he’d been modest, back in his younger years, shrugging off the cries of past lovers regarding his well endowed state as nothing more than flirtatious fiction, the kind of thing women would tell their man to make him feel special. only a few years ago he’d started to second guess his assumptions as he began to chase his highs with faceless bodies and all kinds of holes- mouth, cunt and ass.

most of the time his concubines get no chance to truly see his cock, too busy having their face shoved down into gravel, or into some brick wall in a sketchy alleyway, or, simply, the darkness that consumed the walls of the cubicle which kept them from seeing just who exactly they were fucking would also take away their chance to know what they were getting themselves into, what was about to get in to them.

their first reactions always seem to be a crying sort of sound, a sick pleasure washing over him and having his balls tightening. then comes the complaining of too much, too fast, too good, their bodies at odds with themselves and unable to decide if being impaled by him is their worst nightmare or their sweetest dream.

before they can ever decide, he’s ripping away from them and fucking himself to completion with his own hand. a mumbled thanks and- if it was one of those kind of deals- a drop of a med kit or some food rations to their feet, joel would be tucked back into his worn jeans and out of their sight before they’re able to catch their breaths and realise he’d left them there, stretched open and fucked out with no orgasm to show for it.

with you, he’d be different though.

there’s no need for his own pleasure if it came down to choosing between it and your own. the sheer thought of nuzzling his mouth between your thighs and lapping at every inch of your pussy, till his muscle aches and his jaw locks, is enough to have him on the precipice of cumming untouched. so, to think of a scenario where he slips his cock inside your velvet walls and doesn’t leave you a spasming mess after several earth shattering orgasms, over and over till a ring of your mixed juices decorates the base of him and you’ve milked him dry, that feels impossible.

“wait, joel, ah! please, please,” your head thrashes to the side, ripping away from your burned finger. you’re trembling, feet pushing up onto their tippy-toes as he fucks higher and higher into you. the hand around your wrists finds a new home curled around your jaw and his thumb begins it’s torturous circling of your clit once more, pushing and guiding and bullying your aching cunt towards an orgasm that’s sure to leave you breathless and- “stop!”

this time, it’s joel who’s recoiling his scorned hands.

pants fill the air, a desperate fight for oxygen as you stand before him, legs shaky and perked nipples chafing against the see-through fabric of your camisole. thunder cracks above, a deep and trembling noises that joel can’t help but feel fits the ambience, turmoil in both the sky and his heart.

he knows its for the best, to have you put your foot down and put an end to this ridiculous pursuit of lust joel’s imposing on you. not only have you made it clear you do not like him, but you’re younger, full of life, heart too mellow for a soul as dark as his. still, disappointment floods his bones.

both hands back at his side, he clenches them. wrong move, only serving to remind him one of his hands is smothered in your wetness, a schlick squelch bouncing up to his eardrums. you’ve turned to look at him, at some point. he notices the slight swell of your lips and the blown-out pupils, try though he might to ignore it.

staring right at him, you seem to be almost waiting on a reaction.

“‘s gettin’ dark, should prolly think of headin’ back,” joel won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg, not when he knows it’ll get him nowhere. the hood, that’s what he should be focusing on. he shoots a hand up and slams the hood shut, fighting the urge to let his stare linger on the stain his pleasure soaked fingers leave behind on the blue painted metal. “bill and frank’ll be wonder-”

you call his name.

he can’t look at you, fingers fidgeting with some scab on his hand.

you try again. louder.

a sigh of resignation. he turns to face you, leaning back against the truck. the quirk of his brow enough to encourage you to get on with it, say what you need to say. paint him in shame, call him some names and then let you both be on your way.

you seem to take it as an invitation to approach. one step, then two more when he fails to back away. with a final step, you’re stood right before him, forcing yourself between the space of his parted legs. he’s never had you this close before, at least not with you facing him, and it’s almost too much. the familiar anxious pit in his loins creeps back, leaving him all too aware of the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins.

you smell... christmassy. burnt wood, dusted cinnamon, mulled wine. warm.

he can’t remember the last time he even thought of christmas.

he jolts at the feeling of your hands on his thighs, the coldness of them burning through the rough material of his pants. he’s not sure when it happened but he somehow finds himself sitting on the truck’s hood, hands splayed out on either side of him and knees bent over the edge as he parts way for you between them.

your hands smooth up the muscles of his thighs, up and down in repeated motions. soothing, calming. his heart beats a little slower with each movement.

only to jackhammer against his ribcage as your touch begins to move higher.

“i didn’t mean stop as in, stop touching me,” you breathe out the words like they’re the most delicate of secrets, only for his ears and your own to know. fingers threading through belt loops. a pull or two. he’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal clinking as you release him from the strain of it’s buckle, and the biting sound of teeth unzipping. “just... just wanna see you... feel you this time, when i... if that’s okay with you.”

he’s nodding his head before you can even finish your words, nearly crumbling as your fingers brush against his bulge. “‘smore than fine by me. shit, that’s... yeah.”

a pathetic man, that’s what he’s become, a meek shadow to the man who moments ago had you on the precipice of cumming around his fingers while you babbled incoherently. you seem to have turned the tide, whether you’re aware of it or not, hand sinking beneath the withered band of his boxers.

you don’t give him the relief he wants- needs- instantly. instead, you tease, fingertips dancing down the underside of his shaft and following the trail of a vein he doubts you’re even aware of. sliding back up to his tip, you revel in the weakness he displays as you brush over heightened nerves, sensitive to your touch and stained in earlier excitement.

“you’re warm,” is not exactly what he’d expected you to say, if he’s honest. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it, mind firing into overdrive as you fully wrap yourself around his cock. ignoring the chafing, you work your hand over him, grow familiar with the length of him, tip to base. “big.”

with your free hand, you do your best to peel back the layers of fabric till nothing stands in your path of gazing at his cock, heavy in your palm and red at the tip.

“yeah? ‘s bigger than you’re used to, ain’t it?” joel coos, you nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your eyes meet his. wide, glossy, intrigued, a mirror of the scared look you’ve worn when you’d stalled the car.

joel groans at the memory, the way he’d taken care of you, coaxed you back to a rational state of mind.

he wants more of that, more chances to protect you.

even if it’s against your own mind.

“‘s okay, sol, you’ll learn to take it,” you keen at his words, sinking closer to him, shoes scratching on the gravel beneath you. you squeeze your hand around him and he chokes on an inhale. “gonna teach ya to take it like a champ.”

he reaches behind him, tugging the gun out the back of his trousers. he was stupid to place it there in the first place, a rushed action he’d made when stepping out the vehicle. he hadn’t wanted you to see the weapon, to be reminded that the world outside bill and frank- the world joel resides in- is not safe, not from infected and certainly not from people.

before he can put it to rest on the hood, you snatch it out his hand.

you’re inspecting it like it’s the first you’ve ever seen, yet the way you perfectly wrap your hand around it and point past his shoulders tells him otherwise. there’s familiarity in your stance, like you’d once lived under rules where bill didn’t prohibit you from touching a firearm. it has him wondering, longing to know who you were before. where you’d come from, how you’d met the two men you share a roof with.

you play with the safety, snapping his attention right back to the present.

the sight of the gun in your hand fills him dread. and misery. and a sense of nausea. you’re far from weak, no matter how much he’d like you to be, but there’s just something fundamentally wrong with the image of you holding such a destructive weapon.

you should be holding otis’ lead. or a canvas depicting frank’s recent masterpiece. or the end of some wine bottle bill’s struggling to open.

or joel’s hand.

instead of speaking his mind, he pries it from you with a huff- from both of you- and lays it to rest somewhere towards his right, out of sight and out of mind. “‘s not some toy for a girl like you to be messin’ about with.”

“neither are you,” you make a point to rack your pretty nails over the untamed curls of his pubic hair, the occasional flash of silver a reminder of his aging state. you don’t seem to notice, or care, too busy bringing the attention back to his leaking tip.

a sound adjacent to a growl escapes him, feral and domineering. shame exists within him, for a moment, witnessing himself be at such a loss of control. when his hands find purchase on your waist, the feeling dissipates and what takes it’s place is pure adulterated need, throbbing in his very core.

he tugs you forward, closer, catching the way you’re struggling to reach him, hand gripping his thigh for support.

“y’gonna hurry on up ‘ere,” impatience punctuates the soul, driving him off the cliff of sanity and plunging head first into the rocky territories below. “or d’ya need me to do all the work? lay ya down, nice and pretty on the hood so i can fuck you?”

you deny his offer with actions, clambering your way into his lap, legs splayed out either side of his thighs. the skirt bunches awkwardly between you both and steals his view as you rest down against his stiffness and smother it in the warmth of your clothed cunt.

there’s dampness on your panties, teasing him as you give an experimental roll along his cock, holding it tight between both your bodies.

“shit, joel,” a hiss through your clenched teeth and your face twisting up in something- pain? arousal? both? he can’t quite pinpoint it. your hips roll again, this time reaching higher, teasing him with a visual of what’s to come. “feel so thick, don’t know how i’m gonna-”

“didn’t i already tell ya-” he grabs at your skirt, irritation clear in the way he rips it up the length of your legs, exposing your skin inch by inch. “you’re gonna learn to take it?”

your hand dives under the fabric before his can, fingers curling around his cock once again and giving him a salacious stroke, taking your time gliding over the smooth skin and sensitive head. “mhmm. you gonna teach me?”

he nods, affirmative.

the next few minutes are nothing but messy grinding. like a pair of hormone-crazed teens, you explore the joys of rubbing up on each other. two pieces of wet wood searching for that spark in between. you make the most effort, working the muscles in your thighs to slide up the length of him and to grind back down, the wet patch in your panties growing with each stroke. joel sits back, allows himself the rare luxury of being taking care of. the last time he had a pretty girl in his lap, she had solace in her eyes and a couple twenties stuffed down her sparkly bra.

“what d’ya bring me ‘ere for,” he’d berated his younger brother after, his anger seemingly coming across as unserious to a giggling tommy, “was fuckin’ depressin’. kept lookin’ at those girls and thinkin’ bout if their poor dads knew what they were up to.”

he can’t help but wonder if bill and frank know what you’re up to.

“hey, hey, wait,” the words tumble out of him erratically as he catches up to your actions, the hand around his cock suddenly holding it still as you raise your hips. his hands pull and grab at the fabric of your skirt, a frustrated grunt slipping out of him as he hoists it up past your waist. this time, you’re covered by a shade of baby blue cotton instead of lace, less sultry yet far more appealing in his eyes. comfortable, that’s what they look like, the kind of pair he’d find you wearing stood in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning, one of his wrinkled old t-shirts the only thing keeping your frame concealed. joel’d always had a good imagination, and it serves him well, decorating his mind with several images of a domestic bliss he’d never get to share with you. “lemme see.”

you’re a smart girl, it’s one of your best qualities, and so you need no further instructions to understand what joel’s asking for.

he watches like a hawk as your fingers tug your panties to one side, a pretty window of slick covered skin that has him involuntarily jutting his hips up off the truck, his head slipping up your seam and pressing into your clit, an action that sparks the reaction of your own hips grinding down. you recover quick, hand back on the task of gripping his base and holding him, while your over reaches back to grip his knee, giving you a grip to steady yourself on as you straighten your thighs.

“this what you want,” your voice calls through the lustful haze in his mind as he takes in the sight of you sinking down onto him, the head of his cock fitting snuggly between your velvet walls. it’s almost enough to make him cum on sight. “to watch? me sitting on your dick?”

joel wonders if you’re trying to shame his desires. ultimately, he’s too lost in the way you cling around him to really care. if anything, he almost wants you to be disgusted by him, making the act of devouring your pleasure that much more sinful.

hands grip at your hips, with moon-shape indents forming around where his nails dig into your flesh. patience is a virtue he scarcely possess but he forces it on himself, fighting back the need to slam you right down on him and carve a home out for his hot cum inside your empty womb. he can’t allow himself the fast-paced indulgence he’s used to, not when he sees the deep breaths you need to take or the pained wrinkle in your brow with each inch you sink deeper and deeper down on him with.

he let’s you take your time, eyes starring with a crazed expression at the point your bodies meet. once he’s fully nestled inside the warmth of your cunt, your forehead rests against his own and he’s forced to look into your eyes and once again notice the way your pupils sit dilated in lust.

it’s a sight he’d like to get used to.

“kinda regretting this,” dread plummets through his heart and a ball forms in his throat. your walls hold him in a vice grip that seems to contradict your statement, until you clarify. “thinking i could take it like this. i’ve never, you know, in this position before-”

“you’re doin’ great,” joel’s own voice sounds pained, straining beneath the buzzing energy that’s begging him to relinquish control to his lust. it would be so easy, effortless even, to grip your hips and fuck you down onto him like you’re nothing if not a hole to get himself off in. unfortunately, his heart stands in the way. “shit, fuckin’ better than great.”

neither of you keep time of how long you sit like that, pelvis to pelvis, his cock buried into the hilt and a puddle of your wetness collecting along his pubic bone, the bristle hairs providing a rough friction for your clit.

eventually, initiative is taken, and you work up the nerve to roll your hips.

the view he’d been enjoying is stolen as your skirt slips back down to pool around you both, his hands too occupied gripping at your waist as your own find home on his sturdy shoulders.

another roll of of your body, slow and steady, lighting every nerve in his cock on fire with the sweet burn of your cunt fighting to keep him inside, refusing to let him slip too far out before you’re filling yourself back up again. your lips fall open in a pathetic moan, the sweet smell of your breath hitting his nostrils as you sit forehead to forehead.

and joel wonders if there’ll ever be a part of you he’s not enamoured by.

your confidence grows as you begin to set a pace, bouncing yourself up and down in his lap as joel grips here, there and everywhere on your body. a pinch to your hardened nipples, a trace of your hidden thighs, a cradling of your face. there’s not an inch of you he wants to neglect, staining his fingerprints all over you with every frantic touch.

this is nothing like the back-alley exchanges of body heat he’s grown accustomed to, this is nothing rushed and everything felt. it’s a carnal hunger for the feel of flesh and the taste of sweat. it’s feral, and lustful, and downright intoxicating. it’s the need to get his fill of you over, and over, and over again, till the fountain of your velvet warmth overflows with his seed and has nowhere else to run but down the length of your full thighs and dripping onto his emptied balls below.

“joel, please,” he decides he likes you much better like this, your whole body gripping itself around him-arms, legs, soaked cunt- in search of a sweet salvation only he can bring as your usual bright smile and quick tongue become reduced to nothing but whimpered breaths and desperate prayers. “i’m- god, i can’t-”

your thighs tremble as he tightens his hold, keeping you steady when the exhaustion of exhilarating yourself on top of him begins to take a hold of you. the need to take over becomes primal, blunt nails tearing into the meat of your thighs and bouncing you down on him with an effortless look he hopes will fool you out of noticing he’s seconds away from blowing his load prematurely, mind and body too close to the edge of nirvana from simply having the weight of you on him.

he just needs to get you there first.

“hate this fucking skirt,” the grumble was meant to be a thought he keeps to himself, but the giggle it rouses out of you makes it worth the slip-up, your own hands delivering the mercy of helping him drag the length of it farther up, marking a clear path for his own to sneak under and find your pulsing clit. “don’t wear it again.”

a few tight circles with just the right amount of pressure has you melting deeper into him, your arms curling around him as your head lays itself to rest upon his shoulder. your every breath delivers a brush of heat against his already burning skin and he wishes there were no plaid shirts nor camisoles resting between your heartbeats. 

“but it’s so,” he must have struck gold, found some hidden gem in the combination of the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the rhythm at which he’s fucking you down onto his cock, for you clamp down on him so tightly he worries you may cut off his circulation. “soft and, oh, yes! and it- it fits me so perfectly-”

“not sure if you’re talkin’ bout your skirt or your pussy,” he grunts out, a teasing smirk on his mouth that dies the instance his lips press to your neck, nose chasing the scent of your lingering shampoo.

“you’re so-” he’s so, what? you don’t get to finish, hand fisting into his hair and moans falling from your lips like autumn leaves. 

“tsk, look at ya,” he certainly is, and loving every inch of you he sees, hips rolling down with the guidance of his hands, head tucked safely away from the world in the crook of his neck, hands gripping any part of him they seem to reach. if art is subjective, then you’re the damned mona lisa, the starry night, the birth of venus. “can’t even fuckin’ speak properly, mouth’s good for nothin’ when you’re full of cock.”

you nod into him, hips moving faster, nails digging deeper, moans getting louder. he’s got you so close, a few more thrusts till he’s sure to have you flying off the handles and cumming around him.

you whine his name.

he meets the roll of your hips with the raising of his own.

a pull of hair, a bite of skin, and then you’re-

“oh shit, ain’t this a pretty sight.”

joel’s blood runs cold.

you’re frozen against him.

just past your shoulder, directly in joel’s eye-line, by the gas station’s entry stands a man. he’s younger than joel, maybe even younger than you. his clothes are stained in all sorts- sweat, dried blood, mud- and are tattered, as if he’s been wearing the same thing everyday. the strap of a backpack sits over one shoulder and he seems to be carrying no weapons but the hunting knife in his belt.

the intruder- if he can even be called that out in the openness of the world- takes a couple steps closer but they’re not full of confidence. if anything, his frame seems just as shaken as you both, fingers fidgeting with the adjustable cord of the bag’s strap.

“please, don’t stop on my account,” he seems to be trying to play it cool, but fails to let out the light-hearted chuckle he intends to, a noise more similar to a choke taking its place. “heck, give me a little performance even”

joel’s not sure what’s gotten into him- if it’s the fact he’d been moments away from making you cum, or the dropping temperatures that have you sinking deeper into his warm body, or the sheer desire to possess you so intimately under someone else’s knowledge- but he finds himself rutting up into you again.

you don’t join in, limbs still locked in shocked, yet a moan is breathed into his neck.

“shit, man,” the stranger sounds amazed, as if not even he thought joel would gift him such a sight. his hands find something new to fidget with, struggling to undo the buckle of his tattered leather belt. “pull up her skirt, lemme see how she’s taking you.”

he obliges and bunches the fabric up in his hands, exposing the sight that lays beneath. it’s not the explicit sight the man must be hoping for, the snug fit of his cock inside your cunt mostly concealed by your pushed-aside panties.

unable to stop himself, joel wonders if this man would prefer you in something more scandalous than the blue cotton that he so deeply adores.

“sorry- fuck! just, it’s just been a while,” the buckle comes undone at last, a button and a zipper follow. one hand dips beneath the waist band of the man’s boxers. “swear i’m not trynna be a creep, or nuffin’. can you... could you squeeze her ass? wanna see how much of a hand full she is.”

this time around, you let out a sound that’s less pleasant to joel’s ears, a far cry from pleasured as he so greedily cups a handful of your ass. the realisation that, though your body may contradict you with the canting of your hips into his or the continued arousal you drip between your pelvises, you’re not enjoying this, hits him like a truck.

you’re not moaning in pleasure, you’re whimpering in fear. you’re not shaking because you’re cold, you’re shaking because you’re scared. this man is scaring you.

joel is letting him scare you.

“swear i’ll just- a few minutes and i’ll be out your hair, ok?” the man’s fumbling, bag dropping off his shoulder down onto the floor as he works over his cock. joel wonders if it’s uncomfortable, stroking himself without the help of spit to ease the slide, and scoots his hand over to his right, fingers slipping over the hood in search. “just really need this, man, you’ve no idea how it gets out here on your own-”

nothing usually crosses joel’s mind when he pulls a trigger.

becoming numb to it, blanking one’s mind, treating it as normal. it’s the only way to come out the other side of it without it weighing on your conscious. it was built over time, the first few months a struggle to even touch a gun after what happened on outbreak day. shooting humans had always been the easy part, reminding himself there’s an evil in them he doesn’t need to meet to know it exists. the infected, he’d struggled, compassion sinking deep into the pit of his stomach as he’d glance at their once-alive eyes, now nothing but a breeding ground for some mushroom.

the shot rings out, moments after the bullet hits its target and, this time, you cross his mind.

defenceless, shaking, clinging onto him. it’s shameful to admit that it turns him on, has his balls throbbing with unloaded cum, to protect you. to play the role of saviour, supporter, guardian to the fearful girl in his lap.

he doesn’t even care enough to spare the dead man a look, eyes back on you.

you’re already staring right back at him, shock written all over your face. “you... you killed him.”

“he was holdin’ a gun, sol,” he’s not sure if it makes you feel any better. you do, however, seem to shuffle closer to him, chest to chest as you take in what he’s telling you. “was gonna fire a few rounds into me and then where would that leave ya, huh? free for the taken.”

thunder roars above your heads.

your brows furrow, conflictive expressions taking over you while you assess what’s just happened. he tries not to think too much about the fact his cock is still very much nestled inside your soaked pussy, throbbing with the impending release life keeps stealing away from you both.

“you killed him.” you repeat, more sure in your words this time.

“i did.”

lightning lights up the darkening sky.

“i should be scared of you.”

“you should.”

one last rumble from the storm clouds.

“but i’m not.”

the heavens above seem to open as cold, thick drops of water fall from the sky, quickly soaking everything they meet. the gravel, his shirt, your hair. the rain seems to have no boundaries, slipping between you both and filling the little gaps it manages to find.

neither of you move from where you’re seated, letting the cold overtake your bodies. you both use it as an excuse to move closer, arms tangling around one another as you stare each other down with judgement, assessing what either will do next.

you call the shots, experimentally rolling your hips, testing the waters to see where he’s at.

joel meets you just where you want him to, touches more frantic than before and far more sloppy, neither of you conscious of the goosebumps that line your skins as you indulge in one another’s bodies, fucking beneath the pouring rain like some silly scene out of a romance film.

“i was protectin’ you,” he breathes onto your neck, mouthing at your flesh and enjoying the thudding of your pulse beneath his tongue. “keepin’ you safe, sol. ‘s what i do, what i’ll always do.”

it’s unclear if the words are meant to assure you or himself.

it doesn’t take long till you’re both back at the edge of glorious relief, the unmet orgasms from earlier rearing their heads all at once and flooding over both of you. one of his hands snakes it’s way under your skirt to rub at your clit, while one of your own threads itself in his hair and tugs sharply, till he feels a sting in his scalp.

what a sight it is to behold as you cum, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a mute scream, soaked hair sticking to your forehead and every other place it touches. joel wants to see you through to the very end, hold you while you shake and break completely on his cock, but the warmth that creeps up his loins takes that priviledge away.

only as the first spurt of thick cum shoots out of him does joel manage to rip you off him, jostling you further up his lap and providing him with the friction of your ass cheeks to sooth over his spasming member as he paints your lower back and inner skirt in his pleasure.

he watches you falling apart in the heat of your orgasm and his bones ache a little less, his soul feels a little lighter, his heart seems to beat a little better.

joel never manages to put his thoughts into words quite properly.

“you’re not,” he breaths out, shaky. you’re still rutting against his limp cock, soaking him with your slick and whimpering into his shoulder as his head bumps against your aching clit, the come down from your orgasm hitting you harder than his. he’s vaguely aware of how tightly he’s gripping you, arms holding you flush, anchoring you down against him as the rain continues to pour. “you’re not real.”

you’re mumbling something but it falls on deaf ears as joel fails to reel his thoughts in, eyes skittish as they jump from watching water crash against the windows of the deserted gas station to the limp body of the stranger, cock still in his hand and a bullet straight through his forehead, a sick red washing away along the gravel.

“...here. i’m real, joel,” a kiss pressed to his forehead. you’re gentle with him, whispering into his good ear and he wonders if you know he can hear you better on this side, he’d never mentioned it. a hand coaxes his own off your waist and guides it upwards, pressing against the left side of your chest. rapid thumps. you mimic the movement, hand pressing against his own heart as you rest your forehead against his. “i’m here. we’re both here.”

joel drives back.

there’s no prior discussion where you agree on this. he simply cleans you both up- to the best of his abilities-, sits you down in the passengers seat and walks his way round to the driver’s side. it’s silent, and this time it’s the uncomfortable kind. the kind that wrestles with his mind and puts discomfort in his heart. there’s something unspoken between you both and he does not know how to begin to talk about it, not without the risk of messing it all up.

you don’t protest this time around when he turns on one of bill’s old cd’s, and, so, billy joel sings you all the way home.

at some point, he convinces himself you’ve fallen prey to sleep, eyes closed and head slumped to the side, searching for the safety of something to rest itself on. slowing to a stop, he takes his time undoing your seatbelt and maneuvering your lax limbs till your head meets his shoulder. the drive onwards is slower, more careful as he drives over any bump in the road and each turning he takes less sharp.

“i owe you a thank you,” you eventually mumble, weight still leaning against him and eyes very much shut.

he nods, though you do not see it. “okay.”

it’s all he can think to say, unsure what a girl like you could ever thank him for. all he’s done since the moment he met you is dampen your shine and stain your kindness with rough hands and a rougher heart.

“for, you know, not telling tess,” your response brings more questions than answers. not telling tess what? “i just... she’d hate me, if she knew, and she’s some of the only family i have left. i couldn’t stand to lose her over a few... mistaken moments between us.”

joel wonders if he’s part of this short list of family you have.

he doubts it.

“don’t see why she’d care,” he’s choosing to ignore that word, mistaken, yet it’s not enough to stop his fingers from twisting tighter around the wheel, tension in his wounded heart.

“of course you wouldn’t,” you wrestle down a yawn and nestle your head deeper into the crook of his neck, body hunched in a position he can’t imagine to be too comfortable. he keeps this thought to himself, decidedly enjoying this false image of tender touch. you ground him, weight down on his paper-thin mind-state like a rock that promises to keep all his pages in place. “you’re careless.”

there you go again, displaying such casual cruelty.

you’re careless.

how twisted life is to give him everything he’s worked so hard to be- a man feared, untested, unmessed with- only for his every want become his waking nightmare as it sits on your own lips.

i don’t like you, joel.

“‘s that why ya don’t like me?” he can’t help himself, even if he wanted to.

“i don’t like you because you-” a pull of breath. an opening of eyes. a raise of a head. you don’t make it far before he’s raising a hand off the wheel to encourage you back down to rest upon him, half-worrying he’ll be strown apart by the next gust of wind should he lose the weight of your head on his shoulder. “i can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“you never brought me that dress.”

there’s no answer he can give that won’t incriminate him and steer you on the clear path to see just how caring a man like him can be. every fabric he’s seen the wrong colour, the wrong length, the wrong style for you. the closest he’d gotten to finding a dress worthy enough of slipping down your skin was stripped from the corpse of a woman joel’d been tasked with disposing of. in a moment of weakness, he’d nearly taken it, till his skin began to crawl with the implications of gifting you a dead woman’s dress, the last piece of clothing she’d worn while her blood was still warm and her lungs filled with air.

you fall asleep, for real this time, not even stirring as he maneuvers himself out of his jacket and drapes it over your damp figure, body sinking deeper into his own- as deep as the console between you allows.

night has taken hold of the sky by the time he pulls into the fenced community, headlights lighting up the path back into the garage. pulling the car to a stop, joel eases your weight off him and steps out the car, mindful of how he closes the door over. he makes his way around to the passenger side and pries the door open to find you still sleeping, peaceful as can be, the dull army green of his jacket contrasting the pastel shade of your skirt.

he takes a moment, sinking to his knees, and let’s himself indulge in the image of you like this a little longer, before the watchful eyes of bill or the curious glances of tess stand between the ways joel longs to look at you. softness greets his thumb as it brushes over your cheek. you seek out his warmth, chasing it even as he moves downwards to swipe at the dribble of spit threatening to spill out your slacked lips.

if he were a better liar, perhaps he’d claim this was his way of attempting to wake you up.

“what happened?” frank is the first to greet him, eyes blown a little wider than usual as he takes in the sight of you curled against joel, one arm round your back and another under your knees keeping the weight of you off the ground. “is she okay?”

“nothin’s happened,” the man’s reactions to joel’s return to the house has brought on more pairs of eyes, tess and bill flooding out the kitchen to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. “she’s just tired. ‘s been a long day and-”

“your clothes are wet.” bill’s eyes are glaring, tearing apart every detail they can pick up: the gentle grip he holds you with, your sweater thrown over his shoulder, the peaceful manner in which your sleeping form sinks into his warmth, the jacket that’s slowly slipping down your form to reveal bare shoulders and soaked cotton.

his tongue feels heavy, his mouth turning to sandpaper as the anxious feeling of being watched dries up his senses. hardly aware of it, he’s straightening his spine and puffing his chest, staring the older man down before flickering over to where tess stands, face much kinder looking as she watches you sleep. “you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna show me her room ‘fore my back gives out?”

that seems to get the ball rolling, all questioning and staring left behind as frank guides him three doors down and slips the door open, stepping aside to let joel in. he doesn’t bother hitting the light, a part of him not wanting to pick up any details to linger on around your room, using what little light the moon provides to find his way over to the bed. frank’s gaze is burning a hole in joel’s back even as he drops you down onto the mattress, and it’s almost like he can hear the buzz of energy radiating from everything the man wants to ask him.

it’s not till the four of them sit the dining table and joel’s shovelling a fork-load of food into his mouth that the next question comes.

“why was her sweater dry?” it’s tess who asks, punctuating it with an obnoxious sip from her glass.

all eyes are on Joel, a spotlight she’d shun directly on him and leaving him on display. bill, in particular, seems to be clinging to his every movement, anticipating his answer with the clenching of fingers around the steak knife in his hand.

“what?” it’s all he can manage without the fear of saying too much.

“your clothes were all wet. but her sweater, on your shoulder, it was dry.”

how had tess even noticed that?

“she took it off,” it takes a couple minutes to answer, a pause he tries to play off as simply his need to chew on the food he shovels into his mouth at last. it feels heavy, slipping down his throat, like he can already anticipate it’s return to the surface alongside his bile. “said somethin’ bout not wantin’ to get oil on it when i told her i was gonna show her the different parts of the engine.”

silence.

eyes shooting back and forth.

tess looks at frank.

frank looks at bill.

bill loathes at joel.

and then, “oh.”

tess says it like it’s the start of a sentence, an audible ellipses that she’s refusing to elaborate on.

“oh.” joel parrots, hoping they’ll drop the topic and allow him to go back to the raging waters thrashing around in his thoughts.

luck is not on his side.

“that makes sense,” the woman continues, attempting to cut the tension with an airy chuckle and a shrugging of her shoulders, as if doing so will shake the tension out of everyone else’s. “was worried that poor girl was running around with her tits out in front of the likes of you.”

bill grips tighter around his cutlery, knuckles white under the dining room light.

straightening up, a momentary lapse of judgement and a foolish flash of red hot possession shoots over him, embarking him on the road to saying perhaps the dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“would that be so bad?”

a hand smacks down on the table. a chair scrapes, another following right after.

“bill,” frank’s tone is nothing if not a warning, hand on the man’s forearm as he soothes his thumb over his skin.

“it’s late,” it comes after a deep breath, the kind a shrink would teach you to use in times of stress, or fear, or anger. bill isn’t even acknowledging tess, fully focused on joel. “you should get going.”

plates half full, bellies half empty, the four of them step away from the table. tess slips on a jacket, one she’d not had prior to arriving, and passes joel a loaded bag. he figures she must have had her pick around the old clothes shop, loitering whatever was left that could either fit them or keep them warm through the remainder of the cold months.

he throws it over his shoulder without question.

the air has shifted, a tense feeling floating around the atmosphere that exists between him and bill. tess and frank are seemingly unaware of it, laughing and talking amongst themselves as the group makes their way to the front door.

joel is the last to step out and, in doing so, he pauses, glancing backwards into the open doorway. 

he calls out to tess, all three heads turn.

“need a piss.”

“take your time,” it’s the friendlier of the two men who responds, threading his arm around bill’s and dragging him along with him. it reminds him of why he likes frank more. “we’ll walk tess to the gate.”

he watches the three figures fade away into the dark of the street, carefully stepping back into the house once he feels the safety of distance. he tries to keep his footsteps light, suddenly aware of how quiet the place feels without the panting of a dog or the rustling of someone in the kitchen. he counts the doors as he goes- one, two, three- and turns the handle of the third.

the room is still dark, but that’s okay. he’s used to darkness. his eyes carefully scan the floor with each step he takes closer to the bed, watching out for any discarded dog toy or worn clothing splayed across it. at some point, his steps meet carpet instead of cold floor. he’d not noticed it earlier, but then his sense had been rather focused on the precious cargo he carried.

he finds you where he left you, hair a mess upon your pillow and chest rising steadily in the breaths of deep sleep. only, you’ve gained a companion, the unmistakeable beady-eyed stare of the german shepherd meeting joel’s in the dark. the dog makes a noise, half whimper half whine, and the tip of its bushy tail begins to beat against the mattress, matching the rhythm of joel’s heart.

like before, he lets his hand brush your cheek. instead of wiping saliva, he brushes a few stray hairs away from your peaceful face. you shift and he panics, fearful you’ve awakened, only to relax as you sink deeper into the pillow.

his hand lingers longer than necessary.

another whine from the mutt gives him the will to at last pull away from you, trading your soft cheek for the smooth fur along the dog’s head. his fingers card through it, nails digging a little to scratch at otis’ scalp.

“you take care of her,” for me. “alright bud?”

he must be losing his mind, for he swears he feels the dog nod.

the steps he takes on his way out are less careful, though he’s slowed by the amount of times he seems to insist on turning back to glance at the bed. maybe it’s for comfort, the peace of mind of knowing he’d brought you back safe and sound.

maybe it’s with longing, his aching joints begging for him to crawl his way in beside you, cocooning you between himself and the ball of fluff behind you.

shaking his head, an array of self-aimed insults plough through his mind, joel curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door, steadying himself to glance back one last time.

“joel...” he freezes, caught in place. how long have you been awake? how do you know it’s him? how are you so softly spoken when your voice is hoarse?  “turn the lamp on,” a yawn. he hears rustling and imagines you readjusting yourself into whichever position brings you most comfort. the thought of if it ever gets lonely, sleeping with no one to hold, crosses his mind. he refuses to let it linger. “don’t wanna wake up to the dark.”

he shuffles over to where he sees the outline of a lamp, fingers sliding around in the dark till they hit a switch and a lovely orange hue overtakes the room, bringing it to life. little trinkets, scattered papers, a couple pictures in frames line the desk in front of him. he’s seen too much for comfort, avoiding looking at anything else in your space till he finds you, curled up in the bed too big for one, otis’ head resting on your hip.

you still have his jacket over you, ignoring the warm comforter you lay upon.

he thinks he musters up a smile. if he does, you’re returning it, eyes sleepy and lips lazy in their movement. it’s a peaceful moment, the kind joel doesn’t get many- if any- of these days. he won’t waste it by speaking what’s on his mind. your eyes slowly drop once more, surrendering to exhaustion.

the bedroom door creaks behind him on the way out.

[ladylooch]

Best Thing I'll Ever Do - Lio x Savannah (Part 1)

A/N: It is here!!!! Part 1 of 5 for Lio and Savannah's long fertility journey. Sorry in advance because y'all are gonna hurt with this one... and the next one.. and the next one... and, well you get it 😬 These parts will span over multiple years. Currently, Savannah and Lio are back together, but it's new.

Word Count: 5.1k

Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 |

On a sunny day in Southern California, Lio Meier looks out the bus window, nodding his head to the beat of the song blasting through his AirPods. He is deep in his pre-game routine, ready to hit the ice for another battle in the greatest hockey league in the world. His eyes trail over the flat surface of the hotel lot, looking up at the blue California sky. It’s hot today, welcome compared to the snow currently falling on the East Coast. He feels the bus begin to rumble as the break is released, then glances towards the front of the bus as Hockey Ops director, Marc, comes towards his seat.

“Sup?” Lio asks, popping an ear bud out when it’s clear Marc wants to speak to him.

“Hey, Savannah isn’t feeling well. She’s staying behind to rest.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Lio frowns. “Thanks for letting me know.”

He hasn’t seen his girlfriend today, but that isn’t unusual for game days. She is busy working on game-day content with her staff and he has to worry about getting in the right mental state for the game. They had been texting earlier about a few things, actually work related, but she never mentioned she wasn’t feeling well. She must have started to feel sick after they both took their pre-game naps.

Marc heads back to the front of the bus as Lio pulls his phone out. He navigates into his messages to check in on her.

You okay?

Yeah, just not up for the game.

Okay. I’m sorry you’re sick, babe. Can I do anything for you?

Win 😘 I don’t need angry fans in the team DMs.

Yes ma’am. Love you 😘

He chuckles, then puts his phone back in his pocket. He pops his earbud in his ear and returns to his pre-game focus. 

By the time his skate blades hit the rubber mats of the visiting locker room after the game, Lio is on a high. Not only did the team win, but he had two goals and an assist. He was on fire tonight, flying through defenses, hitting his picked corners, and saucing ridiculous passes on the power play. He felt like he was in a little funk before this West Coast trip, but that all faded away tonight. He loves being on the road with the boys. And Savannah, even if she likes to tease him and keep him at an arms length so she can focus on her job.

Normally, Lio plays along well, but tonight he isn’t going to let her close her hotel room door on him.

Not because he wants sex. Mostly, he wants to cuddle with her and fall asleep together. Nights like this are rare, where they are going back to the same hotel and not catching a plane to the next destination. Instead, they are having back to back games against the Ducks and Kings.

Lio can’t wait to drill Luca into the boards tomorrow. Although, they don’t usually match up together, the boys have a tradition of finding the other in the first few shifts of the game. It’s a competition on who can hit who first. The two hockey players love it. Checking helps shift their mindset from brothers to opponents for the next 60 minutes.

Lio grabs two slices of pizza from the catering table, then makes his way down to the bus. He checks his phone, not seeing anything from Savannah, but plenty of texts from his parents and siblings. His parents are proud. His sister is reminding him he better not pull any shit tomorrow. His younger brothers are cheering about his top titty goals. There is also a text from Connor asking when he is back in town because him and Lucie are itching for a date night. He holds both pizza slices between his teeth so he can text Connor back right away. He misses Stella so much and knows Sav will jump at the chance to hang with her too.

Tuesday or Thursday this week works.

After texting Connor, he pulls up his phone app, clicking on Savannah’s name to call her. The phone rings and rings and rings, then goes to her voicemail. Lio clicks off the call, sending her a text instead.

Hey babe, we should be back in like twenty minutes. I’m gonna change then come up. No negotiations tonight 🤐

He smirks. He can’t wait to get his hands on her. Maybe let them wander over her curves, see what they can get up to tonight, but only if she is up for it.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet with most of the boys trying to wind down to go to sleep. Back to backs are brutal at this point in the season, so conserving energy and attempting to recover faster is important. Lio is one of the first ones off the bus, heading to his room and pulling on a fresh pair of sweatpants. He hangs his suit up in the closet, then gives his teeth a quick brush to remove the coating of gatorade and saliva on his teeth from the game. After, he heads up one floor to Savannah’s room. He continues responding to his dad as he walks down the hallway, slides gliding on the carpet below while his thumbs work on the phone screen.

He raises his hand to knock, rapping his knuckles against the solid door. He chuckles at his dad’s gif back to him of Swiss cheese when joking about the Kings goalie they face tomorrow. He looks at the door, surprised Sav hasn’t answered yet. He knocks again.

“Babe, it’s me.” He calls through the door. 

Lio puts his phone in his pocket, then stuffs his hands in each one. He shifts his weight from side to side, stretching out his hips a bit. They’re feeling tight after the game. He mentally reminds himself to stretch before bed. 

Lio pauses all his movements and thoughts, listening intently, trying to hear if Sav is walking towards the door. He steps closer, pressing his ear on the door. Of course he can’t hear anything. Instinctively, he tries the door. Of course it is locked. He steps back, double checking the plaque to the right that he is at the correct room.

“Babe?” He says louder. “I need you to open the door or respond or something…” He trails off, anxiety rocking through him. He knows something is wrong.

He pulls his phone out, calling her. He can hear her phone ringing close to the door. Then he hears the click of the lock. The door creaks slightly open. Lio sees Savannah on the ground, tear streaked down her face. Her face is pale and her body heaves with each heavy breath she breathes.

“Oh my god, baby.” He crouches down to her level immediately. He puts a hand on her cheek, feeling her skin. She feels fine. He moves his fingers to her jaw, feeling how clenched it is. Lio’s eyebrows furrow. “What is going on?”

Savannah whimpers. She is in complete disarray, crumbled clothes, hair fumbling out of her braid like she has been tugging on it endlessly.

“How long have you been like this, honey?” Lio whispers tenderly. His hands roam over her, needing to touch her but worrying about hurting her.

Savannah shakes her head. Lio pushes the door open, mindful of not hitting her legs. He works his way into the door fully, then cautiously picks her up. She shudders in his arms as he kicks the door shut. Her head rests on his shoulder, eyes screwed shut tight as she clutches her abdomen with coiled fingers.

“You’re in pain?” He asks. She nods vigorously. “Okay, I am going to call Doc up here.”

He gently lays Savannah on the bed. She immediately curls into a fetal position, moaning. Lio rests his hand on her thigh, rubbing along it in soothing circles as he dials the team doctor, Darius.

“Hello?”

“I need you to come to Savannah’s room. Something is wrong. 610. Please run.” 

“Okay.” He hangs up.

“He’s coming, baby.” Lio leans forward, brushing her hair of her face. “I’ll be right back.” Then he kisses her arm, before walking to the door to wait.

The elevator opens and Dr. Darius comes out with his bag in his hand. He runs down the hall.

“What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know. She can’t really speak, but she is in pain and holding her abdomen.”

“Okay.” Dr. Darius darts into the room, opening his bag. “Hi Savannah.” She looks up at him with fresh tears on her cheeks. “Can you give me a rating from 1-10?”

“Its a 9.” She wails. “I’ve thrown up three times. And I passed out in the bathroom.”

“Okay. What hurts?”

“It’s my Endo.” She grits out. “I have my period. I’m bleeding through everything too.” They both look down at Savannah’s pants, seeing the blood collecting on the fabric.

“Okay. We gotta go to the hospital.” 

“I know.” She says. “I just… c-c-can’t.” She grits her teeth again, screeching through her teeth. Lio feel this heart collapse in his chest. He has never seen Savannah like this. He doesn’t understand what Endo is or what is going on. All he knows is she is a tough woman and for her to be wrung out like this, whatever she is feeling is extreme.

“Can you give her anything?” Lio asks, feeling slightly sick to his stomach watching her writhe on the bed. Darius is holding her wrist, checking her pulse.

“No. We don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“She just said its… Endo… I don’t know what the is but it’s clearly painful.”

“We can’t give her anything. We will let the hospital take care of it.” Dr. Darius stands, walking into the bathroom. “Wrap this around her waist. Then I want you to carry her down to the lobby. I’ll grab Marc for the car keys and meet you down there.” 

Dr. Darius leaves the room. Lio turns back to Sav. She still lays in the fetal position, eyes closed, focusing on her breaths, trying to even them out even as the pain clearly keeps her rigid. 

“Hold on, baby.” Lio whispers, leaning down to kiss her temple. She reaches for his hand on her thigh, crushing it in her grasp. 

“Lee, don’t leave me.”

“Never.” He promises. “I’m right here.”

Lio keeps his promise on the way to the hospital where he sits in the back seat with her and then in the chair next to her hospital bed. Although they get a bed quickly, it takes forever for them to be seen in the ER. Eventually, Dr. Darius finds a nurse who he explains the organization they are with. Then, a doctor comes to see them in another few minutes.

After flipping through the chart and asking a few basic questions, then taking her vitals, he sighs and flips the stethoscope back around his neck.

“Well, you’ve had endometriosis since you were young. But with the severity of the pain, potentially an ovarian cyst burst. Do you have a history of that?”

“Yes.” Savannah says.

“Okay, well let’s get an ultrasound done and see if that may be the cause.” Savannah nods. Lio squeezes her hand, finally happy with progress being made to get her pain relief. 

The ultrasound confirms the cyst, it has burst, and Savannah should be feeling better after a few days. However, the radiologist warns Savannah there is significant build up of endometriosis in her uterus. Savannah stares blankly at the screen as the technician points to the areas of concern. 

“You will want to follow up with your primary care provider when you return home.” Savannah nods, then looks away from the screen, playing with the edges of the paper blanket that was placed over her lower half for the ultrasound. 

“What about the blood?” Lio asks the ER doctor when he comes back in to discharge Savannah.

“It isn’t significant blood loss to warrant further action. She may become anemic. Iron supplements will help. She will be tired for a few days while her body replenishes her supply, but nothing more to be done here.”

“Wait, what?” Lio shakes his head. “So she just has to suffer until her body creates enough blood. Why can’t you give her a transfusion?”

“Because other people have a greater need.” The doctor snaps back. Lio is taken aback. His mouth drops open in surprise, then he looks over at Dr. Darius like, ‘is this guy for real?’

“Savannah has been in significant pain for some time now. Can we get additional pain management prescribed for her as her body works on absorbing the cyst?” He asks. The doctor nods, tossing his notepad on the table.

“Any medication allergies?” He asks Savannah without looking up.

“No.” She weakly responds.

“Okay, this should be good then.” He rips off the note pad and extends it to her. She frowns. 

“Can I have something stronger? This doesn’t really work for me. It’s basically stronger Tylenol.” The doctor contemplates.

“The circumstances don’t call for anything stronger at this point.”

“Seriously? What the fuck is your problem dude?” Lio snaps. 

“And your boyfriend seems to have an anger management problem so I wonder if he wants you to get some pain pills for himself.” Lio puffs his chest out, trying to stand, but Savannah grips his fingers tightly.

“No.” She murmurs to him.

“This is very unprofessional.” Dr. Darius frowns. “Standard hospital protocol should allow for strong drugs in circumstances where patients have been in severe pain for over 8 hours, which she has. She was also give stronger medication than what you have prescribed here when she first came in and is now in a comfortable position.”

The doctor sighs again, like he’s so bored with this conversation and these three people, then writes out a prescription for a strong dosage. 

“Please follow up with your provider when you return home.” He calls lazily over his shoulders as he leaves the room.

Lio pops up, following him out of the room with Dr. Darius hot on his heels.

“Look, I’m sorry I got upset, but you’re not listening to her. This is not normal. She can’t breathe, man. You have to help her.”

“I am helping her. She has a diagnosis and needs to work with her primary care provider for a treatment plan. This is a chronic condition. Not an emergency.”

"So, that's it? You're just gonna leave her in that bed, pump her with drugs, and hope thats enough for her?" 

"Lio, let's go back in with Savannah." Dr. Darius encourages him. Lio stands there looking at the ER doctor with his hands on his hips. There are so many things he wants to say. He wants to grab that guy and throw him against the wall to make him hurt like his girl hurts. Then he can try to explain the differences in chronic versus new pain while he has a few broken ribs.

Ultimately, Lio scoffs incredulously and beings to walk back into the room. He looks at Dr. Darius. “We need to find her someone better than that asshole.”

Savannah has her eyes closed, slumped back into the pillows when both men come back through the door. 

“What a fucking prick.” Lio mutters about the doctor to Savannah.

“He’s pretty typical of the other ER doctors I’ve seen.” She mumbles. “They see worse than some fragile woman with an invisible illness.”

“How is it invisible?” Lio asks, eyebrows scrunched tight over his frustrated blue eyes. “He literally saw it on the ultrasound. We all did.” Savannah gives him a small smile.

“Women’s pain isn’t take seriously. Especially when it surrounds uteruses or vaginas or has anything to do with periods.” She sighs, closing her eyes and laying back in bed. “I want to go back to the hotel and sleep for a day. Like literally a full day.” 

“We can make that happen.” He murmurs, reaching up to hold her head softly. His thumb strokes across her forehead as his eyes drink her in, relieved that she seems to be pain free now. No thanks to that fucking asshat who just walked out of here. “You doing okay” He asks her. He reaches to her abdomen, adjusting the heating pad on her abdomen where it was sliding off without a hand on it. He rests his hand there gently, keeping it in place so she can stay in the position she is in. 

“Mhm. Good drugs.” She smiles without opening her eyes.

“I didn’t know cysts could form internally…” He trails off, still brushing her forehead.

“Yeah, and I’m extra special, getting them regularly. They don’t always hurt this bad though. Guess it makes sense with how much fluid and such was on the ultrasound. Must have been big.”

“I hate that this happens to you.” He sympathizes. She nods through a yawn.

“Lee, I am gonna sleep for a bit, okay? Wake me when I’m discharged.” 

“Okay, baby.” Lio whispers to her. 

Savannah falls asleep quickly with Lio’s soft hands on her. He watches every second of her slumber, ignoring the other noises and distractions of the ER. Dr. Darius works with the nursing staff on her discharge paperwork, then signs releasing her from the hospital. They get a sleepy Savannah in the wheelchair, fill her prescription at the clinic in the adjoining parking lot, then head back to the hotel. Lio carries his girlfriend back into her room. He drops her off in the bathroom, stepping out so she can clean up on her own. Even though he wants to help, Savannah asks for privacy. He understands; it’s been a long, raw day for her. 

Lio waits on the end of the bed, popping up when he hears the door click open. He wraps an arm around her, guiding her to the bed. He tucks her in with the new heating pad they grabbed for her at the pharmacy, then he tugs his shirt off to wind down for bed with her. It’s after 1am and he is dead tired- physically, mentally, and emotionally. Thankfully, Savannah doesn’t fight his presence. Instead she curls into him, sliding a leg between his so he can hold her as close as possible. 

“Thank you for saving me.” She murmurs. “I would still be laying on the floor if you didn’t come looking for me.” Lio frowns, then kisses her forehead. 

“I love you. I… want to talk more about what is going on with you. I should have asked before, but I didn’t realize it was this bad, baby.”

“It actually hasn’t been this bad in awhile.” Savannah confesses. “But the ultrasound confirmed what I had been thinking. The tissue has grown back and it is deeper.” She yawns loudly. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.” She confirms. “But right now, just hold me.”

- - -

 The next morning, Lio wakes up before Savannah. He feels like utter shit. Luckily with it being a back to back, there is not morning skate to take part in. But there is breakfast downstairs, so he peels himself out of Savannah’s grasp and heads down to the conference room to grab something to eat for both of them.

“How is she?” Dr. Darius asks when he sees Lio.

“She is still asleep. But was stable the rest of the night and slept through it.” He surveys the options, grabbing a bagel with cream cheese for Savannah and a breakfast burrito for him. 

“Good. I will come see her before we head to the rink. Determine if she should stay behind or not.” Lio nods. 

“Thanks. I would appreciate that.” Lio says honestly. Dr. Darius pats Lio’s arm.

“You took great care of her last night. She will need that consistently with her condition.” Lio is silent, grabbing a few pieces of fruit for his and Savannah’s plate. He can’t agree or make any sort of response to the doctor because truthfully, he has no idea about Savannah’s condition. Last night was a huge shock to him. He knew she had something from their previous, short term relationship and from what she communicated to him in Switzerland this past summer about likely being unable to have kids. But he has never seen her as weak and sick as she was last night. It was terrifying to him. 

“Last night… wasn’t normal?” He asks Dr. Darius as he grabs fruit right behind Lio for his own plate.

“Ah, it is hard to tell. I am unsure what her symptoms and the severity of her condition. I also do not specialize in that area. But in general, no. It’s not normal. She should be following up with her doctor after an episode this severe.” 

“Is this like a once a month thing?”

“Lio, I think these questions need to be answered by Savannah. Talk to her. Listen. Offer support where you can.” Lio sighs, ultimately agreeing. 

“Thanks again, Doc. For everything. Last night included.”

“Yes, please tell Savannah I will be coming up to see her later.” 

“Will do.” Lio nods, then heads towards the doors, away from where his teammates are huddling together at various tables. Usually, Lio would sit down and shoot the shit, especially with a quick turn around from the game. But not today.

“Meier, where ya going?” Beckett hollers to him.

“He’s got a hot date.” Tony snickers.

“A lil breakfast in bed?!” Carter joins in. 

The three rookies shut up and swallow hard at the glare Lio is throwing them. Lio doesn’t need to say any words; his message was delivered loud and clear. Lio carefully balances the two plates in his hands as he works the key card out of his pocket. He pushes the door open, looking around the corner to see Savannah up on her phone. 

“Oh, hi. I was just texting you.” She yawns.

“Sorry, you were out when I left. Should have texted you.”

“It’s okay.” She smiles. She still looks exhausted and weak. Lio frowns back at her, even as she hopes for a smile from him.

“Good morning.” He says, dropping a kiss on her lips as he places her plate in her lap. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” She sighs. “The drugs last night really helped.” 

“Are you still… bleeding bad?”

“It’s manageable.” Savannah says. The way she drops her gaze has Lio unsure if she is being truthful.

“Is it?” He asks, gripping her chin so she has to look at him.

“Yes.” She says, unwavering this time. Lio gently combs his fingers through the sides of her hair. He had pulled her braid apart for her last night before bed and her blonde locks are wild and wavy around her face. 

“Good.” He murmurs, then leans down for one more kiss. He lingers there, needing her lips on his more than the coffee in his hand. Savannah watches him after he pulls away and climbs onto the bed next to her.

“I’m sorry if last night scared you. I didn’t mean for that.” 

“Baby, you were going through it.” Lio shakes his head, unwrapping his breakfast burrito. “No need to apologize. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“You had a good game.” She tries to change the subject. Lio shrugs.

“Yeah, it was decent.” 

“Playing Luca tonight will be fun.” 

“Yeah.” He says after swallowing his first bite of eggs, cheese and sausage. “Wish the back to back had been Kings first then the Ducks so we could have spent time with him and Liv.”

“That would be nice.” 

Silence settles over the room as the two of them start to eat. Lio tries to pretend it is comforting silence, but it isn’t. He doesn’t want to push his girlfriend, but at the same time, he doesn’t understand how she is sitting here like last night was… normal. A worried shake rolls through Lio’s body at the thought. He looks over at her again as he finishes up the final bite of his burrito. 

“I would like to talk about last night.” Savannah slowly chews on a piece of pineapple. She grabs her coffee, taking a sip, then sighing heavily.

“Okay.”

“You don’t want to?”

“No, I do. I know I’ve been putting this off.” Lio watches as she puts her plate on the bedside table. He contemplates for a moment, wondering what to even say next. His fingers find hers in her lap, lacing together as they share a look.

“I’m not trying to force you into telling me things you don’t want to. I only want to support you. But I can’t if I don’t know what we are facing, babe.” 

“I know.” She reaches over, cupping this neck, rubbing her thumb across his jaw. “I love that about you. That you’re asking and curious and… scared for me.” She whispers the last part, eyes brushing over his lips. 

“It’s hard not to be after last night. I’ve never… seen or I guess noticed this with you from before?”

“It wasn’t like this before.” She answers, still watching his mouth. Her blue eyes meet his. “It’s gotten a lot worse the last year. I had to end my Europe trip early last summer because of it.”

“I don’t really understand what you have, babe.” Lio shakes his head. 

“I have endometriosis. It’s been in my family for generations. My mom has it. My aunt has it. My grandma had it. My two female cousins have it. And I have it too.” She shrugs. “It is abnormal tissue that grows in places it shouldn’t. It can completely enclose ovaries and fallopian tubes and implant deep into your uterus, getting worse with every period that you have.”

“Tissue?” Lio says, surprised. He was almost expecting like lumps or something after what happened last night. “But that isn’t what they said last night.”

“Yeah, so last night I have an ovarian cyst, which can be more common with conditions like Endo. I’m lucky to have multiple issues.”

“Okay… so what have you tried for treatment?”

“Um, everything. Including surgery.” Savannah shrugs, pulling her hand away from his. Lio chases her as she pulls away, sliding his hand to her thighs to grip it comfortingly. “I had surgery three years ago to remove a bunch of tissue and lumps called fibroids in my uterus because I was in the ER every two weeks from how bad the pain was. It helped for a while. We found a good birth control pill that helped calm down the growth of the tissue, but my doctor told me there was always a possibility it would grow back.” She sighs, whimpering slightly. “And it’s back.” 

“Baby, we gotta go see someone else when we get home. You can’t have nights like last night every two weeks. It’s not good for you and how are you gonna work? You’ve worked so hard to get here.” His voice waivers at the end. He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Let’s work with the team to find a new doctor for you, okay?”

“Lee, I don’t want you to use who you are for me.” She furrows her eyebrows.

“Babe, I do. I want to use my name and my status and the team to get you the best doctors on the East Coast. And I’m gonna do it. But I need your blessing cause HIPPA or some shit.” He squeezes her hand. “Please, let me do this for you. There is better out there for you and we are going to find it. Get you some longer term solutions than a few years, okay?”

“I am willing to try, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up, okay? If they tell me the same things…” She trails off. Suddenly, she looks way, towards the window, her bottom lip quivering beneath her top teeth where she has tucked it into her mouth. Lio brushes her hair back behind her ear. 

“You’re so brave, baby. I’m so proud of you and in awe of what you’ve been living through.” He whispers, rubbing her cheek. He leans forward, placing his lips there and kissing his way to her mouth. His tongue glides along the seam of her lips, urging her to open them so he can have his way with her tongue. Savannah whimpers into his mouth, running her hands up his chest to grip his shoulders. 

“Lee.” She whispers when they pull away.

“Hm?” He rests his forehead against hers. 

“My condition means it is extremely unlikely I can ever get pregnant. And… you should know that about me before we go any further down this road.”

“I know. You told me in Switzerland. I also told you I didn’t want kids.”

“Yeah, but that was before we were… this.” Her eyes stay down towards the bed, unable to reach his even as he pulls away to try and see her fully. She rubs the comforter between her fingers in both hands. Tear drops hit the bed on either side of her hands. Lio can see the pain in her body even as she tries to hide it from him. 

“Sav.” She shakes her head. A shakey breath is inhaled then a sob wretches out of her throat.“Baby look at me.” He reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together. Savannah is crying, silent tears falling down her face as her bottom lip trembles so hard.

“I can’t.” Lio maneuvers himself to his side, then drops his head onto her hands still fiddling with the comforter in her lap. Two of her tears hit his face as they drop off her chin.

“I love you.” He pauses, letting those words hang where they must between their bodies. “All of you. Your whole body and soul and spirit, baby. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Lee, if you want babies you should find someone who can give you that. This isn’t fair to you.” Her voice shakes as she sobs the words out to him. Her eyes screw shut. Lio’s heart churns in sync with her pain.

“Savannah, trust me, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I’m broken. You deserve-“

“You are not broken.” His voice is gentle, almost a silent whisper to match the tone of her voice. His hands hold both of her cheeks now, keeping her from collapsing backwards and away from him. She grips his wrists. Snot collects in bubbles out of both of her nostrils. Tears stain her pale cheeks as Lio’s heart shatters in his chest for her. “You are whole, exactly as you are right now.” She shakes her head no.

“What man wants a woman like this?” 

“A real one.” He responds, then pushes up so he can kiss any remaining doubt from her lips.

[myfandomprompts]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟗/𝟏𝟎)

Summary: There is little time left. Very little time. Previous Part - Masterlist

Warnings: angst, anti-Semitism French spoken -> italics

At first, it’s how Albert’s face seems to shut off each time your town’s name is seen on a sign at the side of the road, the mark that you’re getting closer to your destination. Then it’s how Tom looked like he wished for the earth to swallow him whole each time the bus station is mentioned, the place that will take you home.

It just seems so close now.

But there are good moments. At noon, when you find yourselves in the middle of nowhere with only the shade of the trees or a windmill to keep you cool, you all sit joyfully on the grass to eat what Charles and Germaine had generously given you; plenty of bread and ham to be able to walk without to a rumbling belly. It’s during those occasions that Tom never misses an opportunity to be next to you, the fact that you’ve taken to teaching him French seriously giving him a good reason to talk to you at length.

Not that he needed a good reason.

Everyone casually laughs at his attempts at pronunciation, each of them trying to participate and help where they can. But the truth is, he’d rather have you for himself, because he knew he could make you smile like he had never seen anyone else do, like nobody else could.

He wanted to be the only one.

“This isn’t even a word…”

“Yes it is!” you argued as you dropped your hand in defeat. “Poulailler is where the chickens go. Try it.”

He didn’t lose his teasing smile while he tried to pronounce it. “Yeah, still doesn’t sound right.”

“It wasn’t bad. La poule is the chicken, le poulailler is the chicken coop, it’s as simple as that.”

“And how do you say rooster, then?”

You stopped yourself from answering him at the last second, red staining your cheeks slightly. “Mh, that you don’t want to know.”

“Why?”

You contemplated his curious and enticing smile before a voice interrupted you and your thoughts. “Hey, Y/N, can you tell me on the map where the store you slept in was again? Looks like a good hiding place for future travellers, if the owners get on board.”

You nod quietly to Giulia before taking the map from her to examine it while you heard Tom fall back at your side, disappointed. The conversation didn’t stray from the different points Giulia could use for her route, mentioning Raymond, whom Charles had said he would convince, and Albert, who already saw himself as a ‘passeur’ near Poitiers.

Tom was bored again, and you felt guilt at the sight of his glum expression. But it all went away when he suddenly comfortably rested his head on your lap, closing his eyes and proceeded to take a nap there as if it was the most natural thing to do.

There was a brief silence, but the others quickly reconvened around the current subject while indescribable affection and fulfilment flooded through you. You didn’t notice Henriette's discreet smile, Giulia’s indifference or Albert’s flickering eyes as you fell behind the conversation completely, coming to run your fingers through his hair.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips stretched into a content smile. The soft satisfying sound he made when you grazed your nails over his scalp cheered you, and only you heard his quiet praises, telling you how nice it felt.

This is what he had been talking about, making every moment count. You would not allow yourself to think of the end.

You didn’t leave his side once as you hit the road again, walking next to each other, hands itching to reach to the other. It felt liberating, confusing, good. However, the more you advanced, the more your feet started to gradually drag on the pathways, reluctant. You wished you could stretch the journey at will, to go back in time or simply think of this journey as a nice trip in the countryside. Not a way to make it home, to send him home.

To put all of this behind you.

But reality struck you like a slap in the face when you approached the next town, quiet streets with bricked walls plastered with the new government’s posters, and below one of them, an old looking graffiti with a single blood-icing sentence.

“Les Juifs sont la cause de la guerre.”

You all glanced at it before lowering your gazes and hastening the pace, taking the direction of the inn you would spend the night in in tensed silence.

Tom lingered a moment longer, trying to decipher the words without success. He trotted behind you, brows furrowed at your sudden sour faces. “What’s written there?”

You rolled your tongue inside of your mouth, ill at ease. “Jews are the reason for the war.”

He stopped, face decomposing after your whispered translation before glancing around in worry. But he quickly caught up with you as you neared the café terrace where both regulars and travellers were enjoying a drink or a well-deserved meal.

You exhaled in relief as you entered, the coolness of the inside air much more bearable after your journey, and by the time you sat around a table and booked rooms at the counter, Tom had found his usual silent countenance again. You could see the irritation in his eyes and within his gestures as he now could not utter a word out loud without earning a dark glance from Giulia, not until you were in a less crowded place again. It saddened you too.

You had to snap your eyes away from the way his tongue wetted his lips before taking a sip of his drink in frustration when Albert dropped a heavy book in front of you. “Phone book. I need your help finding Aunt Marie. It won’t hurt telling the parents we’re on our way.”

You nod, more like a reflex than anything else before opening the pages filled with countless telephone numbers. Tom eyed each time you turned a page with a dark expression, jaw clenching, but you said nothing as you continued. His glass was emptied by the time Henriette had gone to freshen herself in the commons, your own tired gaze fixed on the digits before you.

You didn’t notice the three policemen enter at first, the usualness of their visit blending perfectly with the rest of the customers, until they approached a table that had been awfully quiet since you’d arrived. 

It was the entire room’s turn to fall in a tense silence. “Gutten Haben, Henrren.”

You lifted your head upon hearing the German words, not understanding why two French Policemen had suddenly switched languages. The one that had spoken was giving a sad look at the men seated for dinner, the two other policemen gauging the room warily.

“Uh… Gutten Haben, what can I… do for you?” one of the men asked in awful French, his thick German accent making the policemen smile briefly. Meanwhile, sweat was starting to form over the man’s forehead.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us. We’ve been told that you’re immigrants, German immigrants.”

The two Germanics exchanged frightened glances before gazing back at the rough-looking policeman. “But… We have papers, we obtained it from your government, months ago!”

The latter clicked his tongue, an uneasy scowl appearing on his features, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than them. “I’m afraid it won’t suffice. Our government has implemented new laws. You’re going home, I’m sorry.”

You heard murmurs around you, catching words like “ran away”, “Jewish” or “persecuted”. The next moment, Giulia was whispering in your ears. “Y/N, take Tom and go through the back entrance. If they are taking refugees, there is no say what they’ll do to a British soldier, and we can’t risk it. I’ll find Henriette.”

There was a strange state of purpose surpassing the brief panic that filled you before you took Tom’s hand softly under the table. He barely resisted when you led him away, heading to the back stairwell as the two Germans were taken out quietly out of the room and the two other policemen lingered around.

Tom didn’t say anything until you had reached a back alley with a slim stream coursing next to it. “What is it, what are we doing?”

You checked that the coast was clear before pulling him to a corner where no one would hear you. “I don’t… I don’t think this town is safe.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we’ve reached a ‘free’ place where they couldn’t chase us. Were they German folks?”

“I think they… I think they were Jewish refugees from Germany, yes,” you thought out loud, digging your teeth in your lower lip in anguish. “The Reich wants them back, for…”

“And what the hell has it gotta do with those French coppers?”

You knew how helpless you looked at that moment, how lost. “Because this is the new regime! Pétain will do anything Hitler asks of him, and there is no say where it’ll stop… You would be taken as a prisoner of war, you have no papers, you have nothing…” You bit your tongue darkly. “Somebody ratted out those Germans, that's how they knew.”

Tom parted his lips in exasperation before clenching his jaw hard. “Oh, that’s bloody brilliant.”

He leaned his head against the darkened wall, right next to a propaganda poster, Pétain looking down at you with high colours as if he could see you, hear you. 

You bit your nails, stressed. “But it won’t happen to you! You’ve got Giulia, you’ve got a safe route to Spain, and there are no Nazis on this side, it’ll be alright.”

“Once again, Y/N, you don’t know that. I’m the first wanker who is making sure that crossing will not get me killed. Not that I’ll care about making it now, anyway…”

Shock at his words made your breath momentarily get stuck in your throat. You lowered your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to keep a straight face.

But you tensed and didn’t even know where to look. 

He immediately realised what he had said, pushing himself off of the wall to make you look at him. “Shit, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head as he held you close, making you go soft against him. “Why would you say that…”

“I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he repeated against your hair. “I’m just bloody tired, and it’s like I can’t see past the moment when… when we…” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about me then.”

You detached your face from his chest, looking up at him with fierce damped eyes. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, Tom.”

You saw the lump in his throat disappear as he swallowed hard, glistening eyes fixed on you. You cupped his face with your hand, bringing him into a kiss that would make him understand, feel your need for him.

“You don’t get to give up, you hear me, Tom Bennett?”

He all but smiled, a ray of light in the dark. “You should know me by now, nothing can take me down, not even a bullet.”

You smiled in turn, trying not to leave his warmth as you kept your body close. “You know, I can’t help but think that… if you haven’t been shot, we might have never met again.”

You stared at each other while his thumb stroked your shoulders, lowering to your ribs, to your waist.

He took a deep breath. “Some might say it’s God’s plan and all. Either way, considering where I am now… I’d say it was worth it, this damn hell I've been through.”

He was drawing small circles against the curve of your waist, tickling your skin and you chuckled through the bitterness. “Always the charmer, are you?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was known for back at home, wasn’t I? Gotta live up to the name.”

You hummed, coming to wrap your hands around his neck to stroke the soft hair there playfully. “That’s not exactly what I remember your reputation to be.” 

“Hm? Care to tell me, then?” he teased.

You faked hesitation, pressing your forehead against his to whisper. “Trouble maker… Loud-mouthed… Hot blooded?”

He pouted. “That… does not sound like me at all.”

His hidden laughter made you tilt your head to the side in refound glee. “Doesn’t it? I could have sworn it was you. Maybe I should look for another Tom?”

He instantly pressed his body harder against yours, familiar heat meeting your flesh. “Why would you do that when you have what’s best right there? Helpful, good-looking, amazing kisser…”

“Oh, really? I don’t remember hearing anything about that last part.”

“Odd, since you’re the one who told me, love,” he said with a grin as you arched an eyebrow over your forehead. "Through the pretty sounds you make, that look in your eyes when I touch you… I just can tell.”

You shook your head with a sigh to try to hide the blush that adorned your cheeks as he joined his lips with yours again. The touch sent chills down your spine and it suddenly made you feel far away from the inn, from any risks that could come your way.

“Are you Jewish?”

The small tone made you stop and snap your eyes open. A small child stood behind Tom, no more than eight, looking at the two of you with a paper plane in his hands, his expression flat.

You froze in Tom’s arms as you blinked, his head falling backwards in annoyance as you pulled away from him. “I, uhm… No? Why would you ask that, sweetheart?”

The child frowned at your confused tone. “Then, why are you hiding?”

You remained speechless at his question as Tom’s warning tone fanned in your left ear. “Y/N, if I turn around that lad is going to be traumatised. You should really make him go.”

You scowled at his complicit eyes as you tried not to feel his point. You detached yourself from him, making him sigh in frustration as you approached the boy gently. “We’re hiding because… we’re playing a game. Tom here was meant to find me, and he did. We were just discussing… game strategy. Where are your parents?”

The boy sniffed, an untrustworthy look fixed on you. “My father says that Jews are bad, that they’re everywhere and steal everything from us. That’s why the Germans want them.”

You tried not to appear too gobsmacked as you lowered yourself to him, a sour taste in your mouth. “You know… Maybe you shouldn’t listen to everything your father says, I can assure you they-”

Tom’s impatience was palpable behind you and when he called your name, the boy’s frown deepened, clutching his paper plane harder as he glanced between the two of you. “Maybe I should go and ask my father directly, he’ll know.”

“No, wait!” you tried, but he had already scattered toward the house right at the opposite side of the road, disappearing behind a fence.

Tom came to your level, seeing you heave with distress. “What was that?” 

“Not reassuring.”

You took his hand swiftly and dragged him along the stream in haste, wishing to put as much distance between you and the concerning neighbourhood before the boy could find you. Despite Tom’s hissed arguments as you kept walking, you only stopped when you reached the underside of a bridge, considering it far enough and feeling your slightly panicked heart settle.

“Are you giving me a tour?” he chuckled as he took in his surroundings. “It’s very pretty, I’ll give you that.”

It was. The bridge you had stopped under was small but big enough to hide you from anyone above. The evening light shone right on the stream below your feet and cast beams of light on the white stones. On the other side, a lone fisherman was laying his line in the calm waters, a bored eye lifted toward you as you turned to face Tom with a frustrated sigh.

“Darn this country. I’m sorry I dragged you here again, I just didn’t want to face people with problematic ideas. I didn’t want to get angry.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Does my girl get angry, really?”

“When people are stupid, yes!”

He chuckled as he pulled you away from under the bridge in order to walk along the stream, hand in hand. The grin he wore upon his lips was so endearing, as if he had no care in the world. "I’m afraid you’ll have to do an awful lot of fightin’, then.”

You exhaled as you pressed your thumb against the back of his hand, making him grin further. The night was setting quickly and already humidity was falling over your skin, eliciting goosebumps there.

“Do you even know how to get back?” he asked, looking around as you passed a small pier.

“Yeah, it’s somewhere… around there,” you gestured vaguely over your left to the path that led back on the road, hesitant. If truth was to be told, you were not in a hurry to get back, those moments with him seemed so precious to you.

Tom hummed, unconvinced but did not add anything else. As you went up the pathway, smells of dinners being cooked and playful screams of children reached you, and when you neared a small square further down the road, you heard the soft sound of a gramophone starting to play. Tom’s lips slowly curved upwards as he glanced over the high window where the music was coming from.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he turned around to face you, a playful glint in his eyes.

He didn’t answer, only brought you to a stop before taking one of your hands in his and putting the other on your waist. When the voice of Lys Gauty resounded, slow and beautiful along the violins, you felt yourself move in his embrace. 

You laugh softly, feeling silly at each of your steps. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I went to a few of Lois’ gigs,” he said with a snidely. “I observed.”

“I’ve never seen you attend one…”

You saw his expression drop as you kept moved in rhythm. “Yeah, well, once I went there, knowing you would be there but when I arrived, you were dancing with some bloke and… I didn’t feel like staying.”

You watched his long eyelashes flutter, the skin under his eyes turning reddish as he fled your gaze. He was beautiful.

But you couldn’t help but tease him. “I remember. He was quite nice, offered me a drink afterwards…”

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about it, really.”

You smiled tenderly, bringing a hand you wanted apologetic closer to his face. “He was not you, though. You wouldn’t have tried to get me drunk, right?”

Tom’s smile grew sardonic, satisfied. “The git.”

“Yeah,” you whispered as you pressed your lips against his smug ones, grinning through the kiss.

You lost yourselves in the melody, bodies moving languidly along the female soothing voice as he held you close, faces resting against each other.

“It’s nice… What does it say?” he asked after a while, hot breath fanning over your cheek.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the lyrics. The word slowly sank in and unexpectedly made your heart ache, their meaning passing over you like a cold wind. “It’s from a movie, I think. It’s… kind of sad.”

“Tell me.”

You felt some of his hair graze the side of your face as your voice turned a bit broken. “It’s about two young lovers of twenty. They lived very close, but although they loved each other they never had the courage to confess, until they kissed and all became brighter.”

He readjusted his position against you. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

The music turned sombre, trumpets playing in as you continued. “But then hope disappeared, and all took the shade of the night. They grew apart, and their story became part of the past, their shared dreams left behind as if nothing happened between them.”

Tom fell silent, his fingers pressing deeper into your palm and waist as you opened your eyes.

If the words resonated strongly within the two of you, their weight crushing like a hammer, you did your best to not let the other feel it. You couldn't let yourself be controlled by these emotions, not so close to the end.

The song ended on a distorted note and a click as your light steps slowed on the paved stone. When the melody started again, the same melancholic words repeating, you decided that you had enough.

You couldn't bear it. “We should go back.”

You slowly pulled away from him, shivering from the cold air around you from the loss of his embrace but felt his grip over your hand harden, securing you into place. He hadn’t moved, a determined expression displayed over his features, the one he took when he was battling against his emotions.

You looked at him expectantly. “You haven’t changed your mind, have ya? I really can’t convince you to come with me anymore.”

You tried to focus on his touch in order to shut out the now irritable music coming from the window above, to shut out the emotions that threatened to make tears appear at the rim of your eyes. Nothing was as bitter than your heart at that particular moment. 

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded slowly after a long while, his lips curling in bitterness, resignation. When you met his eyes, you could have sworn that the light inside of them had gone, the lively glint inhabiting it. But his hand remained locked with yours, warm and tight.

When you got back to the inn the night had fallen completely.

You often wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your father, if you hadn’t come home from England, stayed away from the war.

Would you still be in your tiny flat, not far from the centre? Would you be worried sick about Tom, as staring at the door he had slammed behind him like he had just left? Would he have even slammed it in anger if he had been the first to leave, and not you? 

By now, the news of his disappearance or potential death must have reached Manchester, and you wondered how you would have felt if you had been on the other side of the mirror. You pictured a devastated Douglas, a lost and helpless Lois listening to the wireless. You couldn't even fathom the state you would have been in, if you weren't here, knowing he was perfectly out of danger, close to being reunited with your parents and having found your brother safe against all odds.

The greatest difference from where you stood was that here, you would have to see him leave, never to come back.

You're taken out of your reveries as you reached a crossroad, one moment Henriette asking you if you were alright, the other the boisterous voice of your brother making your head lift up in a quick motion.

"This is it,"  he announced, examining the sign in front of you. "This way is Châteauroux… where you'd be able to take the train,” he said toward Giulia as he waved somewhere over his right. “And this way is Poitiers. Our path.”

Your feet planted on the ground like they had suddenly grown roots and you felt the oxygen lack in your lungs as you forgot to breathe. You stared at the sign helplessly, trying to comprehend the words written on it, unwilling to.

You barely heard the conversation going vividly around you as the others said goodbye with warm embraces. Your eyes were turned toward Tom, finding him already looking at you and you felt your heart drop in your chest. His blue eyes bright, piercing, his mouth drawn in a tight line. 

Only when the small form of Giulia came to block your vision were you forced to tear your gaze away from him. "Y/N, it was a pleasure meeting you. You really helped."

Your voice seemed to sound far away when you answered clumsily, barely present in the moment with her. 

You felt so empty. "Oh, I, uhm… really?"

"Yes, more than you know."

Her smile managed to snatch one from you, but it didn’t linger as she hugged you kindly. Over her shoulder, you saw your brother shake Tom’s hand and Henriette bid him good luck with a smile, but he barely managed to return it. Instead, silence settled in the air as Giulia let go of you, your gaze fixed on Tom, speechless.

Henriette was the first to speak after a while, clearing her throat awkwardly. "We should give them a minute."

The crunching noise of pebbles on the ground as they stepped away resonated too loudly in your ears. Tom approached you carefully, his fair skin paler than usual against the warm summer air.

You fumbled with your hands, eyes barely able to meet his penetrative ones.

"I guess this is goodbye then," you said, throat achingly dry.

He didn't answer, staring at you relentlessly, making you hyper aware of the scorching heat gradually forming beneath your eyes. "You'll say hi to your father and sister for me, yeah? And to the baby…"

His mouth remained closed as you shifted uncomfortably into place, crushed under his gaze. 

Not having enough of it. 

"Stop looking at me like that…"

His eyes flickered, the softness of his tone surprising you as he parted his lips. "Looking at you like what?"

"Like you're… like you're mad at me."

'I'm not-" he began, shaking his head. "I'm not mad at you, I just… It's just fucking unfair."

You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth. “We’ll see each other again. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Then why does it bloody feel like it?”

You couldn't answer, the uncertainty of your lives too much to even think about, rendering promises achingly pointless. You bit the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt to stay composed, but when he lowered his gaze and took your hands in his, you froze.

They were so warm, perfect for you.

"Listen, Y/N, about these three words, these three damn very known words... I really need to say th-"

"No, please Tom, don't," you pleaded, feeling the dampness of your eyes barely holding in. "I can't… I couldn't cope. Please."

His face decomposed, eyes strained sadly upon you, lost. The words burned his tongue, melted his heart. Still, he didn’t say them.

You couldn't bear it, the expression he wore, your own doing. You felt a tear form at the rim of your right eye and you leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his to hide it from him. He sighed against you immediately, eyes closed and hands trailing up your arms.

He felt so good. 

“Don't you dare forget about me, Y/N."

He sought out your lips, his nose digging into your cheek and you caved, melting into his needy kiss. It was slow and painfully sweet, realising that it could be your last. As his hands cupped your face more strongly, calloused fingers burning your numb flesh, you allowed yourself to make it last.

You pulled apart, panting for air as you remained in each other's embrace, your hands pressed against his chest. You found his heart to be beating as fast as yours, as shattered as yours.

After a sharp inhale, you felt it settle gradually as you tried to memorise the feel of him in your mind, to imprint it into your skin. 

"Goodbye, Tom."

You kept your eyes shut as a single tear finally rolled down your cheek, your body aching as you battled against his softening grip. When you pulled away from him sharply, you could only repress a shuddering breath.

You didn't allow yourself to look back until you had reached the others, and when you finally turned, he hadn't moved a muscle, weary eyes strained in you, powerless as he stood in the middle of the path.

It took everything you had not to let more of your tears fall.

Giulia gave you a quick movement of the head before joining him. She had to call his name before he finally followed her. Henriette stroked your back as you watch him reluctantly walk backwards, his eyes not leaving your face.

Maybe it would be easier to just close yours, embrace the darkness, to not witnesses that wretched moment.

But you couldn't, and by the time he had disappeared around a corner, your cheeks had dried and the pain in your stomach had turned dull.

There were still a few more miles until you would reach the bus station, and you couldn't utter a word, barely acknowledging your surroundings as you kept walking.

Only when you were safely seated in the bus did you feel all of the emotion crashing down, true tears being finally released. There was no dull pain anymore, but aching regret clutching at your heart, and you had to press against your chest in an attempt to soothe the pain. 

"Y/N, what's happening?"

You tried to breathe, to remain quiet, but it was too painful. "I should have let him say it… I should have said it back, I should-" you panted in muffled cries as Henriette watched you with worry. "I should have said that I loved him."

You didn't calm down until you arrived at your destination.

Part 10 (and last one.)

Thank you @babyblue711 for you support and amazing beta reading, as always.

Music Tom and reader dance to:

A/N: The installation of antisemitism within the Vichy government occurred much later, the first step with a new Jewish status on October 1940. I fast fowarded it so it can be applied on the story, in July-August 1940. The persecution in Non-Occupied Zone came much later as well, but it didn’t prevent the hate toward the Jews in France. Jew immigrates were, however, arrested during that time, because they weren’t French (who still had some semblance of rights early in the war.) Same goes for the prisoners of war.

@chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan@yentroucnagol@tssf-imagines@nightdiamond8663 @lauraneedstochill @unleashthelion @helaenaluvr @omgkatherine01 @launotfound @r0segard3n @queenofshinigamis @helaelaemond