#benefits of Thread Lift

[designerbodyz]

Innovations in Thread Lifting: How Technology is Shaping Non-Surgical Facelifts

Today, the most famous non-surgical facelift is thread lifting. These treatments have gained immense popularity for Thread Lift in Mumbai, offering a youthful outlook without the need for invasive surgeries.

The entire procedure involves the use of specialized threads that lift down sagging skin and stimulate the production of collagen so that the face looks younger. Thanks to technical advancements, it has become relatively safer, much more effective and more accessible than any other time.

How Technology is Enhancing Thread Lifts

Initially, the procedure was performed with simple threads that could only provide minimal lift. However, because of new technological advancements, more refined techniques are developed for modern thread lifting. Modern thread lifting uses biocompatible materials such as PDO (Polydioxanone) and PLLA (Poly-L-Lactic Acid) threads that will naturally dissolve over time and stimulate collagen production.

This has also been revolutionized by the introduction of advanced techniques that include barbed threads. The threads contain tiny barbs that anchor deep into the skin, offering more considerable and longer-lasting results. It ensures skin is lifted and tightened for a longer duration, so people like this kind of alternative to an invasive facelift.

Benefits of Technological Advances in Thread Lifts

The most significant advantage of thread lifting technology is its ability to achieve natural-looking results. The newer techniques allow for more precise and customized treatment, targeting specific areas of the face, such as cheeks, jowls, and neck. By treating multiple areas at once, the procedure not only lifts the skin but also improves the texture and general appearance of the face.

The other significant advances have reduced the recovery times substantially. The bruises and swelling are now reduced, and it is possible to get back to normal activities in a matter of days. As it is not invasive, this treatment reduces many of the risks associated with facelifts.

Conclusion

Technological advancement in thread lifting has made non-surgical facelifts so popular to appear years younger. This is where Mumbai stands out from the rest in terms of delivery. Designer Bodyz Centre boasts of Dr. Parag Telang, recognized as the best plastic surgeon in Mumbai, India, delivering unmatched expertise and safe and effective outcomes in procedures like thread lifting.

Original Source:- https://678f8260464b6.site123.me/blog/innovations-in-thread-lifting-how-technology-is-shaping-non-surgical-facelifts

[bestskinspecialist1]

Everything One Needs To Know About Thread Lift

In pursuit of youthful and vibrant skin, many people are looking for innovative beauty procedures that produce impressive results with minimal downtime. One treatment that is gaining popularity is thread lift surgery. This minimally invasive procedure offers a revitalizing solution for sagging skin. Helps lift and tighten the face and neck area. In this blog post, one will get to know everything about thread lifts. From how the process works to its benefits to what you can expect during your recovery. Whether you are considering a thread lift or just curious about knowing this treatment, this blog will provide you with valuable insights and also about the skin clinic that provides the best treatment for Thread Lift in Noida. Let’s take a look at the factors of this transformation process!

What is a Thread Lift?

Thread lift is a non-surgical procedure which will lift sagging aging skin and stimulate collagen production to make your face or neck look more youthful. A dermatologist inserts medical-grade threads under the skin to pull the skin into place. These formulas stimulate the body’s natural healing response, increasing collagen production. Thread comes in many different materials and lengths. Unlike a facelift, a thread lift is a non-surgical procedure. This causes a slight change. It’s often called “lunchtime makeover” because it’s a quick process with minimal downtime.

What types of Thread Lift are there?

There are many types of thread lifts, such as:

Cat or fox eyelash lift: This involves lifting your eyebrows to the temples to make your eyes look more cat-like.

Eyebrow Thread lift: A dermatologist lifts sagging or obscure brows. and tighten your skin.

Nose Thread lift: A dermatologist injects threads to lift. Lengthen or make your nose smaller. In some cases, a nose thread lift may be combined with dermal fillers.

Neck Thread Lift: This procedure will lift sagging skin on your neck or make it smoother.

How long does a Thread Lift take?

The results of a thread lift are temporary and last for one to three years. As time passes, the threads will melt and will get absorbed into the body. If you like the results, another thread lift can execute the elevator process.

Who is the best choice for a Thread Lift?

In general, thread lifts are best suited for people who:

Feel the first signs of aging

It dates from the late 30’s to the early 50’s.

Don’t expect dramatic results.

Anyone who ever had facelift surgery or neck lift and wants to refresh results

And because thread lift is a low-risk procedure, it is a good option for those who do not have the money to pay for traditional thread lifts or are scared of undergoing a surgical procedure. In certain situations, for example, you can get a thread lift if you have high blood pressure, diabetes, or heart disease.

Is a Thread Lift worth it?

Thread lift is a relatively quick process. With little downtime and low risk, however, the results are subtle and fleeting.

Does Thread Lift hurt?

During the thread lift process, you will be given local anaesthesia. So one will not feel any pain. You may feel uneasiness, discomfort and slight symptoms of pain after the procedure. You can take pain relievers for a few days if needed.

Description of the process:

Before the Thread Lift procedure

Before undergoing thread lift, your dermatologist will address you in detail about what to anticipate during the thread lift procedure. The dermatologist will apply local anaesthesia. Hence, you will be conscious during surgery but not feel pain.

During the Thread Lift process

Temporary sutures are put into the skin during a thread lift treatment to tighten and raise sagging areas like the neck, jawline, and face. As they dissolve, these threads promote collagen production, enhancing skin texture and giving the appearance of natural lifting. Most patients only have slight swelling or bruising after the minimally invasive surgery, usually performed under local anaesthesia and needs little recovery time. The effects start to show immediately, and as collagen grows, they improve over time.

Recovery process after a Thread Lift

You can go home the same day as your thread lift procedure. You might get bruising and swelling over the treated area. Your dermatologist will give you tips on how to take care of your treatment site.

Some of the common tips include:

A cold compress or ice pack.

Not to wash the face for 24 hours.

Avoid applying makeup to the face for several days.

Cannot use any facial creams for many weeks.

Keep lying on supports.

Antibiotics are given to rule out infection.

What are the benefits of Thread Lift?

It is a low-risk procedure. Most adults can, therefore receive treatment.

Formula stimulates collagen production, increasing skin’s natural elasticity.

Recovery is quick. You can then return to your activities immediately.

Consult the Best Dermatologist in Noida for Thread Lift!

With all the benefits associated with thread lifts, why don’t you think about completing this step? The next step is to establish a reliable clinic. For the best and most effective thread lift, you can visit Skinlogics Clinic to consult the best dermatologist in Noida. Their knowledgeable and experienced dermatologists provide personalized treatment. The clinic also provides various other skin treatments such as laser tattoo removal, pigmentation treatments, age spots, dark spots, melasma, dermal fillers, and much more. Book an appointment with Skinlogics Clinic to reap the benefits.

Original Source:- https://skinlogicsclinic.wordpress.com/2024/12/27/everything-one-needs-to-know-about-thread-lift/

[skintreatmentinindia]

Amazing Benefits of Thread Lift Procedure

In this blog, we will explore the different types of thread lifts and their amazing benefits. In order to make this post authentic, we have gathered insights from Dr. Ravali Yalamanchili, a renowned dermatologist for thread lift treatment in Hyderabad. Continue reading to learn more.

Different Types of Thread Lift

The thread lift procedure can be performed using one of the two types of threads listed below:

Anchoring or Lifting Threads (Long threads)

These threads feature tiny barbs, cogs, or cones spaced evenly along their length. The skilled practitioner uses a needle to insert these threads beneath the skin’s surface carefully, and these cones, barbs, and cogs lift and hold the skin tissues in place.

2. Stimulating Threads (Short threads)

These are free-floating, meaning they are never anchored beneath the skin. As a result, they serve several functions, such as improving the general texture and tone of the skin and aiding in restoring skin volume. In addition, it strengthens and supports the skin by promoting the growth of collagen in the area surrounding the inserted threads.

Benefits of Thread Lift Procedure

Instant Lift

With thread lift procedures, one can achieve young, youthful skin instantly. Most people find that thread lifts provide them with results immediately noticeable following the procedure. However, depending on the severity of the treatment, a recovery period of one to two months is advised for the thread to integrate with the skin and for swelling to go down. It is crucial to give the skin time to recover and adjust to the ingested threads during this period. Therefore, For the best outcome, one should avoid doing intense exercises or getting facial massages.

2. Youthful and Tight Skin

Youthful skin is always firm and wrinkle-free. It has the necessary stretch and bounce because of the protein elastin. With age comes a significant decrease in the production of collagen and elastin, which causes the skin to become less elastic and hang loose. In order to physically pull the skin upward and tighten the loose skin, wrinkles are removed during the thread lift procedure. The benefit of thread lifting is that it tightens the neck, brows, and cheeks, which have mild to moderate sagging.

3. Fast Recovery

In addition to giving an immediate youthful appearance, a short recovery period is another advantage of thread lift surgery over facelift surgery. After the procedure, one will notice a difference, but the swelling and soreness will take a few more days to go down. In order to address soreness following the procedure, pain medication may occasionally be prescribed. Patients can resume their regular activities the following day with a thread lift because the procedure is typically performed under local anaesthesia in an outpatient setting.

4. Long-Lasting Results

Although many hope to look young and healthy for the rest of their lives, realizing that no lift surgery provides a permanent result or lasts forever is essential. However, the thread lift procedure results last for a long time if maintained properly. When the old temporary threads dissolve, thread lift surgery can be repeated to get new ones.

5. Non-Invasive Procedure

Typically, the thread lifts entail carefully positioning the thread beneath the skin by sliding a tiny, hollow needle. It is impossible for scarring to occur because there is no incision made. Additionally, the patient has the ability to assess the doctor’s performance and recommend any changes. One significant benefit of thread lifting is that the entire procedure typically takes an hour, and no hospital stay is required for recovery.

Conclusion

If one faces minimal sagging or signs of skin aging and is looking for a solution, one can get a thread lift done. To do so, one can consult the best skin doctor in Hyderabad, Dr. Ravali Yalamanchili, at Neya Dermatology & Aesthetics Clinic. She is a well-known dermatologist who combines accessibility, knowledge, and the newest skin renewal techniques to provide the best skin and hair transformation. Pay a visit to get the benefits now!

Original Source:- https://www.hashtap.com/@drravali/amazing-benefits-of-thread-lift-procedure-0qw034oa6apN

[vastnbeyond]

to me, all my muses here are princes, just that some sometimes they forget it -coughs- gilly -coughs- romano -coughs- f.eliciano -coughs-

[lasercosmesis]

What Is a Nose Thread Lift or String Rhinoplasty?

The nose is one of the focal points of anyone’s face, and the broken and missapne nose impacts upon one’s entire facial appearance, self-esteem and confidence as well. If you are one of them who is unhappy with your nose shape but doesn’t want to undergo the surgical procedure of rhinoplasty then this blog is for you. 

In Mumbai, Dr. Medha Bhave is a plastic surgeon renowned for providing affordable rhinoplasty surgery cost in Thane. By taking insights from the surgeon, this blog is going to share the benefits of nose thread lift or string rhinoplasty.

What Is A Nose Thread Lift?

A nose thread lift is a non-surgical, minimally invasive, and reversible nose shaping procedure. It is far less expensive than surgical rhinoplasty, though it does not provide long-term results with a single session. It requires upkeep and touch-ups.

Benefits of Nose Thread lift

Advantages of string rhinoplasty are as follows: 

It improves one’s ability to breathe

It repairs the injury of nose

Corrects a too much wide, long, crooked, or short nose

It corrects the nose hump

It improves the shape of nose 

Ideal Candidate for Nose Thread Lift

An ideal candidate for  nose thread lift surgery is one who wants to correct the nose shape but is afraid to undergo a surgical procedure for nose shape correction. 

What is the Lifespan of a Nose Thread Lift?

The procedure utilizes bio-absorbable threads, which typically dissolves between one and two years after the procedure is completed. If the procedure is repeated after 9 months, it may last longer or become permanent, depending on collagen stimulation in the nose.

Thread Lift Surgery Can Have Expected Results

The lunchtime nose job was developed and introduced over 15 years ago, but its popularity has recently increased. This low-cost and effective technique can be used to address a variety of cosmetic issues, including the following:

Nose Slimming- Although a PDO thread lift cannot change nose width, it can be used to give your nose a slimmer appearance by lifting the bridge slightly.

Nose Tip Lift - Possibly the most common reason for a nose thread lift, the nose tip lift technique is also extremely effective. A nose tip that points downwards makes the nose appear longer.

Nose Bridge Lift: A nose thread lift can help if you use the bridge on your nose to make it higher and look more defined.

Streamlining the Nose Ridge: Thread lifts can be used to reshape your nose tissue and give it a straighter appearance if you have a bump or a crooked nose.

Conclusion

Nose thread lift is a non-invasive alternative to rhinoplasty. In this procedure art of thread lift is used to correct the deformity of the nose and give it slimmer and longer shape. One wants to change the nose shape but afraid of invasive rhinoplasty can consider this method. String rhinoplasty requires period maintenance of the treated area. 

To learn more about this treatment you may visit Laser Cosmesis Clinic and schedule an appointment with Dr. Medha Bhave. She has extensive years of experience and is popular as the best plastic surgeon in Thane, Mumbai for various types of plastic surgeries ranging from rhinoplasty to breast reshaping, mommy makeover and more with the highest success rates. To avail the benefits, book a consultation now!

Original Source:- https://theomnibuzz.com/what-is-a-nose-thread-lift-or-string-rhinoplasty/

[lvrsturniolo]

HIDE THE RAZORS- M.S

beard Matt’s getting to my brain(pussy) atp

warnings; established relationship. softdom!matt x sub!reader. praise. beard.. kink?(not a clue). pet names(sweetheart, baby, sweet girl)

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

You were squirming before Matt even touched you.

It had been weeks since he stopped shaving, letting the scruff along his jaw grow into something fuller. More defined. Dark and just long enough that every time he spoke close to your ear, it sent a full-body shiver through you. And tonight, when he walked through the front door wearing the most insanely dilf outfit you’d seen him in WITH his beard long like that, you’d LOST it.

You practically cornered him in the hallway, voice low and desperate. “Matt…”

His brows lifted in amusement, tilting his head. “Yeah baby?”

Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, breath catching. “I need you— please jus-jus need you so bad.”

He grinned, slow and devastating. “That what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day, sweetheart? Thank you for askin’ so nicely.”

—————————————————————

That’s how you ended up like this—flat on your back in your shared bed, thighs spread, your boyfriend sliding down between them, a smirk tugging at his lips and his hands gripping your hips like you’re the only thing that’s keeping him in place.

“You’re shaking already,” Matt teased, beard scratching softly against the inside of your thigh as he kissed his way up. “So needy, huh?”

You whined, trying to press your hips closer, but his grip held you steady.

“Be patient, sweet girl.” He glanced up at you, voice lower. “Wan’ take my time with you.”

The first drag of his tongue was slow, his beard scratching gently against your soft skin, every movement of his mouth sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned, back arching, and his hands tightened on your hips, keeping you in place.

“G-God,” you gasped. “F-feel’s so good. Y-your beard feels—nghhh— so good”, you manage out.

Matt chuckled against you, the vibrations making you clench around nothing. “Yeah? Wan know sumthin baby? Been growin’ it out just for you.” His voice was gravelly, low with hunger. “Wanted to see how crazy I could make you get, I know how much y’love it.”

He buried his face deeper, tongue working you with expert rhythm, switching between soft licks and firm pressure. He was relentless—lapping you up like he was starving, beard brushing perfectly with each motion until you were trembling under his touch.

“Pussy tastes so good, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds. “Could stay here all night.”

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him groan into you—and that sound sent you spiraling. The pressure built fast and sharp, and you whimpered his name like a prayer.

“Matt—please, I’m so close—”

His eyes met yours from between your legs, dark and intense. “Cum on my tongue, baby. Been so so good for me.”

It was all you needed.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, thighs shaking, cries spilling from your lips as Matt held you down and kept licking, dragging it out until you were nearly sobbing from overstimulation.

Only then did he finally slow down, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before crawling back up your body. His beard was glistening, lips swollen, and the proud, cocky look on his face made your head spin.

“Think I’ll keep it a while,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you. “Seems t’really benefit me too, hm?”

requested by @ellssturn <33

beard Matt come home please, my ovaries miss you 😔😔

if they love us they broke all their razors in half and made a pact to never shave again

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A fair payment [W. W.]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

People who might be interested: @strugglingwriterwattpad @cattail5 [Timothée masterlist]

some minor Wonka spoilers I guess! If you like it, tell me in the comments, that will make me happy :)

“Can you mend it?” Willy asked, carefully holding his emerald green jacket that had the sleeve seam torn.

The boy had arrived a couple of weeks ago to turn the world of everyone present in the laundry upside down and, honestly, you were already beginning to enjoy his presence. You looked in the background at the blackboard that Noodle used at night to give him lessons in the hope that he would learn to read because, according to the girl's words, because of that he was almost eaten by a tiger. But in the man's words, what was important was the almost part. 

However, tonight he had asked you especially to go to his room, because he had a problem that he thought only you could solve.

“I think so, I just have to pass the needle a couple of times” you smiled.

Since your arrival Mrs. Scrubbit had used your sewing skills for her own benefit, because after all you had ended up in that mess trying to save a little to be able to buy the necessary materials to make a pretty dress that would be worth enough to advance in the business. Although, obviously, that had not been possible.

"Thank you! I'm afraid that's my only jacket."

“It will be ready in no time. I’ll just go to my room and come back, okay?” you said kindly, placing the garment in the boy's lap and earning a sweet smile from the aforementioned.

Just as Willy had his little briefcase for his chocolates, you had your own, full of threads, needles, and buttons, which you just had to grab from the floor to get everything you needed. When you arrived back you settled at the little table and he remained attentive to your every movement, pulling out a chair so he could observe what you were about to do.

“There was a boy on the ship who helped me with these things,” he began to tell you, keeping his curious nose on your shoulder “But I never thought about learning. You know, for when I had to be alone”

“Well, it's lucky you ended up here. We are a curious collection of workers,” you murmured ironically, referring to all the people gathered there against their will by the work of fate "What did you do on the ship?"

"Cook. Mostly sweet things, but I also know a couple of useful non-chocolate-related recipes. I was the chef,” he said, and you laughed at the exaggerated way he pronounced the last bit.

Willy began to tell you about some of the adventures he had had on the high seas and you listened attentively as the tip of the needle went in and out to join the fabric. It only took a few minutes to get his clothes looking like new, taking the liberty of repairing other places that also needed it.

“Put it on,” you asked, trying not to look at him too much when he did so or pay attention to the way the jacket fit him perfectly.

"It is perfect! You can't even tell it was torn, huh?” he said with emotion, feeling with his hands as much as he could. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“I insist,” the man murmured. His curly hair bounced across his cheeks as he sat next to you and he lifted his small briefcase off the floor, opening it to reveal all the little bottles of ingredients. “Your talent for mine. It's a fair exchange."

You had to admit that the chocolates you had eaten were a complete delicacy, but a part of you didn't want to get used to that luxury or you knew that when Willy was gone you would miss his sweetness. In the literal and figurative sense.

Locked in that laundry it was impossible to meet many people your age and Noodle was your greatest company, as if he were a little sister to you. But now that he was there, there was a certain happiness in chatting with him, much more now that his ingenious mind had devised a way to get you out of there even if it was just for a few hours to see the light of day and get coins from the sale of the chocolates to free you of the enormous debt to Mrs. Scrubbit.

“What flavor do you want to try today? Do you want me to add some unicorn skin glitter? Rays of sunlight from a twilight on the seashore? Tears of an African crocodile?”

“Just give me something you think I need,” you replied softly.

Willy thought about it for a moment, because it wasn't the kind of answer he would have expected. What was he supposed to give you that night? A little hope? Happiness? Nostalgia? It was difficult to decide.

Through his bright eyes you watched him reflect and just a second later his hands began to work. You noticed there was a hint of mischief in his smile as he poured milk, chocolate, and the contents of a couple of jars into the processor, glancing at you from the corner of his eye from time to time.

“What are you going to do when we get out of here?” he asked suddenly, not neglecting the tasks.

“Working in a sewing workshop, I guess.”

“Why don't you open your own fashion house?” Willy suggested carefreely, as if it were a very easy thing to do, “You are a great dressmaker.”

“And you are a great dreamer”

“It's my best quality,” he exclaimed, almost offended. You waited a moment before answering.

“I just don't think it's that simple. It requires effort, time, and a lot of money…”

“We will have everything,” he interrupted you, with that optimism that characterized him. Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and one of his hands traveled to take yours. “When I open my factory, we will all be able to fulfill our dreams. And you are going to have a fashion house, I promise you.”

“You make a lot of promises,” you responded, blushing.

“And he planned to fulfill them all. I always do it"

Maybe there was something about the softness of his grip on your hand or perhaps the sparkle in his eyes that made you look away out of sheer nervousness. He seemed to be good and innocent, to the point that he probably didn't even realize how close he was to you or how inappropriate the position would be if Noodle ever walked in.

A tap interrupted your moment and then he abruptly pulled away, excited to show you the product he had just made. It was a pretty circular candy that was bright pink and seemed to be emanating smoke from the inside.

"What's that?"

“You'll have to try it to find out,” he murmured, as he extended the treat in your direction.

You had to admit that you were somewhat curious to discover what the man was offering you, so you took it between your fingers carefully, and even under his watchful gaze you took a bite.

At first it tasted like ordinary chocolate, but then it took on a strange tone, which made you feel a certain warmth in your chest that spread to your cheeks. It was a most pleasant feeling, like bubbly joy combined with the embarrassment of a hug.

You thought for a moment about what flavor that could be, without any success, until after a few seconds you realized that it wasn’t a flavor in itself, but a feeling, an experience... Was it love that Willy had given you?

“How does it taste?”

“Yummy,” you responded, covering your mouth so he wouldn’t see the wet chocolate on your tongue, but also to hide your smile “Delicious, actually. What does it contain?”

“A special and secret ingredient”

"Oh, come on! Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I just want to know if I got it right,” he murmured and you frowned slightly, not understanding him “About what you asked for. Did I give you something you needed?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from smiling again, your cheeks feeling hot from the simple fact that he was looking at you. You thought that this could even be a love potion that you had consumed without thinking about it, just because he was the one who was offering it to you.

“We could say yes”

“We're even, then,” he exclaimed as he waved the sleeve of his jacket and you nodded in amusement, eating the rest of the chocolate he had made for you.

A yawn leaving your lips made you aware of how exhausted you were and although you didn't love the idea, you knew it was time to leave.

“It's late, I should go to sleep before we wake anyone up.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Willy said quickly, getting up from his seat to accompany you to the exit. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Rest,” you said kindly, and, gathering courage, you leaned forward a little to say goodbye with a hug that he gladly returned.

As you walked down the hall to your shabby, damp room, you thought that it probably wouldn't have even taken a love potion to fall for the charms of the pleasant chocolatier. You just needed one of his smiles.

[hattedhedgehog]

My (spoiler-free) thoughts on Dragon Age: The Veilguard

The review embargo has lifted and I can officially say that I've played through Dragon Age: The Veilguard early! 

Here are my spoiler-free thoughts and personal opinions on the overall gameplay experience: 

Narrative:

Rook's dialogue and decisions impact SO MUCH of the game, and come into play later on. From companions remembering your beverage preferences, to whether someone you spared shows up later to help or harm you, it feels like the game is paying attention and that you matter.

The stakes are unbelievably high. The Evanuris are utterly terrifying villains, in ways that Corypheus wasn’t. You really feel the magnitude of their power on a personal level as well as a worldwide level.

Whatever your thoughts on him, Solas is FUN as a character. He’s fun to talk to, fun to talk strategy with, fun to rile up and verbally spar with and fun to grudgingly ally with. Now that he can drop his former act and appear to you as the Dread Wolf, and you get to see his memories, you and he team get to decide how to utilise his knowledge and how far your trust extends.

The setup and payoff of the story beats are absolutely superb. The emotional turmoil as a player of being ensnared by things that was foreshadowed earlier in the game is utterly exquisite. Every thread of the larger tapestry has been woven with so much love by the writing team, and every character’s arc tie into the larger story in interesting ways.

The characters feel like they have full lives outside of the player character. You frequently go exploring their home turf and can meet their friends and family. They interact with each other on their own and move about the Lighthouse to spend time together, leave notes for each other, and talk about each other even when the other isn’t there. The team feels like they all really care about each other as well as you. 

You can tell what your approval rating is with characters, but if you want to romance them you have to put some thought into it. Interactions and world events besides the heart on the dialogue wheel influence their attraction to you.

Gameplay:

The combat is very engaging, and I enjoyed how unique all the enemies were.

Abilities in the skill tree can be refunded so you can redirect to a different specialization, which is really handy if you’re indecisive and overwhelmed at first (like I get when choosing abilities).  Most companions can get healing abilities no matter what class, so you don’t have to worry about balancing your rogues/mages/warriors (most of the time).

Climbing, balancing on ledges, using ziplines and sliding down slopes made environments feel more immersive. Additionally I like how each companion has unique abilities that let them interact with the world (fixing mechanisms, breathing fire, summoning bridges from the Fade, etc), and learning their abilities alongside them helps you grow closer.

The wayfinder light makes everything feel streamlined, so it's way harder to get lost while exploring an area. I hardly had to look at the mini map at all, and usually I’m glued to it! This meant I could actually look around at the beautiful environments and appreciate how lively they were, even without NPCs.

The upgrade system is far less overwhelming than in Inquisition; there are a finite amount of weapons/armour/accessories to be found, which are designed for each specific character like in DA:O and DA:2. There's also no longer crafting from scratch. If you loot an item you already have, it automatically upgrades the single item rather than giving you duplicates.

You know that frustration of coming across higher-level armour that just isn’t as flattering as your current one? Not to worry, you can collect “appearances” which you can toggle on as the visual for the armour while still retaining the benefits of the original.

I cannot stress enough how simple and easy to use the inventory is. It's heavenly. 

Using the shops of specific cities increases your reputation within those cities, which is a good incentive to explore and use the shops. I usually hate in-world shopping but here it was simple, and thinking about it tactically worked pretty well.

Quests sometimes reach a point where you can't continue at your current place in the story, and must return to in later acts. When re-exploring familiar areas, everything feeling big enough to be fresh with each visit, and new loot and codex entires appear.

Edit: something I forgot to mention. In character creator, you get to make your Inquisitor after you make Rook. The build menus are all the same, so manage your energy accordingly for doing it all again immediately after for your Inky. I spent an hour and a half building my Rook and wanted to get right to playing, and had to re-wire my brain a bit to be patient and keep going with the CC. (Seeing my Inquisitor with new graphics was awesome though).

A couple little things I appreciated:

The control sounds are very pleasing. From the whoosh of opening the combat wheel to the clinking of upgrades to the subtle whir of holding the decision button, they're a nice touch.

If companions are interrupted in conversation by combat, they resume it afterwards with a "what were you saying before?".

Photo mode is so fun to play with, and you can adjust blur/brightness/lens/depth within the scene. You can also toggle on and off the visibility of your Rook, your party, NPCs and enemies!

Assan learns new interaction tricks at the Lighthouse as the game goes on.

Nitpicks:

Overall I had an incredibly positive experience. The gripes I had were tiny things like:

I genuinely like the new art style of the game as a whole. However, the blurriness of some of the features in contrast with some elements being very crisp was distracting.

When trying to sell valuables for faction points without using Sell All, it takes quite a long time to count up all the individual sales, and it isn't a live counter. So it's kind of annoying if you get +3 points for each item you sell, need 150 points to get the next tier of items, and over 10K worth of valuables that you want to sell to other factions. 

If you do lots of quests without returning to the Lighthouse often, occasionally companions at the Lighthouse will have dialogue pertaining to the quests you've just finished as if you haven't done them.

You can pet the dogs and cats in the cities, but Rook turns their back to the camera to do it and it blocks most of the action unless you rotate quickly.

Gender stuff:

I was incredibly moved that not only can Rook be trans/nonbinary in the character creator if you so choose, but they get options to feel differently about their identity and journey, and it impacts their dialogue and how they relate to other characters! To access this make sure to interact with Varric's Mirror in your room in the Lighthouse. There are many conversation options throughout the game to discuss your identity with other characters, or relate your change of self to other situations. Crucially, it comes up when entering a romance and you have to communicate with your partner about it, which I never even THOUGHT of including in a game because it seemed impossible to even allow trans main characters to begin with.

There are also multiple trans and nonbinary characters throughout Thedas. What I found the most realistic was that just like in life, it is a consistent presence in any character's life, and comes up in conversation more than once. I have never seen a game this forthcoming and open about the topic of transitioning, and it was so validating. 

Final thoughts:

I adore the other games in the franchise. Something about The Veilguard affected me in a way no other game has. I cried multiple times while playing this game, both from joy and sadness. What struck me most is that the people who worked on this game REALLY listened to feedback from previous games, and were very set on making a piece of art that meant something to people. Even during the last few years of me testing the game, things have been adjusted and changed in direct response to our reactions and suggestions. It's surreal and quite touching.

Mileage will vary, but my playthrough was 70 hours on very low difficulty and I haven't done every side quest yet. I could easily have spent more than 100 hours in the game if I wasn't pressed for time.

I hope you enjoy this game as much as I have. See you in Thedas.

[absurdthirst]

Words Unspoken {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.4k

Warnings: Barter/trading, flirting, sexual tension, fingering, unprotected sex, cumming too quickly, oral sex (female and male receiving), soft moments, friends with benefits, cock riding, pregnancy scare, panic attacks, Joel is a little stubborn, suggestions of homophobia but Joel is just being stupid, estrangement, worry, comfort, canon events, heartbreak

Comments: The newcomer in town comes to your shop, hearing that you have coffee. Leading to trade and a years long relationship where so many words are left unspoken.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You look up from your needle and thread, the bell ringing above your tiny shop on Main Street. That’s when you see him walk in. You’ve heard about the newcomer. The man who is Tommy’s long lost brother who turned up with a teenage girl in tow. “Hey, can I help you?” You ask, setting the needle and thread down on the table. He’s handsome, you’ve heard he’s a little standoffish but you’ve found that most people who have been traveling on the road for years struggle to settle into the world that most thought was dead and buried.

The shop is neat, clean. Sometimes the contrast between the squalor of Boston and Jackson is stark. Everyone here craves normalcy, the life before, so badly it makes you feel like you’re in a dream. Except his dream never involved communism, like he loved to tease Tommy about. It really grates on his nerves when he ribs him about that. He shifts slightly, looking towards you. Reminding himself that he needs to be nice, not try to glower his way into getting what he wants. “Hi, uh, you’re the seamstress, right?” He asks, even though he’s in right store. “Sorry, stupid question.” He huffs in amusement to himself. “I heard you had coffee.”

You tilt your head in amusement. He seems nervous and you have no idea why. “Yeah. You have no idea how many clothes I’ve had to sew to get it. There was an empty grocery store one state over and this group would come and trade with us. Turns out needlework isn’t that great in the end of times so my hands have come in pretty handy. My mom taught me everything and - sorry, I’m rambling. Coffee. What, uh, what have you got to trade?” You ask, knowing how this works. Nothing is free, even in these times.

Joel winces, unsure if you would accept his trade, but he wants to try. “Uh, myself.” He admits, realizing his mistake when your eyes widen. “My work, I mean.” He clarifies, glancing around the shop. “I’m a - was - a contractor, before.” He bobbles his head. No one is really anything now, beyond a survivalist. Although you are still a seamstress, it appears. “Tommy said you needed some shelves, racks for your thread and sewing stuff.” He shrugs. “Figured I could build it for you, for some coffee beans.”

You snort, “you must be really desperate for coffee, huh?” You tease and he chuckles awkwardly, “used to have a cup every morning before the world went to shit.” You nod in understanding, stepping closer to him. You hold your hand out, “you have a deal, Mr. Miller. When would you like to start?” You ask and he squeezes your hand, his fingers are calloused and you can feel how strong he is. “Now, if you want.” He offers and you smile, “better get to it. Half now. Half when you’re done.” You promise, stepping away from him and you turn to make your way into the little kitchen at the back of your shop. You come back a few moments later with a small bag of coffee beans. “First payment.”

He takes the bag and he can’t resist lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply, groaning at the heavy, rich aroma of coffee beans. They are whole, so the richness will only get better once they are ground. “Best smell in the world.” He huffs when he notices you watching him with an amused smile.

“You’re a man of simple pleasure, Mr. Miller.” You chuckle and he shakes his head, “call me Joel.” You repeat his first name and insist he calls you by yours. “If you need anything fixed, just let me know.” You gesture to his clothes.

He nods, finding you pretty and charming, which makes him both relaxed and nervous at the same time. He sets the bag of coffee beans down and pulls out a little notebook and stubby pencil out of his jacket pocket, along with a measuring tape. “Do you have anything in particular in mind?” He asks, nodding towards the wall where fabric is haphazardly stacked.

You hum, walking over to the fabric. “Mostly display purposes. I can find all my shit when I need to but I want people to be able to come in and pick fabric and thread and buttons, you know.” You smile, “anything you can make would be better than what I have now.”

He nods seriously. “You need a thread display.” His brow furrows slightly as he bites his lip. “Boxes for the buttons.” He steps over and starts to measure as he talks. “Do you want cubbies for the fabric?” He asks. “Or shelves to stand them up?”

You bite your lip, watching him make some notes, “shelves. Nothing too fancy. Fabric is usually used or repurposed anyway.” You confess, “not like I have access to Michael’s or Joann’s.” You snort, “but I usually will find some fabrics when I do patrols.”

“You make quilts?” Joel asks, his back turned towards you. “Ellie, my- my Ellie, her birthday is coming up.” He tells you. “She’s got a bunch of old band t-shirts. A lot of them are falling apart, but she loves them.” He turns towards you. “Maybe you could turn them into a quilt?”

Your eyes widen and your heart melts at the request. He wants to get her a birthday present and you nod, unable to say no. “Absolutely. Sneak them out to me and I can get it done. When’s her birthday?” You ask and he tells you, “I’ll get it done by then.” You promise, knowing you want to see that soft look on his face again.

He smiles, happy to have secured a present that will thrill her. “She’s turning 14 this year.” He tells you. “So far, only teenage rebellion is that mouth of hers.” He snorts. “Cusses like a damn sailor.”

You snort, “oh yeah. I’ve heard. You’ve got your hands full there.” You pat his shoulder, “but everyone says you’re a good father.” You offer, making him soften a little more. “It’ll get worse. Teenage years are only just beginning. She’ll be screaming that she hates you but you shouldn’t take it to heart. You haven’t done anything, it’s just a rite of passage.”

He chuckles, knowing that it’s coming but he’s still looking forward to spending more time with Ellie. All he wants is for her to be happy. He’s done things, horrible things, so she can have this time, this life. The last thing he wants is for her to hate him. “I’ll get them to you.” He promises.

You smile, looking forward to seeing more of Joel as he builds your shelves and displays. He measures the wall and spends his time being exact. “I’ll, uh, let you know when I can come back and get everything up.” He promises and you nod, “of course. Coffee will be waiting.” You promise, “thanks for this, Joel. I’ll see you round.” He nods and puts his book away, “thanks for the coffee.” He murmurs, picking up the small bag and leaving your shop while you watch him go, already wondering when he will come back.

****

It takes Joel three days to build the display for the thread that he had envisioned. Traded for the supplies and spent hours in the garage to make sure that the spindles were right. The shelves are going to be built on site, but he wanted these already done so you could organize them, along with the button boxes he had built. Borrowing a wagon to cart everything over to your shop when he’s ready to install them.

You bite your lip as you watch Joel install the shelves. His muscles flexing under his t-shirt and you try to not act as hot and bothered as you are. He’s a handsome man, capable, and clearly a survivor. All traits that have had you daydreaming about him since he first came into your shop. “How’s that?” Joel asks, brushing his hands together as he steps back to admire the shelving. “It’s perfect.” You gasp, excited to put the fabric on display. “Thank you so much.” You surge forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

He stumbles back only a step, hands automatically finding your waist to steady both of you. “You’re welcome.” He murmurs softly, letting you hug him and leaning into it slightly. He’s better about being more approachable, and he’s not going to turn down a hug from a woman as pretty as you are. “Definitely worth the coffee, huh?” He jokes.

You pull back for a moment, looking at him and you grin, “I don’t know, Miller. I think there’s one more thing you gotta do for the coffee.” You murmur, sliding your hands down his chest and he frowns, “are the shelves not good enough or-?” He asks and you shake your head. “The shelves are perfect. If you want more coffee…you can fuck me.” You say, biting your lip and praying he doesn’t reject you.

“You don’t have to-“ he starts to refuse you, to tell you that you don’t have to barter your body, until he sees the hopeful look in your eyes. Vulnerability and attraction warring in their depths and he realizes that you want him. The coffee is just a handy excuse to open up the possibility. “Anyone would be fuckin’ privileged to be in your bed.” He huffs quietly. “Are you sure you want me? It’s been a few years for me, and I’m not sure how good I’ll be.” His knees and back kill him on most days but he’ll go down swinging.

You chuckle, sliding your hand up to caress his neck. “Me too. I haven’t - no one has caught my eye here until you came along. You’re handsome, Joel. Shit, you’re really, uh, really hot, and I really want you to fuck me. Coffee or no coffee.” You promise, gaze flicking down to his lips. He swallows like he can’t believe what he’s hearing and you decide to make the next move, leaning in slowly to brush your lips against his.

The kiss is soft, intimate. He doesn’t deepen it right away. Absorbing the moment and letting you press closer. Learning how you fit against him as his arms slowly slide around your back. His cock twitches in his jeans when your tongue touches his lips, immediately opening and letting his own explore as the natural progression of the kiss happens.

He’s hesitant, which isn’t unexpected, but you know there’s a dominant lover beneath the surface. He likes to be in control. You cup his cheek, sliding your tongue against his, and you can’t stop the moan that you breathe into his mouth, pressing your chest into him while his hands tentatively slide down to your ass, dragging you even closer.

Your little moan is sexy, and he grunts as your breasts push against his chest. Tasting you, you had coffee earlier, as his tongue slowly slides against yours before he breaks away to kiss along your jaw. “Where’s your bedroom, honey?” He growls softly. “Woman like you deserves to be spread out.”

You reluctantly pull back, taking his hand in yours to guide him to the stairs. Up to your bedroom. The little apartment upstairs is small enough for you and he barely has a second to look at your couch before you pull him into your bedroom. You waste no time spinning around to press your lips to his again, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt to drag it over his head. He lets it drop to the floor and you work on his belt. In your rush, you accidentally rip one of the loops. “I’ll fix that for you.” You promise between kisses to his lips as you pull the belt free and toss it to the floor.

He chuckles against your lips. “Good thing I know a seamstress.” His own fingers start to work. Pulling your own shirt over your head and fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Still kissing you breathlessly as his own eagerness leads to a little haste.

He’s clumsy and fumbles but you don’t care. You’re out of practice too. You let your bra drop to the floor and he groans when your tits are exposed. His calloused hands immediately cupping them, and you tilt your head back, “God, Joel. Your hands. Watching you work - I’m so wet from just watching you.”

He smirks in pride, fingers twisting the hard tips of your nipples and pulls a sexy little whine out of you. Obviously enjoying a touch of roughness in your sex life. “Imagined my hands on you, honey?” He coos, pinching and tugging as he steers you back towards the bed. “How do they feel?”

“So goddamn good.” You moan and shift to lay down on your bed. You watch him as he reluctantly releases you, bending down to untie his boots and he stumbles as he pulls them off. You giggle, sliding your hand up to squeeze your own breast, and you look at him, “I want your hands on every inch of my body.”

That won’t be a problem for him. Joel loves to touch a lover. It’s been a long time, Tess was the last woman he had been with. His heart aches for a moment but he pushes that away, concentrating on you as he kicks away the jeans and underwear he was wearing and kneels on the bed to slide his hands up your spread legs. “Pretty body.” He hums, cock twitching. “What do you want first?” He asks, hand trailing over your thighs to brush through the curls covering your pussy.

Your eyes trail down to his cock, hardening and you lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around him. You slowly jerk him and he grunts, his fingers sliding through your folds. You whimper at the sensation. It’s been too long since you were touched. “I want your fingers inside me. Imagined it so many times when you were building the shelves. Wanna cum on them.”

He lays down beside you, letting you touch him while he learns how to make you gasp in pleasure as his fingers slide through your folds and press against your clit. He’s not a stranger to his needs, he doesn’t ignore them, but it’s been a long time since a hand other than his own has been wrapped around his cock. “Then I better make it good, right?” He teases as he slowly starts to press a finger inside you while he leans down to kiss along your shoulder up to your lips.

You moan when his finger pushes into you, another joining it on the next pump to stretch you out. "Fuck, Joel." You sigh when he kisses along your neck. Your lips meet his as you squeeze his cock, loving the way he hardens in your grip. "Knew those fingers would feel good." You murmur, flicking your tongue against his lips, licking his lower lip until his tongue meets yours in a combined groan.

He doesn’t rush this, slowly pumping his finger in and out of your tight pussy. Loving how wet you are, getting wetter every time his finger curls up inside you. Another finger is added a few minutes later, pulling another moan out of you and you squeeze his cock roughly.

You spread your legs a little wider, chest heaving as you moan into his mouth when he curls his fingers. His wrist twisting so he can press his thumb to your clit. “Shit. Feel so good. Can’t imagine what this is gonna feel like inside me.” You murmur, pumping his cock and his lips kiss down your neck until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth.

Joel groans, not pulling away to answer you. You’ll find out soon enough, and he’ll be feeling your tight, hot walls around him. Hopefully he won’t embarrass himself by giving you a poor performance. His tongue flicks over your nipple and his teeth scrap over the sensitive bud, making you gasp again. He smirks and looks up at your face as he sucks.

Your eyes meet his, a lust filled, playful stare that has you clenching around his digits. “Fuck. You’re so - yes. Just like that.” You pant when he puts more pressure on your clit. “Yes, baby. Shit. Gonna make me cum like this.” You choke when he presses his fingers against the spongy spot inside you. “Shit. Yessss.” You hiss, walls squeezing his fingers as you cum for him.

Joel groans, pulling off your tit to watch you cum. “That’s it, that’s it honey, ride it out.” He coos, his voice gruff but soothing as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your pulsing pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re cummin’.” Your grip on his cock is loose, but he twitches against your palm, loving how your entire body shakes in pleasure for him.

You love his voice, love how he twitches in your palm, so you reach out to push his hand away. He grunts in protest but you push on his chest, "lay down. I wanna-" You cut yourself off when he lays on his back and you shift to kneel between his legs. Gripping his cock, you lean in to run your tongue along the underside of it. "You're thicker than I imagined, Miller...and I imagined this a lot." You confess, flicking your tongue over the slit where a bead of pre-cum threatens to slide down his reddened skin.

“Fuck.” He hisses, lifting his head to look down at where you are kneeling between his thighs. Your eyes fixed on him. “Fuck.” His head falls back, hitting your pillow as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. Blow jobs have always been rare, but this is overwhelming and your mouth has barely touched him. “You don’t- fuck, honey.” He groans, reaching down and cupping your cheek as you hum, his eyes closed in pleasure. “Goddamn.”

You smile as you pull off of him, wrapping your fingers around him, and you let your spit dribble down onto the head, aiding you as you start to pump him. "You really need to stop." He warns you in a growl, and you huff. "Fine. Next time I want you to cum in my mouth." You order, letting go of his cock to straddle him. You moan as his cock presses between your folds, the head leaking onto his belly. "Fuck. You're so hot." You murmur, starting to rock your hips to grind onto his cock.

Joel chokes out a laugh, a quiet, disbelieving thing as he grabs your hips. “Don’t know ‘bout that, but I know you want to ride my cock.” He pulls you forward, making you tip over towards him and his lips press against yours. “So ride me, and then I’ll fuck you.” He needs to be on top so he can pull out, but there’s no harm in letting you start out how you want.

You moan into his mouth, reaching back to grip his cock so you can position him at your entrance. You slowly sink down onto him, lips smothering his groan as he stretches you out. "Fuck me." You mutter in disbelief of how good he feels. "I think that's what you're gonna do to me first." He chuckles and you nod, bracing your palms on his chest as you start to grind your hips.

Joel groans your name, slightly breathless as you roll your lips and your liquid hot walls squeeze him tight. “Fuck, honey.” His fingers dig into your hips, but he doesn’t try to guide you or change your slow grind. He loves it, needs you to keep it just this slow because his control is already slipping.

You whimper, loving how he feels like he’s in your guts right now. His calloused fingers squeezing your flesh, and you shift onto your knees, starting to bounce on his cock. “Oh fuck.” You throw your head back, “you feel so good.”

You look so beautiful, head tossed back and so unapologetically taking what you want. One hand slides up to cup your breast as you bounce on his cock. “Goddamn.” He hisses when your walls clench down around him. “Take what you want.” He encourages you, squeezing your tit.

You love it, love how those dark eyes watch you before flicking down to watch his cock disappear inside of you. "Fuck baby." You pant, switching back to grinding so you can rub your clit on the coarse hair at the base of his cock. "It's so good." You pant, "want you to take over. Fuck me like you want."

Joel hisses in pleasure and nods once. Lunging up as he wraps his arm around your body to flip you over onto your back. He doesn’t manage to stay inside you, but before you can even whine about it, he’s pushing back inside you and grinding deep with a moan.

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles as he starts to push into you. "Feel so fucking good, baby. That's it." You pant, reaching up to squeeze his shoulders.

He braces his hands and sets his knees as he starts to rock into you. The sharp snaps of his hips are a little harder than he might have once wanted, but the way your legs press him urges him on. “Fuck.”

You caress his back, trying to touch every inch of skin you can. You moan when his lips find your neck, hot puffs of air on your skin between kisses and bites. "Fuck. I- shit." He curses and you can feel him twitch inside you. You lower your legs from his waist, "it's okay. It's okay." You promise, "cum for me. Wanna see it."

He had been trying to hold off, to last longer than the pitiful few minutes he had been inside you. “Fuck.” He groans, the buildup coming and not even thinking about something boring will stop it. His hips rock forward halfway before he’s scrambling back, pulling out of you and wrapping his hand around his cock to pump it. Holding onto your knee as he spurts ropes of his seed across your belly as he groans in frustration and pleasure.

You watch him with lust swirling in your eyes. "Fuck that's hot." You murmur, batting his hand away so you can slowly pump him through his orgasm. "So-sorry." He gasps out a moment later and you click your tongue. "Don't worry about it, Miller. You'll make it up to me." You know he will, he's not an asshole who's gonna be selfish every time.

He chuckles, aware that is true and he looks down at your cum covered body. “True.” He tilts his head to the side and glances down at your pussy, the curls damp and glistening with arousal and his seed. “Gonna make it up right now.”

You gasp when his tongue slides through your folds after he shifts to lay down on his belly. "Fuck!" You cry, tangling your fingers in his hair, "oh God that feels good." You lift your leg onto his shoulder as he sucks on your clit. "Won't take me long." You promise, already worked up from him fucking you.

He hums, not caring if you take a long time to cum. He has never minded eating a woman out, he loves it. Groaning as he tastes you, flicking his tongue against your clit before he takes it back into his mouth. Trying to devour you whole as he holds onto your thighs as they frame his head.

His jaw seems to engulf you and you pant, tilting your head back as he devours you. “Oh shit.” You pant, tugging on his hair as if he can get any closer. “Goddamn baby. You’d have every woman in Jackson lining up if they knew how good you ate pussy.” You confess breathlessly.

He chuckles into your folds, dark eyes watching your face as he sucks on your clit again, fingers digging the flesh of your thighs. He might leave bruises under your skin but he’s not even aware of how tight he’s holding onto you. Obsessed with hearing your breathless cry as he makes you cum again. You deserve it for even letting him in your bed. “Cum for me, honey.” He orders roughly before he dives back in with a frenzied desire to see you cum. 

His command is too good to deny. Your back arching as your thighs squeeze his head. His name is a garbled scream that escapes your lips as you soak his face. "Oh ohhh." You choke, stomach clenching as your orgasm rocks through you.

Joel laps up every drop, groaning into your pussy as he takes you through it. His tongue flicking against your clit just to have you shake and whimper more as you start to slowly drift back to reality after seeing the stars. He’s smug, proud that he could make you cum, even if he didn’t last as long as he wanted. If there’s a next time, he’ll make sure you cum all over his cock. One last kiss to your clit, he pulls back and rests his cheek on your thigh as he looks at you. “Make up for it?”

You giggle, nodding your head as you try to catch your breath. You run your fingers through his hair and smile softly, "more than made up for it." You promise and you lower your thighs from his shoulders. He shifts to lay down next to you, his cum now dry on your skin, and you turn your head to look at him. "my shower won't stay hot for more than a few minutes...any chance you can come over tomorrow and check it out?"

He smirks, his hand sliding up and down your side as he leans over you. “Think I can do that.” He agrees, tilting his head playfully. “Gotta earn that next batch of coffee.” He knows that this can’t be more than a passing fancy for you, he’s damaged and often sullen. Even his own brother calls him a grump on the best of days. Still, he will enjoy this while it lasts.

You hum, shifting off the bed after pecking his lips. "Flick one bean to get another." You joke and as you grab your panties and pull them up, walking into your bathroom to wash his cum from your skin. "You wanna get me those shirts and I'll start on Ellie's quilt?" You ask and he grunts as he sits on the edge of your bed. "Sure thing." You step back into your bedroom, robe wrapped around you, "and give me those jeans so I can fix your belt loop before you go." You smirk and he nods, "yes ma'am." You chuckle, "I have a feeling this is going to be the start of something very satisfying." You wink, picking his pants up and you don't redress as you take them to your sewing table. Joel watches you go, wondering when you'll be tired of him, but for now, he's going to enjoy every second.

****

Two Years Later:

Stepping into the shop, Joel flips the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ before twisting the lock. You aren’t in the front, making him frown as he looks around. The sewing shop has changed a lot in the past year, he had even managed to bring back a few mannequins from a deserted clothing store he had found on patrol. They are displaying some of the clothing you had repaired and were offering for trade. Calling your name, he shifts slightly and wonders if you are busy. “Where you at?”

You poke your head out from the kitchen, a grin appearing on your face as you walk towards your lover. You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him towards your face so you can kiss him. "Mmm, perfect timing. I just finished Ellie's present." You hum against his chin.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Joel hadn’t asked if you would make Ellie something, you had volunteered. “Uh, what are you making?” You had kept it a secret and he sniffs the air. “Cake?”

You nod, "yeah. Since Seth fucked up last year, I figured I'd take it into my own hands." You smile, "made sure I spelled her name right." You giggle, "was that - was that okay?" You ask, wanting to make sure you didn't overstep.

“That’s….great.” He smiles at you, hands squeezing your waist. “Not only do you have perfect hands for sewing, you bake.” He groans at the thought of a slice. “And it smells like it’s gonna be amazing.” He chuckles. “Maybe I’ll get a piece this year if Ellie doesn’t dive in headfirst.”

You chuckle, remembering the story of her digging straight in. "I also have perfect hands for something else." You murmur, smirking as you kiss his jaw, your fingers playing with the longer curls at the base of his head.

You haven’t gotten tired of him, much to his everlasting surprise. This thing between you is uncomplicated. Both of you use the other, for comfort, companionship, sex. You are friends, and had the end of the world not happened, it would have been labeled a friends with benefits thing, but Joel just calls it spending time together. “Yeah?” He hums as his already hardening cock grinds against your belly. “Needing a little distraction, huh?”

You nod, "to stop myself from licking the frosting bowl clean." You confess, bringing your fingers to his lips. "Still tastes so sweet." You hum when he immediately takes your digits into his mouth, swirling his tongue to sample the sweet taste. "Sweet but I know of something else that tastes sweeter." You smirk and cup his cheek with your damp fingers, "better come upstairs and eat it then."

He chuckles and slaps your ass when you turn around. “Good thing I already locked the door.” He tells you as you guide him towards the stairs again. The path is familiar, well known. He can't count the number of times he’s climbed these stairs to your bedroom. Now, he’s already pulling his flannel shirt out of his jeans, flicking open his belt. Watching your ass as you shake it in front of him playfully. “Goddamn, you look good in those jeans.”

You smirk, “thanks. Tailored them from a pair I found on patrol, left in a drawer.” You reveal, already pulling your shirt over your head. You’re hungry for Joel, and he does such a good job of making sure he never leaves your bed without satisfying you. Sure, others have asked you out - those who don’t see the way Joel looks at you - but you never say yes. You’re happy with what you have with Joel…even if it will never become anything more.

He grunts. “Next patrol, you should go with me.” He makes it sound casual, but he has talked to Tommy about limiting your runs and putting you with better people than you’ve been riding with. Worry starting to creep into his thoughts every time you go out. “Spend some time together outside the walls.” He adds, sweetening the offer.

You’re surprised by the offer, nodding your agreement. “Sure. I’d like that.” You murmur, turning to face him when you enter your bedroom. You pull him closer, working on unbuttoning his shirt. You huff in frustration when his lips press against your neck, ripping it open and buttons go flying. “I’ll put those back on before you go.” You promise.l, caressing his chest.

He laughs, body relaxing slightly at the way you are so eager. “You always do.” He teases, pushing your hands away and nodding to the bed. “Undress yourself and lay down.” He orders. “Need to have to wear something home today and can’t have you rippin’ all my clothes.”

You giggle, watching him as he pulls his belt free. “I just like giving you an excuse to come back here.” You confess, pulling your shirt over your head while he strips down. You toss your bra to the floor and unbutton your jeans just as he pushes his briefs down. “Never get tired of that.” You confess, eying his hardening cock.

He rolls his eyes, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it a few times, his grip loose. “Show me that pussy, honey.” He demands, eyes darkening as they roam over your body. “Want to see heaven.”

You shiver at his words, sweetened with that ghost of an accent, and you do as he says. Spreading your legs while your eyes watch him. Your cunt exposed to the cool air of the room, already wet with need for him. “Please Joel.” You whimper, sliding your hand down to rub your finger through your folds.

“Shiiiiit.” He twitches in his hand and lets go to kneel on the bed. “You want to ride?” He always asks, but you shake your head. “Good.” He winks at you as he grabs an ankle and drags you towards him. “I wanna be on top today.” He teases, using the same voice you use when you bounce on his cock.

“Fuck.” You pant, loving how he takes control, and you watch him as he positions his cock on your mound, the tip of him on your belly button. “Shit. Looks so big like that.” You confess, reaching down to rub your fingertip over the slit, gathering up the drop of pre-cum. He groans and slips back, slapping the head against your clit. “Joel. Don’t tease.” You whine, rocking your hips to try and push him inside you.

“Hush.” He chides, giving you a look that makes you pout at him. “You know I’m gonna take care of you.” He always does, even if he cums before you do. In his defense, it’s only happened a couple of times. “Somethin’s got you riled up and needy today.” He lifts your leg to his shoulder and lines up, sinking in slowly as he presses your leg back. “You good?”

Your mouth falls open, a silent nod as you take every inch he feeds into your pussy. “So fucking good.” You promise, sliding your hands up to cup your breasts. “Can feel you in my guts.” You tell him, eyes closing at the stretch.

He grunts as he bottoms out inside you, feeling your walls flutter around him. “Good thing you like that.” He pants, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours as he moves down to his elbows. “You’re still as tight as the first time I slid inside you.”

You moan as he pushes against a spot inside you only he can ever seem to find when he presses your knee into your chest. “Do kegels for you.” You tease and he snorts, “the fuck are those?” You smirk, “this.” You clench down around him, “and this.” You clench down in successive squeezes.

“Fuck…” Joel closes his eyes, biting his lip as he tries to control himself. “Yeah- those- keep fuckin’ doin’ those.” He pants out, nodding his head as you giggle. “Goddamn.”

You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck to press your lips to his. He shifts, bracing his weight on his hand next to your head as your tongues meet. You never get tired of sex with him. It always feels good no matter how many times you do it.

Joel kisses you passionately, conveying things that he never says. Needs he never voices. He’s never really been a big word kind of man, he’s always believed actions are the measure of a man, so he shows you. Groaning into your mouth as he starts a steady and proven pace. One that makes you come apart for him, but lets him draw out his own end.

“Oh God.” You pant against his chin, “I love it. You always - shit - look after me.” You ramble a little as he works you up. His cock pushes deep as his weight presses your leg into your chest. He grunts, reaching for your other leg, mirroring the position, and you cry out at the new angle. “Oh shit. Yeah. Just like that baby. Shit. That’s - uh, that’s gonna make me cum. Don’t stop.”

Joel pants as he pushes deep. “Not gonna.” He huffs. “Cum for me and then I’m gonna cum on your ass.” He still pulls out, not trusting the chance of staying inside you. “Fuck, honey, cum for me.” Your pussy is pulsing around him and he can feel the way your legs are tensing. “Soak me, wanna feel it.”

You can’t deny him anything when he asks you like that. You pant, nodding frantically as you grip the pillow behind your head. “Oh fuckkkk.” You squeal, thighs shaking as you clamp down on his cock. Your eyes squeeze shut and you soak him while your toes curl behind his head.

He growls out your name, loving how wet you get. The gushing and squelching sound amplifying as he fucks you through it. Thrusting half a dozen more times until he’s pulling out of you and dropping your legs down to flip you over onto your stomach. You moan, pushing your ass up and he slides back into you with a rough thrust that has both of you groaning.

You’re still shaking from your orgasm as his hips hit your ass. Joel groans, looking down at the shaking flesh and his hand grabs your cheek. He slaps it and you moan, burying your face in the sheets. “Yes, baby. Do that again.” You plead and he chuckles, slapping your ass again. Your walls squeeze his cock when he does it and he smirks, “oh you like that.” You huff, “you know I do, asshole.”

He smirks as he slaps the other cheek again. You love when he’s a little rougher and he sometimes gives you that, although he prefers to be gentle with you. This is about giving each of you want you need from each other and right now, his hand connects with your ass again and again as he fucks you harder. “Cum again.”

You moan when he pushes deep, and you know his back must be hurting, but he is fucking you like it’s the last thing he will ever do. “Shit, baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna - fuck fuck fuck.” You rush out until you choke, clamping down on his cock again.

Joel groans, feeling his own orgasm rush over him and he’s pulling back quickly, hating that he couldn’t get another thrust in. Quickly jerking his cock as he grabs your ass and squeezes it. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He growls, painting your ass and lower back with his spend. “Fuck.” He huffs when the waves slow down and he languidly pumps out the last spurts before he’s done. “Goddamn, it’s always so good.”

You hum, looking over your shoulder at him, “it’s why I keep you around.” You tease breathlessly. You flop your head onto the sheets, unable to move because of how hard he fucked you. He shuffles off your bed, reaching for the rag you keep for cleaning up and he wets it in the bathroom before gently wiping you clean. “Thanks babe.” You murmur, “I better get to work fixing your shirt.” You smirk, shifting to lay on your back and he lays down next to you so you swing your leg over his hips, caressing his chest.

“Gotta patrol tomorrow.” Joel tucks an arm behind his head and his other hand caresses your leg idly. “Wanna see if I can find a tool store within a hundred miles.” Construction has been booming in Jackson, fortification being made to the walls. All of it requires tools. “Want me to see if I can find any fabric stores?”

You hum, caressing his chest, "only if you see something. Don't go out of your way." You murmur, "oh and I made Ellie a new strap for her guitar." You smile, "and the cake of course."

“That’s perfect.” He promises, amazed that you had gone so far as to make something else for the girl he thought of like a daughter. “I hope she likes it. Spent a lot of time workin’ on it.”

"I still haven't heard you play. I know you're teaching her." You remember him telling you how he's teaching her the chords. He snorts, "you don't wanna hear me. I'm rusty." You roll your eyes, "humble as he is hot." You shift to sit up and look down at him. "One day?" You ask, hoping he will play for you. He stares at you for a moment, "one day." You nod, satisfied with that answer. You won't ever push Joel for more, that would push him away forever.

**** 

“You okay?” Joel glances behind him, watching as you settle in on your horse. The temperature is perfect so the jackets are already stowed and the sun is shining down on the two of you. It’s the first trip outside the walls together and he is a little worried that something will happen.

You look up at the sky, closing your eyes as the sun warms your face. “I’m good.” You open your eyes and look at him with a soft smile on your face. “You look good on a horse.” You tell him and he chuckles, “you think I look good in anything.” You hum, “because it’s true and I’m always right.” You tease and he opens his mouth to protest. “Nah ah ah, baby. Happy life, happy…end of the world lover slash friend not wife or even girlfriend.” You giggle, shifting on top of the horse.

He nearly chokes on his words, grunting as he turns back towards the road to look around. He doesn’t know if you want something like a label on this thing between you. It’s never seemed to be a priority. Something he had appreciated for awhile, now it just left him confused. “Whatever you say.” He settles on that for his answer and he can hear you roll your eyes behind him. “How far out have you gone on patrol?” He asks.

You nudge your horse to catch up with him, “relax, Miller. I’m just joking. We are - we are us.” You decide and he nods, “whatever you say.” He repeats and you snort, glancing at him before you focus on the road. “I’ve been pretty far. I, uh, I actually found something that you might want to show Ellie. I wanted to wait until we were out here and her birthday is next week.” You murmur, hoping he likes your idea.

He tilts his head, interested in what it could be. “Yeah?” He asks, smiling when you nod eagerly. “Show me.” He motions for you to take the lead. It’s pretty incredible how thoughtful you are to think of Ellie. You’re generous and kind, things that he tries to be. Especially now. He is slowly starting to heal. “Maria wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner.” She had basically demanded that Joel bring you or she would drag you there herself. “Next Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to look at him but he’s staring ahead. “She’s thinkin’ about getting a new wardrobe.” He jokes and you snort, “yeah. We can go on a girl’s day to Sears.” You chuckle and he shakes his head, taking a moment until he asks, “well? You wanna come?” You nod, looking at him, “yeah. I do.” You respond, heart fluttering in your chest. “Come on. Keep up.” You nudge your horse and start to ride faster, showing him the place you’d found for Ellie. “Wait up.” He huffs, following you until you come to a stop. “What do you think?” You ask, grinning excitedly at him.

“Holy shit.” Joel is stunned, eyes wide as he stares up at the statue. “It’s-“ he looks over at you and then back at the sight in front of him. The giant t-Rex is honestly amazing to see still standing as the foliage hasn’t completely reclaimed the area. “It’s amazing. She’s gonna lose her shit.” He predicts with a grin.

“Oh there’s more.” You grin, “we made sure it was cleared out.” You nudge your horse and make your way through the brush until you’re outside the museum. “Come on. I’ll show you what’s really gonna blow her mind.” You grin, swinging off your horse to tie her up.

“Holy shit.” Even though Boston had plenty of museums, all of them were outside the quarantine zone. Any of them inside had long been stripped of any historical value, most often for personal gain. This looks untouched. His eyes are wide and he knows that she will lose her mind if she gets to spend a day here. “It’s clear?” He asks, wanting to be certain before you go in.

You nod, “we checked it last week.” You confirm, “so should still be clear unless any found their way in.” You doubt it but you always need to double check. You take his hand, guiding him to the door which is pulled open and you watch his expression as he takes in the sight of the museum. A glimpse into a place long deserted but preserved.

“I used to take Sarah to museums.” He tells you as he walks through the abandoned halls. Dusty, dirty glass still showcasing odes to history almost forgotten. Only talked about by those who still remember it or are learning about it. “There were some good ones. She loved the natural science sections.” He chuckles as he looks back at you. “Wished she lived in the time of the dinosaurs when she was younger.”

You smile, seeing his eyes glaze over like they always do when he talks about his daughter. “I wish I could’ve met her.” You murmur, reaching out to squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, brought back to you from memories of Sarah. “Ellie is obsessed with space which is perfect because-” You guide him into a hall where a planetarium is displayed above. “It works but it needs some WD40.” You smile and he nods, letting you guide him, “and this. I think she’s gonna lose her mind.” You gesture to the Apollo capsule.

“She’s gonna lose her mind?” He snorts as he steps closer, in awe of the capsule and the ingenuity it took to put man in outer space. “Yeah, this blows away the recording of the mission that I managed to find her.” He looks over at the displays of the suits and chuckles. “She’s gonna want to pretend she’s being launched into space.” He predicts, pulling you close and kissing your lips. “Thank you for this.” He hums. “She’s gonna love it. I love it.”

You grin, loving his praise and the thought of Ellie loving her present. "she can listen to the mission and be inside the capsule. I checked it out. Oh and there's a helmet in the display but I didn't want to break the glass. I wanted you both to see it as it would've been." You confess, "you wanna see inside? It's awesome." You open the capsule and crawl inside, "come on, baby." You gesture for him to come inside.

Joel drops his backpack and follows you inside, closing the door of the capsule and dropping down into one of the seats. “Surprisingly big.” He hums, although it would be considered cramped with more than two people inside. The sunlight streams in from the small window as he looks over at you. “She’s gonna need half a day to press all the buttons.” He grins at you. “Just like I know you did.” He knows you had to play around when you were in here and he flicks one of the switches just to say that he had.

You giggle, leaning back into the seat as you look up at the buttons. "It's insane to think people went to space in this. They must've been shitting themselves." You ponder and he snorts, "of course." You look at him, admiring the soft smile on his face and that look in his eyes that tells you how he feels even if he can't say it. "You reckon the astronauts that went to space fucked in these?" You ask, tilting your head.

“Women weren’t on missions until later.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Although I guess anything’s possible.” He looks up as if he was looking into the sky. “There was probably definitely fucking on the International Space Station.” He jokes. “Called it foreign relations.”

You snort, “well…we could have Jackson relations.” You tease, shifting out of the seat and you move fast to straddle him. “A different kind of blast off.” You smirk, caressing his chest as you lean in to kiss his jaw.

His furrowed brow quickly changes to one of surprise and then amusement as his lips curve and his hands find your ass. “Is that right?” He asks, grunting when your teeth nip his skin. His cock is already responding to you pressing against him, the subtle grind of your hips always getting him going. “It’s gonna have to be you doing the work.” He reminds you softly.

You nod in understanding, “I know, baby.” You murmur, kissing along to his ear and you bite down on his ear lobe, making him moan. You love how he groans and his fingers dig into your ass. “That’s it, baby.” You murmur, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, reaching in to pull his hardening cock from his pants.

You always know what to do, how to touch him. He loves that you are always so eager. There’s not been one time that he’s needed you that you have turned him away and he’s done the same. Neither of you starting now. “Take your pants off and sit on my cock, honey.” He coos gruffly.

You let go of his cock, shuffling back to unbutton your jeans and you curse as you hit your head on the top of the capsule as you try to shimmy your jeans down your thighs. When they are below your knees, you straddle him again and reach down to grip his cock. He grunts and slips his hand down to pull your panties aside. You position him at your entrance and slowly sink down onto him.

“Fuck.” Joel hisses quietly, twitching as you lower yourself down until your ass is pressed to his thighs. “So tight, so hot.” He praises softly, as if he was afraid someone would hear him. Not that it was possible with being so isolated. He grips your hips as rocks up into you slightly.

You whimper, rocking your hips down onto his cock. You love how he stretches you out, your head dropping to press your forehead to his. “Always feel so good. Never get tired of this.” You murmur, closing your eyes in bliss. “Wish you could stay inside me forever.”

Joel groans in agreement. “Shoulda gotten that snip done before the end of the world.” He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he lives in a world now where condoms are a rare luxury.

You hum in agreement, “how could you know condoms weren’t gonna be around because a - a fucking fungus took over the world?” You ask breathlessly, rocking down onto his cock. “But I do think about you. You cumming inside me.”

Joel groans, twitching inside of you violently, “me too.” He pants out. “I think about it when I’m jerking off. I can’t- I can’t think about it when I’m inside you.” He confesses. “I’ll cum too quickly.”

You nod in understanding, “I know baby. Fuck.” You murmur, still imagining how it would feel but you start to rock on his cock, “feel so good, baby. So damn good. No one has ever felt like this.”

You are the longest relationship he’s had, besides Tess. His heart aches for a moment and it makes his kiss a little more demanding, desperate. Reminding himself that he can’t change the past, he can’t bring anyone back, but he can show you how he appreciates you. His tongue slides into your mouth when you open up with a groan.

You slide your tongue against his, cupping his cheeks as you devour him while you ride his cock. Your pants and moans fill the tiny space and you slide your hands down to grip his shoulders. “Shit. Gonna make me cum already.” You pant, knowing he can hit just right inside of you to push you over the edge.

Joel groans, planting his feet at the bottom of the space capsule and rocks up into you. Taking over for a moment and swallowing your whine of pleasure when he hits that spot inside you that drives you crazy.

You whimper, “fuck, baby. I- shit. I’m gonna - oh fuck.” You pant, walls fluttering until you clamp down on him. “Shittt.” You hiss out as you shake above him. “Fuck.” You pant, collapsing against him.

You’ve stopped moving, but Joel just holds you. Panting with you as you shake on top of him. “You amaze me.” He murmurs softly, stroking your back.

His words make your heart clench with love but you daren’t utter those three words. You caress his cheeks, softly kissing him. “Lemme take care of you.” You murmur, shifting off his cock, and you awkwardly maneuver until you’re kneeling so you can take his cock into your mouth. You taste yourself on his skin and moan, your eyes meeting his.

He closes his eyes and groans out your name, hand reaching down and caressing your cheek. You know you don’t have to do this, but the fact that you want to always makes him light up. He loves that you want him so badly that you love to have him fall apart in your mouth. “Fuck.” He hisses, stomach clenching. “I can’t - I don’t deserve you.”

You pull off his cock, smirking as you pump him, "you definitely do." You argue and take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you pump the base, pressing your tongue to the underside. You want him to cum down your throat. You want to see him fall apart.

You’re fucking good at sucking his cock. Sitting in the most surreal place he could ever be, with your lips wrapped around his dick like you are gonna suck him dry. “Fuck.” He hisses again, wondering again why him. Why had you chosen him? He’s so fucking lucky you haven’t realized you deserve better, so much more than he could ever give you. “Goddamn, gonna cum.” He growls out, fingers tightening on your jaw.

You hum around him, used to swallowing down all he has to offer, and your eyes water but you blink rapidly to watch him as he spills down your throat. His moan echoes off the metal walls of the capsule and you work him through it until his chest heaves. You pull off of him, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, and you offer him a smug smile, "Houston, we have liftoff." You tease, watching him try to catch his breath.

He chuckles breathlessly as he pulls you up and kisses you. Letting you settle onto his lap again for another moment. Both of you are quiet, breathing starting to return to normal as he closes his eyes. “You’re so good to me.” He murmurs after a moment. “You’ve made Ellie’s birthday perfect.” He hesitates for a moment. “Do you want to come with us?”

You nudge your nose against his, arms around his neck as you lean into him. You pull back for a moment, surprised at the request, and you caress the hair at the base of his neck. “I don’t want to invade on your time with her.” You murmur, “enjoy her birthday. She’ll be a moody teenager screaming at you before you know it.” You lean in to kiss his nose.

He appreciates that you would give him this time with her alone. Smiling softly as he wrinkles his nose. “Oh goody.” He huffs dryly. “Just what every dad wants.”

“Rite of passage, baby. Teenage girls have gotta have a ‘I hate my daddy’ phase. Next will be smoking and/or drinking along with the, uh, the sex.” You can feel him flinch beneath you. “She’s gotta grow up.” You remind him, “the best thing to can do is be there for her when she fucks up because she will.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to hope she just jumps into bed with the first boy to smile at her.” Joel grumbles, knowing that you’re right. You would know more about what teenage girls go through than he would. “Jesse keeps eyeing her. I think there might be something there.”

You chuckle, caressing his chest, “I think it’s more, uh, that she’s eying the ladies.” You reveal and he frowns, “she’s still figuring it all out.” He counters and you pat his chest, “I know you are from Texas and it wasn’t - but it’s okay. Just support her. No matter what.” You tell him and he nods, “shit. I’m so out of my depth.” He confesses and you cup his cheek, “I’m here for you. Both of you. However you want me.” You promise, “it’ll be okay.”

He hums softly, unable to vocalize how much that means to him. Instead, he holds you closer, leaning in and giving you several soft kisses. “I can’t tell her we had sex here.” He tells you dryly, making you laugh as he starts to chuckle. “She would be completely grossed out. She makes gagging noises whenever I come home smellin’ like you.”

You giggle, "is that when you've spent all day with your tongue inside my-?" He cuts you off with a groan of "don't" and you caress his cheek, "we can air it out." You promise, "cool place to check off the list of places we have had sex." You tease, "and she's gonna love this place for her birthday. You're a good father." You murmur, nudging your nose against his. "

He snorts, doubtful, but the pain of losing Sarah has been helped so much by having Ellie. The guilt he has carried isn’t gone, but he feels like he has been given a second chance. “Hopefully she likes it, I’m gonna walk here.” It’s not too far from the town, relatively speaking. “Give us time to talk and connect.”

You nod, caressing his chest until you pat it. "We better get moving." You groan as you shift to stand, awkwardly shimmying your jeans and panties back up your legs while he tucks his cock away. You inhale deeply once you're outside the space capsule and Joel rolls his neck. He glances around for a moment and takes your hand, guiding you back to your horses. Your heart flutters and you feel the words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you don't want to ruin a perfect day. You swallow the words back down and squeeze his hand, letting him guide you back home.

**** 

“Answer the door, answer the fuckin’ door.” Joel growls, banging on your door again. He would just walk in, but your shop is closed today, the front door locked to give you some privacy. Needing to talk to you, he grabs the door knobs and twists it again as if it would magically open for him.

You swing the door open, eyes wide as you see Joel standing there, his chest heaving. "What the fuck is going on? I was just taking a shower." Your skin is still wet, towel wrapped around you, and you can see he's upset. "Come in." You order, ushering him inside and off the street.

It’s pouring outside and he’s probably just as soaking wet as you are, maybe more. He had walked out of the house without a jacket, without anything. Furious and hurt, confused and needing to talk to you. “Ellie.” He spits out as he storms inside. “She’s lost her damn mind.” He growls as he starts to pace around the shop before you take his hand and drag him towards the stairs.

You guide him to your living room, letting go of his hand to grab him a towel to dry off. "Here baby. Sit. Talk to me. What happened? It's her birthday." You frown, reaching out to push his wet hair back from his face.

“I was bringing her her cake.” He huffs, rubbing his face and then his hair, but he’s more preoccupied by the argument he just had with Ellie. “She was- there was this girl. Says she’s 19, oldest fucking 19 year old I’ve ever seen.” He shakes his head. “She got a tattoo.” He stresses and says your name as he looks at you with horrified eyes. “Smoking pot too. All of it, all of it today.”

You snort, shaking your head, "she really went from zero to a hundred with teenage angst, huh?" You sigh, seeing the sadness and anger in his eyes. "She's growing up and I know that's hard to handle because she's not gonna need you as much, but it proves that you have been a good father to her. She is gonna act out and you freaking out will make her go even harder. I'm not saying you gotta understand it, baby, but you can't freak out. You gotta let her make her own mistakes." You caress his ear lobe, brushing his hair back, and you watch him clench his jaw.

“A tattoo?” He huffs and you nod when he looks at you, “goddamn.” He flings himself back on the sofa and covers his eyes. “Girls? I just- I thought-“ he doesn’t know what he was thinking, it had just caught him off guard. Even after you had hinted about it before. You had seen what he hadn’t or been unwilling to see. He sighs heavily, knowing he fucked up. “I was hoping she was gonna meet some guy, fall in love, get married….have babies.” His voice is soft, almost yearning. All the things that he never got to see Sarah do.

You reach for his hands, tangling your fingers with his, "she can still get married and you can walk her down the-" you wrinkle your nose, "nah. I can't see Ellie walking down the aisle." Joel chuckles in agreement and you continue, "she could adopt a kid like you have or hell, you never know what will happen, but she knows who she is and I certainly didn't know that at her age. She's - she's a strong girl, a fighter, and she likes girls. That's who she is and you love her no matter what because you are her father." You remind him, "and she loves you because you've been there for her since you met."

“Fuck.” Joel closes his eyes. “I fucked it up.” He admits. “I need to apologize to her. But I can’t now, she will just make a smart ass comment and completely ignore me.” She blows hot, so different from his own quiet, deep rage. Joel doesn’t shout until he has to, and Ellie’s first line of defense is shouting. “I hope she doesn’t fucking hate me.”

“It’ll be okay.” You promise, “let her cool down and I have her present ready. I found a pair of Converse. Cleaned them up and restitched them. You can take them for her, tell her it’s from you.” You offer, sliding your hand down to caress his neck.

“No, I can’t do that.” You always give Ellie such thoughtful gifts, he could never take that away from you. Even if she didn’t have any interest in learning to sew. She still slept under that quilt every night. “I just-“ he needed to talk, to have your reassurance or your slap upside the head, whatever was appropriate. “I needed you.” He admits softly.

You smile, “you have me. Always.” You promise, “whenever you need me, baby.” You reassure him, shifting to straddle him and you let the towel you have wrapped around you pool to the floor. “You can take what you need.”

That wasn’t what he meant, but he wants to be close to you. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you down for a desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth as you immediately reach for his belt buckle.

You slide your tongue against his and reach in to pull his hard cock out. He’s always eager, even for a man of his age, and you squeeze him. “I’m yours. However you want me.” You promise as you start to pump him, wanting him to throb in your hand before you ride him.

“Fuck.” He hisses, hardening even more under your expert touch. “Bed.” He growls, wanting to touch all of you. His hand slaps your ass while the other cups your breast.

You huff but concede, letting go of his cock to shift off his lap. You make your way over to the bed, laying down to watch him as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Always so sexy.” You murmur, watching him as he stalks towards the bed.

He snorts softly and shakes his head. He’s old, getting older every year. Every morning he’s stiff and aching, wishing for some of those hydros he used to take to forget the sounds of his daughter dying. It’s strange….since saving Ellie, he hasn’t had them. Like he had completed the task he had failed at nearly twenty-five years ago. “You’re the one I should be saying that to.” He smirks as you wink at him. “Brazen.”

You snort and spread your legs for him to kneel between them. “Come here, baby.” You murmur, pulling him down towards you and he shifts his weight to his elbow before he reaches down to squeeze his cock in his hand. He slides it through your folds and you whimper when he starts to push into you.

He needs you, right now as a distraction, a comfort. You are always so goddamn good at giving him an outlet for his emotions. Even when he rarely shares them. He settles down on you, giving you his full weight as he pushes his arms under your back to gather you close. “Fuck.”

You caress his shoulders, sliding your hands down to his ass, "fuck me. Joel. I want you to forget all the bullshit and fuck me." You order, pushing him deeper with your palms on his skin.

He’s good at following your orders, smirking slowly as he rocks deeper into you. Right now, his mind is blank to everything but the way your pussy feels clenching around him. “Hard?” He asks, feeling like you want it rougher, but he wants to just make sure.

You nod, “harder.” You order, “want to feel you tomorrow.” You demand and he groans, grabbing your thigh to push it back towards your stomach. “That’s it. Shit.” You moan in pleasure, “always get so deep like this. Yes baby. Keep - keep fucking going.” You plead, moaning his name again when he grunts.

Joel’s dark eyes watch you, even as he starts to give you exactly what you are begging for. You once told him that he looked like a predator, like he was about to destroy you, but he’s watching to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. Even when he’s rough, he never wants you to have true pain. Not by him, not from this. Joel hisses when you clench down around him after a sharp snap of his hips. “That’s it.” He growls.

You moan, loving how he pushes deep, his balls hitting your ass as he fucks you hard like you wanted. He always gives you what you want, “lemme - tell me if your back hurts.” You inform him, “I can - I can take over.” You offer, wanting him to enjoy himself.

He huffs, almost offended by the comment if it weren’t so true most of the time. “Back always hurts.” He grunts out, speeding up the pace as if he is proving a point to both of you.

You gasp as he pushes even deeper, wanting to show you that he can still fuck you hard and fast. “Oh shit, Miller. You’re - shit - you’re gonna make me - already. How?” You moan in surprise at how he’s worked you up and you know it’s just him. Your feelings for him that you keep to yourself.

He chuckles breathlessly, watching your eyes glaze over in pleasure as you take every thrust. Squealing out his name again and your nails dig into his arms. “Fuck.” He hisses, enjoying the flash of pain and focusing on making you cum. “Do it. Do it for me.”

You nod, mouth open as your walls clamp down on his cock. You cum within moments, his name mouthed instead of moaned, and you shake beneath him. “Oh fuckkkk” finally escapes your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Joel groans your name, gritting his teeth and rocking his hips a little deeper as he works you through it. You’re soaking him, making his eyes slip closed in pleasure. “Fuck honey, you’re doing so good. So good to me.”

You grip his shoulders, nails leaving a trail of scratches, and you whimper, “wanna - wanna feel it. Just once. I tracked - it’s safe. Please. Wanna feel you cum inside me just one time.” You beg, wanting to feel the heat of his cum painting your walls. “Just this once. Please Joel. Fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he fucking shouldn’t. Joel groans and rocks his hips even faster. The thrusts are harsh and sharp. Giving into your begging without even thinking about how wrong it is. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck.” His growl is low, almost feral as he feels himself start to cum. Pushing deep, he buries his cock and and floods your walls with his cum. “Fuck, honey.” Your name falls from his lips in a low groan, unable to even try to pull out because it feels so good.

The feeling of him twitching inside you, painting your walls, and the way he groans your name has another smaller orgasm rippling through you. You try to catch your breath, lost in the sensations, and your chest heaves while he presses kisses to your neck. “That was - yeah.” You finish lamely, biting back the words that are always on the tip of your tongue but you don’t want to scare him away from you.

Joel collapses on top of you, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to catch his breath. He can’t even explain how he feels right now, what is racing through his mind and heart. “Yeah.” He huffs finally, rolling off of you and pulling you against him.

All the unspoken words seem to hang heavy in the air but you don’t drag them down. You simply curl around Joel, breathing him in as you relax, and you feel him finally relax. You don’t need words, you can just be. 

**** 

You groan, resting your head on your toilet as you try to quell the nausea that seems to creep up your throat. You’ve been throwing up for a couple of days, exhausted, and you wonder if you have some kind of flu. It’s Ellie’s birthday today and you’re certain Joel will be doing something with her. It’s her 18th after all. They have been at odds and you hope today is the day they talk it out and put it aside. “Fuck.” You wipe your mouth, stumbling as you stand up from the toilet and when you flush it, you see the box of tampons. “Shit.” You murmur, trying to think back to when your period was. Usually you’re like clockwork but Joel has been finishing inside you more often than not since Ellie’s last birthday. “Shit.” You repeat, sitting down on the toilet seat. “I’m pregnant.” You groan, rubbing your eyes.

Joel sighs softly as he walks towards town, his hands shoved in his pockets. Ellie didn’t want to spend the day with him. Just awkwardly stared at him until he left her garage domain. He’s upset and he doesn’t know what to do. He sees your shop in the distance and there’s a little bit of brightness to his day. It takes him a few minutes and he opens the door. “Honey? You here?” He asks as he closes it behind him. He brought you some buttons and thread he had found, hoping that you would like them.

You wipe your eyes and set your toothbrush down before you go downstairs to see Joel standing in your shop. “Hey baby“ You offer shakily, “you doing okay?” You ask, noticing the way he looks tense and frustrated.

“No.” Joel sets the bag that he had hooked on his arm down on the counter. “But what’s new?” He had been in a mood, withdrawn, as it got closer to Ellie’s birthday and now today, it is just a bad day. Almost as bad as his own birthday.

You stare at him, unable to keep it to yourself when it’s such a shock and he’s already in a bad mood. “I’m pregnant.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I think - I haven’t had my period. I’m late and I’ve been throwing up.”

Joel freezes, eyes wide as he stares at you. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, you can’t be pregnant.” He tells you, as if that will make it true. He thinks back to when Sarah’s mother told him that she was pregnant, the fear, the uncertainty that had festered with the undeniable hope that he could do better. “No!” He shouts, shoving the bag and contents off the counter as he sweeps his hands across the surface. He can’t be a father again. Not at his age. He's at the end of his life. Hell, Ellie isn’t even talking to him and Sarah….. His chest tightens and his vision starts to swim as he stumbles towards the door, needing to get air and not able to breathe.

Your heart pounds as you watch him panic. “It’s not like I did this on purpose.” You choke, “and last time I checked, you were just as eager to cum inside me, Miller.” You hiss, “and I know you are having issues with Ellie but don’t you - fuck.” You sob, curling your arms around yourself.

He hears you, but it sounds like you are underwater. Your voice is garbled and he can’t understand what you are saying but he hears the hurt in your tone. “I can’t-“ he struggles out, heart racing in his chest. He presses a hand to his heart as he tries to reach the door. “I can’t-“

Your eyes widen when you see the way his chest heaves. You step forward, reaching out to cup his cheeks, “it’s okay. You’re okay, baby. Just breathe.” You order, “you’re okay, baby.” You murmur, “breathe with me. Breathe. It’s okay.”

He sinks to his knees with you, gasping for air. “It- I’m almost fucking 60.” He chokes out, closing his eyes and hating how weak he is. “I- you- a baby?” He makes a sound of sorrow. “I’m sorry.” He opens his eyes and there is nothing but anguish in their depths as he looks at you, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “I’m sorry.”

You shush him, “it’s okay, baby. It’s okay baby.” You murmur, “just breathe. It’s okay baby.” You promise, “we will figure it out. I don’t know for sure. We don’t know.” You murmur, caressing his cheeks.

It takes him a few minutes before he can breathe normally. He takes a deep breath and sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I won’t live to see them grow up.” Hw whispers. “I won’t be able to protect you, and our baby.” He’s never shirked his responsibility. He didn’t when he was a young, single father to a baby girl and he won’t do it now that he’s old enough to know better. His eyes meet yours and he swallows harshly. “I’m sorry, honey.” He murmurs.

“I can protect us. I am capable. I just - I didn’t think- we’ve gone so many years without it happening and - shit. This is my fault. I told you to cum inside me.” You choke, kissing his cheeks, “I’m sorry. This is - shit.”

“No.” He frowns, shaking his head and pulls back to look at you seriously. “I’m a grown man, I knew the risks.” He admits, sighing softly as he pulls your hands into his. “I’m not mad at you.” He promises. “I’m mad at myself. All I ever do is the wrong thing.”

You shake your head, “no you don’t. You’re a good man. You’re a good father and I- I know this isn’t what we planned but we can do it. I can do it.” You promise, “I have to do it.” You choke, “it’s my responsibility.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Joel pulls you close and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry honey.” He murmurs again, thinking about the trouble Maria had when she had Benji. “I’m gonna find a doctor. The best doctor I can.” He promises. “One that was a doctor before all this shit.” He will drag the doctor here by force if necessary.

You sigh, “it’s okay, baby. We will figure it out.” You promise, “we have a long way to go before the baby is here.” You murmur, “I - it’s okay. We will figure it out.” You promise, pecking his cheek.

You should be pissed off at him, kicking him out of your house and life, not comforting him. Not reassuring him. He moves to pull you into his arms. “I don’t deserve you.” He knows he owes you the truth about how he feels, but he can’t right now. It’s not the right time. Not after he had essentially blamed you for getting pregnant in your mind. It would ruin it. So he doesn’t say those little words that seem to come so goddamn hard for him. “Not at all.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, “you do. You just don’t know it. Come on, lay down with me.” You take his hand, helping him stand and you guide him to your bedroom. “Rest. It’s been a long day for you.”

Joel sighs, his feet heavy, but he follows you dutifully. “You should come stay at the house sometimes.” He mentions. “There’s more room, you could have some space from the shop.”

You are surprised at his offer, nodding as you shift to lay down and he pulls you into his chest. You sniff, trying to calm your racing heart, and you wonder how you’re going to handle having a baby with a man who can’t even say he loves you. 

**** 

You don’t know how long you lay there for but you shift to kiss him, waking him up from your nap. “I gotta use the bathroom.” You shift off him, making your way into the bathroom to pee. Your eyes widen when you pull your pants down and see red. No cramping or sudden issues so you must’ve gotten your period. You come out to see Joel sitting on the edge of the bed and you bite your lip, “crisis averted. I got my period.”

Joel frowns as he looks at you, unsure if he’s relieved or disappointed to hear that. He nods, knowing that it’s for the best. He might have ten, fifteen years left in him. If he’s lucky. He doesn’t need to be having a baby, even if he wondered what a kid with you would look like. “That’s….” He pauses. “Good. Right?”

You nod, a little sad but it’s for the best. “Yeah. Looks like Ellie won’t be a big sister. Probably for the best.” You snort, sitting down next to him. You reach for his hand, squeezing it, “it’s for the best.” You reassure him, “so back to pulling out?” You tease.

He snorts, shaking his head in amusement that you can bounce back so quickly. “That’s if you let me back in your bed.” He tells you. “You might kick my ass out.”

“Never.” You promise, “no one has ever made me feel like you do.” You smirk, “I’d be an idiot to kick you out because of one pregnancy scare. We have been pretty lucky considering.” You sigh, turning your body to look at him. “I don’t want to step backwards because this scare happened. Let’s go back to how we were before today.”

He looks down at your hands, fingers threaded together and he squeezes softly. The trust you give him is overwhelming. “Back to how things were.” He agrees as he looks up at you again. Thinking about how the child you could have had together would have had your eyes.

**** 

Another year passes with you and Joel spending time together, the pregnancy scare buried away. “She’s still not talking to you?” You ask Joel, “why don’t you take her on patrol today?” You ask, knowing you’re supposed to go with him but you’ll give up your place if it makes Ellie happy.

“You think?” He takes a sip of his coffee, looking over at you, and contemplating. “She is 19.” He admits. “Most start patrolling at 18 but….” He had pulled strings and put his foot down with the council, a lot of them afraid he would slow down construction because he was pulling more patrols to protect her. “Yeah.” He nods. “I guess that could be good.”

You watch him sip his coffee, “she will be excited. You know all she wants is to be capable.” You tell him and he nods, “yeah. Maybe - maybe we can talk. It should be quiet out there today.” You smile, “exactly. Go with her. Oh and when you’re back, I repaired her band shirts.” You look over at the box that contains shirts she has ripped and worn to pieces but you’ve managed to rescue them.

“She will like that.” Joel smiles at you as he reaches out to caress your back. “Let me go talk to her about it. What are you going to do if she wants to go? Have a day to yourself where I’m not bothering you?” He knows there is a group of newcomers that just arrived and those first few days are hectic for you with trading and repairing clothes.

You chuckle, “I’ll probably have a nap. Touch myself thinking about this old guy who fucks me.” You tease, leaning in to softly kiss his jaw, “and have some snacks. You know, girl time.”

Joel snorts softly and shakes his head. Turning his head as he presses his lips to your briefly. “Girl time, huh?” He smirks slightly. “Sounds fun.”

You chuckle, “oh yeah. Gonna be real fun.” You joke and caress his cheek, “she’s gonna come around.” You murmur, “don’t sorry baby.” You want him to relax a little even if Ellie is giving him a hard time.

He sighs softly, leaning against you as he hopes that you are right. “Too good to me.” He murmurs again, believing that to be true. “I should go.” He huffs after a moment.

“Go. I’ll see you later.” You murmur, kissing him again and you watch him as he steps back, grabbing his jacket, and you sigh when he’s gone. You hope he and Ellie can find some middle ground during the patrol.

**** 

He knows you’ve heard. Everyone in Jackson has heard. The only thing that spreads faster than good news is bad news. And the death of a town member is bad news. His footsteps are heavy, not even able to go to your house, he’s dragged himself back to his own house. Slow steps up the porch, running a hand through his hair as he swallows harshly.

You make your way up the steps to his front door, knowing he must be beating himself up. You open the door that was left unlocked after he rushed inside. You close it behind you, making your way upstairs to find Joel sitting on the end of his bed, head hanging low. You walk towards him, standing in between his spread legs and you waste no time pulling him into your stomach so you can comfort him.

The sorrow he hides from everyone. The feelings that he bottles up, buries deep, it comes out. His hands slide around your body, pulling you closer as he gives into the pain. He hadn’t wanted to kill Eugene, he didn’t. But the risk was too great. Bringing someone infected too close to Jackson endangered every single person in that town. Ellie didn’t see that, wouldn’t see that. “I had to.” He chokes out.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, “I know, baby. I know.” You coo, needing to comfort him as he sobs into your shirt. “You did what you thought was best.” You murmur, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “She will understand with time. She has to.” You promise, “and you did the right thing.”

He tightens his grip on you, letting himself have this moment before he stuffs it down again. Shows an unconcerned face to the rest of the town. He knows you won’t even ask him for the details but you believe in him. You believe that he wouldn’t do anything just to be cruel. There was a reason, a good reason for why he hadn’t granted that last request.

You let him bury his face in your shirt, “it’s okay. Baby, it’s okay.” You murmur, waiting until he lifts his head to look at you and you lean down, cupping his cheeks to softly kiss him. “It’ll be okay.” You promise, “it’s gonna be okay.” You know why he did it and you know why Ellie is mad but you understand him.

“I don’t think it will be.” Joel admits softly, pulling back and looking up at you. “If you- could you stay tonight?” It’s been rare that you’ve spent the night together, even after all these years, but he doesn’t want to be alone.

You can’t deny him, stroking his cheek, “of course.” You murmur, rubbing his lower lip with your thumb. You have rarely spent a night in his arms and right now, it’s what you both need. “Lemme get you a cup of coffee.” You reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Maybe a splash of whiskey in it.”

“A lot of whiskey.” He murmurs after a second. He smiles softly to reassure you, knowing that you are trying to help. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He sighs. “Need one.”

You nod, “whiskey with a splash of coffee.” You chuckle, “got it. Now, go shower and I’ll make you something to eat. Knowing you, you didn’t eat before patrol today.” You huff, caressing his cheek. You step away from him and glance back for a moment. Making your way downstairs, your heart aches for the man who is just trying his best and Ellie can’t seem to see that. You prepare his coffee, whiskey, and a sandwich, setting them down on the kitchen table where his glasses lay next to a book on rescuing foundations. You snort and look up when he enters the kitchen, hair wet and wearing sweats. He looks soft and vulnerable. Things you would never normally associate with him.

He pauses in the doorway, a little unsure and hesitant. Not because you are here, but because of how well you just fit here. You have taken over and taken care of him. He rubs his hands on his sweats and steps forward, his feet bare on the kitchen floor. “Thanks.” He murmurs softly. “Did you fix yourself something to eat?”

You nod, your own sandwich in front of you. “I didn’t get to eat anything either.” You don’t practice what you preach. You watch him sit down and he looks at the food. “Thank you, honey.” You smile, pushing a napkin towards him. “Eat, Miller.” You order, “and there’s extra whiskey in the coffee.”

“Thanks.” He reaches for it, grateful that you understand that he’s not talkative right now. You pick up your sandwich and start to eat, letting him savor the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat. You deserve so much praise, so much more than silence right now. But Joel doesn’t have the heart, or the words to talk. He can put on a front when he’s in town, but right now, he’s just weary.

You let him eat, seeing the tiredness in his eyes, and when he’s done, you take his plate and yours to wash them up. It’s early but you see he’s exhausted. “Go up to bed. I’ll be in there soon. I’ll borrow your shirt.” You murmur, rubbing his back, and he nods, making his way upstairs. You secure the house after cleaning the kitchen, and make your way upstairs. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed again and you pull one of his shirts from his drawer, a half finished wood work on top of the dresser. You know he had to move everything into his bedroom after Ellie took up residence in the garage so his bedroom has become his workshop. You take his shirt into the bathroom to clean up and change, coming back out to find him under the sheets. He holds them open and you eagerly slide under them, shifting closer to him until you’re snuggled into his chest. “Get some sleep.” You order, kissing the space above his heart.

He’s more appreciative than he could ever articulate. His arms wrapping around you while you hold him. Closing his eyes and letting the weight of the day settle. It’s not oppressive, like it should be. He’s not wallowing in despair and recriminations. Tommy understood, he could see it in his brother’s eyes. Even if he had always been the one to be a little more tenderhearted. Joel had been the protector, the one who had made the choices and sacrifices, taken the blame. He had understood it then too, he was tougher, meant to take that role. He wouldn’t change anything, he wouldn’t have let Eugene come back to Jackson. Just like he wouldn’t let the Fireflies kill Ellie. He kissed the top of your head and lets himself drift off to sleep.

**** 

You watch Joel push Seth down after he insulted Ellie and Dina, a sigh escaping your lips when Ellie tells him she doesn’t need his help, and you look at Maria. She raises her eyebrows and you stand up after Joel stumbles outside, “I better go after him.” You murmur and she nods, “see you next year.” You smile and rush into the cold air to follow Joel home. You know he’s spiraling. You find him standing out in the snow, chest tight as he struggles to breathe and you rush over to him, “breathe baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair. “You’re okay.”

“It’s never gonna get better.” Joel gasps out, closing his eyes and wishing that he had said something, anything. Made her listen to reason, but he had just walked out. Embarrassed that she had told him in front of everyone that she didn’t need him.

You let him squeeze you, trying to ground himself, and you murmur to him, “she will come around. She will. She will forgive you at some point. She’s young. She doesn’t understand.” You reason, rubbing the back of his neck, “she will. Soon.”

He doubts it, but it helps him open his eyes again. “I’m gonna go home.” He murmurs softly. “You can stay, if you want.” He would never ask you to come with him if you wanted to socialize, but he squeezes you just a little tighter, hoping you do come with him.

“Let’s go, baby.” You murmur, taking his hand to guide him back to his home. “You’ll be okay. It will be okay, baby.” You grip his hand tight and shiver as the cold air hits you. The snow is starting to fall again and you are shaking when you step onto his porch.

“I’m gonna- sit out here.” Joel tells you quietly, wanting to make sure that Ellie comes home safely. He sees you shivering and he immediately pulls his hand away from yours to rub your arms. “I’ll get the heater,” he offers, knowing that you would want to stay with him. You have so far.

“Can you- can you play me something?” You ask, knowing the guitar offers him an escape from the chaos that seizes his mind. He nods and you smile, reaching out to kiss the back of his hand. You squeeze it before you let it go. “Lemme go make you a coffee and I’ll be out in a sec.” You promise after he opens his door to grab the heater and his guitar.

Joel sets up the heater, angling it towards the seat you will be sitting in. Sitting down and plucking a few chords on the guitar to start tuning it more after replacing the broken strings.

You prepare the coffee, waiting for the water to boil for the french press after you grind up the beans and soon enough, you’re stepping outside to hand the coffee to Joel. “I gotta get mine.” You caress his cheek when he takes it, rocking on the porch, and you head back inside. When you come back towards the front door, you hear voices and look outside to see Ellie standing next to Joel. Deciding to give them some privacy, you step back into the kitchen.

You don’t come back outside, but Joel knows that you should have seen Ellie. He listens to her as she talks, obviously having come to the correct conclusions about what happened in St. Louis with the Fireflies. He doesn’t say a word, just nods when he is asked questions. Until it comes to the why. “Because I love you.” Joel choked out gruffly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “In a way you can’t understand.

You wait until you hear the garage door shut and you quietly close the front door behind you, finding Joel leaning against the railing. Your hand comes up to rub his back, “are you - is everything okay?” You ask, seeing the tears on his cheeks.

Joel licks his lips and nods. “Eventually.” He admits quietly, looking over at you and then back out at the front lawn. “She knows what I’ve done and I- I have to accept that.” He hasn’t told you about St. Louis, but he thinks you know already.

You had never heard him tell you the story but you’ve guessed that he saved her and killed a lot of people to do it. You understand why he did it. Ellie saved him from himself and he was selfish but any parent would’ve done the same thing. “She will come around.” You promise, “she loves you and she will forgive you. Just give her time.” You reach for his hand that’s resting on the ledge of the porch and you squeeze it in yours.

“Yeah.” He looks down at your hand on top of his and wishes tonight had gone like he had expected it to. He had hoped to dance with you, to show you how much you mean to him tonight. Finally putting into words what he has felt for years. Now, that moment has been ruined. Changed into this. Where Joel can’t verbalize what he thinks. “You’re gonna stay, right?” He asks. “Still gotta finish paying for the coffee.”

You snort, turning to wrap your arms around him, the heat from the porch keeping the chill off you and Joel’s body heat is even better. “Nearly paid it off, Miller.” You tease, tilting your head to kiss his jaw. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed. You have patrol in the morning.” You sigh and he nods, squeezing your waist. You smile, leaning back to look at him, “happy new year, baby.” He smiles, leaning in to softly kiss you, “happy new year, honey.”

**** 

The fire still burns, the blood that is covering the side of your face isn’t yours, but it’s dried and crusty as you work to clear the bodies and bring them to the fire burning in front of the fences. You have to concentrate on that, on the task at hand, because you are worried. Before the storm hit, they lost contact with Joel and Dina. Then the hoard attacked. Jackson had been fighting for its very lift and your shop had barely missed being burned down. Now, you keep looking towards the north, where Joel was supposed to be scouting, hoping to see him riding in, worried about what had happened and who had been lost while he was gone.

You look up when you hear the horses neigh, heart pounding with the need to see Joel and you frown when you only see Jesse, Dina, and Ellie. You run towards them, only to freeze when you see the bloodied sheet covered body being dragged. “No. No. Don’t tell me - Joel? He’s - no. He can’t be.” You choke before a wail escapes your lips when you see the look on Ellie’s face and you collapse to the ground, your sobs echoing off the buildings of Main Street.

Ellie chokes out your name, nearly falling off her horse and her eyes roll back in her head as she faints. Making Jesse shout for help as he scoops her up and Tommy rushes forward to see what is happening. Choking up and freezing when he sees the shroud covered body and he slowly kneels down beside you. “Joel.” He murmurs softly, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you against him to let you cry.

"El-Ellie. Need to - to help - he- her." You can hardly breathe, gripping onto Tommy to keep grounded but he is choking on his tears until Maria arrives and takes his place. Her hands pull you close as Tommy lifts Ellie, stumbling as he takes her to the hospital. You push Maria away, crawling over to the shrouded body, your tears dropping onto the blood stained cloth as you touch it, knowing it's him underneath the material and your sobs are soul crushing.

Maria hates watching you mourn, her own sorrow softer, but she hadn’t been in love with Joel. She kneels next to you, her hand on your back while you untie the rope and pull the sheet away from his face. Sobs getting louder when you see the battered face of the man you love. “Don’t.” She murmurs softly. “He wouldn’t want you to remember him this way.” She draws the sheet back up.

You nod, heart breaking at how he’s been killed. Tortured and why? Who did this to him? Eventually you’re dragged away so they can untie Joel and carry his body to the ever growing morgue. “Come here.” Maria pulls you into her arms again, “let’s go. You need to sit down.” She says, taking you back to hers and Tommy’s house. 

**** 

You’re numb as you stare at the glass of whiskey, a blanket wrapped around you, and you’re still covered in blood. You can’t process what’s happened today. Your body seems to have shut down and you don’t even look up when Tommy appears in front of you.

Tommy looks up at Maria, his eyes expressive and he sighs as he kneels down in front of you. “Honey…” you wince when he uses Joel’s nickname for you, so he switches to your name. “Joel loved you. So fuckin’ much.”

You continue to stare at the glass, “he never - he didn’t tell me. He never said it. Neither did I.” You choke, regret threatening to drown you. “I should’ve told him. Just once. I had years to tell him.”

“You know how Joel is….was.” Tommy had told the stubborn son of a bitch to tell you, but he had been so insistent on making it right. Making it perfect for you. “He wasn’t a words guy, but he-“ his younger brother fights back tears of his own as he hands you a small box he had taken from Joel’s pocket. “He was waiting for the right time to give you this.”

Your watery eyes widen and you stare at the box, “what’s - he - I don’t-” Tommy gestures for you to open it and your shaking hands open the tiny box. “Oh my God.” You choke, seeing the diamond ring. It’s beautiful and you are shocked by it. You never imagined it. Never imagined that he’d want that. “He never - I knew he cared for me but I didn’t - when did he-?”

“He talked to me about it last summer.” Tommy admits softly. “Asked me if I thought he was crazy.” He snorts, smirking slightly as he recalls the conversation. “Told him he was insane not to marry you.” He pauses for a moment. “He was gonna ask you at the dance last night, but….” He had left to put Benji to sleep, but he had heard what happened. Figured he had put it off.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shakily take your ring out of the box. Twisting it in your fingers, you watch the diamond catch the light until you notice the engraving. “He, uh, engraved it himself.” Tommy confesses and you choke when you see “I love you” engraved into the metal. “Oh God.” You sob, struggling but finally you manage to slide the ring onto your finger. “I would’ve said yes. To him. A thousand times.” You murmur, “yes.”

“I know you would have.” Tommy murmurs softly, reaching out to take your right hand as you stare at the ring Joel had picked out for you, the symbol of the feeling that he could never find the words to express. “He was happy with you. Loved you with everything he had.” He reminds you. “Had loved you from the first bag of coffee he traded you for.”

You chuckle at the memory, “he really wanted coffee.” You joke softly and Tommy snorts, “he might have come to you for coffee but he kept coming back for you.” You squeeze his hand, “I don’t know how to live without him.” You confess softly and Tommy chokes, “neither do I. He’s always - he was always there to protect me. To take the blame whenever I fucked up and our dad wanted to beat me. He took the belt. He took it to protect me.” Tommy whispers like he’s a 13 year old boy.

Joel Miller didn’t talk about his feelings a lot. He could be chatty about thing, mostly related to his love of building things or fixing things. He loved his community, protected it. He loved Ellie, and wanted the best for her. He died protecting the girl that Ellie loved, keeping her from being hurt up in that lodge. It’s why he didn’t try to fight them. And he loved you, the evidence is on your finger, the inscription etched by hand, with love.

**** 

Years later, you lay in bed, chest heaving as you take your last breaths. Dina, Ellie, and JJ by your side and you close your eyes as you pass away. You open them to bright light, a familiar hand outstretched, and your eyes widen when your body moves smoothly, just like it did when you were younger. “Hey, honey.” His dark eyes come into focus and you smile, surging forward to wrap your arms around him, “Joel.” You choke, pressing your lips to his until a throat clears. Joel pulls back, turning his head, and he smiles when he says “this is Sarah.” The young girl smiles at you and says “Dad has told me so much about. I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Joel rubs your back as you say “I’m sorry I took so long.” He shakes his head, “you’re here now and that’s all that matters. Come, we’ll show you around.” You take his hand and let him guide you through the light, his ring sparking on your finger as you finally get to enjoy forever with the man you love.

​​

​​

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ HOUSE OF BALLOONS (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ take your mask off ⭢ carmen ⭢ untitled

— BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family- the tales of the three young moons on a power trip (or slowly loosing their minds) the lost media of the young heirs that can never be found

SEPTEMBER 1st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“RICH KIDS GONE BAD??”

“a deeply unsettling video featuring moon yn, a first-year high school student, and her older brother moon jae, now in his final year, has started circulating online and it’s sparking serious concern.” click the video below ⭣

the shaky footage, clearly taken in secret, shows the two siblings in their school uniforms, each wearing a distinct chanel brooch. but this was no time to admire their luxury.

the video begins with a girl standing nervously in front of them. jae has his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. his words are too quiet to hear, but his body language says enough, sharp, intimidating, and cold.

he lets go of her chin and moves his hand to her shoulder in what looks like a comforting gesture, until he begins applying pressure, pushing her down until she’s sitting against the wall. he lets out a low laugh and walks away, leaving yn standing over the girl.

yn kneels in front of her, mimicking her brother’s earlier gesture. she lifts the girl’s chin again, but where jae’s aggression was clear, yn is harder to read calm, collected, and unreadable in a way that makes your skin crawl. she says something too quiet to hear, then smirks.

as she straightens up, she turns her head, looking directly into the camera. there's a soft gasp from behind the phone as the person filming realizes they’ve been caught. the video cuts off abruptly.

the internet explodes… and then goes quiet

but as quickly as the clip emerged, it vanished. users began reporting that links were broken, posts were mysteriously deleted, and accounts sharing the video were suddenly locked or suspended. some claimed the file had been “scrubbed” from search engines entirely. a few who claimed to have saved the video reported their files becoming corrupted.

with no formal statement from the moon family and no official media coverage, the moment began to fade from public memory. a handful of reddit threads and obscure blog posts remain, clinging to what little evidence is left, but for the most part, the world has moved on.

those who still remember are left with questions, unease, and an unsettling silence.

but who they to question what’s going with the moon family? whatever yn and jae did was completely warranted obviously.

THE VIDEO IN THIS ARTICLE IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

OCTOBER 31st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT THE YOUNGEST WOULD BE LIVING UP THE MOON NAME THE MOST?”

“a voice audio of who seems to be moon yn the youngest of the moon family talking to a teacher has people thinking only one thing, her father sure did raise her.” click the video below to hear the audio⭣

it starts off soft.

“sir…” her voice is sweet, almost delicate. “I’ve been feeling like this for a while, and my brother’s noticed it too. it seems like you’ve been treating us a little unfairly… because of our name? would i be correct if i said that?”

there’s a pause before the man responds, calm and condescending. “yes, you would.” his voice is firm, too confident. “the moons need humbling, and you prove that every day. I’ve been doing this since your oldest brother was here. he took it. so did jae. now it’s your turn. moons don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, so suck it up, young lady.”

“oh…” she sounds hurt. quiet. small. but don’t be fooled.

“that’s too bad,” she says, and there’s a shift. some faint shuffling. her tone sharpens, losing its sweetness. “but here’s the thing… I’m not like my brothers. take that as a mental note.”

he doesn’t respond. silence.

“but anywho…” she sighs, fake and theatrical. “I should get going. it’s a shame we couldn’t come to better terms.”

then, her voice lowers to a near whisper. “but I guess everyone’s gonna love to hear about how much you like your female students.”

the laugh that follows is soft. too soft. and then, the audio cuts.

as of now, moon yn, is rumored to be a trainee under sm entertainment. insiders claim she’s been groomed for the spotlight her whole life, and based on this clip, it’s clear she knows how to perform, even when no cameras are supposed to be rolling.

but just like the infamous school hallway video of the moon siblings, this audio has vanished from the internet.

accounts that posted the original clip were suspended, links broken, files corrupted. forums discussing the audio were locked or mass reported. even users who claimed to have saved it privately say the file mysteriously disappeared or won’t play. no trace remains, and most who've heard it now speak of it like an urban legend, something you had to be online at the right time to witness.

and now, another piece of moon family history is buried.

but hey, she was so right, who was he to mistreat a moon?

THE AUDIO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

FEBRUARY 5th 2017

ARTICLE HEADLINE — “ALL THREE MOON SIBLINGS CAUGHT IN DISTURBING LATE NIGHT FOTAGE.”

a leaked clip of daeun, jae, and yn leaving an exclusive bar has resurfaced whispers about the moon family and this time, no one was laughing. click the video below to watch ⭣

it’s dark, filmed from across the street, blurry, shaky, and obviously taken in secret.

the video opens with the glowing sign of the club, an exclusive bar only frequented by chaebols, heirs, and politicians' children. entry is invite only. drinks are never cheap. and minors are never allowed.

but in the video, all three moon siblings step out of the building. daeun, the eldest and the only one legally allowed to drink, walks out first in a sleek designer coat, jaw tight with exhaustion. jae follows, swaying slightly as he pushes his hair back and looks like he’s trying to hold back a glare. and yn the youngest walks behind them both, not stumbling, but not exactly steady either.

the three of them look like they’re falling apart in silence. no one speaks. no one smiles. the air is thick.

a black car pulls up, but none of them move toward it.

daeun turns to jae and says something low. he flinches. daeun throws his cigarette down. yn leans against the wall, staring at the pavement like it’s talking to her. none of them look like they want to be there. none of them look like they want to go home either.

and then, jae lashes out, not violently, but enough to startle. he kicks something near the curb, mutters something at yn that makes her roll her eyes, and she finally snaps back. it’s silent on video, but the way they speak, no hesitation, no filter, it’s clear the masks they wear in public aren’t on tonight.

daeun rubs his temples. he looks older than ever.

the three eventually pile into the car. the door slams shut. and the video ends.

why was this ever online?

the footage appeared online late one night under the caption “are the moons okay?” and in less than an hour, it was reposted hundreds of times. viewers weren’t shocked by the drinking, they were disturbed by what it revealed.

“daeun looks like he’s seen hell.” “yn isn’t old enough to drink and she looked the most checked out.” “jae’s energy is always so off. the way he moved… i can’t explain it but it made me sick.” “why did they just stand there like that for so long? they looked so… broken.”

and then it was gone.

just like the school hallway video. just like the teacher audio. accounts were suspended, posts wiped, and copies of the video corrupted or removed. users now speak about it like some sort of cursed file — if you didn’t see it when it dropped, you probably never will.

some believe sm’s legal team got involved now that yn is a trainee. others say the moon family themselves had it buried. and a few claim it was never supposed to exist at all.

THE VIDEO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

[financeprincess]

I spent, at a minimum, at least $500-$1,000 a month exclusively on my self improvement. Here is most of what I spend on, in no particular order:

Education (classes, books, courses, certifications, college tuition, seminars, etc.)

Private lessons for languages, musical instruments, sports, etc.

Personal hobbies and passion projects

Crest whitening strips (great when in a pinch), Invisalign, professional whitening, preventative dental care, prescription whitening products from my dentist

Investments such as index funds, REITs, ETFs, CDs, individual stocks, commodities, appreciative luxury items, precious metals & gems, etc.

Organic food, vitamins, supplements, high quality healthcare, therapy, massages, prescriptions (Rx skincare, etc.)

New glasses & contacts (getting some bayonetta glasses from Burberry soon, very excited)

Sports, gym membership + sauna, hot yoga, Pilates, kickboxing, tennis, skiing, dance, etc.

Personal care such as bath/shower products, body care, haircare, skincare, makeup, brightening eye drops, perfume, etc.

Travel, events, concerts, festivals, etc.

Shopping (clothes, accessories, home goods, etc.)

Eating out at restaurants and going to coffee shops

Beauty treatments such as manicures, pedicures, waxes, brow tint & threading, salon blowouts, hair cuts & colors, facials, lash lift & tints, vitamin IVs, etc.

Regular visits to my dermatologist, dentist, psychiatrist, eye doctor, primary care physician, gynecologist, and any other specialists

Semi-regular appointments with a personal trainer, holistic nutritionist, and dietitian

I don't do all of these every single month, but most of these are recurring throughout the year and budgeted accordingly. Eventually I might add in more intense cosmetic work like medspa services, Botox, etc. If you can find a workplace with a great benefits package such as high quality healthcare, an HSA/FSA, health & wellness reimbursements for the gym, disability & life insurance, etc. I would highly recommend it and max out all the benefits you can.

[no-144444]

accident prone- o.piastri

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୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

summary: oscar comes home one night hurt, how do you deal with it?

pairing: oscar piastr x fem!reader

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You straddled him as you slowly cleaned the gash in his side. 

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. You weren’t exactly expecting him to come home from golf with a piece of him missing, but what else were you expecting when sending him out with Logan and Lando, the chaotic morons that made everything so much worse. “You know I’m sorry, right?”

You scoffed. “You don’t need to be sorry, alright? This is all Lando’s fault.” 

He cracked a small smile, then grimaced as you slowly started stitching him up. “Benefits of having a doctor as a girlfriend,” he joked. You probably would have laughed if you weren’t actively stitching him up, but you offered a pitying smile and continued your work until he was patched up. You covered it with gauze and sterilised everything. 

“You owe me a new couch,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll get you any one you want,” he placed his hands on your waist, making you look him in the eyes. 

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, averting your gaze to look at anything else in the room. The pictures on the wall, the door handle, the-

He lifted a hand to your cheek and pulled your lips against his. You were taken aback, making a noise of surprise before kissing him back. He tasted like the vanilla lip balm he’s obsessed with, and a hint of gin, making it all the more addicting. The way his grip tightened made you smile, he wanted you. 

You threaded your fingers through his hair as he continued his attack on your lips. He pulled at your waist, making your knee brush against his gash and he groaned into your mouth. You instinctively pulled back. “Am I hurting you?”

“Only if you stop,” he smiled, giving you a wink. You laughed, and started fixing his hair (that you had messed up) and pressed one final kiss to his cheek. 

“No sex for a while Osc, we don’t want you ripping your stitches,” you explained, getting up as he deflated. 

“How long is a while?” 

“A while,” you answered, laughing at him. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You thought that would’ve been the end of the conversation, in bed that night he turned to you half asleep and asked; “What about oral?” 

All you could do was laugh.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[ordinary-barbie]

but i feel something when i see you now.

tags: friends with benefits, references to death, rafe is anxious, some sexual references but nothing graphic, mentions of aftercare, angst followed by tenderness, author finds a way to shoehorn love island in yet again

summary: You and Rafe have the perfect friends-with-benefits situation. No feelings, just fun. But one night, everything shifts.

note: title from "icu" by Phoebe Bridgers!

Something felt...different about Rafe tonight.

The two of you had fallen into a comfortable routine. You'd come over to his place (or sometimes yours, but you preferred his "bougie high thread count sheets"), you and he would shoot the shit or play Mario Kart together, and then fuck. He'd take care of you afterward, and then you'd just joke around for a bit before you left. When you and Rafe had first started hooking up, you'd both been fresh off of breakups—you with your high school sweetheart and Rafe with the girl he'd been dating since junior year of college—and had quickly agreed to a no-strings-attached arrangement. It was fun, casual, and easy, just the way both of you liked it.

Tonight started off normally. You and Rafe caught up on the latest season of Love Island US, pausing the show after a few episodes to make out. But the sex tonight was different—way more intimate than usual. Rafe kept staring deeply into your eyes, holding you like you were some priceless artifact.

After Rafe did his usual round of aftercare—cleaning you up with a warm towel, getting you a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and insisting you pee afterwards—he buried his head in the side of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Stay with me tonight," he mumbled into your skin, leaving featherlight kisses along your collarbone.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" you joked. "You're not usually this...clingy."

Rafe suddenly grew quiet. "I—It's nothing," he mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow. "It's not nothing. I can tell something's on your mind. So spill."

"You're gonna laugh at me," he said, looking away from you.

You tenderly grabbed his face, turning it so the two of you were looking face-to-face again. "Rafe Cameron. We've known each other since college. You've told me things you've never told anyone else, not even Topper and Kelce. I promise I won't judge you for whatever you have to say."

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair—a surefire tell that he was feeling anxious. You squeezed his hand comfortingly, trying to help ground him.

"I had a dream about you last night," Rafe began, his voice shaking. "Actually, it was a nightmare. You and I were at the beach, and...you died. I saw the ocean waves take you away. And I couldn't do anything—it was like the sand was keeping me there. I was stuck." He was trembling as he recounted his nightmare, prompting you to wrap your arms around him and give him the deepest hug.

"I don't want to lose you. I can't," Rafe said, on the verge of tears.

You rubbed Rafe's back soothingly, your heart absolutely aching for him. Ironically, you'd really grown to care for him after becoming fuckbuddies. Before then, the two of you weren't close; you were only tangentially linked through mutual friends. But then you came to realize that Rafe Cameron was a person, who laughed at your dumb jokes and cared about his sisters and worked too hard.

And the sex was great—of course it was, this was Rafe—but sometimes, in the afterglow, you allowed yourself to wonder about something more. The thought scared you a little, so you quickly snuffed it out, convincing yourself that you were fine with this arrangement, and so was Rafe. No need to shake things up when everything felt so comfortable and familiar, right?

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," you assured Rafe, lifting up his hand and kissing his knuckles.

Rafe smiled gratefully before getting up and finding you an old UNC Tar Heels t-shirt to sleep in. You shyly asked if he had any mouthwash, and Rafe made a mental note to have a spare toothbrush waiting for you whenever you stayed over again. (He should probably keep one at your place, too. You know, equality and all that.)

In the light of day, you knew that you and Rafe would have to look at your entanglement and make some decisions about the state of your relationship. It was clear that this wasn't some casual fling anymore—both of you felt too much for that. But for now, Rafe was content to hold you close, and you happily leaned into his touch.

[pastafossa]

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.” 

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room. 

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom. 

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.” 

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.” 

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.”                                     “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…” 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh. 

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.” 

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…” 

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?” 

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You  lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.” 

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.” 

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.” 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 7

Summary: Jasper opens up, giving her a glimpse of his past and a key to his heart.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, eating disorder

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 14.6k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

“Good mornin’,” Jasper murmurs.

His voice is soft, low, almost hesitant and it pulls her from sleep like a thread unraveling a dream. Her lashes flutter, brows furrowing as reality sharpens. She’s alive. It’s morning. She’s still in his arms.

And somehow, that makes everything feel more surreal.

Her cheek rests against his cold, unmoving chest. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t shift beneath her. Yet he holds her like she’s breakable. Like he’s afraid she’ll slip away.

The silence fills the room, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the nightstand. Her fingers twitch slightly against the edge of his shirt. She doesn’t want to move. She doesn’t want to leave this moment.

She should be afraid. Any sane person would be looking for salvation. She isn’t. There's so much she doesn't know, more than she can fully grasp, yet she’s not moving. Her head remains on the rock hard chest of a man who admitted he's a vampire. And she’s comfortable, more comfortable laying on a man without a heartbeat than she ever felt in her own bed.

Everything hurts. Her body aches from the inside out, her muscles dull and her ribs tender, like she’s been wrung out and stitched back together. She draws in a shallow breath.

“Everything hurts,” she whispers, voice barely there.

“I know, darlin’,” Jasper says, his fingers grazing her bare shoulder. The touch is light, incredibly gentle, and cold. It startles her, but not in a bad way. Her skin prickles beneath the chill. She leans slightly into it before she even realizes what she’s doing.

There’s a quiet moment. She stares at the pale fabric of his shirt near her face, her mind spinning. So many questions. So much she doesn’t understand, but she wants to. She wants to understand everything. She wants to understand him.

“What happened to you?” she asks, her voice rough, almost guilty. Then quickly, she amends, “I mean... what made you this way?”

Jasper goes still. She doesn’t look up, but she feels his pause. His silence makes her question if she should pry. Perhaps he doesn’t like to talk about it and she’s reopening wounds best left alone?

“A power hungry vampire,” he finally says. “She wanted a soldier. Someone to lead her newborn army. I was good at killing, and she knew it.”

He sighs. It doesn’t sound natural. Does he even need to breathe? It sounds practiced, something he does for her benefit.

“I didn’t ask for it. But I didn’t fight it, either. Not then. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

She slowly lifts her head from his chest, wincing as her body protests the movement. He immediately curls his hand around her elbow to support her. His thumb strokes softly across her skin.

"I'm not proud of who I was, darlin’, but I'm trying to be a better man that I was when I was alive."

Her eyes meet his. He looks at her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he blinks while she’s left breathless just by looking at him and the beauty he exudes .She doesn’t know what to say at first. So she settles for the truth.

“I think it’s admirable,” she says quietly. “That you’re trying to be better.”

Her lips part like she wants to say more, but she hesitates. He sees it.

“Just ask,” Jasper says. His hand comes up, fingers brushing her cheek. He rests his thumb along the edge of her lip, a featherlight touch that sends heat to her face despite his cold skin.

“Do vampires have some weird power to make humans attracted to them?”

Her voice is quiet, but the question hangs between them. She doesn’t look at him right away. She’s staring at the ceiling, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest. Since the moment she met him, she’s felt drawn to Jasper, like a current dragging her under. His voice, his scent, even the way he walks, it all gets under her skin. Paul was handsome. He still is. But this is different. This is… overwhelming and impossible to fight.

Jasper doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts toward the window, his jaw tightening.

“We’re created to draw our prey in,” he finally says.

She swallows. “Humans,” she adds, softly.

He nods, then turns back to her. His eyes meet hers and holds them steady, like he wants to be clear. Honest.

“Does that ever go away?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper. “Or am I always going to feel this…”

She trails off, unsure how much she wants to admit. But the way Jasper watches her, like nothing she says will scare him, gives her courage.

“Not really,” he says gently. “But you’ll get used to it. The longer you’re around us, the easier it gets. Ask Bella. She’d be the one to understand. It’s still fresh for her.”

The realization hits her like a cold splash of water. Of course. Bella. Something had felt off since breakfast, since she first saw her again and now it all makes sense. She’s one of them. She chose this… for Edward.

Her brows lift, just slightly, and Jasper notices.

“Any other effects I should expect?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. The motion pulls at the stitches near her temple, and she winces.

Jasper frowns, gently reaching over to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. His fingertips hover for a moment before they make contact, cool, featherlight against her skin.

“Alice can see the future,” he begins. “Edward reads minds. Bella has a shield protecting her from some abilities. Renesmee can show you memories through touch.”

She blinks, stunned into silence.

“And I…” he hesitates, then continues, “I can feel and influence emotions.”

She stares at him, her body still. No words form in her mouth. It’s too much. Too strange. Yet it makes sense. The safety she felt. The calm that wrapped around her when she should’ve been breaking apart.

“No,” he says quickly, catching her expression. His eyes flick to her lips as her mouth opens slightly.

“No what?” she asks, voice hushed.

“I haven’t made you feel anything,” he says. There’s a small, barely there smile on his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your feelings are your own. I’ve only eased your anxiety... and dulled the fear, to help you breathe.”

She exhales shakily and rolls onto her back. A quiet grunt escapes her as pain flares across her ribs and back. Her arm moves slowly, one hand pressed lightly to her side.

So that’s why she felt safe. That’s why it was easier to breathe around him. It wasn’t real. Or… maybe it was, and he just softened the edges.

“I’ve taken your pain, too,” he adds, watching her face closely.

Her dry lips part as she licks them, trying to speak. “How can I ever know if…” Her throat tightens. “I mean, I’ve felt something change when you’re near me.”

She places a hand over her face, her fingers curling slightly against her forehead, as if hiding from her own thoughts.

“It’s okay,” Jasper murmurs. His voice is calm, his hand gently brushing the top of her arm. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Yell if you need to. Be mad. You don’t have to hold anything back.”

The way he says it…it doesn’t feel rehearsed. It feels like permission. Like he means it.

She lowers her hand slowly, her eyes meeting his again. There’s a flicker of something raw in her gaze. Doubt. Hope. Maybe even trust. And still, despite everything, she doesn’t move away.

“I’m not angry,” she grumbles, voice low and rough with sleep. “You’re… you make me feel safe. What if it’s only because you’ve affected my emotional state?”

Her fingers twitch beside her on the bed. She doesn’t look at him. Instead, her eyes lock onto the ceiling like it might give her answers. A breath pushes through her nose, sharp with frustration.

“I loved feeling that way around you,” she admits, almost like a confession she regrets. “I hate that it could be a lie.”

Jasper shifts beside her, his body leaning closer. His cool hand hovers just above hers but doesn’t quite touch. “I promise not to do it again,” he says, voice quiet, layered with something too close to desperation. “Not unless you ask me to.”

She finally turns to face him, her breath caught in her throat. He’s closer than she thought. Too close, maybe. His golden eyes flicker with uncertainty, but his body doesn’t move away. She doesn’t know whether to kiss him or shove him. Every inch of her aches, stitched and sore, but the ache in her chest is worse.

God, she wants to kiss him.

How does the devil look so angelic?

Her head is spinning. Everything she’s ever known about vampires tells her to run. Blood, death, darkness, that’s what she expected. That’s what she’s seen in books, in stories. But Jasper… he doesn’t fit any of that. He’s something else entirely. Still dangerous. Still capable. But different. Gentle. Thoughtful. Beautiful.

Her breath shudders. “Jasper,” she exhales, almost like she’s asking him to stop. Or maybe to keep going.

Her mind is chaos. Jasper clouds her thoughts, Paul warps her sense of self. Being around either of them distorts her, one with comfort and the other with possession. It’s impossible to think straight when she’s wrapped in someone else’s influence.

“You want to go,” he says, almost a whisper. His eyes flicker to her lips and back again. His voice doesn’t crack, but the pain in it is unmistakable. “I know.”

He licks his lips and tries to smile, but it falls short. “It’s alright, darlin’. I wouldn’t want you in this world either.”

That hurts more than she expects. Her heart twists. He’s never been hers, not really, but the idea of losing him cuts deeper than she can explain. She swallows hard. Her lips part, but no sound comes.

His gaze drops again, this time lingering on her mouth just long enough for her heart to skip a beat – the monitor betrays her. She wants it. A kiss that would anchor itself in her skin. A kiss she'd remember even when she forgets everything else. One she’d carry across time and distance like a scar.

“I don’t know what I want,” she admits, finally. Her voice shakes. “But every inch of my body and soul wants to stay.”

Jasper's expression softens. He leans in slightly, not touching her, but close enough she can feel the cold air between them. His next words come gently, but they land hard.

“You can let me go. I won’t break.”

She blinks. The breath she draws in gets stuck halfway. Maybe he believes it. Maybe he’s trying to be kind. But there’s something behind his eyes, a flicker of fragility that makes her question everything he just said.

“Why me? Why did you save me?”

Her voice is raw, uncertain, almost childlike in its honesty. She stares past Jasper’s shoulder, past the walls, at the window where the world stretches out in eerie stillness. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. Like she’s living on a movie set, with mountains and sky painted on some massive canvas. A green screen fantasy. Her mind turns on her like that sometimes. A quiet whisper insisting nothing is real. That everything, people, places, pain, is plastic.

But Jasper’s nose brushes hers, and that thought shatters.

He’s the most unreal thing she’s ever known, yet in this moment, he’s the only thing that feels real. His presence is solid. Grounding. And when his lips ghost just above hers, her tortured lungs forget how to work. Her heart flutters wildly, and it’s not even a kiss. Just the hint of one.

“Because I couldn’t ignore the siren song of your soul calling out for me,” Jasper murmurs, the words barely brushing her skin. “The song was irresistibly sweet… but your sadness…it was there, woven into every note. It called to what little soul I have left. Pulled me in. Consumed me.”

His lips brush the corner of hers, a fleeting, trembling almost kiss, and her fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt. She doesn’t mean to grab him like that, but she’s unraveling. Her body aches for his. Her heart wants what her head can’t make sense of. She can’t resist him. And the truth is, she doesn’t want to. She wants this. Him. This moment. Forever.

Nothing about her life makes sense right now. Nothing about this should feel right. But it does. If being torn apart is what it takes for Jasper to finally let her in, she’ll take it. She’d relive every second of pain just to feel this again. One real kiss from him and she’ll fall. She’s already falling.

Screw leaving. Screw New York. Jasper is the only thing she wants anymore. Maybe he affects her thoughts. Maybe not. But she knows one thing, she isn’t leaving him. Not without learning everything. Not without knowing the truth about what it means to be his.

“I… who have done nothing noble in my entire existence,” Jasper whispers, voice filled with restraint, “will do this one noble thing and set you free.”

His fingers loosen their hold. His breath ghosts her cheek one last time. And before she can speak, before she can stop him, he’s gone.

Gone in a blink.

“JASPER?!” she cries out, pain lancing through her ribs as she jolts upright. Her hand flies to her side, but the ache in her chest burns more than any wound.

In the doorway, Paul leans casually against the frame, arms crossed, face unreadable. “He’s gone,” he says. “Edward just told the rest of them.”

Swallowing thickly, she places a shaky hand over her sinking heart. "What does gone mean?"

Swallowing hard, she presses a trembling hand to her chest, right over the place where her heart feels like it’s caving in.

“What does gone mean?” she repeats as her voice cracks, but her eyes stay hard.

Paul steps into the room, slow and casual, like nothing explosive just happened. He hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his shorts and licks his lips, unreadable.

“He did you a favor, Y/N,” he says. “Let him do this one good deed in a sea of bad ones.”

Her laugh is sharp, hollow. “And you’re saying this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“No,” Paul cuts in, tone blunt. “I’m being selfish. More selfish than the vampire. I want you with me. Back in La Push. Where we were supposed to start a new adventure. Remember that?”

She does. Unfortunately. Her jaw tightens. “You mean the one where you left me standing alone in front of your family and friends while you walked off with some random woman? Where you humiliated me? That adventure?”

Her hands move quickly now, anger giving her strength she shouldn’t have. She rips the electrodes off her chest with sharp, reckless motions. The tape burns against her skin. She grabs the chest tube and shifts it aside, pain tearing through her ribs as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

A harsh, broken sound escapes her throat and her ankle sends off a warning when her feet touch the ground. It’s not a scream, but close. Paul’s there in a flash, hands on her hips like he has any right to touch her. Like this is about care, not control.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” she snarls, every word pulled through clenched teeth. Her body trembles, not from weakness, but from the fury boiling in her blood.

“Don’t be too proud to accept help,” he says, pulling her slightly closer. It’s possessive, subtle. He smiles like he’s amused by her defiance. “I missed your temper. Your stubbornness.”

“You barely know me,” she snaps, pushing against his chest. Her hands are weak, but her glare is all fire.

“Yeah, but I know some of you,” he murmurs, lowering his voice like it's a secret. “Let me know all of you.”

She peels his hands off her body, slow and deliberate. Her fingers shake from the effort, but she steps away anyway. Even if it hurts like hell.

“I gave you a second chance, Paul,” she says, voice low, controlled, lethal. “And you gambled it away. I warned you I don’t give third chances.”

He looks down at his hands, flexing and fidgeting with his fingers. Shame? Maybe. Guilt? Doubtful.

“What if I told you I had no choice that night?” he asks. “That as a wolf, I was assigned a girl to love and protect. And she broke my heart. But I’m still bound to her.”

Her eyes narrow. The cut above her eyebrow flares with a familiar sting, but she doesn’t blink.

“I’d say that’s a pretty fucked up deal you’ve got there.”

“It’s called imprinting,” Paul says, his voice lower now, almost resigned. “When a wolf meets someone supposedly perfect for them, they imprint. From that moment on, you’re supernaturally bound to your imprint. You become whatever she wants you to be. And at one point, Rachel Black wanted me to be her boyfriend.” He swipes a thumb under his bottom lip, avoiding her eyes. “Then she didn’t.”

His gaze moves to the door, jaw tense. “She broke my heart. And I guess… she heard I was finally moving on when you came here with me. It didn’t sit well with her.”

��That’s awfully selfish of her.” She presses her hand lightly over her heart, trying to slow its panicked rhythm. It’s getting harder to speak now and impossible to stand. Her throat is raw, her voice scratchy and fraying at the edges. Talking feels like swallowing sand.

“I wouldn’t have left you there if I had a choice,” Paul says, taking a step closer. “Ask any of the wolves from the pack. Most of them imprinted too.”

His hand reaches out, brushing her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt. She pulls away without thinking, an instinctive recoil. The warmth of his skin feels misplaced now, like a key turned in the wrong lock. After Jasper’s touch, she can’t imagine another hand upon her. It’s wrong. So, so wrong.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, Paul,” she says gently, and places her hand over his. Her palm rests there for a moment, just long enough to say goodbye. “But I’m not interested in restarting what we could’ve had.”

He blinks at her, confused. She manages a small, sad smile as she continues, “I’ll give your school fifty thousand dollars up front. It’s the most I can offer without raising red flags for my father’s accountants. Once I see progress, I’ll send more in payments. As long as I get proof it’s being used the way you promised.”

She taps his hand softly, her chest rising with a shallow breath. The movement tugs at her wounds, but she ignores the pain. “But the moment I can… I’ll fix things with Jasper.”

Paul stiffens. “And if he doesn’t want that?”

“Then I’ll leave.” Her tone is soft but steady. “I won’t beg anyone to love me. Not anymore.”

“I could make you happy,” he says, almost pleading. “Keep you safe.”

She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t belong with you. It’s time you accept that.”

Her hand moves up to his cheek, cupping it gently. He leans into her palm like it’s a comfort he wasn’t expecting. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of her lips, but it’s fleeting, bittersweet.

“You barely spent a few days around me, Paul. Soon enough, I’ll just be that rich girl you used to know.”

“With really expensive vases,” he says with a dry chuckle, and she can’t help it, she giggles. Just a little.

That’s the thing about Paul. He has that effect on people. It’s easy to imagine someone new filling her place before the week is over. Women will line up for that smile. They always do.

“If I end up leaving…” she trails off, and Paul gives her a tight-lipped nod.

“I might find myself visiting,” he says.

She nods, too. Watches him step away and leave out the door. Watches the space he leaves behind. And as silence settles over the room again, she realizes something that cuts deeper than the stitches at her side.

She’s going to miss him. More than she wants to admit.

“You shouldn’t leave.”

The voice comes before the blur of movement, and then Alice is standing directly in front of her, close, too close. Y/N gasps, heart jumping into her throat. It takes several long seconds for her pulse to stop slamming against her ribs. Even then, her breathing is uneven, shallow. Every breath burns.

“I want to stay,” she whispers hoarsely, her voice brittle. “I do. But Jasper…” Her eyes sting. “He seems to want anything but.”

Alice doesn't blink. Her hands settle on Y/N’s trembling shoulders, the weight feather-light but the strength behind them unmistakable. “If you leave, something bad will happen. Garrett will hurt you.”

Y/N flinches. “No. He wouldn’t dare. That would be suicide.” Her voice is barely above a rasp. “He knows what I know. He knows what’s at stake.”

Alice’s eyes darken, her grip tightening. “Jasper is your destiny. He is yours. You’ll always be his. It’s an unbreakable bond, and if you walk away now, you’ll drag both of you through hell.”

“Then why did he leave?!” she snaps, pain slashing through her chest, sharper than her cracked ribs, deeper than the gash across her thigh. She tries to pull away, to walk past her, but her body rebels. Her muscles seize. Her vision spots. And Alice doesn't budge.

Her breath catches in her throat as she sways, and Alice’s unnatural strength forces her gently, yet undeniably, back down onto the bed.

“You’ll die if you leave,” Alice says, her voice like a prophecy etched into stone.

“That’s enough, Alice,” Rosalie says sharply from the other side of the room. Her voice cuts clean, full of command. She crosses the floor in three strides, and suddenly Emmett is there too, planting himself in front of Y/N like a shield.

Alice finally steps back. Her eyes linger on Y/N, almost mournfully, before she disappears without another word.

The moment she’s gone, Y/N starts shaking, violently, uncontrollably. Whether it’s adrenaline or heartbreak or the damage done to her ribs, she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s everything. Maybe it’s because she believes Alice. Maybe it’s because she wants to believe her.

God, she just wants Jasper back, even if it’s a dream. Even if he’s not real. Even if none of this is.

“Where did he go?” she asks, her voice thin and cracked, the raw edge of her throat making it feel like every syllable is made of glass.

Rosalie folds her arms, face impassive. “Far.”

The word punches a hollow through her gut. She nods anyway, though her lips are trembling and her jaw won’t stop clenching. Another crack in the mask. Another sign of weakness she can’t hide. Her entire body feels too heavy, too broken. Even her breath feels borrowed.

“Well,” she croaks, swallowing hard against the sharp sting in her throat, “if either of you speak to him, let him know I’m not leaving this town until he shows his face again.”

Rosalie raises a brow, unimpressed. “Then you’ll never leave.”

“Good thing I own a house in Forks, then,” Y/N snaps. Her voice is hoarse, but the fire behind it isn’t. “If he wants to be a coward and run, fine. He can be a coward. But he doesn’t get to say the things he said and vanish without giving me a fucking choice. I’m not going anywhere until I talk to him. Not one step.”

Rosalie’s mouth opens, maybe to argue, but Emmett gently places a hand on her arm, stepping forward with surprising softness.

“We’ll tell him,” he promises, voice low. “But until then, focus on healing. Carlisle said you’ll be here for a few weeks at least. You’re not going anywhere even if you try.”

Y/N breathes through clenched teeth, the pain radiating through her side like fire beneath her skin. She presses a hand against her ribs, nodding once. “Thank you,” she whispers. It’s the only thing left she can say. But inside, she’s screaming.

The first day was hell.

Even through the haze of potent painkillers, the agony chewed at her from the inside out. No reprieve. No mercy. Not like before when Jasper had shielded her from it, pulled the suffering away like it weighed nothing.

Now she felt everything.

Eating was a fantasy. The mere sight of food turned her stomach, and water left her retching until she dry heaved bile. Every breath scorched her throat. Sleep? Laughable. Her mind was a warzone, thoughts of Jasper ricocheting with no rhythm, no rest. Questions spun like blades: Why did he leave? Did he regret saving me? Was I always disposable?

Carlisle held out hope for the first twenty-four hours. Trauma, he'd said. Shock. It would pass. But it didn’t.

By day four, Y/N’s lips cracked and bled when she whispered answers, if she spoke at all. Her voice became a ghost of itself, frayed and raw. The bruises mottling her body darkened, pooled, spread. Her skin, once warm with color, began to drain to a chalky pallor. Her cheeks caved in, bones starting to sharpen beneath the surface of her skin. Her collarbones jutted out like blades.

Her abdomen throbbed endlessly. Her body shook when she tried to sit up, her muscles weakening with terrifying speed.

And yet, when Carlisle threatened a feeding tube, she turned her hollow eyes on him and said, plain as day, “I won’t consent to one.”

There was no anger behind it. No drama. Just calm finality. He begged. He tried logic. He tried compassion. He even tried subtle manipulation. Nothing worked. IV fluids kept her marginally alive, but they weren’t enough. Her electrolyte levels were dipping. Her kidneys were beginning to strain. Her skin no longer flushed with life, just blotched and bruised, cold. She was fading.

Edward couldn’t reach her. Bella couldn’t either. Desperate, they called Paul, but she didn’t even acknowledge his voice. She wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t scream.

Twelve days in, Carlisle stood with his arms crossed, glaring through the glass into her room. She lays curled on her side, unmoving, staring blankly at the world beyond the window. The hospital gown hung on her like it belonged to someone twice her size.

“She’s going to die of starvation at this point,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I’ve treated dozens of terminal cases and she looks worse than some of them. I can’t even consider removing her chest tube now…her lung isn’t expanding at all.”

Inside the room, her chest rises and falls in slow, shallow movements. Barely breathing. Her once glowing skin is gray. The shadows under her eyes have gone violet. Her hair is limp and dull, sticking to her damp forehead.

Bella swallows hard. “I wasn’t much better when you guys left,” she says, arms folded tightly, her voice quiet. “It felt like… the world stopped spinning. Like nothing mattered anymore.”

Carlisle shakes his head. “Yes, but you were still eating. Still moving. Still fighting. She’s… wasting away.”

Edward adds, “This isn’t the same, Bella. She’s not coping. She’s weaponizing her own body. She wants him here and she’s very much willing to starve herself to death.”

Bella frowns. “So what now? Do we just sit here and watch her die?”

“She wants Jasper,” Edward says simply.

“And I wanted you. How is this different from what I went through?” she asks, defensive. “Depression is…it’s hard to get survive where your brain goes in those moments.”

Edward’s tone sharpens. “She’s not trying to survive until he comes back. She’s daring him not to. In her mind, if she dies, he’ll hate himself forever. And if he comes back in time, she’ll get to scream at him for leaving her.”

Bella's eyes widen. “And you didn’t tell me that because…?”

“Because I already called him,” Edward says with a grimace. “He told me not to call again. Said she’ll break eventually.”

Bella narrows her eyes. “That’s because he didn’t see her.”

She whips out her phone, steps quietly to the glass, and snaps a photo. Y/N’s sunken face. The lifeless look in her eyes. The torn, chapped lips. The bruises, yellow, green, black. Her arms, once strong, now nearly skeletal beneath thin blankets.

“She looks like she’s already dead,” Bella whispers, staring down at the image, fury building in her chest. “And she’s still too damn stubborn to admit she’s hurting.”

With shaking fingers, she hits send. “There. He’ll see it.”

Carlisle exhales slowly. “You think it’ll work?”

“It has to.” Because if it doesn’t, they’ll bury a girl who only ever wanted a chance to be chosen. And this time, none of them will be able to stop it.

Y/N believed Jasper was bluffing.

The first night, she turned her face toward the door, her body stiff with anticipation, every creak in the hallway making her chest rise in shallow, hopeful gasps. She convinced herself he’d be back by morning. She rehearsed what she’d say, how she’d scold him, how she’d cry, how maybe, just maybe, she’d forgive him if he just showed up with those haunted eyes and trembling hands that used to cradle her like something worthwhile fighting.

But morning came and he didn’t. And the following night, the ache in her chest began to twist, carving deep into places she didn’t want to feel. The realization stung like salt in an open wound: He really left. Not temporarily. Not dramatically. But deliberately. He chose this. He chose to leave.

She felt stupid. She felt empty. She felt used.

It wasn’t the physical pain, though that, too, was unbearable. Her chest felt like it had been caved in, stitched together with barbed wire and left to rot. Her stomach, already tender from injuries, rolled and spasmed at the thought of food. Just lifting her head made her dizzy. The pressure behind her eyes built constantly, like tears always wanted to come but had given up halfway.

Still, none of it compared to the deeper agony. The soul deep kind. The kind that eats at your sense of worth. The kind that whispers, he left because you weren’t worth staying for. The sorrow turned sharp after the fifth day. Sharp, fiery and angry.

She stayed in bed, unmoving, arms crossed weakly over her middle, whispering to the ceiling like it might listen.

"Coward."

"Liar."

"Manipulator."

But in the next breath, she was defending him.

He thought he was doing what was best. He didn’t want to hurt you more. He left to protect you from himself.

The cycle was endless, an exhausting trial where she was both the prosecution and the defense. One second she was screaming in her head that she hated him, hated what he did, hated how he walked away like she didn’t matter, and the next, she was replaying every touch, every look, every vulnerable moment between them.

Because the truth was: she didn’t hate him. Not at all.

But she hated what he did.

She hated how he ran the second things got complicated. How he put words in her mouth, made decisions for her under the guise of selflessness. How he decided her pain was worth it if it meant his conscience stayed clean. She hated how much like everyone else he turned out to be.

Because this…this wasn’t new. People always left. Always.

Her grandfather with his cold expectations. Her father with his absence dressed up as business. Friends who drifted, lovers who faltered. Paul, who humiliated her when all she wanted was to be seen.

Now Jasper. Her one light in the dark. The only person who made the pain hush for even a minute. He ripped her heart out of her chest, made her weak once again. He chose to vanish without letting her say a word. Without looking back.

She could feel the cracks in her soul widening, all her carefully patched pieces falling apart. All her insecurities bleeding out like open wounds.

You’re too much. You’re too broken. You’re a burden. You’re hard to love.

No, she wasn’t starving herself to get his attention. That would mean she still had control over this. But she didn’t. The grief, the pain, it took over.

The trauma of her injuries left her body twisted and aching, her insides screaming every time she shifted in bed. Food became an enemy. Her throat closed at even the thought. The idea of eating felt impossible. The nausea wasn’t just physical, it was emotional. It was a rejection of anything that wasn’t him.

She longed for Jasper, not because she needed saving, but because he understood. He felt everything she did. He made the pain quiet. Without him, the noise was unbearable.

She curled in on herself most days, arms wrapped around her shivering body, silently pleading for sleep, or death, or just some kind of peace.

But none came.

And through it all, her heart ached, not just with longing, but with confusion. How could someone who held her so gently be the one to shatter her so completely?

She wasn’t trying to die. But with every passing day, her body weakening, her hope unraveling, she didn’t know if she could survive without him. Not because she wasn’t strong. But because this time, her heart wasn’t just broken, it was starving, too.

--

Jasper isn’t expecting the message.

He’s halfway through a stretch of cold forest in Alaska, trying to keep his mind blank, his instincts sharp. Hunting has always helped. The quiet, the discipline, it’s one of the few things that silence the war in his head. Or at least dulls it enough to function.

But the moment his phone buzzes in his pocket, he knows. There’s a spike of dread. Heavy. Paralyzing. Like his gift is warning him before he even pulls the phone out.

A text from Bella.

“You need to see this.” There’s an image attached. He opens it and the world shifts. His knees buckle, literally, and he hits the frozen ground like he’s been shot. The snow beneath him doesn’t even register. All he sees is her.

Y/N.

She’s lying in bed, the one he left her in, with a blanket tucked over her waist, but there’s nothing warm about her. She’s colorless. Ashen. The bruises on her skin look more violent in contrast to how thin she’s gotten. Her cheeks are hollowed out, dark circles bruise the space under her eyes, and her lips are split, cracked, like she hasn’t had a drink in days. She’s staring out the window like she doesn’t even see it. Like she’s already somewhere else.

Jasper doesn’t realize he’s gripping the phone so tightly until the screen splinters, cracking across her face. He curses and drops it, pressing both hands to his mouth to keep in the scream. His throat burns. His chest feels like it’s being split open from the inside.

He did this.

This isn’t just heartbreak. This is devastation. His gift floods him with what she must be feeling; emptiness so cold it bites, sorrow so heavy it sinks bone deep. Her emotions reach him even from here, like phantom pain. He feels her grief. Her loneliness. Her hatred. And maybe even her affection. Even now, even through all of that, he feels that one stubborn thread still attached to him. Fragile, straining, but alive.

Why did you leave me?

The question burns through his skull. Not spoken, but felt. It tears him apart. Because he doesn’t have a good answer. He left thinking he was doing the right thing, giving her space, sparing her the risk of him. He told himself it was selfless. But it wasn’t. It was fear. He was scared. Scared of hurting her more than she already was. Scared that one day he’d lose control, scared of not being enough, scared that someone like her could love someone like him.

Now he’s scared of something else entirely. He’s scared she won’t survive this.

He grimaces and is gone before he can think how bad this idea might be. The only thing on his mind is getting back. Getting to her. Touching her. Holding her. He doesn’t care if she screams or slaps him or hates him forever. She’s still breathing.

And as long as that’s true, he’ll fight to help her get back on her feet again…and then he will do as he said. Even if it kills him.

--

Y/N stares out the window, the way she always does now.

She barely notices the muffled commotion outside her room. Carlisle’s voice and Alice’s soft protests. Footsteps sharp, determined stop at her door. She’s too far gone to care. Her thoughts are stuck on a loop she’s recited for days:

He’s not coming back. He didn’t want you enough to stay. You are always too much or not enough. Never just right.

But then the door opens and everything stops.

She doesn’t need to look. Her heart tells her before her brain does. Her body stiffens despite the fatigue, the weight of her wasted muscles resisting even that small act of alertness.

He says nothing. She says nothing.

The silence between them is so heavy it nearly chokes her.

Jasper steps in slowly, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter her. And in truth, he’s right. He looks the same, but there’s a storm behind his eyes. She can feel it crawling across her skin; grief, guilt, fear. Love?

“You’re late,” she rasps, glancing at him. Her voice cracks from disuse. It’s barely more than a whisper.

Jasper swallows hard. “I know.”

She turns her face away from him, to the window again. “I thought you’d come back the next day.”

“I was a coward,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“No,” she scoffs, bitter and hoarse. “Don’t give yourself that much credit. Cowards run. You disappeared. I’m not sure what the term is for that.”

Jasper steps closer, hesitating at the edge of her bed like there’s a line he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to cross. “You’re wasting away,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I saw the photo. I saw what I did to you.”

She doesn’t look at him. She can’t. If she does, she’ll shatter.

“I wasn’t doing it for you,” she says. “I didn’t stop eating to make a point. I stopped because the pain made it impossible. The grief… the confusion… it took away any sense of hunger.”

He doesn’t argue. He knows she’s telling the truth.

Her fingers tremble over the blanket. “I kept telling myself I hated you. That I was better off. That you left because you didn’t care.” She finally turns her head, and when her eyes meet his, it’s devastating. “But I don’t hate you. I hate what you did. I hate how much it reminded me of every other time someone decided I wasn’t worth staying for.”

“You are,” he says, stepping forward, now beside her bed. His hands twitch like he wants to touch her but is terrified she’ll flinch. “You are worth everything. That’s what scared me. You became everything to me so fast I didn’t know how to hold it without breaking.”

Tears sting her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. Not yet. “So you left?”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

She laughs, a weak, hollow sound. “You don’t get to use that excuse. Not with me. You don’t know what it’s like to be alone after being torn to shreds, to wonder if you imagined the man who held your hand and promised you weren’t alone.”

His lips part. “You didn’t imagine me.”

“No,” she says softly, finally letting a tear slip down her cheek. “I just imagined you’d stay.”

Silence.

He moves then, sinks to his knees beside the bed, hand slowly, gently reaching for hers. She doesn’t stop him this time. His cool fingers cradle her fragile, burning ones, and her bottom lip trembles at the touch.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he whispers a promise he can’t be certain he’ll keep. “Even if you never forgive me. I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

Her voice is paper thin when she answers. “Then start by helping me eat. I don’t want to be weak when I scream at you later.”

He lets out a broken laugh, forehead pressing against the edge of the mattress as his shoulders shake, not from laughter but from relief.

And Y/N, for the first time in days, lets herself believe it might not be over. Not yet.

“Can I?” Jasper asks quietly, eyes locked on hers like he’s asking for far more than permission.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate. “Please.”

The moment she says it, something in him changes. Jasper moves to the edge of her bed, one hand curling around hers, the other resting gently over her ribs, just above where her pain seems to gather most. He closes his eyes.

It starts as a soft pulse, a tug beneath her skin, like someone carefully unraveling knots she didn’t know she’d been carrying. She gasps as the pressure begins to fade, the throbbing replaced with something like warmth… almost numbness, but not quite. Jasper breathes in deeply, and his body shudders slightly as her agony floods him. All of it. The twisting nausea. The gnawing ache in her bones. The tight, sharp stabs in her chest with every breath. The heavy sadness sitting like stone in her stomach.

He feels it all.

His jaw tightens as he takes it in and burns it away. He doesn’t just push the pain aside, he absorbs it, purifies it, filters it out like poison through his soul.

“Jasper…” she whispers, seeing how quiet he’s become, how his hands tremble.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “You’re the one who needs this.”

And suddenly, for the first time in nearly two weeks, she breathes without wincing. She lets her body sink deeper into the pillows. The nausea fades. The trembling slows. There’s a stillness she didn’t think she’d feel again.

Jasper lets go only when he’s certain the worst has passed, and then he lifts a spoon to her lips.

“Try for me?” he asks softly, his other hand brushing her hair back.

She opens her mouth, and lets him feed her slow, steady spoonfuls of broth that would’ve made her gag days before. Now, she takes it in, never looking away from his face.

He doesn’t just help her that night. He’s there the next day. And the next.

Day in and day out, Jasper feeds her, bathes her forehead in cool cloths, holds her through her worst moments. He curls beside her when she sleeps, just like he did that first night, before he ran from afterward. Now, he refuses to go.

He reads to her when she’s restless, distracts her when the pain starts crawling back up her spine. His ability dulls it, keeps her functional, but it costs him. She sees how exhausted he is. She sees how much it takes. Still, he stays.

Until one afternoon, Carlisle enters with a tense expression and says, “Jasper. I need you to step out. I have to remove the chest tube today. It’s… not going to be easy.”

Jasper, still sitting beside her bed with his fingers laced in hers, doesn’t move. “I promised her,” he says evenly, “I won’t leave again.”

Carlisle’s voice tightens. “You don’t understand. She’s going to feel pain. The blood, the scent…it’s going to trigger everything in you. We can’t take that risk.”

“You think I’d hurt her?” Jasper stands, not angrily, but protective, desperate. “I’d die before I touched her like that. I can control it.”

Carlisle turns to Y/N, gently but firmly. “I need your word too. If this gets dangerous, you’ll let him go.”

But she grips Jasper’s hand tighter and says, hoarsely, “If Jasper believes he can maintain control, let him stay. I’d rather have him hold my hand through this, if it’s possible.”

Jasper looks down at her, touched and torn. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice is low, strained with conviction. “It’s hard. You smell like blood and warmth and everything I’ve ever wanted… but I’d never risk everything for a momentary pleasure. Not you. Never you.”

There’s a silence between them then. A heavy one.

Carlisle sighs and nods. “Alright. But the second I say leave, you go. No hesitation.”

“I will,” Jasper promises, pulling a chair close to the bed and wrapping her hand in both of his. “But I won’t need to.”

And when Carlisle begins the procedure, when Y/N cries out, when her body twists and the scent of blood fills the air Jasper doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. He closes his eyes, shoulders shaking, and simply holds her hand through it all.

Because love, to Jasper, was never meant to be easy. But for her? It’s worth the battle every single time.

The room is quiet now. Just the low hum of the machines still monitoring her vitals and the steady rhythm of Jasper’s breathing.

Y/N lays curled against his chest, head resting over his unbeating heart. The coldness of his body against hers is the only thing grounding her when everything else still feels too chaotic, too heavy to bear. Jasper’s hand traces gentle, aimless patterns up and down her spine, slow enough to soothe, steady enough to make her feel safe.

His chin rests on top of her head, and he speaks softly into her hair, “Carlisle says the X-ray shows your lung’s expanded fully. Your labs look good. Your stitches are out. You’re eating. They’ve weaned you off the morphine.”

She listens, eyelids growing heavier with every word. His voice soothes her.

“They want you to try standing tomorrow.”

Her breath catches. “I’m scared,” she admits.

“I won’t let you fall,” he whispers, pausing his hand against her back before resuming the slow strokes.

Her arms tighten around his torso, fingers curling into his shirt like she’s afraid he might vanish again. She draws in a careful breath, eyes still closed, before speaking. “It’s been about three weeks,” she says softly. “I stood that day you left.”

Jasper stiffens beneath her, a small tremor passing through his chest.

“I wanted to follow,” she adds. “Even though I knew I couldn’t.”

He pulls her tighter into his chest, pressing a kiss into her hairline. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I am so sorry, darlin’,” he adds, voice hoarse with guilt.

Her fingers lift slightly, brushing against his collarbone. She feels his body now in ways she didn’t let herself before; the subtle tension in his muscles, the stillness beneath the surface of his warmth, the silence of a heart that isn’t really beating. But there’s love there. She can feel it.

She stays quiet for a long time, just listening to the silence between his apologies and her aching heart.

Then, with more courage than she feels, she finally asks, “Jasper?”

“Mm?”

She shifts just slightly to look up at him, her cheek still pressed to his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

His fingers still on her spine. “Always.”

“Am I your mate?”

Jasper goes utterly still. She feels the way his breath pauses, the sudden hitch in his throat. Slowly, his hand moves again, less confident now. Hesitating.

“Where did you hear that?” he asks gently, but there’s caution in his voice. Carefully measured.

“You told Paul, back at the house. When I tried to run. I was barely conscious, but I remember. You said something about mates.”

She watches him closely, reading every flicker of emotion across his face.

And then she repeats, softer this time, “So… am I?”

He swallows hard. “Yes.”

There’s a tenderness in the word. A kind of surrender. Jasper closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. “You’re my mate.”

She lets that sit in the air between them. Her heart thuds against her ribs, not from fear this time, but from the weight of what it means. “What does that mean? Really.”

He pulls back just enough to see her face, brushing her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. “In our world… mates are everything. It’s not like imprinting, or falling in love. It’s instinctual. Permanent. Binding. It doesn’t happen to every vampire. Some go their whole lives never finding one. Others feel it the second they meet someone. It’s…” he chuckles softly, eyes warm but stunned, “...cosmic. Violent. Sacred. You just know.”

Her breath catches. “And you… knew?”

“The second I saw you.” He doesn’t look away or explains when that was. She can’t know their first time meeting was nearly deadly. “It wasn’t just how beautiful you were. It was… the way my instincts screamed that you were mine. That you were everything I’d waited for and didn’t even realize I needed.”

“Are you happy with that?” she asks. Her voice is quiet again. Scared, almost. As if the answer might split her open.

Jasper’s brows draw together, like the question wounds him.

“Happy?” he echoes, brushing his fingers down her cheek. “Darlin’, I’ve been alive for over a hundred years. I’ve walked through wars. Felt alone for most of it, even when I was otherwise involved. And then you came along and looked me in the eye like I wasn’t something to be feared.”

He leans forward, forehead pressing against hers. “I’m terrified of losing you. That’s how happy I am.”

She holds her breath as he continues, speaking softly, “You are the one good thing I never thought I’d be allowed to have. And I’ll spend the rest of my days proving I’m worthy of you…if you’ll let me.”

She closes her eyes. And lets the tears fall, but this time they’re not from pain. They're from the overwhelming relief of being seen. Wanted. Chosen. And in his arms, with his hand pressed firm against her spine, Y/N dares to believe she might actually heal.

She breathes in slow, steadying the trembling in her chest before she speaks.

“I’m happy too,” she whispers, fingers gently toying with the hem of his shirt. “I’ve been… so lonely. For so long. Desperate to connect with someone. I kept trying, forcing myself to fit, to be who people wanted me to be. But with you… there’s no trying. It just is. Undeniable and kind of terrifying. But it’s beautiful.”

Her voice cracks slightly at the end, and she ducks her head. “You feel like home, Jasper. Like I’ve finally stopped running.”

His hand stills on her back, and he just holds her, tight enough to say he hears every word and believes them all.

“I don’t deserve that kind of grace,” he murmurs.

“Tough,” she says, voice muffled against his chest. “You’ve got it.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, brushing his nose against her hair. “You’ve got a hell of a way with words, darlin’.”

She lifts her head, just enough to look at him, a spark of playfulness in her expression. “You know what else I haven’t forgotten?”

“Hm?”

“You kinda kissed me before you left,” she says, eyebrow arching. “Or, you know, your lips grazed the corner of mine in this half-hearted, emotionally devastating, cowardly exit sort of way.”

Jasper blinks, then chuckles low in his throat. She’s not over that…and he doesn’t want her to be. He deserves to be called out. “Cowardly exit, huh?”

She grins. “You heard me.”

He smirks, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “And here I thought it was poetic in a way. An almost kiss, selflessly leaving the one I desire the most in order to protect her.”

“I didn’t want poetry. I didn’t want you leaving and I didn’t want any almosts….I wanted you to kiss me,” she says suddenly, softly. No teasing now, just the truth.

His gaze deepens, golden eyes flickering across her face like he’s memorizing every inch. “Wanted, as in past tense?”

She hums, tilting her head. “Maybe. Or maybe I still wouldn’t stop you if you tried.”

Jasper exhales, shaky, torn between temptation and restraint. “You’re dangerous.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners. But the weight returns to his shoulders a moment later as his fingers gently trace her jaw.

“I want to,” he says, honest and heavy. “But kissing you, touchin’ you like that… it’s different for me. There’s a line I walk every second I’m near you. A line between love and…” He stops himself, jaw tensing. “And something darker.”

She studies him. “You really think you’d hurt me?”

He nods slowly, like it guts him to say. “Not on purpose. But… I’m always one slip away from losing control. From wanting too much. You don’t know what it’s like when I let go even a little.”

“I don’t see a monster when I look at you,” she tells him firmly. “I only see you. And I like what I see.”

That brings a flicker of something behind his eyes, shame and awe and hope, all tangled up. “You’re gonna be the death of me, and I of you,” he mutters.

She grins. “Meh. In a way, you almost were. Didn’t really take.”

He snorts, and she leans a little closer, her cheek against his shoulder again.

“And for the record,” she murmurs, voice teasing, “you’ve already been intimate with me.”

His brows raise. “Have I now?”

“Mhm,” she says, utterly smug. “You’ve been sleeping in bed with me for weeks. Holding me. Whispering sweet nothings to each other.”

“Hardly nothings,” he says with mock indignation. “I recall some very angry threats.”

“And don’t think I forgot that time I was in nothing but my underwear and you held me closer than it would be deemed proper.”

Jasper goes perfectly still. “You survived almost drowning. I was… helping.”

“Uh-huh. Helping,” she echoes, lips twitching.

“I was!” he insists, avoiding her gaze, a rare sight that delights her. If he was human, she’s certain his cheeks would be bright red now.

“You didn’t even look once?”

“I’m a gentleman,” he replies, then pauses, voice lower. “...Mostly.”

She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “I think I like ‘mostly.’”

He leans down just enough to brush his forehead against hers again, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, voice reverent.

“And you’re already in it,” she replies.

Their laughter mingles with the silence, warm and light in contrast to everything they’ve been through.

And though he doesn’t kiss her, not yet, he keeps her close. Holding her feels like safety. Like purpose. Like the only thing keeping the monster at bay is the way she looks at him like he’s not one.

--

The morning sun filters through the window, casting soft light over the bed. Y/N lies still, curled on her side, face half buried in Jasper’s chest. His fingers are already sweeping up and down her spine in that rhythmic, soothing way he always does when he knows she’s overthinking.

She’s silent. He doesn’t rush her.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he says gently. “But it’s time.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just listens to the sound of his slow, unnecessary breaths. “I remember standing the day you left,” she says finally, voice fragile. “It tore through my ribs like knives. I didn’t even care. I just wanted to follow.”

Jasper’s eyes close briefly, and his jaw clenches. “I know,” he whispers. “I won’t let you hurt like that ever again.”

She shifts, looking up at him, hand resting lightly against his chest. “I’m scared.”

His promise is immediate, steady. “You fall, I fall with you. That’s the deal. Except I won’t let you fall.”

Y/N slowly nods. She lets him help her sit up, her hands trembling slightly as they grip his for balance. Her chest is still sore, still wrapped carefully, and every muscle in her body feels like it hasn’t moved in centuries. Her feet touch the floor, bare against the cold tile, and already her stomach flips with nerves.

“Easy,” Jasper murmurs, moving beside her, one arm around her waist, the other gripping her hand. “You’re not doin’ this alone.”

“I feel like a newborn deer,” she mutters with a grimace.

“You’re prettier than any deer I’ve seen,” he says with a lopsided grin, hoping to pull a smile from her.

It works, barely. She exhales a shaky breath, her lips twitching. “Charm me after I don’t collapse.”

“You couldn’t collapse if you tried. I got you.”

With a deep breath, she pushes herself upright. Her legs tremble. Her knees threaten to buckle. Pain throbs through her side, but it’s muted, either by her own sheer willpower or by the subtle, steady wave of calm he’s feeding her through his gift. She leans heavily into him, and Jasper doesn’t flinch. He holds her like she’s made of glass and gold at once, something precious and breakable and strong all at once.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice low and soft. “One foot in front of the other. Just like that.”

Each step is agony, slow, careful, and exhausting. Her breathing grows ragged, and at one point she sways, but his arms tighten instantly, anchoring her.

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “That’s it. I’m right here.”

She makes it across the room. By the time she sinks back onto the bed, tears burn her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming release of it all. Of being upright, of not falling, of Jasper’s unwavering presence at her side.

“I did it,” she whispers, almost in disbelief.

He kneels in front of her, takes both her hands, and presses them to his lips. “You did.”

“I wouldn’t have without you.”

He looks up at her, eyes burning gold and heavy with emotion. “I’ll be here for every step, darlin’. Every damn one.”

She brushes his hair behind his ear with trembling fingers. “Even when it’s hard?”

“Especially then.”

And she believes him.

--

The discharge paperwork takes nearly an hour, and even then, Carlisle insists on reviewing every detail twice. Y/N waits in her wheelchair, already dressed in normal clothes again for the first time in nearly six weeks; loose sweatpants, a faded t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie that smells faintly of lavender detergent. Her hair’s tied up in a lazy bun, her skin still pale but with life beginning to return to her cheeks.

Jasper never leaves her side. One hand rests on her shoulder, his thumb moving in soothing circles, grounding her in the middle of all the bustle.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go back to my house?” he asks softly as they guide her through the hospital doors.

“I’m sure.” She tilts her head to glance up at him. “I want to be at my grandma’s. It’s quiet. Familiar. I need that right now.”

His brows pull together in concern, but he nods. “Alright. Alice already had it cleaned after the tenants left.” He pauses, “Am I allowed to stay with you?”

She smiles, soft and sincere. “I wouldn’t ask to go there if I didn’t want you to come with me.”

“Good,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he opens the car door for her. “Though, I should warn you…”

She arches a brow as he slides into the driver’s seat beside her.

“Emmett might be impossible to shake off. He’s been talking about your release like it’s the Super Bowl.”

Y/N laughs, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “Please tell me he doesn’t expect a party.”

“He might already be blowing up balloons as we speak. He’s going to be so mad when we don’t show up.”

Jasper grins at her and puts the car into drive.

--

Her grandmother’s home is a modest, cozy house tucked between towering evergreens on a sleepy street in Forks, just a few houses down from Chief Swan’s residence. The moment she steps inside, it smells like aged wood, vanilla candles, and something comforting she can’t quite place, maybe the ghost of Sunday dinners and rainy afternoons curled on the couch as her grandmother braided her hair.

Jasper helps her up the stairs without a word, matching her pace, letting her lean on him when her legs falter. When they reach her old bedroom, she hesitates for a moment in the doorway. It’s exactly how she left it.

He peers past her shoulder, lips twitching with amusement. “Well, well. This is enlightening.”

She follows his gaze and groans.

The walls are plastered with posters, some tacked up with colorful pins, others curling slightly at the edges. Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Heroes. The Weasley twins grin mischievously from above her dresser. Draco Malfoy, looking tortured and broody, stares out from beside her bookshelf. Aragorn, grim, glorious, and mud-streaked stands above her bed. And Peter Petrelli is everywhere.

“I forgot how many posters I had.” She rubs her face. “God, I was such a nerd.”

“I’m not sure you’re allowed to say was,” Jasper teases, walking around the room like he’s in a museum of her childhood psyche. “You’ve got Milo Ventimiglia in here four times.”

“He was hot,” she defends.

He smirks. “Mmm. Mr. Save the cheerleader, save the world? Sexy.”

She narrows her eyes, amused. “Wait… You know who Peter Petrelli is?”

He shrugs, casual. “What can I say? I’ve had a lot of years. Fantasy books, movies, shows…they're a decent way to pass the time. And,” he pauses with a smirk, “you can learn a lot about people by what they gravitate toward. Especially young, dreamy girls.”

Her mouth falls open, scandalized. “Hey!”

“You’re cute when you’re surprised.”

She pouts. “You really know Heroes?”

“I may have watched the entire first season… more than once.”

She steps closer, lips twitching with a smile that borders on flirtatious. “Okay, I take it back. That’s sexy.”

“Only the first season, though,” he adds with a mock warning. “It goes off the rails after that.”

Her head tilts. “God. You are a nerd.”

He leans in slightly, voice lower, warmer. “Your nerd.”

The air shifts, just slightly, charged with electricity like before a thunderstorm. She meets his gaze and suddenly feels grounded and unsteady all at once.

“Guess I have a type,” she whispers.

He brushes her hand gently, fingers curling around hers.

“You hungry?” he asks after a pause, voice soft again. “I can heat up that soup Esme left for you.”

“Only if we can watch Harry Potter and you let me explain why Draco was misunderstood.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement. “It’s a date.”

--

The lights are low, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the television. The opening notes of Hedwig’s Theme drift through the speakers as the first Harry Potter movie plays. Y/N is curled up against Jasper, her head resting on his chest, one of his arms around her shoulders, the other tracing idle circles along her arm. His body is freezing, his stillness oddly comforting, like lying beside a statue that somehow breathes just for her.

They’ve barely spoken in the last hour, but the silence has been anything but empty. It’s her who breaks it, pausing the movie.

“Jasper?” Her voice is small but certain.

“Mhm?”

“What was your life like... before? Before all of this?”

She feels the shift in him before he answers; a subtle tension. His fingers stop moving on her arm.

He exhales slowly. “Not much to tell.”

“Please,” she murmurs, lifting her head just enough to look at him. “If you’re comfortable.”

He doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay fixed on the screen, staring at the golden letters.

“I don’t remember a lot of it,” he says, voice rough with something heavy. “Bits and pieces. I know I lived on a farm. Small place. There were animals…lots of them. Horses, mostly, some chickens, pigs, a few cows. I liked the quiet. The early mornings. The smell of fresh hay.”

There’s a distant smile in his voice, but it doesn’t last.

“My parents were still alive when I left. My dad… he got hurt trying to help a neighbor with his roof after a storm. Couldn’t work after that. And the farm was struggling. I joined the war for the money.”

He finally looks at her, his jaw tense.

“I was on the wrong side of things. A Confederate soldier. Not proud of it. At the time, I told myself I was doing what I had to do for my family.”

He looks away again, eyes settling somewhere far past the television. She doesn’t speak, just lets him go at his own pace.

“I don’t know what happened to them. My parents. The farm. I never got the chance to find out. Maria turned me before I could go home.”

The name lingers in the air like a bruise.

“She was... compelling,” he says, almost bitterly. “I thought I was in love with her. I wanted to believe it meant something, the way she chose me. She saw my rank, my ability to influence others, and she turned me to help her build an army.”

He falls quiet, haunted.

“I did things I don’t talk about,” he continues after a long beat. “Terrible things. To help her. To survive her.”

Y/N doesn’t rush him. Her hand has moved to rest gently on his chest, just above his quiet heart.

“I stayed with her for years. Too long. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, the killing, the emptiness. I left. Wandered. Tried to do better. I had friends… Peter and Charlotte. And when I left…I wasn’t a good person, until Alice found me. She showed me another way.”

She watches him closely, noting the way his eyes avoid hers, how his hands have stilled completely. He looks ashamed. She reaches up and touches his face gently, brushing her fingers along his jaw. Her touch is featherlight, but when she places a finger under his chin, coaxing him to look at her, he does.

His golden eyes meet hers, glassy with emotion.

“You’re not that person anymore,” she whispers. “I’m proud you found the courage to find another way. Another life.”

His throat works around the words he doesn’t know how to say, his lips part slightly, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. Her fingers trail along his cheek now, tender, unafraid. He leans into her touch like it’s the only real thing he has.

And in that moment, she thinks, no, knows, that she’s not just comforting a vampire with a dark past. She’s touching a man who has been punishing himself for over a century, who finally let someone in far enough to see the shame and still choose him.

Jasper’s voice is almost inaudible when he speaks again.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t say you’re welcome, just lays her head back on his chest, wraps her arms around his torso, and holds him like she’s holding something precious that had almost been lost.

As Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone continues to play across the screen, Jasper’s arm remains wrapped around Y/N, but his mind drifts. The movie plays on, charming and magical, but his expression subtly changes as moments unfold.

The first scene that truly pulls at something buried inside him is the arrival at the Hogwarts Great Hall. Candles floating in the air, enchanted ceilings reflecting the night sky, the echo of clinking silverware and joyful noise. Y/N shifts slightly against him. Jasper doesn’t speak, he no longer breathes.

It reminds him of something.

A long-forgotten memory flickers to life…not of magic or castles, but of candlelight. Hundreds of them. Lined up across a church hall one winter during his childhood. There was a Christmas mass, and he remembers sitting with his younger brother, boots muddy, faces ruddy from the cold. He remembers the scent of pine. The sound of a choir song echoing through the wooden beams. His mother held his hand. He hadn’t thought of her face in decades, but for a fleeting second, her laugh plays in his mind like an echo from the past. His heart aches.

The Sorting Hat scene pulls another chord, when Neville is nervous, bumbling, afraid of being inadequate. Jasper doesn’t realize his hand tightens slightly on Y/N’s arm until she glances up at him.

“Hey,” she whispers. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies. Then softly admits, “He reminds me of someone I used to know. A boy from back home. Real gentle soul. Died in the war. Shouldn’t have been there.”

Y/N doesn’t press. She just rests her hand over his heart again, grounding him.

When Harry is told “you’re a wizard,” and he replies, stunned, “But I’m just... Harry,” Jasper’s chest tightens. He remembers the moment Maria told him what he was now. The moment he knew he wasn’t just Jasper anymore. That something had been taken from him: his future, his humanity. But unlike Harry, there was no magic, no safety, no belonging. Only blood and war.

Later in the film, when Hagrid gifts Harry a photo album of his parents, Jasper almost looks away. The image of a boy staring at the only connection to the people who loved him, it hits too close. Jasper never got that closure. He has nothing to remember his family by. He remembers riding off to enlist with a satchel and a half-assed promise to send letters home. He remembers his mama crying on the porch, his father standing tall despite the limp. He doesn’t remember their voices anymore. He never got to say goodbye.

Y/N senses his withdrawal. She looks up at him again, cupping his cheek this time. “What did it remind you of?”

Jasper swallows hard. “Of what I lost,” he admits. “What I never got back.”

A long silence follows. But she doesn’t fill it with empty words. Instead, she leans up and presses a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“You still have time to build something new.”

..

It’s just past sunset when Y/N convinces him to go for a walk. They’ve been cooped up in the house for days now and she felt ready for more tasking challenges. She doesn’t feel weak anymore, nor do her legs betray her. She can do more and this is how she will prove it to him.

The forest behind her grandmother’s house stretches endlessly, painted in fading gold and sleepy greens. Trees stand tall, unmoved by time, and the quiet is so complete it makes the world feel like it's holding its breath.

Jasper’s movements are silent, fluid, his hand brushing hers every so often as they step over tangled roots and moss covered stones. She walks slowly, still careful after her injuries, but steady, more than she was. He watches her feet more than the path, ready to catch her if she slips.

They stop near a clearing where moonlight spills through the canopy like silver wine. A fallen log sits at the edge, wrapped in ivy and old bark. She sits, breath visible in the cool air. He joins her, just close enough that their knees touch.

Y/N tilts her head up toward the sky. “You always seem calmer out here,” she says softly.

Jasper doesn’t answer at first. His golden eyes are distant, lost in the trees, in the wind threading its fingers through the branches.

“I am,” he finally says. “It’s quiet out here. Quiet in a way the world rarely is.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “You mean… like in your head?”

He nods, slowly. “When I’m around people, it’s like drowning in emotion. Even if they’re not saying a word, I feel everything. Their fear. Their anxiety. Desire. Grief. It never stops. It used to drive me mad.”

“And now?”

“Now…” He glances at her, and his voice is softer. “Now I have moments where it doesn’t win. You help.”

A silence falls between them, not heavy, but filled with understanding.

“I used to come here with my grandmother when I was a kid,” Y/N says, voice dreamy. “She said the forest listens better than most people do. That it holds your secrets like tree rings.”

Jasper huffs a soft laugh through his nose. “She wasn’t wrong.”

A breeze stirs the leaves, and Y/N leans her head on his shoulder. He stiffens for half a second, he always does when she touches him like that, like he’s bracing against some storm inside him, but then she feels it: the slow, steady unwind of his tension.

His hand comes up to her back slowly, rubbing gentle circles. She listens to the quiet sounds of his breath, she hears no heartbeat, and yet… he feels alive. More alive than she’s felt in a long time.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asks. “Being human?”

“I miss the simplicity of it. I miss not knowing what it was to be a monster. I miss being able to hold a woman close with no worries…” he says honestly, voice low. “But I don’t miss the weakness. I don’t miss the hunger. And I don’t miss the numbness that came with not having anyone to share life with.”

She lifts her head to look at him. His eyes reflect the moonlight like mirrors, soft, glowing gold. He looks at her like she’s a constellation he hasn’t named yet.

“You’re not a monster,” she says. “I don’t like you calling yourself one.”

His smile is crooked, skeptical. “Sometimes I feel like one.”

She reaches for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “Then come here. Let the trees hold your secrets too. Let the quiet remind you you’re more than what you were made into.”

And so they sit like that, a vampire and the girl he nearly lost, tangled in silver light and stillness of the evening, the wind in the trees whispering not of war or hunger or grief… but of peace.

For the first time in years, Jasper lets go. He rests his forehead against hers, closes his eyes, and breathes, not because he has to, but because in this moment, surrounded by earth and leaves and the girl who touches his soul, he wants to.

The stillness lingers between them, a quiet, soft and heavy. Jasper stares out into the trees for a moment longer before shifting beside her. Then, without a word, he stands.

He dusts his palms on his jeans, glances down at her, and offers his hand with a gentleman’s grace. His Southern roots flash through in the way he straightens his spine, his expression warm, inviting.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, his voice low and smooth.

Y/N blinks, staring at his hand. “Dance? Here?”

A slow grin tugs at his lips. “Yes, here.  Allow this charming vampire to sweep you off your feet.”

She snorts, folding her arms. “Charming vampire, huh? Bit of a stretch.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You wound me, darlin’. I’ve fought wars with less offense.”

She laughs then, but her hand drifts toward his, hovering just above his fingers, not quite touching. There’s a moment of hesitation. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because something about this feels... different. Special. Like if she breathes wrong, it might disappear.

Still, she slides her hand into his.

He tugs her to her feet gently. When he places his hand at the small of her back and clasps her hand in his, he does so with tenderness, not pressure. The moment he pulls her close, everything slows. She’s acutely aware of the way their bodies align. Of the coolness of his skin, the steadiness of his hold.

And then, softly, so softly she almost thinks she imagines it, he begins to hum.

It’s just a hum at first, low and melodic, until it slips into something more whole. Words.

“Wise men say… only fools rush in…”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she lifts her gaze to him.

His voice isn’t loud. It isn’t showy. But it’s beautiful, velvety and rich, with an old-world kind of gentleness that wraps around the lyrics like a promise. He sings quietly, intimately, as if the song was meant for no one else but her.

“But I can’t help… falling in love with you…”

Her breath catches. Every word sinks into her chest like a stone dropped in still water, sending ripples through her.

His hand trails up her back as they sway. There’s no real choreography, no practiced moves, but there’s something elegant about the way he leads her, guiding her gently under his arm, spinning her slowly, catching her when she turns back to him, his hand brushing her jaw in one of those lingering, almost kiss moments that makes her knees go weak. She’s sure she must be glowing, because her face is hot, her adorned with a blush and completely betraying just how in awe she is.

“Like a river flows… surely to the sea… darling, so it goes…”

He lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, keeping their eyes locked.

“Some things… are meant to be.”

She can barely breathe as he sings the last line. Not because it’s perfect, but because he’s perfect in this moment. So achingly beautiful it hurts.

“Take my hand… take my whole life too…”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the wind dries the tear from her cheek.

When the song fades into silence, the moment between them fills with something unbearably tender, and she leans in. Her hands cup his jaw, rising on her toes, her lips parting just slightly. But just before she can kiss him, Jasper turns away sharply. It’s like someone snuffed out the warmth of the moment with a gust of cold air.

“I…” he mutters, voice tight. “I can’t.”

She freezes. Confused. Embarrassed. “Jasper?”

He’s standing with his back to her now, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed.

“I wanted to,” he says, voice cracking, “God, I wanted to. But I - I can’t. If I let myself… If I lose even one second of control…”

She takes a hesitant step forward. “Jasper, I trust you.”

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t. I’m always walking a line with you, Y/N. You don’t know what it’s like. To feel it, your heartbeat, your scent, your blood, so close! So goddamn close when all I want is to love you and not become the thing I hate!”

“But you’re not that thing,” she says, voice fierce. She comes closer, touches his arm. He lets her. Barely.

She smiles, voice dipping into a cheeky lilt. “I crave you. All of you. Sometimes all I can do is think about touching you. And being touched by you.”

His head snaps toward her, lips twitching with reluctant amusement.

“You’re impossible,” he murmurs.

“And you like it.”

He huffs a breath. “Maybe I do.”

Their eyes lock again, the hurt and longing still there, but the warmth returns too. The tenderness.

She doesn’t press for more. Not yet. Instead, she threads her fingers through his and leans her head back against his chest again, swaying gently where the last note still lingers between the trees.

And Jasper holds her.

She can feel the rise and fall of his unnecessary breaths, can sense the subtle tremble through his muscles from how close they’d just been. For a while, neither speaks. The only sounds are the distant rustle of branches and the faint ripple of water somewhere beyond the clearing.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she says quietly. “With the kiss.”

His hand runs slowly down her back, grounding her. “You didn’t.”

“I wanted it too much,” he continues, voice low. “And when I want something… deeply… it’s harder to control everything else. My instincts, the hunger. Even now. You don't know how hard it is to hold back when you're looking at me like that. It sets me on fire.”

Y/N studies him. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You believe that,” he says. “And maybe it’s true and nothing bad would happen but that’s a risk I am not prepared to take. Not with you.”

She searches his face, fingers finding the space over his heart. “I understand. I’m just happy you’ve been by my side this entire time. I cherish every touch, every moment spent together.”

“I am terrified the whole time,” he admits, but a small, helpless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Terrified… and stupidly happy.”

That softens her. She mirrors his smile, brushing her thumb over his collarbone. “You really are a gentleman, though. Didn't even look at me when I was getting out of the shower with nothing but my underwear last night.”

He laughs, reluctantly. “Oh, I looked. I just did it when you were getting dressed.”

She gasps in mock outrage, slapping his chest lightly. “Pervert.”

He grins wider now, but then he catches her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. His voice gentles. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Her teasing smile falters slightly, replaced by a quiet vulnerability. “Then want me. Let yourself. We don’t have to rush, but don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” he murmurs. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“You’re not Maria, Jasper,” she says, voice suddenly firm. “And I’m not some fragile thing made of glass and fear.”

“No,” he agrees softly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re made of fire and iron and honey. And it kills me sometimes, how much I feel for you.”

Her throat thickens, heart fluttering wildly. “You already sang to me. If you keep saying things like that, I might get ideas.”

“Dangerous ideas?” he teases.

“The best kind,” she replies with a wink.

They’re close again. His nose nearly brushes hers. Their breath mingles. But this time, neither of them moves to kiss. The tension lingers, aching and sweet.

Instead, she leans back against his chest, and he holds her like he’s never letting go.

“I don’t need the kiss right now,” she says after a while. “Not if it scares you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” he replies quietly. “It’s what I’d do next that does.”

“Then we’ll take it slow. One step at a time. But promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t pull away again,” she says. “If you ever feel overwhelmed… just tell me. Let me help. Let me be someone you lean on, not run from.”

Jasper exhales a shaky breath and presses a kiss, soft and lingering, into her hair.

“I think I need to feed.”

Jasper’s golden eyes settle on her immediately, alert, protective, but softening when he sees the slight shake in her hands, the way she hasn’t quite met his gaze since she said it.

“It’s been too long,” she agrees. Her voice is steady, but underneath it, there's a rawness that betrays her restraint.

“I’ll take you home,” he offers quickly. “Emmett will probably want to come over and stay until I get back. It can take days…sometimes weeks to fully satisfy my hunger.”

Weeks? Swallowing thickly, she narrows her eyes at him with a smirk. “You do realize I don’t need a babysitter?”

He nods, that crooked smile of his ghosting over his lips. “For my sake?”

Her eyes linger on him a moment, reading all the quiet worry in his expression. The way he’s been hovering since the hospital. It’s endearing and infuriating all at once.

Sighing, she shrugs, feigning reluctance. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

He smiles wider, pressing a quick kiss to the back of her hand before walking back the way they came.

Emmett arrives not ten minutes after Jasper leaves, breezing through the door with popcorn, root beer, and an obnoxiously large blanket he declares as his “movie cocoon.”

“You pickin’ the movie or am I?” he asks, already flopping onto the couch.

“I trust you,” she mutters with a yawn.

“Good. Fast & Furious 6, it is.”

The movie begins, the absurd action sequences playing out while Emmett makes ridiculous commentary about who could out-punch whom, Dom Toretto or Jasper. She lets him ramble. The banter is easy, comforting. Almost enough to distract her from the anxiety pooling in her chest.

But then her phone buzzes.

She checks it instinctively, expecting maybe a message from Jasper, or Alice reminding her of something sweet and irrelevant. Instead, her blood runs cold.

Her father’s name flashes on the screen.

“You need to be in New York by Friday. Keep up appearances until I return.”

Her fingers tremble around the phone.

“Everything okay?” Emmett asks, catching the shift in her posture, the way her breath hitches.

“Yeah,” she lies, too quickly.

“Try again.” His eyes are too sharp for her usual brush offs. He lowers the remote. “Who is it?”

She hesitates.

“My dad,” she says finally. Her voice is distant, raw. “He’s demanding I come home. Says he needs me to take his place while he goes to Europe for some business conference.”

“Okay,” Emmett shrugs. “So… New York trip for all of us?”

She swallows, the weight of the message still burning in her palm. “I think I have to do this myself.”

Emmett straightens. “Jasper won’t like that.”

“I know.” She looks up at him now, her eyes serious. “But he can’t follow me everywhere.”

Emmett studies her face for a moment, then leans forward, his voice low. “This isn’t just about your dad, is it?”

Y/N looks down. Her voice drops to a near whisper. “I have some things to handle.”

Emmett’s face darkens, all playfulness gone. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It could be,” she whispers. “But if I don’t do this now, it’s going to follow me around forever.”

“You shouldn’t do that alone.”

“I have to,” she insists, fierce now. “If Jasper comes, he’ll feel what I feel. And I can’t…” her voice breaks. “I can’t let him feel this. He’ll try to protect me, but for once I need to protect him. He doesn’t need to carry this burden. I do.”

Emmett doesn’t argue right away. He looks at her like he wants to. But after a moment, he nods slowly.

“You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she says.

“Does this have anything to do with that Garreth dude?”

“Yes.”

“And if things go sideways?”

“They won’t.”

She grabs a piece of paper, writing a note for Jasper.

“When he returns, he will want to follow me. Give him this note.”

Emmett takes it reluctantly, tension in his shoulders. “He’ll kill me for letting you do this.”

He watches her pack a bag then grab her coat, slipping it over her arms with practiced ease. She looks stronger now. Steady. But the fire in her eyes, he’s only seen that kind of fury in Jasper before battle.

“Be safe,” he says, almost reluctantly.

She nods. “I’ll be back within a week. Maybe I’ll come back before Jasper.”

But Emmett watches her walk out the door, a strange chill settling in his chest, because something in her eyes looked too final.

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

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 8: Magma and Sky]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), grief and torment, a fun field trip to a volcanic rock, Red and Aemond have a very honest conversation, enjoy our special guest stars!!! 😉🔮🐍

Word count: 5.1k

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“I was with somebody else.”

You startle and look up to see Aemond standing under the arch of the arbor grown over with a quilt of red roses, twisted and thorny and thick enough to drape you in shadows. You are sitting cross-legged on the stone bench and reading a book about all the known varieties of bats; Helaena found it for you in some dusty, ill-lit corner of the library when she was searching for texts concerning insects. It is still the waning days of summer in King’s Landing, and Viserys is the king, and thin threads of sunlight like golden strands of a spider’s web fall down through gaps in the arbor. Last night was the first time Aemond touched you like more than a brother, claimed you, transfixed you, and you are already alight with the lust-red craving to do it again.

Here, now, in the garden of the Red Keep, Aemond won’t meet your eyes. Instead, he stares fixedly into the contorted nest of roses, wild green punctuated with blooms of crimson like blood or rubies or glowing embers. You have no idea what he means. You reply after a moment, closing your book: “With somebody…?”

“Before,” Aemond says, like it takes great effort. He is still not looking at you. “Years ago. It wasn’t my intention for that to happen, I didn’t plan it, I didn’t ask for it…but I didn’t stop it either.” His reticent blue gaze drops to the cobblestones. His voice is very soft, barely audible. “In a brothel…there was…”

Now you understand. “I know, Aemond.”

His attention jolts back to you, a fracture set, a lightning strike. “You do?”

“Aegon told me. He felt badly about it afterwards, he thought he shouldn’t have done it, but he…” You gesture as if you holding a goblet of wine, and Aemond nods. He was drunk, he was reckless, he mistook it for a favor. But he was wrong.

“You will benefit from what I’ve learned,” Aemond says, as if still trying to convince you not to be appalled or angry. In truth, you are neither. “I hope that is some comfort to you.”

“I don’t find comfort in anything that causes you pain,” you reply honestly, tenderly. A warm breeze blows in off the sea, tasting like salt and rustling the roses and the leaves. This morning you tucked a single flower into your braid, a blue forget-me-not. Now you touch it self-consciously. “Do you mind that I’m so unpracticed?”

Aemond seems to find the notion ludicrous. “No. No, of course not.”

“But you’ll have to teach me everything.”

“That’s how I want it to be. I’m of the belief that if two people wish to be together, there should be no other parties involved. I had meant to be pure for you. I’m sorry I’m not. It is a regret of mine that I carry always. It is a failing.”

You shake your head, sensing his distress as if it is your own: a gnawing anxiety, a sickening drop in your belly. “It wasn’t your fault, Aemond.”

“So I am forgiven?”

“I never considered it to be a transgression.”

“Oh. Good.” His mood lifts; there is a phantom of a smile on his lips and a lightness in his stride as he takes a taunting step towards the stone bench where you sit. “And how do you feel? After what happened last night before dinner?”

And you grin with glinting eyes as you answer, setting your book aside: “Still hungry.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven days on a ship, and you don’t speak to Aemond once.

The weather is bad, grey and windy, sometimes snow, sometimes sleet, sometimes hail that pelts the wooden deck, and the vessel rocks in bleak violent waves. Aemond had arranged for the ship to meet him near Heart’s Home, where the glacial mountain river flows into the Narrow Sea, where you used to collect seashells to shatter and rearrange into the faces of the people you left in your old life. He had known you would not be able to travel by dragon. And so now Vhagar flies somewhere out there in the cold iron-colored sky and Aemond stalks below deck, haunting your doorway, painting the walls with his shadow.

A maester prods your ribs and says some are fractured but they will heal with rest and time. He gives you tastes of milk of the poppy—just enough to sand the edges off the pain so you can sleep—and compliments the cleanness of your scar. Two maids bring you meals and help you dress, wash the soot and blood from your skin, comb your hair. But Aemond does not touch you. He tries once as the maester is examining you, and you look at him with hatred that is primal and infernal and black like volcanic glass, and he snatches his hands away and makes no further attempts. But he watches you, and he waits, and he tries to piece the truth together. You can feel the bewildered turmoil in him. The ricochets of it echo in the mausoleum of your skull.

When you are awake, you stare at the ceiling or at the floor. When you are asleep, you dream of Jace and Luca. They turn to torrents of blood in your arms, or crumble into ash, or are buried in the earth and you are digging for them with your bare hands. You dream that you are locked in a closet or a trunk and no one ever comes to let you out. You dream that you are at the bottom of the ocean in cages of leviathan skeletons, dragons that lived and died before Vermax or Dreamfyre, before Meraxes, before Balerion the Black Dread, before any of the beasts that perished in the Doom of Valyria. You dream that Helaena is falling from the sky and you cannot catch her, cannot save her. You dream that Mother is telling you that you’ve failed.

Then you wake one dreary morning and hear the sailors shouting that land is in sight, and you climb up out of the depths of the ship and stagger to the bow, hooking your fingers into the rigging to steady yourself as the ship pitches and reels in rough surf. Aemond is standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, his black coat drenched with rain and sea spray, his scarred face far away, miles away, years away. Out of the mist rise the dark jagged walls of the castle that sits atop the island of Dragonstone, where Aegon the Conqueror once plotted his invasion of Westeros.

You ask: “What did you do with him?”

Aemond whirls, stunned that you have spoken at last. His silver hair, half-tied back, hangs in long dripping waves. Your own blows wildly around you. “What did you say?”

“The baby. His body. You took him away from me. What did you do with him?”

“He was burned as a Targaryen.” Aemond’s voice goes quiet, gentle. “Not because Jace was one, but because you are. His ashes were cast into the sea.”

Aemond waits for you to respond. You don’t, you can’t. You close your eyes and see Luca swaddled in one of his blankets; you feel Jace’s dark curls threading through your fingers.

Aemond reaches tentatively for your arm. “Red, I…I didn’t…I never would have…”

You turn away from him and walk from the bow to the stern—your cracked ribs aching, the maids fluttering around you and chastising your sodden ink-colored dress, saying you will catch a chill and die, and if you did you wouldn’t care—and you wait there for the ship to dock.

When you step onto Dragonstone, it’s the first time you’ve returned to the island since you were a child and you tried to claim Vermithor. You don’t understand why Aemond has brought you here, and you don’t ask. You follow the pathway up towards the castle as Aemond trails silently after you like a shadow. Behind him, the maester and your new maids trudge begrudgingly up the countless stone steps and shudder when they hear the distant snarls of the beasts that have lairs here. Cold frothing waves thrash against the shoreline. Gulls circle high overhead, squawking mournfully. Magma flows beneath the black-glass rock; you can feel the radiating heat of it, scorching blood in the arteries of the earth.

Just inside the castle, someone is waiting for you. And it is the first time you’ve truly been roused since Aemond and Vhagar descended upon Heart’s Home.

“Aegon!” you shout, and he rushes to you as swiftly as he can, his walking stick tapping against the floor, his muscles straining beneath knots of scar tissue, his chipped teeth flashing white when he beams. He embraces you like a drowning man grappling for a piece of driftwood in the currents, almost knocking you off-balance. He is laughing, he is smacking graceless kisses onto your cheeks, he is marveling at your face to make sure you’re real.

“You’re alive!” he says, cackling triumphantly. “All this time we had no idea where they’d hidden you, we thought we’d never see you again, but here you are and you’re alive—”

“She’s hurt,” Aemond tells him severely. “Stop yanking her around.”

Aegon furrows his scarred forehead as he checks you for injuries. “Are you really?”

“A few broken ribs. They’ll heal.” Your fingertips go to his mangled cheeks and scalp, to what you can see of his chest. You’ve never witnessed wounds this bad on someone who lived. “Your burns…”

“They felt even worse than they look, if you can believe it. But I’m still here.”

Not all of us are. “Helaena…”

“We heard,” he says, tears glistening in his large ocean-blue eyes. He holds you one more time, more gingerly now. “And those butchers will die for it. All of them. The Bitch Queen and her aged uncle-husband and her idiot children too.” He steps back from you and looks to Aemond. “Our spies have brought word from the mainland. The people of King’s Landing are in open rebellion, they blame Rhaenyra for Helaena’s death. If they can get into the Red Keep, they’ll murder her and free Mother. The Hightower army will soon cross the Blackwater Rush.”

“Daeron knows to wait?” Aemond replies.

“A raven has been sent. I can’t say if he’ll listen.”

“He’d better. Tessarion may have proven herself quick and ferocious, but she is small. She must not fly against Silverwing and Syrax alone.”

“I told him!” Aegon says, exasperated. He means: What else can I do about it? He is still clutching his stick and leaning heavily upon it. He can’t fight as a soldier; he can barely even walk. “So what happened at Heart’s Home? Were the bastard and Vermax there? Did you kill him? Did he beg for you to spare his life, did he weep for the memory of poor pathetic little Luke Strong?”

Aemond doesn’t respond. He winces instead, then shakes his head like he’s telling Aegon to stop talking. You look down at the stone floor, and in the relentless grey gloom of the castle, the island, you feel the white-hot searing of grief and fury in your throat, and if you were a dragon it would not be invisible but a fire that consumes flesh all the way down to its bones.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks Aemond, alarmed. “What did you do?”

There are echoing footsteps on the stone staircase, and you are startled to see a woman descending. You’ve never met her before, and you would know if you had; her skin is like moonlight and her pale eyes wide and staring. Black hair hangs to her waist, and it makes you think of swaying branches of a willow tree, or strands of seaweed washing up on the beach outside the Red Keep, or feathers of ravens. She wears a velvet gown the color of moss. Her belly is rounded, just beginning to show. She rests a little white paw of a hand on it and studies you curiously, tilting her head. She is four or five months pregnant.

You gape at her, then turn to Aemond and Aegon, both of whom have averted their eyes. “Whose child is that?”

No one answers you. Instead, Aemond says to the woman briskly: “Your insights were accurate. You will be rewarded accordingly. At the conclusion of the war, you will take up residence at Harrenhal. Until then, you will make yourself scarce here.”

She curtseys; it is a strange, awkward motion, angles in all the wrong places. “Yes, my prince.” But she hesitates before leaving, still watching you. As she strokes the arc of her belly, things kindle in her coin-silver eyes like embers exposed to air: fascination, envy, a vague vicarious fondness. You stare back, thunderstruck. Her long fingernails are filthy with soil or ash.

Whose child? Aemond’s?

You cannot ignore a sharp, nauseous lurch in your own belly, a place where no life grows. Beside you, Aemond is palpably uneasy. You can feel it sweating out of his pores, you can hear it in the sick thudding pulse of his bloodstream. You are reminded of a confession he once brought to you in the garden of the Red Keep as you sat under the shadow of an arbor of scarlet roses.

“Back to the kitchen, witch,” Aegon flings at the woman. “Or the garden, or the cliffsides, or wherever you were haunting before your intrusion.”

She points a talon-like fingernail at you as she begins to ascend the steps. “She is here, but is she yours again?”

“Out!” Aegon barks, and when she has vanished he sighs wearily, as if this is a recurring inconvenience.

You look at Aemond, repulsed, bewildered, betrayed. He says: “Come with me and I’ll explain.”

For a moment, you do not acquiesce. You only glare savagely at him, and if this was before he left King’s Landing a year ago—before Rook’s Rest, before Rhaenyra seized the city and imprisoned you, before Heart’s Home, before your marriage to Jace, before Luca—Aemond would grab you and drag you to wherever he wanted you to be, and he would know that when you fought him you didn’t mean it. But he doesn’t touch you now.

Instead he implores you in a hushed voice: “Please.” And you follow him out of the grey and into the flickering amber light of the Chamber of the Painted Table, where a sweltering hearth crackles and candles burn down into pools of white wax. Westeros is illuminated by fire, like all the places Aemond has burned over the past year. There are chairs positioned around the table. You sit by the Vale; Aemond takes his place across from you near the Reach, where the Hightowers hail from, where your youngest brother Daeron has spent the war waging his battles and torching his enemies. A maid brings two goblets of red wine. You can’t drink it, just like Helaena couldn’t eat blackberry jam after Jaehaerys was beheaded in front of her. Aemond watches you push the cup away and then tells the maid to bring cider instead. You wait without speaking, the only sounds the splitting of wood in the fire and the rumble of the ocean outside and the distant growls of dragons. When the maid reappears with cider, it is a cloudy goldish color and hot and tastes of fermented apples. You sip it listlessly. The maid departs and closes the door behind her.

“It was an exchange,” Aemond says.

“An exchange?”

“Her name is Alys Rivers, she is a bastard of House Strong. I found her working in the kitchen when I took Harrenhal. She is an enchantress, she has some magic to her, just like we do. She said she might be able to help me find you. But she needed something in return. A son, a child built of our ancient Valyrian blood. An heir, a castle, a future. And since Aegon has been rendered impotent by his injuries, and Daeron is far away in the Reach and still a boy himself…”

“You lied with her?”

“Well, I’ve done it before,” Aemond says. And then, when you don’t immediately grasp what he means: “Been with a woman who wasn’t of my choosing.” He draws invisible paths on the Painted Table with his fingerprints. Firelight ripples across his face: a downcast eye, a scar to match the one that cuts down from your left collarbone. “She scoured the woods surrounding the Gods Eye for herbs, and feathers and bones, and all manner of strange talismans. She tried for months to conjure a vision. Then one day she saw it in the flames of the hearth: three black ravens, three red hearts. The sigil of House Corbray of Heart’s Home.”

“And for her services you promised her Harrenhal.”

Aemond nods. “She and her descendants will rule it as House Whent.”

“A new noble house?” you mock bitterly. “And what will its banners be? A burning castle? The charred skeletons of its murdered inhabitants?”

“No,” Aemond says quietly. “Bats.”

You look at him. His blue eye flicks up to your face again, to your black mourning gown—you will wear no other colors—and your unbraided silver hair that drips with rain and seawater.

Aemond asks after a while: “Do you like wearing your hair that way now?”

Distractedly, you touch the damp silver tresses that are unbound, soft and feminine and weak. “Jace told me I wasn’t a warrior. He wanted me to look like a lady.”

“You were wed to him,” Aemond says as if he still cannot comprehend it.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. It was Mother’s proposal. She convinced Rhaenyra to agree to it.”

Aemond is lost. “Why? He was a bastard, a traitor.”

You flinch. “Mother thought it would encourage the Blacks to spare us if they won the war. Rhaenyra thought it would give her heir legitimacy. Neither Jace nor I wanted the match.”

“But now you…you miss him? You mourn for him?”

“We grew accustomed to each other. There was true affection, there was warmth.”

“Did he…were you…?” Aemond cannot decide how to say it, or perhaps he just can’t bring himself to. You can tell—from the way his gaze drops from your face to your body, a mystery cloaked in soaked black velvet—that he is thinking of your wedding night, something you were supposed to share, something you spoke of often with desperate, willful, blazing yearning. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not purposefully.”

There is a flare of wrath. “It needn’t have hurt at all.”

“Why did you come after me?” you ask, and your voice breaks and tears spill down your cheeks, and your ribs throb and your throat is full of fire like a dragon’s. “Why did you kill all those people in the Riverlands, why did you burn Heart’s Home, why couldn’t you just…just…just leave me there?” Luca and Jace would still be alive. Lady Caro would still be alive. Tens of thousands of people wouldn’t have burned or starved.

Aemond is incredulous. His voice grows louder; firelight engulfs him like he is drowning in a lake of it. “I swore I would find you if you were ever taken away.”

“I waited for you. I wondered where you were. I stood in the rookery and stared out into the Mountains of the Moon and agonized over why you couldn’t hear me or see me, why you didn’t arrive on Vhagar to save me, but you never came, and so I tried to forget the promises we made to each other because I believed you’d forgotten me—”

“I never forgot you.”

“But I was different!” you sob, bolting to your feet, pressing a palm to the glow of the Painted Table. “With Jace, I was different! I learned to be his wife, I learned to be a mother, and I was fine there, I was safe and I was happy and you destroyed my life!”

“I could feel that you were in pain,” Aemond is saying as he stands and rounds the table to meet you. “It was months ago, it must have been when you…when you were in labor…physically, I could feel it, I thought they were torturing you, I thought you were dying, and how would I know anything else if all I’d been told was that you were stolen by the enemy? You think Daemon is above depravity? You think it’s so unreasonable that I believed you to be in peril?!”

“You were reckless and cruel,” you seethe, shoving him away. “You always are. You’re always killing people.”

“When I flew over Heart’s Home, I knew you were in the forest. I saw the trees through your eyes. I thought I was freeing you, I never anticipated that you would return to the castle. I didn’t know you cared for the lives of anyone inside.”

“You should have left me there,” you choke out through tears.

Aemond tries to take your hands, and again you strike him hard, meaning it, hating him. “I would never have abandoned you,” he says.

“Why not?!” you scream at him. “Because you believe you possess me like a sword or a jewel, because it is sacrilege to let another man touch me?!”

Aemond is shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You know it is.”

You scoff at him, vengeful cynical disbelief. “In eighteen years, you never once told me you loved me—”

He seizes your wrist, drags you to him, cradles your face with his left hand and skates his thumbprint over the crest of your cheekbone. “I have loved you forever,” he says. “And if I didn’t express that in a way you understood then it was my mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’d do anything to change it. I thought you knew. I thought we both knew that…that…” Aemond’s lone eye gleams desperately; he is pleading for you to hear him. “Do you have any idea what this past year has been like for me? It was hell. Aegon almost died at Rook’s Rest and I brought him back but I was alone, I had Criston and maesters and soldiers but I was still alone because Aegon was unconscious and you weren’t there, and neither were Helaena or Daeron. Then King’s Landing fell to Rhaenyra and there was nothing I could do about it until I was sure Aegon would live, and when I learned you’d been taken away…I set the realm ablaze, I waded through an ocean of blood, and I did it because I swore that I would find you and bring you home. And now I have but you…you…you don’t even recognize me. It’s like you don’t remember what we were. Only I carry it now, I’m cursed by it, I’m consumed by it.”

You break away from him and Aemond lets you go, but he follows you around the Painted Table, shadowing you, chasing you. You pitch at him: “You were always so rough with me.”

“Because you wanted it that way and I did too, we craved it, we needed it, we’re the same.”

“You liked that I didn’t have a dragon of my own, you aspired for me to be helpless—”

“No I didn’t,” Aemond insists. “I tried to help you claim Vermithor, right here on this fucking island I risked my life when we were children to pursue him with you. And he did not yield but I wasn’t to blame for it. I cannot give you a dragon. You have to bond with one yourself.”

You glower at him, swiping tears from your streaming eyes. “You hardly ever spoke of dragons to me.”

“Because I knew it pained you! Because I have felt the agony of being a Targaryen without a dragon and I didn’t want to remind you of it!”

“You should have left me with Jace at Heart’s Home,” you moan, collapsing into a chair and weeping into your open palms. “I would still have my son. I would still have my family.”

Across the table, Aemond slams his fists against the wood. “Jace could never fathom who you really are. It’s impossible. He wasn’t like us, he’s wasn’t one of us. We are Aegon and Visenya, we are Baelon and Alyssa. Jace wasn’t a Valyrian. He was a Strong, and part of you would have needed to die to live with him.”

You stare desolately down at the Painted Table, glowing golden lines in the shape of the Vale. “Jace hated that I loved you. You hate that I loved him. I’m always at fault, and yet my crimes are so harmless.”

Aemond is staggered; he is heartbroken. “You loved him?”

I told him I did. “I felt something for him. I grew to miss him in his absence. I desired him when he returned.”

Aemond goes to the hearth, rests one hand on the stone mantle, and gazes into the flames. You can feel it like an echo, like a reverberating tremor in the earth: he is broken. You cannot summon compassion for him. Each time you begin to, you feel the still lifeless weight of Luca in your arms. After a long time, Aemond speaks. “I have to return to the Riverlands. I can’t leave Criston unprotected. Daemon and the Northmen will meet our armies in battle soon. Vhagar and I have to be there. If I can kill Caraxes, I think this will be over.”

You turn to him, dimly startled. “You’re going now?”

“I have to make the world safe for us and our family. Even if I’m not here anymore.” Aemond studies you, afraid to ask the question that burns in his throat. “Do you…” He breathes deeply, salt and misery and smoke from the fire. “Do you still want our side to win?”

“I hate what we’ve done to each other. All of us.” The dead innocents, the destruction of our house, the extinction of our dragons. “And you murdering Luke started it.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees softly. He crosses the room and stalls in the doorway, looking back at you. He waits for you to say that you will miss him, or that if he returns there might yet be a future for the two of you, or that you will be distraught if he is killed in combat, or that you love him.

As the fire pops and crackles, you shrink into your wet black mourning clothes and say nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sprawled across the volcanic-rock throne in the nightscape gloom of the Great Hall of Dragonstone, Aegon gulps cider until his pain vanishes and his mind is a dull sloshing sea. You are slumped on the steps beside the throne and drinking with him. Neither of you speak it aloud, but it stands in the room like a ghost: you have both held a dead son in your arms, you have both lost a husband or a wife to this war. Torches burn along the walls. Outside, rain pours and the dragons creep and snarl. Sunfyre is here too, Aegon has told you. He can’t fly yet—perhaps he never will again—but he is alive and hostilely defends the cave where he dwells from the other creatures of the island: Grey Ghost, Vermithor, the Cannibal.

The Blacks believe Dragonstone to be abandoned, and in any event they are too preoccupied with their myriad of troubles in the Riverlands and King’s Landing to take it upon themselves to investigate, and so you are safe for the time being. You get drunk in the home of your ancestors, the Valyrians who carved out a stark, grim existence here, who dreamed of greatness, who despite all their magic failed to foretell their ruin.

“Do you know what he asked Sylvi?” Aegon slurs. “The woman from the brothel. Not the very first time, the first time…” Aegon smiles nostalgically. “Well, it’s like your first time riding a dragon. It takes you away and you’re just…” His hand flows in the shape of a wave. “Holding on. Mesmerized by it.”

“Sure,” you say, remembering not your wedding night with Jace but the evening when Aemond dragged you halfway out of the chair by your vanity and licked you, swallowed you, devoured you until you could not help but cry out, and you sank to the floor with your heartbeat thudding in your ears and Aemond lying beside you, smoothing back your hair from your burning face.

“Aemond only went to Sylvi a few more times after that. But she told me what his requests were when I inquired.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “He wanted to know how to make it good for a maiden. And who do you imagine he was thinking of?”

You don’t reply. You guzzle your cider instead. You want all of your bones to stop aching: your ribs, your skull, every place that Aemond ever touched you. You feel a strange smoldering inside, like all your bone marrow has been quarried and replaced with embers, pulsing, glowing. You feel something dangerous and primordial drawing closer.

“He never would have hurt you intentionally,” Aegon says gently, clumsily petting your loose silver hair as if you are one of the hundred cats Grandsire brought to the Red Keep after Jaehaerys was slain. “He worships you. He always has.”

“I can’t forget what he did.”

“Can you forgive yourself for letting him leave that way? If he dies thinking that you hate him?”

You swallow a mouthful of cider, hot and intoxicating. The room spins. Lightning flashes outside. “Maybe I do.”

“No, you don’t hate him,” Aegon says rather wistfully, with the solemn surety of drunks.

Alys Rivers wanders into the Great Hall, the train of her dark green gown whispering over the stone floor. Aegon scowls at her. She stops at one of the misted glass windows and gazes out into the storm.

“He flies to his death,” Alys murmurs sorrowfully, as if she wishes she could change it.

Aegon groans. “Shut up, witch.”

“Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, tangled threads cut by fate—”

“Be gone!” Aegon shouts and hurls his goblet of cider at her. It misses, strikes the wall, clatters to the floor and spills its contents in a puddle. Alys does not seem to notice. You sit upright on the steps by Aegon’s throne, watching her.

“He flies to his death,” she repeats, melodically like a chant or a spell. “Unless, unless…”

Alys looks at you, then turns to peer through the window again. Outside in the darkness, a monstrous beast growls, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor.