#but I couldn't find a damn reference so this is what I did

[raveartts]

Might draw sth more conceptually interesting later (?) but for a first try at a relatively complex character like Azusa, I think I absolutely nailed it :D

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 7. the week

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)

WC: 7.7K

A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.

Series Masterlist

Somewhere in Northern California

It took two days.

Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.

It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.

He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.

Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.

With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.

After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.

Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?

The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.

But it was all he had.

You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.

He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.

You really fucking hurt me, Joel.

He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.

He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.

"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"

You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.

"Maybe."

You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.

"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."

He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.

"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."

You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.

"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.

"Just tired."

"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."

"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."

"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.

"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.

"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.

"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.

"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.

"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.

"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.

"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."

His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.

And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.

It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.

That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.

His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.

You didn't miss him.

Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.

There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.

But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?

And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?

"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.

He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.

He was protecting Ellie.

But he still shouldn't have lied.

With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:

You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.

You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.

All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.

He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.

As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.

After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.

He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.

Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.

He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.

With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.

It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.

"Grant Street."

"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.

"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.

"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.

"Why's that?"

"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."

Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."

Maybe it was.

Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.

He could do this.

He was so close.

Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.

"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.

She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.

"Where's Ben?"

"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.

"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.

"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."

"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.

"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.

You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."

"Guilt?"

Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."

Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."

"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.

"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"

"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."

You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.

"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."

"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."

She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."

"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.

"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"

"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.

"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."

You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.

"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."

She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.

"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."

She trailed off again and cleared her throat.

"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."

A chill went down your spine and you nodded.

"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."

It ain't black and white.

"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."

When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.

The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.

Ellie was incredibly talented.

He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.

He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.

He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.

He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.

The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.

Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.

You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.

He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.

You looked so happy.

Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.

You spared my life just to break my heart.

He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.

He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.

Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.

"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"

"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."

Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

"He's waking up."

"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.

"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"

Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.

"Fuck you."

The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.

"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.

"Don't got a camp."

"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."

He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.

"Boise."

"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.

"I told you what you wanted!"

"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?

Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.

The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.

"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."

"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"

"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.

"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."

The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.

"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.

The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.

"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"

Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.

Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.

He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.

Nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.

With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.

It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.

He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.

He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.

Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?

"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.

The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.

Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.

Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.

His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.

He finally got his sign.

"What happens when we die?"

"What?"

You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.

"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."

You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.

"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.

"Yeah, I do."

You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.

"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"

"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."

"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.

"Ain't nothin' better than this."

You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.

You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.

The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.

But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.

His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.

All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.

Then the rumors started.

You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.

When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.

It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.

When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.

So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.

I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.

You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.

"Went on a date the other night."

"With who?"

"Cindy, from the kitchen."

Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."

"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."

Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"

"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.

"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.

Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.

He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.

Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.

"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.

"Dunno. Something's out there."

Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.

"Maybe-"

Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.

"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.

"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.

"I got it."

"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.

"It's a horse."

"What?"

"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.

When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.

"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"

"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.

"Tell him it's Joel!"

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[lucysarah-c]

Criminal Record

A young cadet from the survey corps began dating one of the higher-ups. What others did in their personal lives was none of Levi’s business, but in the comfort of your shared room, as each of you focused on your respective piles of paperwork, the brand new hot topic of the regiment felt like fair game.

“Did you hear that John and Grace are dating? I heard it from Erwin this morning,” you broke the silence, attempting to start a conversation with your long-time boyfriend.

“How could I not? Everybody is talking about that shit,” he replied, not even looking up from the opposite side of the desk, as he filled out forms.

“I think they look cute together, but I hope they can handle the attention during meals,” you said, taking a sip of your hot tea and leaning back in your chair.

“She's too young for him, just a damn brat,” your grumpy boyfriend replied, leaving you torn between laughter and concern.

You continued sipping your tea, reclining in your chair with your eyes fixed on your boyfriend's raven head as he wrote. A mischievous smile crept onto your face.

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Levi~”

“What do you want?” This time, he raised his bullet-gray eyes from his work to see why you were being so annoying. “What’s so damn funny for you to have that stupid smile on your face? Go back to work; we're not even halfway through.”

“I was younger than her when we first slept together.”

Your words filled the room like a sermon about sins.

You were having the time of your life, while your boyfriend… well, he seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

Later, the next day.

“Erwin, do you think Grace is too young for John?” You asked him directly, already sensing Levi's discomfort.

“Huh? Well, she is young for him. But who am I to tell them who they should spend their time with? Even if I think it’s a little inappropriate,” Erwin replied, continuing to read one of the many reports he had.

It was just another morning for the six of you (Mike, Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Levi, and you), making sure all the assignments were in check.

You could hardly contain your laughter at his response.

“Did you know that I was younger than her when Levi and I started dating?” You omitted the sexual reference for the sake of your embarrassed boyfriend.

Hange spat out some of her tea and burst into laughter, while Mike simply chuckled.

Levi, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

“Oh really? What do you have to say in your defense, Levi?” Erwin was, of course, poking the bear, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his blue eyes from the paper to look at his friend.

“Oh my god! You even said the other day that she was too young!” Hange said, almost screaming between laughs. They were probably going to tease him about this for a while.

“Shut up, four eyes,” he replied before, probably, considering his next reply. “In my defense?” He echoed, confirming Erwin’s question. “In my damn defense, I used to kill people for money and be involved in drug deals as a thug in the underground. Sleeping with someone underage is the least of my sins; just add it to my long list of criminal records.”

This was my first one-shot ever. It's such a shame that somehow Tumblr erased some of my old posts out of nowhere, and I couldn't find it. It holds a special place in my heart because of that. But, well, I decided to rewrite it and post it again because I really want to keep it in my masterlist. Here is the link to part 2, but be careful, it was written a WHILE ago. Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @@feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @@kikarouflames Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[katiexpunk]

Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that. 

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two. 

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet. 

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office. 

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists. 

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.” 

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits. 

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid. 

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month. 

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts. 

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old. 

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time. 

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++ 

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30. 

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits. 

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you. 

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand. 

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty. 

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking. 

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse. 

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep. 

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place. 

 "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table. 

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked. 

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.” 

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself. 

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake. 

He’s just another customer. 

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy. 

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible. 

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen. 

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it. 

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back. 

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it. 

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it. 

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night. 

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it. 

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented. 

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell. 

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright. 

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you. 

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer. 

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it.  Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot. 

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You. 

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore. 

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip. 

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello. 

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is. 

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know. 

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that? 

Jesus. 

No. 

He’s just a customer. 

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything. 

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back. 

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan. 

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet. 

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever. 

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone. 

But you don’t call or text. 

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager. 

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type. 

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock. 

Fuck. 

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except – 

Somethings wrong. 

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off. 

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense. 

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight. 

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that. 

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now. 

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.  

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect. 

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two. 

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. 

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside. 

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened. 

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal. 

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you. 

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind. 

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you. 

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one. 

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need. 

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her. 

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response. 

Rip off the fucking bandaid man. 

“Why didn’t you call?” 

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.  

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye. 

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?  

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things. 

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him. 

But no. 

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his. 

“Ki–” 

Fuck it. 

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more. 

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more. 

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral. 

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.  

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. 

Fuck. Yes. 

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more. 

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. 

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots. 

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body. 

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now. 

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby. 

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you. 

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast. 

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you. 

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More. 

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you. 

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line. 

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away. 

Please, he pleads to himself silently. 

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan. 

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. 

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you. 

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him. 

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing. 

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. 

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core. 

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him. 

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle. 

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again. 

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more – 

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height. 

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste. 

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor. 

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now. 

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.  

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now. 

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life. 

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

 “Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. 

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. 

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him. 

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare. 

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind. 

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time. 

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him. 

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin. 

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless. 

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep. 

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.  

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second. 

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him. 

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you. 

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it. 

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up. 

“Wanna smoke?” 

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own. 

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both. 

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day. 

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with. 

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept. 

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat. 

He wants more. 

And something tells him you do, too. 

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[mauesartetc]

Redesigning Helluva Beelzebub

Hoo boy, roll up the sleeves for this one.

The Original

In my review of Helluva Boss 108, I mentioned that Beelzebub's character design put me in mind of how some DeviantArt kid's fursona might look. And... Yeah I stand by that statement. The most likely reason I can figure Viv Medrano wanted her to be dog-like was to make a reference to her Die Young music video, which featured an anthro wolf singing a Kesha song (for context, Kesha herself voiced Beelzebub and co-wrote a song for this episode).

But for those who are unaware, Beelzebub's traditional depiction looks nothing like this.

Really the only visual similarities the Helluva version shares with the Infernal Dictionary version are the insect wings, six limbs, and the crown thingy over the head. (At least I think that's a crown-? Kinda hard to tell on both counts.)

Bee's eyes get somewhat more insectoid later in the episode, but that feels like a cop-out. Wow, her eyes and colors changed. Totally a bug demon, right?

They had the same problem in Hazbin Hotel with Katie Killjoy, who's allegedly supposed to be a praying mantis but barely resembles one, even after her transformation.

I understand the desire for fresh takes on old figures, and taking creative liberties so the new interpretation doesn't feel generic. But the changes should at least make sense. By now it's pretty clear Viv couldn't care less about representing Ars Goetia demons faithfully, as demonstrated with Paimon, Andrealphus, and now Beelzebub. You could slap completely different names on these characters and it wouldn't change a thing. I posted this meme a while back but it's never been more relevant:

On top of that, what reason could there possibly be for the design to be this damn complex? Why did she need so many markings on her face? Why did she need so many layers of hair? Why did she need flowing goo for her hair, tail, and body, each requiring dedicated effects animation?

When it comes to a hand-drawn production, less is more. Any superfluous details on a character just make unnecessary work for the animators.

Anyway, here's what Viv has to say about it.

Alright, I'll admit: The lava lamp bit is a little clever. Basically it works as a regular stomach does, but on demonic steroids. But it wouldn't look so much like Viv's making this up as she goes if we'd seen Bee's stomach performing its intended function in the episode. Let her chow down on a giant piece of food (maybe that cotton candy she's been handing out-?) and swallow it, and let Loona (and the audience) see it dissolving in her transparent belly. As a general rule, if it's not shown or explained in the work itself, it's not canon. Like I've said before, Viv: Elaborate on the nuances in the story you're telling, not on social media.

Also, "Her ears are designed after beehives"? Wh...Wha? Ma'am have you ever seen a beehive.

(Hell, even if you told me the ears were inspired by the generic cartoon beehive we're all familiar with, I wouldn't have guessed. There's a difference between being subtle and being vague.)

I can kinda see it in the overall shape, but that's a very specific design inspiration that wasn't clear at all in the design itself. Same with the "animal trainer" thing: I never would have picked up on that if Viv hadn't pointed it out. If a character design doesn't visually convey all the necessary information, it's not a successful design. Show, don't tell. There's a communication breakdown between what Viv's telling us and what Bee's design shows us.

(It's possible she actually meant "Her ears are designed after honeycombs", but even then, each compartment has a specific pentagonal shape that's not coming across at all here.)

I also find it interesting that Bee and Loona have almost the exact same body type. Of course Viv's pretty infamous for samebody syndrome, but it's actually unnerving how similar these two are.

Might this be a reference to Vortex's "type"? Is this foreshadowing a relationship with Loona? Am I overthinking this? Yeah, probably. Viv's demonstrated a clear preference for tall, skinny body types over the years, so it's safer to assume that's the explanation. It's all aesthetics. It ain't that deep. Occam's Razor and all that.

Finally, Bee how the hell does your shirt work.

The Concept

So at this point it seems most logical to lean into the "bee" thing for the redesign, and scrap all the canine elements. As for the blobby hair and tail... yeeeah let's nix those too. We're going for a streamlined version that's easier to animate. And because I ignored the ringmaster look for my redesign of Asmodeus, it only makes sense to do the same for Bee's animal trainer vibe (what little there is) for the sake of consistency. I know this version of Hell has a circus theme with its highest-ranking demons, but there's never been an in-universe explanation for why that is.

Let's look at actual bees, then. A quick peek at Google has informed me that certain insect species have smaller, "simple" eyes (also known as ocelli), in addition to their compound eyes. In bees, this manifests as a triangular grouping of three beady eyes on top of the head.

In her Helluva Boss episode, Bee's full demon form has three eyes, which could be a reference to this triangular arrangement, plus her regular form has two spots on her forehead in addition to the third eye. So it's possible Viv actually did research for something. Pleasantly surprised on that front.

Next, the body. I've noticed that some folks find Bee's skinny body type refreshing, as the sin of gluttony is too often personified with fatness. And that's fair. That's valid. But consider this:

Imagine any Vivziepop character saying that about a chubby person. Imagine the series sending the message that fat people can be sexy too, and that they have worth outside of their appearance, enough for at least one character to consider them girlfriend material. That they're valued and appreciated regardless of this culture's beauty standards (which we know nothing about since the worldbuilding is as thin and flimsy as tissue paper, but whatever). Imagine if this show finally had a fat female character who wasn't relegated to the background. Don't know about y'all, but that would be refreshing to me. And when you take into account all the fat-shaming of a character who isn't even fat, portraying a fat character as attractive would be a nice change of pace for this show.

Now let's talk about clothing. In the episode, Bee's clothes show off a lot of her body, with a cutout crop top and short shorts. We can take a similar approach for the redesign (something that still shows off her chest, belly, and limbs, in keeping with the extroverted "party girl" persona), but that perhaps includes more queenly elements.

The Redesign

Because this is a redesign, many elements were already in place, but I still had to figure out how this character would look as a bee. Here's where the preliminary sketches came in. Lots of trial and error in this process.

Wrestling with this character's face got a lot easier once I realized I could mold it into a pentagonal shape akin to a honeycomb compartment. It took a few tries, but at last, I had a final sketch.

All that was left to do was test out some color combinations.

I tried a few different approaches, but in the end, this is the version I felt worked best.

I used many of the colors from the original, but pushed the orange much harder since orange is the symbolic color of gluttony as a sin. And overall it gives Bee a nice honey-ish look rather than the generic black and yellow we already see on so many bees in cartoons. I thought the colored outlines on her clothing would add a soft, feminine touch, as well.

And just for kicks, here's a quick sketch of her giant form, inspired by the Infernal Dictionary drawing of Beelzebub.

Conclusion

The canon version of this character exists in the form she does for no reason than to stroke her creator's ego. "Hey guys, remember when I animated that Kesha fan video? Remember how cool that was? Wanna see me foist this unnecessarily-complex character design on other animators while I take a victory lap?" I wouldn't mind so much if Viv animated any of this herself, but she didn't. I could almost excuse this if she had no animation experience and didn't know how much work it requires, but she does. The self-aggrandizing entitlement is just off the charts. But a nonsensical design is leagues better than a stolen one, so... brownie points for that, I guess.

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 08

✩°｡ ⋆ all falls down

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, implied suggestive content, fluff/comfort. if you haven’t read the warnings in masterlist, then please be informed that megumi is aged up in this series (around 24-25ish)

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony (masterlist) | chapter seven : a longer dream <- previous ✩ next -> chapter nine : all done

The best you could describe this situation was that Megumi dragged you into your shared apartment with slight force.

He seemed to be in a foul mood to have found you with Gojo. You did try to make excuses, but he didn't want to hear it. You were afraid of him misunderstanding the whole ordeal, but the moment the door to his bedroom that was now also yours slammed shut with a resounding bang, and he pressed you against the wall only to devour your lips in a senseless kiss, your mind went blank.

"Me—" You couldn't even manage to say his name as his strong hands grasped both sides of your waist, steering you toward the bed. He practically pinned you down, and before you could fully comprehend it, he crashed his lips against yours once again.

You whined, and there was also this heat inside you that flickered and flamed the more you felt how Megumi did all of this.

His lips fervently and swiftly traced a path down your neck next.

"Ah!" you gasped. In the blink of an eye, he hiked up your sundress.

Gods, you had certainly chosen a fitting outfit for this very activity, hadn't you?

For the next half an hour, he did many things to you with his everything he had to offer and you were left reeling, couldn’t think straight after he reduced you into a total puddle of shivers in his arms.

"Can—" Damn. His voice sounded so deep in your ears, and against your better judgment, it only heightened the heat inside you. "Can I—do this?"

You were sure you would be up in flames if you said anything, so you merely nodded. He went straight for you then.

"Mmgh!" You couldn't help letting out a strangled moan, and Megumi really thought he had lost it.

To hell with everything else. Making you writhe like this—under him, no less—he just had to do it.

You were so freaking pretty in that dress and he didn't like how Gojo looked at you. No, perhaps it was the way he caught a hold on you. No one was allowed to do that. You were his wife. Only he and himself could touch you… like this.

And then there was also your voice... hells. You didn't know what it did to him.

By the end of it all, like a fever dream, you were crying out his name, tugging at his hair, and digging your nails into his back, as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, washed and drowned in a sense of pure bliss you had never felt before.

When you woke up next, it was still early in the evening, and you were already in your pajamas, tucked into a comfortable cocoon of blanket.

Megumi had one protective arm on your waist. Next to you, he was also already in his sweater. His eyes were pressed shut, and his hair a mess, most likely because of your doing earlier.

So he was the one who changed you into your sleepwear—of course, duh! The knowledge made you blush so hard that your face sizzled, unintentionally squirming.

You had slept with your husband. He had seen you wholly—

“Sena?” his gruff voice spooked you and you let out a yelp, effectively waking him up.

Megumi cracked his eyes open in alarm, but then sagged as he saw how your doe eyes bored into him. “Are you okay?”

“Uh—Megumi…”

“Does… it still hurt?”

You stared at him blankly. The question somehow felt so intimate that your face reddened even more. “O-oh, a bit…”

His eyes widened a fraction at your response and he immediately pulled you closer. “Sorry, I didn’t know what came over me—” His eyes then caught the sight of a small patch of dried blood at the end of the blanket and he immediately grunted.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” His fingers reached out to you to gently massage your hips, soothing them in circular motion.

His mind swirled at the remainder of what he just did, and felt himself burn with embarrassment.

“That’s okay…” you mumbled, eyes darting wildly. “It… was good. It was my first time so don’t mind the blood. You w-were good.” The heck am I saying? “So I suppose I should… thank you?”

He gazed at you in utter incredulity, but then his countenance gradually softened, giving way to a faint blush on his cheeks.

“You can’t keep seducing me like this,” he sighed. “You little minx.”

“…why is it suddenly my fault?!”

“You are too defenseless. That’s why Gojo-sensei can have his way with you.”

In the next one good second, your dream crashed and you were pulled back to reality. Right. Megumi saw you with Gojo Satoru, then he made a scene at a public place—in Harajuku, no less.

“About that…” You really didn’t know what plausible excuse that would make sense to him. “He was just… saying hi.”

Megumi glanced at you with disinterest. “I know. But it sure was aggravating, seeing him messing with you like that.”

Despite the guilt, you sighed inwardly that he bought it and didn’t question you further.

You decided to change the subject. “Were you meeting with the curse-breaker?”

"I was. She was quite strange though."

"Strange how?"

"Apparently I've met her before," Megumi murmured, his finger tracing the contours of your body, marveling at the softness of you. "She said I saved her life."

"Ehh?" You perked up at this rather interesting story. "When did you save her?"

"Don't remember." Megumi appeared to be racking his brain. "I really thought she mistook me for someone else tho—oh, perhaps that time?"

"That time, what?"

"Hmm, Gojo-sensei took me to practice my divine dogs as a kid once, and we ended up stumbling into a place full of cursed spirits," he said in a thoughtful manner. "Perhaps Hana was there too?"

You blinked up at him, observing how intensely Megumi was pondering this matter. His description of her as "strange" led you to an extreme conclusion.

"Don't tell me... she's got her eyes on you?"

"Huh?" he stopped tracing your soft curves. His lips pursed into a thin line and a frown formed on his forehead at your quip. "No. What are you saying?"

"A crush on the boy who saved her life many, many years ago~" your voice took on an exaggerated, sarcastic tone, which served to make him shoot you a withering look. "Now that she meets him again, it's just like fate..."

"I have a wife," he pointed out with a roll on his eyes. "Namely, you."

"Hmph."

A smile tugged at the corners of Megumi's lips as he noticed you sulking, turning away from him and wrapping yourself in the blanket. "What's the matter, hmm?"

Gods, his darling little wife. Who would have imagined, on that messed-up wedding day several months ago, that fate would bless him with such an adorable thing such as you?

"Nothing. I'm hungry."

"Hungry? Ah, it's time for dinner," he said, rising from the sheets. You instinctively looked in his direction, wanting to follow suit, but a slight burn between your legs made you pause, your breath catching.

Megumi looked back at you that instant. "What's wrong?" he inquired, and you found yourself wanting to bury yourself beneath the blankets as you blushed uncontrollably.

"...can't walk. Get the food here."

And then, the most melodious sound reached your ears. Megumi chuckled heartily and freely, and perhaps this was the first time you had seen him so joyful since you married him.

You were awestruck. Your husband was so freaking attractive you were at a loss of words.

"I was that good, huh?" Megumi smirked slyly. "Right, wife. You'll have dinner in our bed."

You shot him an indignant pout as he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you finally allowed a smile to creep across your face.

Living an indulging life with Megumi like this, you were blissfully unaware that soon—far sooner than you thought—this life you had known would collapse upon itself once again.

The second hearing to decide the next head of the Zen’in clan took place a few weeks later. You and Megumi didn’t attend the first one because you were still mourning your mother, but this time, you had to be there.

“This place never fails to give me the creeps,” you muttered, gazing up at the imposing Zen'in estate. You had lived here before, but you had never quite grasped what this sense of something more ominous lurking within—almost like a curse—was. You felt a bit sick.

Megumi squeezed your hand that was clasped in his, as if reassuring you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Your eyes darted at every corner of the place, searching for a certain someone who would lurk in the shadows, but didn’t find her. This only heightened your anxiety.

“You look a bit pale,” Megumi remarked, noticing the tension in your expression ever since you arrived here. “Do you want to go back? You don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.”

“No, that’s okay.” You had to be here. If anything you had to make sure of something.

The main hall bustled with activity as clansmen moved about. You breathed a sigh of relief the instant you laid eyes on Gojo Satoru sitting proudly at the first line of audience with an unapologetic smirk, his blindfold twitching. That was one thing taken care of.

The Zen'in elders made their entrance into the hall, with Zen'in Naoya following closely behind. It had been a while since you last saw him, and a surge of anger welled up within you as he shot you a vicious smile. You clenched your fists tightly in your lap.

You still had a score to settle with that bastard, and you vowed by everything you had that you would end him with your own two hands.

Megumi took his seat next to Naoya at the front, and with bated breath, you waited for this godforsaken thing to begin.

"Welcome," Zen'in Ogi greeted with a nod of acknowledgment to both heirs. "We have assembled here to oversee the second session of voting process for our next clan head. Now, as we can all see, we have the two candidates before us."

Naoya abruptly stood up from his seat. "Before we move forward with the votes, I have a suggestion to make." He swiftly turned to address the gathering audience.

"And what might that be, Naoya?"

"For the third and last hearing, three weeks from now," his grin was screaming malice to you, and you really felt like something was up with him. "I propose a duel."

Gasps emanated from the audience, and you stared at him in horror, while Megumi furrowed his brow in surprise.

"A duel to determine who between us is stronger," Naoya proceeded calmly. "Naturally, it's only appropriate for a Zen'in clan leader to be unparalleled in strength, wouldn't you agree?"

Silence gripped the room, and you desperately wished for someone to voice their objection. Out of the corner of your eye, Gojo unexpectedly raised his hand.

"I agree. Under one condition," he nodded with a genial smile, and you spun towards him that instant, utterly aghast. "Exile for the losing side."

Naoya barked a laugh. "But of course, if the other dies, then the winner takes all."

Megumi found himself at a loss for words, witnessing how this situation had spiraled out of control. He had never desired any of this—he would need to have a serious conversation with Gojo to tell him that he had enough of this nonsense later on.

Zen'in Ogi appeared to consider the proposal for a duel as he nodded. "Does anyone here object to this proposition?"

No one raised an objection and a sickening feeling churned in your stomach. Gods. Megumi. Your Megumi. He was going to face this manic bastard who had been plotting against him all along. This duel meant death.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over you. The mere sight of Naoya's face was enough to trigger this queasy sensation that twisted your insides.

"Therefore, this duel will be held in our disciplinary pit," Ogi added. "Once both Fushiguro and Naoya step into the arena, a curtain will be drawn, and no one can exit until a victor is declared."

You didn't understand. This decaying old man had promised you that he would somehow remove Naoya from equation. So why, all of a sudden, was he consenting to this outrageous proposition?

"While we're on the subject, there's another matter I'd like to address," Naoya said, now rather smug and even more confident than before.

"Regarding how you people do the votes." Suddenly, he locked his eyes with you. Unwillingly, you flinched at his gaze. A sense of foreboding washed over you, that made you realize that he knows—

Naoya's smirk turned into a menacing scowl as he hissed, "You conniving bastards. All of you here—you are all conspiring against me."

Commotion erupted in the room. "What is the meaning of this, Naoya?! You uncouth, ungrateful—!"

"Do you all take me for a fool?" he jeered, before suddenly spun towards Ogi. "And that includes you."

"What are you talking about?"

Now, even Megumi had reached his limit of being in the backseat of his own destiny. It appeared that everyone in the room grasped the implications of Naoya's words. Heck, even you seemed to be aware. Why was he the only one who didn't know?

"Hah." Naoya cast a sadistic sneer at him, followed disparaging snort. "Don't play the fool. I'm well-aware of your machinations behind my back, Fushiguro. You and that whore of yours—"

And then it was like something clicked in Naoya's mind when he saw your horrified expression. "Oho, don't tell me..."

Megumi growled. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"Well, well… This truly is unexpected!" Naoya mused, laughing to himself, his demeanor increasingly erratic. “Apparently you are the ultimate fool here, Fushiguro.”

"Answer me, you unhinged bastard!"

"Well, why don't you ask—"

Megumi could swear he felt a shockwave that made his heart sink when Naoya suddenly pivoted towards you, pointing an accusatory finger, words dripping with contempt.

"—that Hara whore! She is your wife, is she not? Don't you know that she is the one behind this entire shitshow?"

✩°｡ ⋆ next -> chapter nine : all done

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes @sushisimp @sad-darksoul @iluv-ace

[devilevlls]

Friends with benefitsೀ⋆｡

Gender-Neutral MC༘ ⋆｡˚

Levi and MC had a little fun while watching anime, exchanged looks and perverse caresses lead them to improve their friendship on a different level. FWB.

Word count: 820 words.

Levi won the poll of "which brother should be the main focus on the new content?" I hope you guys enjoy it 💜

📌 TW: Sexual acts, mutual masturbation. MC’s genitals aren’t described. 

On a cold and cozy day, MC decided to pay a visit to Leviathan's room, the avatar of envy. With the absence of classes at RAD, the two planned to spend the afternoon enjoying the new anime that had just been released. However, little did they know that the animation had spicy surprises in store beyond what its innocent synopsis suggested.

—*

The two were lying on a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, MC rested their head on Leviathan's shoulder, while he put another pile of popcorn in his mouth, his orange eyes glued to the TV screen.

The anime seemed interesting at first glance, but occasionally, it made suggestive references between the characters, which drew a few surprised gasps from the demon. With his cheeks red, Leviathan avoided looking at the human beside him, trying to hide the embarrassment that was beginning to settle between them.

The characters little by little begin to get along and, in a hot scene, they kiss each other heatedly. Surprisingly, the scene is not cut, escalating further to the point of making the demon shifts uncomfortably.

This was getting obscene.

"Y-You know, we can change this if it's too much..." His tail thrashed from side to side, betraying his agitation, as Leviathan struggled to conceal his unease amidst the intensity of the scene

“No, it’s okay…” MC regarded him with an unsettling gaze, their eyes bearing an unfamiliar intensity, aflame with a malicious fervor.

As Leviathan gradually regained his composure, he found himself unconsciously placing his hand on MC's thigh, seeking solace in the midst of the awkwardness. Sensing the touch, MC reciprocated, tentatively tracing a path toward the avatar of envy's groin.

The demon sighed, but didn't disapprove, keeping his eyes on the screen in an attempt to hide the excitement that was growing between them. Things were heating up and being alone with his Henry made his heart flutter. 

Maybe the idea of ​​doing something more wouldn’t be so bad…

Leviathan's thoughts were in disarray, his body drenched in sweat as MC ventured closer to his most intimate parts. Their gentle touch sent shivers down his spine, causing his awakened member to pulse with instinctual desire.

“Looks like someone is excited.” MC teased him, feeling the throbbing inside his pants, realizing how much it was causing reactions in his body. “Why don’t you take it off?” They suggest.

“W-What!?” He asked, turning all red, his tail hitting a glass that was nearby, spilling the contents onto the carpet. "Damn it!"

“Forget about it, we’ll clean it up later…”

“Okay… But try not being so loud… I-I don’t want my brothers to find out what we’re doing.”

—*

With his pants now lowered, Leviathan bit his lip, suppressing the needy moans that threatened to escape as MC's hand expertly moved up and down his throbbing member. The sensation was exquisite, sending waves of heat through his body. Driven by desire, he reciprocated by sliding his own hand into the human's intimacy, eagerly stimulating with fervor, determined to match the pleasure being offered.

“That’s it… Good boy…” They said excited, slowly sliding their finger along the demon’s tip, taking some of his pre-cum to lubricate the rest of his length.

“A-ah… MC…” He moaned softly, increasing the speed at which he masturbated his partner, the trembling fingers trying their best to maintain the consistency of his clumsy movements.

The two remain lying under the blankets, rubbing their sexes together and panting softly, their breathing becoming heavy as the excitement reaches its peak.

Leviathan couldn't help but moan again, squirming as the boiling sensation in his abdomen intensified, growing unbearable. He knew he was reaching his limit, unable to withstand it any longer.

“MC… Wait… I’ll… A-ahh~”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Leviathan surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, releasing all of his pent-up desire. MC's hand was soon coated in a thick layer of semen as he reached the peak of his ecstasy. Rolling his eyes back in satisfaction, his entire body trembled with the intensity of his orgasmic release.

“Wow, Levi, you made a mess!” They say slowing down the movements until finally stopping.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I couldn’t hold it in.” He says embarrassed, knowing he had come early and made his favorite human dirty.

“Alright, stay there, I’ll clean it up for you.”

As they rose to their feet, Leviathan's hand instinctively reached out to grasp MC's, his eyes wide with a certain fear that lingered in the air.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret. But I hope you let me cum next time.” The human teased, winking at him.

Leviathan's heart raced at the teasing remark, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty swirling within him. "In the next...?" he murmured to himself, pondering what they meant by that as he watched MC walk away to retrieve a clean cloth.

Masterlistɞ

[coldinternetllama]

My thoughts on Maomao and her parents

Spoilers for Maomao's backstory and maybe for some future instances in the LNs. Also this is not a proper analysis, do not expect much structure, lol

One of the saddest things to me in this story is that Maomao probably craved Fengxian's love until the very end, regardless of what she is saying. After all, who wouldn't want to feel their own mother's love, right? Maomao keeps saying that she doesn't know how to love, however I believe this is simply a coping mechanism for her. We know that she loves Luomen, her sisters, the Granny, even Xiaolan and Loulan (yes, I do think she loved them). Hell, she also has "certain affections" for our beloved red flag, as she herself states in her mind. Yet she doesn't classify any of that as love proper. Instead, she comes back to the cut tip of her pinky and repeats her favorite phrase about how she left that feeling somewhere in the past. There where she also left her mother, who is now just the woman who gave birth to her. Still, she administered Fengxian's medicine time and time again. Still she set up the perfect opportunity for Lakan to find her. Still she danced for her under the night sky with a heavily injured leg. Still she bowed to her remains and played her last game of go for her. I don't think she had it in herself to love the woman who pushed her away, but part of Maomao wanted to love her, I believe. And to be loved back. Granted, Luomen and the women at Verdigris house did their best to raise Maomao, but it wasn't enough to replace what could have been.

If anything, our dear apothecary is probably more frustrated than anything. She doesn't hate her parents, no. I would go as far as to say that she actually feels bad for them ( I mean, who wouldn't). Of course, she would never admit that, which leads to her other coping mechanism, namely her extremely abrasive language when referring to Fengxian and Lakan (come on now, breeding mare and stallion? Girl, chill). She would rather feign indifference, lest she has to confront her feelings, which is her least favorite thing to do, as we know. After all, it's these two people's feelings that got them all to that state. If even such intelligent people could make such a blunder because of feelings, why would she want to feel love or be loved? This is also reflected in the scene where she is telling Jinshi that she wants to be executed with poison. Jinshi answers that he would never execute her. Maomao's answer? It doesn't matter what he wants to do, it only matters if he CAN do it. To me, this is a direct reference to her parents' story. Lakan wanted to be with Fengxian, but couldn't. Fengxian wanted to reach out to him, but couldn't. It all ended in ruin because of that damn feeling called love. Of course, this is also why Maomao just refuses to even consider that she can love (btw, I don't mean strictly one type of love, this is a very vast and complicated feeling with many facets, and I mean all of them here). So she simply claims that she doesn't, yet her actions tell a different story.

Now, I have never been in a similar situation, so I do not claim to know what a person like Maomao would truly think and feel of this. But I think that deep down she wonders what it would have been like to have been loved without being hurt. For her cries to have been met with warmth and not with silence. For her mother to have hugged her instead of having chased her away. And maybe Fengxian wanted the same, but knew that it was not possible. Maybe she was ashamed and disappointed in herself. What good would it be for that child to love her? The child, whose destiny might turn out not too different from her own. Indeed, in the end, no matter what anyone wanted, Fengxian could only become the woman who gave birth to Maomao. And Maomao could only learn to accept that.

[vampiretendencies]

went out searching for an angel, then you came to me my darling ✩

request; hi love!! i had an idea of what jj would be like on a first date with his crush of all time!! maybe he’s been chasing her for ages and now the day is finally here where he gets to take her out! maybe he picked up extra shifts in preparation so he can pay for dinner and he’s all shy and nervous because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and even bought a new shirt so he looks all pretty for her? i love your fics so much, i hope you like this idea, can’t wait to see what you do with it pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader (reader is kind of a badass) warnings; fluff, i decided to set this while they are in high school still cause it just seemed right, BUT they are seniors here, making them 18. my characters are always aged up, keep that in mind. mentions of jj’s dad, luke, bullying, suggestive. proofread, but may find mistakes authors note; i knew the second i got this request i had to do it immediately. this is so cute, thank you for requesting.

JJ has devoted his time to leaving love letters in your locker.

Sliding the thin colored paper into the slit with definition. No, they weren't your typical secret admirer notes, JJ made it clearly evident that it was him. Always adamant in writing 'from JJ' in big capital letters, maybe even a small heart by it. Though, he just recently begun to add the heart, debating as to whether or not it was too much. Doesn't matter if it's lunch or a five-minute locker break, he's leaving a damn note in your locker, usually at the end of the day papers are flying to the mucky tiled school floors after opening the pliable metal door to the locker. And still you collect them all from the hopelessly swooning boy.

Some were insanely dumb, catching glance of one that said something along this lines of, 'my lips wanna' touch yours so bad, let's make it happen?'.

One may say that this is quite desperate of JJ.

But, this is the sight he's been fervent for, for years.

He’s sure his fascination started mid freshmen year. He remembers it like yesterday, vividly. There was a group of much older bullies encircling him in the school courtyard. Taunting him for his appearance, as if he were a freak show. His dad had gotten fired from yet another job, failing drug tests, never sober. JJ was sure Luke didn’t even know that the school year had begun. His shoes that year were so busted up, holes in the heal with the soles nearly falling apart; the same shoes he'd worn the past few years. Today, that is why he wears the irreplaceable combat boot, takes a lot to damage a thick black combat boot. His clothes that year, he'd outgrown them in more ways than one making them not up to par with the apparent bullies' standards. Scarring him to the point of no return, especially since you were there. You happened to be the reason he was fleeing that situation, not that JJ couldn't fight his own battles or that he was frightened. But it was that you noticed him. And, that you noticed him enough to not just walk by and act like you didn't see it happening. Oh, and it was that you ran the ignorant bullies away with a pocketknife you had tucked into your ankle length socks. Now that was what truly had JJ alarmed that day, a dainty, captivating girl waving a sharp knife around and looking mighty seductive doing so. What's not to like? You yanked him by the arm that day, and he's felt that pull since.

"Never tell anyone you saw that shit," you'd been referring to the knife and all JJ did was keep his mouth agape, astounded by the clutch your power had on him. He didn't, no one knows about that day except you, him, and the threatened classmates that did the bullying. Not even the Pogues knew.

He's been hooked since then, fastidious at best— enthralled that you existed at the same time as him. And he wasn't going to just not do anything about it.

Being a pest is what you'd known him best for. Proving your point as he'd leaned strikingly so on the lockers next to yours, blue irises tracing the outline of your figure. He can't fathom that you'd get more enchanting with every glance he steals.

The school day is ending, and rewiring of brains are beginning for the weekend. Hundreds of worn out bodies flood through the school doors, and you are trying to be one of them but someone’s mouth keeps moving.

JJ clears his throat before he speaks, about to aim toward the question he’s asked multiple times over the span of three years and each time it’s just as nerve wracking.

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice chirped, cheery in a way. You became fond of the plentiful pet name, and it drew your attention as it always did.

You haven’t made it obvious to JJ as why you’ve been turning him down repeatedly, constantly sending him off with his head hanging low in defeat. It was ego shattering, he’d admit, it wasn’t something detrimental though. He was committed to persuading you into giving him a chance. Just one, and even if you absolutely despised him after, at least he’d be able to say he got to go on a date with an everlasting presence such as yours.

Your permanent ‘no’s’ have been due to you desiring to keep your independence. Especially with this being senior year, and it coming to a close soon. It’s a known fact that typically everyone goes their separate ways after high school, so where would going on a date fit in that picture? A relationship to you had always been viewed as a parasite interaction, was it actually real? Leading the poor boy on just wasn’t something you could fathom doing— sure, he was more than easy on the eyes, with his sun kissed blonde tresses and his fully plastered tempting smirk … and, that’s not the point … the point is you couldn’t give pieces of yourself away for it to be of no meaning in a month when this is all over.

It would’ve been demeaning.

Astronomically stupid.

His jawline.

Each time he tried the more you fought it, though the way he appears today is just of sheer attraction.

Christ, he's fucking hot.

Thank fuck he's not an inch closer or you swore you might've jumped his bones. You couldn't have given him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Hi JJ."

The way his name leaves off of your tongue he wishes it were possible to frame a voice, engrave it, keep it forever. Yesterday he was almost on the verge of stealing your strawberry flavored chapstick, thinking that if he would've put it on his lips that you would've 'kissed' him. Yeah, he's got it real bad.

"I like those pants, really accentuates what you've got goin' on back there," JJ didn't intend on saying that. He's letting his mouth overload his ass, earning a sheepish gaze from you whilst you dump this week's JJ themed notes into the front compartment of your book bag. Holding contact with your eyes, still makes him feel like today might be the day.

"You like my ass Maybank, should've just said that."

Your voice is monotone, slamming the locker and throwing the bag over your shoulder. You lean mirroring him, engaging in the conversation as of now. Knowing what he's going to ask, as this is an everyday thing. Perhaps, going as friends would be something of consideration, just try it out.

What’s the worst?

Having a extremely stunning boy as a friend?

Just say yes, don’t think twice. Hate yourself for it later— your thoughts consumed you.

He blows air into his cheeks, anxiousness has overcome him tenfold. Hand raking over the tufts of hair at the back his neck, displaying it in obviousness. “Yes I do like your ass, and I have liked that same ass for three years.”

You urge a slight giggle, and he thinks he’s going to melt into nothing on the spot.

“Do something about it then.”

You taunt, aware he’s done everything about it. It’s just quite funny to see the stressed out stare turn into furrowed eyebrows with a slack mouth. Stunned at the sudden aggression, maybe things would be on his side this time. He refuses to question it, thinking he was playing coy alike with you.

“Depends, are you gonna’ break my little heart this time?”

He fakes fainting, whilst grasping at the cotton material of his shirt that covered his heart. Causing a scene as per usual, despite most of the school population gone by now. His brain has turned to mush, the way you’re on your tippy toes for a better look.

“Ask me,” you tilt your head a bit, encouraging him to do so. A smooth movement of your thumb and it’s grazing the skin of his lips, outlining them in perfect harmony. You’d never been this straightforward before, and he can’t fucking get enough of it.

“Let me take you out for dinner tonight, pretty girl. Y’know I’m not givin’ up … so me, you, a Kooky restaurant tonight at seven, yeah? How’s that sound?”

You heart flutters insatiably— you had to hand it to him though, his effort was impeccable and a night with JJ Maybank sounds a bit promising in its own meticulous way.

Let him have it, just this once.

It probably won’t lead to anything, so then looking back on it when the school year is over it will be just another memory, right? You thought, sticking to original reason that nothing out of high school becomes something worthy and then some.

“You’re gonna spend your life savings on one Kook meal?”

“For you, anything.”

Just say yes.

“One date okay?” you shove at his chest playfully, making an b-line toward the large steel doors. Watching you walk away, was sensational he might add. “One date Maybank!”

You reminded again, and still he wants to collapse on the middle of this dirty, shoe printed school floor. He was so giddy, jumping in elation.

“M’goin’ on a date!”

He relishes loudly, echoing through the halls of the school and you shake you head in disbelief as it rings in your ears the second your palm meets with the handle of the exit. JJ’s history teacher is peering around the corner, Mr. Sunn is somewhat proud of the boy he’s taught over his course of high school. Overhearing conversations between him in class, John B, and Pope in class, all they were ever about was you.

“You need to get going JJ,” Mr. Sunn pronounced, as JJ is standing in a now completely empty school. Twirling around on his feet, resembling a child that just got the toy they been begging for.

“She’s goin’ on a date with me Mr. Sunn!”

There’s a jar in JJ’s room at the chateau that’s labeled ‘when she says yes.’ It’s a mason jar, with money stuffed to the brim. Landing his job back at the country club as a waiter months ago, he took twenty dollars out of every check and put it in that sacred jar. And, then he mentally noted that he’d need more than just that if he wanted the night to really be worth while. He needed elegant clothes, and to get the biggest bouquet of roses he could possibly find.

He had plans for the roses— intending on wrapping every last layer in a love confessing sticky note. Because he’d like to think that that’s how this fresh romance is coming to be. He yearned ardently for you to know each and every reason as to why you were the only girl that walked planet earth in his eyes.

He wanted to discover your sweet spots, he craved to know how his lips molded with yours, he desired to know how your small hand would fit in his, and he was ravenously hoping to see your exemplary, pure body pressed against his.

JJ’s fingertips are colliding with an iron and an ironing board. Stood in the middle of John B’s living room, steadily removing every crease from his new, costly shirt— it was simple but effective; an angelic white short sleeve corduroy button up. Not too out of his comfort zone, but different enough for you to be able to tell he tried. Along with black pants that hugged his thighs and let loose around his ankles, and his combat boots— something he couldn’t switch up on.

It’s not JJ if he isn’t wearing those damn boots.

Kie and Pope are grimmacing on the dusty couch, surrounded by opened snacks and different assortments. They tended to pick fun at JJ, for chasing after something that’s wasn’t. But tonight it was.

For, he’s going to have his heavenly vision— that is you, before him and that’s making his body malfunction. To him, it was a privilege, to be breathing the same air as you. You could probably punch him in the gut, and he’d say thank you.

"Do you think she'll like this?" JJ shyly questions, so out of character holding up the freshly ironed shirt that is wrinkle free and now on a hanger. It caught Sarahs eye, who is cuddled into John B's side by the kitchen island. JJ knew it would've been much easier to just take it the dry cleaners, but it simply wasn't in his price range. And he relished in the fact that he earned such clothing, taking every great length to show his everchanging infatuation with you

"I definitely think she will," Sarah sends a reassuring smile his way, and he lowers the shirt to his side, counting down the last few remnants until he has to get ready, following through to pick you up.

"He's so fuckin' pussy-whipped over her, she's ruined him man," John B's sarcastic tone is not going to interrupt JJ's overwhelming exhilaration for tonight.

"Pussy-whipped and proud, she's gonna' be my girl, you'll see."

"You've been saying that for the past three years," Pope chuckles somewhat nudging Kie to laugh at the joke, but it wasn't of humor to her.

"M'taking the twinkie tonight."

With that JJ turns the iron off, shooting all of the Pogues his long middle finger, stepping slyly off into his bedroom, closing the door swiftly behind him. He had previously showered, smelling of saccharine musk but despite that he's having doubts peering into the full-length mirror; unsure of the reflection.

He's pulled away upon hearing the buzzing of his phone; it was you. Even seeing your name in the grey notification bubble sent slight relief to his chest.

Was his hair parted right?

Did he miss a spot shaving?

Was he even worthy of going on a date with you?

Jesus Christ.

He merely hopes to be as presentable as could be, and have you find him simply the slightest bit inviting.

Y/N

I should overdress right, since this is a Kook thing

At least you, weren't backing out at the last second.

JJ

Wear as little as possible :)

Y/N

Don't make me change my mind about this, Maybank.

A miniature film camera is stuffed in JJ's tinted black pants. It's digging into his skin deliciously, taking the pain as he knows the payoff will be wondrous. If he'd be lucky enough to get a picture of you or with you tonight.

Parked in the driveway of your home, from the Cut along with the rest of them. Your home is small and cozy and still JJ admires the way your mother hugs you goodbye, something he hadn't gotten to experience growing up.

However, he gets to experience this tonight.

The Twinkie's cracked windshield wasn't exactly the perfect view, but he is still enamored by the hypnotizing way your lacy dress flows from direct wind. It revealed parts of you he had yet to see, as this wasn't your typical wardrobe; more like a disguise to seem Kook like and fit in at the eatery. He pondered on the idea of you going out and buying it, only to go on a date with him.

Just for him.

The feeling had him scatterbrained.

He really can't comprehend your heaven-sent beauty.

Hair pinned back delicately, still as cutthroat as a double-edged sword. And when the door goes flying open, so does his soul from his body. Hell, he might not even be able to drive to the restaurant he's so fucking weak in the knees.

You must've mistaken JJ for some else, the person before you in the driver's seat is so clean cut. Locks brushed to the side, aligning his part. Chest poking through his button up just a breathtaking view in itself. His bright cheeks are painted an astonishing cherry red, as the pastel shaded sky is just about to set it enhances it even more. His achievement of wanting to look pretty for you has more than worked.

It's cynical to the pair that this agonizingly moderate occasion is here.

Long awaited, and worth every minute,

Just to be here, in this captured moment, together.

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. This is happening. JJ thought, though similar thoughts are rummaging through your mind right now.

You shrugged him off for three years, witnessing this burning lovelorn grin on his face makes you regret wasting so much time. All that time, this beautiful creature could've been yours. Perhaps the odds in that percentage of people that go there seperate ways after high school won't be you and JJ. And maybe, your own independence was overrated.

You were wrong.

Oh so, mistakenly wrong.

"Bab- shit ... can I call you baby ... if that's okay?"

This differentiating pet name was of utter importance to JJ because it's so needy, and it encompasses all of his likened emotions for you in one little word.

"Course, baby."

JJ's shitting himself internally, he didn't know he needed to hear that leave your mouth until now, and he really wishes for you to say it an infinite amount more. All he can do is bore into your gloss lips, wishing to taste them desperately.

Aching for the sensation.

"You look really pretty tonight ... not just tonight though you look pretty all the time. Which explains why m'fuckin' obsessed with you and you're always on my mind. Swear, you're like ... tattooed in my brain and it's-"

You capture his lips with yours, a notion of telling him to shut the hell up, and just be. He was right, they mold together like they were created to enact a sweltering kiss such as this. It's magical to JJ, that he's lingering against your skin, touching your hair, kissing you long enough that he counted it perfectly in his head. A timely kiss, a tradional one, to leave him wanting more.

And he wants more. He wants so much more.

It's all true, if he's doing something as simple as listening to music, he thought about your opinion. If you disliked it, he'd find a way to. Paying attention to details over the years, he's practiced your hobbies, telling himself that he 'felt closer to you'.

He worshiped the fucking ground you walked on.

"You gonna' take me to dinner or what, Maybank?"

"Dinner's cancelled, I need you now, pretty girl."

Guess the food can wait.

[bellamybellamyblake]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[sleepyangelkami]

RESTLESS NIGHTS d.dixon

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2.2K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - for as long as you can remember, you've always suffered with insomnia. sometimes it was manageable, sometimes it wasn't. the only difference was then you didn't have daryl dixon to help you, now you did.

 ☆ WARNINGS - sleep deprivation, insomnia, mention of sleeping (lack of), crying, reference to bad childhood, mentions of eating/food, having no appetite, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

sleep never came easy to you.

you remembered being young, standing outside your mothers bedroom door and crying. fat tears would roll down your cheeks as you explained how your eyes simply couldn't will themselves closed anymore and that it was damn near impossible for you to sleep.

she'd always shone you back right to that little bedroom of yours. the walls would enclose on you and yet your eyes would shut, tiredness seeping over you.

yet sleep would never come.

a lot of time has passed since you were a child crying at your mothers door, begging for some kind of an out to this awful insomnia.

before the fall hit, you were a polite young lady that wore summer dresses and skirts all year 'round. you'd walk in through the white door, bell ringing as you entered your doctor's. he'd give you the capsuled tablets that helped you sleep. now, you couldn't even remember what they'd been called.

after the fall, you'd been stocked up, a reasonable amount. though not after long, the name had scratched off, sticker almost gone from the bottle completely. along the way, you met your group, your people, your family. they were more your family than your mother ever had been.

when you and your group found the prison, you deemed that you liked it there.

it had walls, safety, food, anything you ever could have asked for. but soon enough, your medication ran out and the sleepless nights haunted you again.

like today.

carol had made this sort of soup for lunch. you were sat at one of the tables, a spoon in your hand as you stirred it inside the bowl, zoning out. you wondered if it had gone cold by how long you'd been stirring it for. all you knew was that you were too tired to so much as move your arm.

unbeknownst to you, you'd been being watched. daryl dixon had taken a liking to you the moment he'd laid eyes on you. you pranced around with big smiles and happy rosey cheeks with your little dresses and skirts. you were so bubbly and happy, even when the entire world ended. most would think that a person like daryl would find it annoying, rather irritating. but in fact, he was attracted to it the moment he'd seen it. you were like a ray of sunshine, a beaming rainbow. whenever he was around you, he was smiling or laughing. rick almost fell off his horse when he heard daryl laugh for the first time, it was next to you, of course.

but lately, things hadn't been right.

he'd noticed the very first day you woke up with messier than usual hair, a hand running through it with an almost permanent pout etched to your lips, under eyes looking a little dark.

you'd only gotten worse since then.

the sound of a bowl hitting against the table brought you back to life. your doe eyes widened a little as you sat up a little straighter, big eyes gleaming at the man who took a seat at the table you were sitting at, right across from you. "hi, daryl." almost swooning at the mere sight of him.

"hey, pretty girl." yeah, definitely swooning. "wh's up with you? you've been stirrin' the damn soup cold."

you glanced down to your bowl of soup that you'd barely touched. "not hungry." you stated, pushing the bowl out in front of you. you sighed with pouty lips as you laid your chin on your hand.

lack of sleep tended to do that to you. one of two things would happen. one, you'd be craving something like crazy, whatever food it would be from cheese to fruit. or two, the lesser kind one, you'd lose your appetite almost completely. now was the lesser kind one. this one tended to happen when you didn't sleep for longer periods of time.

daryl's eyes were so full of concern and worry. "somethin' wrong?" not waiting to begin having his own soup, carol made a mean soup.

"nope." popping the 'p' sound because really, there wasn't anything wrong, at least nothing serious enough to tell anyone else, you thought. "just tired." tired was an understatement, your whole body was exhausted.

"yeah, i get that." nodding along and pursing his lips. though this behaviour had been going on quite a while. he never wanted to push you, but there were times where he felt like he had to do something. "you'd tell me if there was something wrong though, right?"

you hummed, eyes tracing his own. you were awfully tired and with electric blue eyes like his own, it was sort of hard not to get caught staring into them, whether you were tired or not. "'m just tired." you assured.

though the man didn't look as though he believed you. his eyes traced your own, as though they were trying to figure out what else was wrong.

finally, he sighed, knowing that you weren't going to tell him anything, not now. "alright, sweet girl." watching your cheeks go flush. "you know where to find me if you need me."

you nodded your head, rosy cheeks and pink lips in a smile. "thanks, daryl."

days passed awful slow when you were tired.

thankfully, you'd taken no naps throughout the day so you assumed that by the time night fell, you'd be tired enough to sleep your soul away.

but when the dark sky loomed over the prison, you ready in your cell for sleep to envelope you... you were met with sheer nothingness.

you huffed, closing your eyes and twisting your body.

you thought that if you kept trying, sleep would eventually come to you. you'd tried all the home remedies you could, you tried medication, though that was no longer an option. now, you had hardly any options. the only one that you could think of was shutting your eyes and praying for sleep.

but you knew a long time ago that there was no god in a world like your own.

you turned around for what felt like the hundredth time. even with your eyes strewn closed, a pout still rested on your lips and your brows were knit together closely.

you wondered if anyone else in the prison was awake.

then your mind travelled back to daryl dixon. he looked at you so full of concern and when he'd offered help, he meant it. you knew daryl the best out of anyone and you knew that daryl doesn't say things he doesn't mean. he was the type of man to stay quiet and if he did speak, it was only truth. that was what many people admired about him.

you hardly registered your sock covered feet on the cold concrete ground of the prison. sleepiness was holding so close to you that you hardly registered anything. you didn’t remember your feet guiding your body, turning the corner to reveal the next hallway. and you definitely didn’t recall stepping into daryl dixon’s cell, eyes slightly widening in the dark as you peered around, looking for him.

alas, his cell was empty.

you almost cursed yourself, thinking it was beyond stupid for you to come here in the first place. perhaps you should have just stayed in your cell and waited the night out. you could do one more night without sleep, right? 

but before you could turn around, you heard the creak of the cell door. you whipped around to see daryl standing there, looking dishevelled as ever. “what’re you doin’ here, angel?” when you didn’t respond, he found his body moving closer to yours. “shouldn’t you be sleepin’?” 

and maybe that was what set you off.

“i can’t.” but you didn’t speak the words with your usual joyish speech, where every word was elongated and practically cheered from your mouth. your voice was all croaky as it broke, like a child, waiting for your mother to open her bedroom door and let you in.

“hey, hey.” his hands were already stretching out, finding your face in the darkness. his fingers brushed against your cheeks, softening the reddened skin. “‘s okay, what’re you cryin’ for?” though his voice was filled with nothing but comfort, the way it softened to fit your own. 

daryl dixon truly was one in a million.

you shrugged your shoulders, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, breaking the dam and sliding down your cheeks embarrassingly so. “i can’t sleep.” voice cracking again, but you didn’t stop there. “i’ve tried everything ‘n i can’t do it.” your head shaking, nose becoming red.

daryl wasn’t exactly new to insomnia. he’d felt it times on his own, usually after something drastic had happened or if something was yet to happen. like when carol’s daughter, sophia had been missing. he remembered not being able to sleep for weeks on end. he remembered glancing into the mirror, his eyes sunken and under eyes practically purple. come to think of it, that was exactly how you’d looked earlier.

he cursed himself for not realising sooner. 

“‘s okay, baby, everything’s okay.” he heard your pathetic little sobs, practically whimpering as he took you into his arms. his large hand found the back of your head, steadying it by his chest as you cried, tears running down your cheeks as your own chest practically heaved. 

you’d been so desperate for sleep that you hadn’t realised you’d been on the brink of tears. now that you were sobbing into the man’s chest, you found it in yourself to be a little embarrassed. but daryl wasn’t the type of person to let you feel that embarrassment. he merely cooed and shushed you, hand gently massaging the crown of your head. 

“‘m sorry.” voice like fragile glass as you pulled away from him. “‘n now ‘m keeping you awake ‘n i―”

“hey,” catching your attention. even in the dead of night, with darkness consuming the room whole, you were still able to make out his rough features, and he could still trace your delicate ones. “you ain’ ever gotta say sorry to me, alright?” you nodded your head, eyes still full of watery liquid and lips puffy and red. “now c’mon, we’re gonna figure this out together.” 

you could vaguely make out his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards his bed that was draped in many more blankets than your own. 

you’d never realised just how comfortable daryl’s bed was, even through the many times you’d practically hopped into his cell, jumping on the bed excitedly to tell him some form of news that you’d heard, whether it was a piece of gossip from carol or something serious from rick, daryl had always been all ears.

it was very different to the state you were in now.

you still found yourself sniffling as daryl tucked the sheets over your body. the sheets were different than yours. usually, you hated feeling too many sheets on you, finding yourself feeling awfully trapped but when he was tucking you in so delicately, you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.

then you felt his arm gently plop over your middle, holding your back against his front.

gently, your two hands pushed themselves forward, grasping his much larger one. you fumbled with his fingers, pulling one in, sticking one out. even in the dark when you couldn’t so much as make out the shapes, you still found it sort of lulling.

the feeling of his breath hitting the back of your neck, the warmth of his body flowing into your own. you found your eyes gently shutting.

you wondered had it been this easy all along. If all you’d ever needed as just someone else. you didn’t know but deep down you knew. perhaps that was why you’d waited at your mothers door as a child, crying and begging for her to just open it and let you in while she’d shone you away, annoyed with your antics, wondering why she couldn’t get a normal child. and maybe that was why your feet unconsciously began walking towards daryl’s cell, because even your body knew that all you needed as someone to help you, someone to guide the way.

and daryl was more than happy to give you that.

for the first time in a long time, you found yourself almost succumbing to sleep. 

it was almost scary. you wondered if your eyes would force themselves open or your mind would force yourself awake. your entire body feared that you’d blink and wake up in your own cell, had this all just been in your imagination due to your lack of sleep.

the mere thought made a shaky breath fall from your pretty lips.

and daryl was more than prepared to pull you closer towards him, his face practically in your hair. his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, hand finding your fingers and interlocking them before his arm stretched out around your body, pulling you as close as humanly possible. “not goin’ anywhere.” he mumbled, as though he were able to read your mind.

he spoke again but the words faded out as your tired mind finally put itself to rest.

perhaps you didn’t just need someone else. perhaps you just needed him.

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

[hellenhighwater]

You seem to have a fascinating array of different skills. If you don't mind me asking, how did you learn to build so many different things? I couldn't even begin to figure out what skills I'd need to learn as a prerequisite to building an aviary or a wizard tower, but damn if I don't want to know now.

A lot of it is just trial and error, and research, and just going 'fuckit I'm gonna give it a go.'

I do have surprisingly broadly trained formal skill set--stage carpentry, electrical work, audio and lighting and rigging from my tech days, odd bits of floral arrangement and staging from event planning, woodworking and sculpting and painting and bookmaking and textiles and printing from my art school days, and all the various and sundry that go into BFA in graphic design, since I double majored. And law school significantly bolstered my research and analysis skills, which is handy in odd ways.

But mostly--I find whatever reference materials I can, and ask someone who has expertise if I'm able, and I just try things. Often I make mistakes. Rarely do I make mistakes that I cannot recover from, and every time I learn something important from it.

The wizard tower was going to be built around a spiral staircase, and I was going to have to learn how to pour concrete slabs in order to make it work. But alas...

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Older

Inspired by Older by Isabel LaRosa

Cm Punk X fem reader Word Count: 1300

Summary: Cm Punk was always jealous of the relationship between Y/n and Wardlow, he never understood their relationship. Sure he and Y/n had an 18-year age gap but he knew he would treat her so much better. When Wardlow cheats Punk knows now is his only chance to get with Y/n. “I can be your new Daddy” 

MAIN MASTERLIST CM PUNK Masterlist

Die For You (Pt 2) Obsessed (Part 3)

I knew it was wrong, everything about this was wrong. Y/n was young, way younger than I, 18 years to be exact but I couldn't help the feelings I had for her. I was jealous of the guys that spoke to her, they were head over heels in love with her and I couldn't blame them, she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever laid my eyes on. She was delicate like a flower, yet wrapped in barbed wire. She had a sensitive soul yet she hid it from the world, building walls around her years ago. I watched as the blond girl ran past me with tears in her eyes and I knew something was wrong. I walked to catering and noticed Wardlow trying to run after her. 

“What the fuck did you do?” I yelled walking up to the large man, stopping him in his tracks 

“It’s none of your damn business Punk” He spat, shoving me out of the way. Without realizing it I went to swing at the man when I felt someone grab me from behind. 

“Woah there big guy, he’s not worth it” I turned to find Cash and Dax, both having concerned looks on their faces. 

“What’s going on?” I asked the two men in front of me

“He cheated on her” Dax replied 

“What a jerk!-” I yelled

“Okay man, I love you but you are causing a scene” Cash interrupted me “Let’s talk somewhere else” I looked to see everyone looking at the three of us like we were madmen. 

We walked down a few halls to the private locker rooms and passed Wardlow pounding on Y/n’s door. “Y/n, I’m sorry, okay. Open the door” I gave him a nasty look before heading into my locker room. 

“Okay, what really happened?” I asked Cash and Dax, closing the door behind us

“Do you remember how she was upset after he had that fit at Revolution?” Cash said 

“No-” 

“Oh that’s right you weren't there” I gave him a nasty look. “My bad, so anyways he lost the TNT title, blew a fit and left right before Y/n won the title”

“What an asshole” I muttered under my breath

“So apparently when he left, he got with some groupie. Fucked up right, worst part is after she finally forgave him and everything because he was literally begging on his hands and knees for her to take him back he kept sleeping with randos in each town we went to” 

I said nothing, I just sat in shock, trying to comprehend what I just heard. I never understood the relationship between the two of them, she was too good to be with someone like him. Their relationship always seemed weird, like something was always off, but I could never place it. I was lost in my thoughts when I was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

Cash and Dax exchanged a confused look before opening the door, revealing a quite angry Wardlow. “What the fuck do you want?!” I asked the man who now stood in front of me. 

Sure the four of us were friends but for some reason I never quite liked Wardlow. I was always civil with him but maybe it was my jealousy that made me secretly despise him. 

“Can you get her to open up?” He asked, referring to Y/n who had understandably locked herself in her private locker room. “Why should we help you?” Cash asked, “Your just going to cheat on her again” I spat “You have no idea what you are talking about Punk” Wardlow spat back “This is none of your business” “Well it sure seems like my business if you are out here asking for our help” “Tell us why we should help you?” Cash asked, not buying a thing coming out of wardlows mouth. “She’s mentally unstable, she is literally crazy. I’m scared she is going hurt herself in there” I could tell his words were sincere, however, I did not buy the fact that Y/n was mentally insatiable. Sure her whole gimmick was being a hardcore Barbie but I knew deep down she wasn’t really crazy, or was she? 

We agreed not to help Wardlow but to help get inside Y/n’s locker room. “You two stay with him, I will check on her,” I told Cash and Dax, not trusting Wardlow within a square inch of Y/n. 

I carefully knocked on Y/n’s door, waiting for a response. “Go Away!” She yelled through the door “It’s just me” “What do you want Punk? I’m not talking to him” “This has nothing to do with Wardlow, I just wanted to see if you are alright. I saw what happened.” Y/n opened the door and let me inside. “So everyone saw,” she said as the tears began to reform in her eyes. “Don’t worry about them” I told her sincerely, joining her on the small couch which sat in the middle of the locker room. “So what happened love?” “I don’t wanna talk about it” I know I shouldn’t be asking such an invasive question but I just had to know “What do you see in him?” “What?” “Wardlow? What do you see in him? He is a big idiot with big muscles and probably a big dick” Y/n laughed at my comments, which made me happy to see her smile. “So you’re only interested in his dick?” I asked playfully “No” “Then what is it?!” “I dunno, he made me feel safe. I know that sounds stupid but it’s true. He’s huge, he kept all the creeps away, and the sex was a nice bonus” I mean it made sense. When they were first an item I noticed how protective he was of her, I wonder what happened. “I could take better care of you. I know I’m not as tall as him or as muscular but the difference between the two of us is that Wardlow is a boy and I am a man. I bet I could make you feel just as good as he did. I would do anything and everything for you.” Y/n said nothing, I knew she was shocked at my words. I knew I was better for her, I would spoil her with expensive gifts, and praise her every day. I knew she was into older guys, she and Wardlow had an eight-year age gap, the only thing the two of us would have was eighteen years. 

“I mean it,” I told Y/n softly as I carefully lifted her chin so she could look at me. “I will give you the world. You will never have to worry about a single thing. I know you Y/n, you act all tough, you live for violence, love the taste of copper on your tongue. Fuck, I’ve seen your matches the title of ‘The Queen of Hardcore’ serves you well but I know that’s an act to hide who you really are. All you want is to be cared for. You like being with older men, the way they protect you, the way they love you better, the way they spoil you. You kill yourself in that ring to have someone like me put you back together, hold you close when you cry, love you to death. Tell me when I’m telling lies” I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was right 

“Forget about Wardlow, I can be your new daddy” 

[gretagerwigsmuse]

rocketman: part ii - from the back of the cab

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw finally returns stateside for just about the best damn homecoming he's ever had. it's been three months of countless emails and facetime calls between the two of you, but what awaits you both now that bradley's back? and what does it mean for your relationship going forward? [read part i here]

OR a homecoming 159 emails in the making

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 10k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, suggestive dialogue, and suggestive content. a lot of the italic words are direct references to the emails in part i or direct quotes from the rocket man by ray bradbury (read at your own risk because if you picture bradley as the rocket man, you'll cry). the next part will pick up right where this one leaves off and hopefully won't take too long to get out!

from the back of the cab to the airport // i am happy you and i got this hour

Having multiple people, let alone multiple people who loved him more than anything in the world, waiting for him when he got home from a deployment, no matter how brief or long, was definitely a newer experience for Bradley. There was almost a giddiness about him as he said his goodbyes to Bob and Payback and the other pilots he’d flown with from Lemoore. He couldn’t wait to see you in twenty seconds after it’d felt like he’d been gone for twenty years. 

The countless (actually one-hundred and fifty-nine - he’d counted) emails between the two of you had been his saving grace these last three months. You’d emailed him almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day, much to the jealousy of his colleagues. He’d become addicted to them almost. 

How did your cooking class go? What was your day like at work? Yes, he would love to go on a trip to Mexico. No, your mom is an absolute idiot. How did you touch yourself at night? Were you being a good girl for him?

And in twenty seconds he’d have the real thing. He’d have you in his arms, hugging him, kissing him, talking a mile a minute about any and everything under the sun. 

(He knew Maverick would be there, too. He wasn’t being flippant about it or anything - all Bradley had wanted for the last thirteen years was for Maverick to be there when he got home. Last year, when he’d gotten back from three months out near Guam, he’d unabashedly cried from behind his sunglasses when he saw Maverick, Penny, and Amelia waiting for him. Amelia had even made a sign for him with terrible puns and lots of glitter. They’d had Bradley over for dinner - a family dinner - and he had felt on top of the world. Until he’d had to go back to his brand-new, empty house. Bitter with the sweet, he supposed.)

Off to his right, Bradley could see Bob and Callie hugging, and Reuben fussing over his wife’s noticeable baby bump. He smiled at the sight and the thought that he wouldn’t want to leave you while you were pregnant briefly floated through his mind. 

And then, like he had conjured you up, there you were. You hadn’t seen him yet. But Bradley could see you as you craned your neck and stretched on your tiptoes, bobbing and weaving and stretching to try and find him in the crush.

He'd known you were taking a half day to pick him up and you looked so soft and lovely in your off-duty clothes - a simple pair of cropped jeans and a pale blue oxford that he'd later realize was his. Pale blue in a sea of khaki with your sunglasses perched on the top of your head as the sun still beamed strongly onto the asphalt. 

Like something out of a movie, you turned your head and locked eyes with him. The two of you couldn't have been more than thirty feet apart and it was like everyone and everything around you had stopped - just for a moment. A blip in time. And then a smile crept across your face and your eyes lit up and the world started again.

“Bradley!”

With nary a glance back at Maverick, who Bradley had just realized was standing next to you, you ran towards Bradley and into his arms with so much force that he staggered backwards. His seabag made a solid thud on the ground as he wrapped his arms around you - one around your waist and another around the back of your neck. You burrowed your face in his neck and he couldn't resist holding you tighter, lifting you slightly so that the tips of your shoes kissed the asphalt. 

This - this is what he had been missing for the last three months. Home. Home. Home. Bradley was home. With you. And holding you. 

"Hey, kid." You tightened your hold on him at the moniker. "You miss me?"

“More than anything.” Not even a second after he put you down, your hands were running across his cheeks and neck. "Are you alright? Do you need anything? I have snacks in the car if you're hungry or -"

He cut you off with a kiss, your first kiss in three months. Thirteen weeks. Ninety-one days. Two thousand one hundred ninety-one hours. 

Bradley knew he would have a lot more of these homecomings - had even had some with you already. But he would never forget this one - his favorite homecoming. Two weeks, ten days, three days; it was nothing. Nothing compared to being in your arms again after three months apart. Nothing compared to kissing you again after three months. 

There was so much genuine love and longing in you - in him - that Bradley already dreaded when he’d leave you again. Because there would always be another time. 

At least until he broke the cycle. 

(Don’t ever be a rocket man. Promise me you won’t be like me.) 

But for now you were safe in his arms, feeling and smelling and sounding like home and god - for now that was enough. 

Your voice was similarly muffled. “Oh, bubs. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

“And I can’t believe you’re in front of me right now.” 

He wanted to touch you everywhere. Your cheeks, your hair, your shoulders, your legs, your breasts. Everywhere. There was no way he could ever get enough of you. 

You tilted your head up and smiled at him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Let’s go home.” The smile that lit up your face could guide Bradley home on even his darkest days. 

Before setting off, he gave you another kiss, this one just as sweet, and the two of you started making your way to the gate and by the other families milling around. It was a bit awkward balancing his arm around your shoulder with his seabag, but it was all worth it to have you tucked into his side again. You were so soft and warm and smelled so pretty. He couldn’t get over it. Everything about you felt safe and precious. 

“I can’t wait for you to see the house! I have almost everything situated, just a couple seasonal clothes and coats at my old place. I thought maybe we could go after work on Tuesday - unless you’re in a debrief or something or have other plans?”

Bradley squeezed you closer to his side. “Nah, I should be done by Monday afternoon, so Tuesday’s perfect.”

You nuzzled your face against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re home.” And then softer still, “I’m gonna keep saying it because it still doesn’t feel real.”

“Well,” Bradley steered you both away from the crush, “I’ll try my hardest to make it feel real for you later.” 

And, God, it went straight to his cock, the way you peered up at him, eyes slightly widened. You even bit your lip, cheeky thing. His seabag slipped from his grasp and he wound both arms around your waist pulling you close to him again. All he wanted to do was play out one of those cheeky little emails of ours in excruciating detail. With his girl. 

His wonderful girl. His sweet girl. His smart girl. His, his, his, his -

It was definitely verging on improper, the way he was kissing you now. But Bradley didn’t care. Not when you felt and smelled and tasted so fucking good -

“- Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw!” 

You whined against Bradley’s lips when he pulled away. It felt like he’d just gotten caught necking his girlfriend behind the bleachers by his father - and well…

Bradley cleared his throat and hoped his cheeks weren’t too red. “Captain Mitchell…”

They exchanged salutes, Maverick’s face all serious until Bradley could see him fighting a smile. There was a beat and then Bradley wrapped his arms around Mav in a tight hug. 

“Good to see you, kiddo.” 

“You too, Mav.” 

He let Bradley go to look him over much like you had. It warmed his heart to be fussed over by his dad. To have the two most important people in his life be there to pick him up and bring him home.

“Come on you two, ice cream? My treat?”

You gasped. “Now Captain Mitchell, you wouldn’t be suggesting we spoil Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw’s dinner with ice cream, would you?”

Bradley hadn’t had ice cream in weeks. And a vanilla soft serve with chocolate jimmies sounded like absolute heaven right now. But as much as he wanted to have ice cream with you and Maverick like he was celebrating a little league baseball win, Bradley wanted to go home with you even more. He would see Mav during the week while you were at the office. 

Right now, he just wanted to go home with his girl.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna head home. But I’ll take a raincheck for Monday?”

Mav nodded. “Sounds good to me, I’ll bring the car round then?”

“Sounds good, thanks!” you chirped.

Wait, what? Before Bradley could even question him, Maverick was off towards the parking lot - leaving you in his direct line of fire. 

Which, to be fair, you did look contrite. “Pete thought it would be easier if he drove, especially with all the people around…”

And was Bradley really going to be mad at Maverick for caring too much? For wanting to spend time with his kid after he got home from a three month deployment? No. Not even at the expense of a twenty minute car ride home alone with you. 

“I should’ve told you earlier he was driving, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You both started making your way to the gate again. “Probably gave him an excuse to take the rest of the afternoon off, too.”

You giggled. “I asked if he wanted to get lunch beforehand, but he said he was wrapping something up.”

Bradley’s stride momentarily faltered. Right, he forgot about that - your little lunch dates with Maverick. Was it a little annoying and did it make him irrationally jealous? Sure. But it was also oddly sweet. There were a lot worse things than having your girlfriend genuinely like hanging out with your dad. Plus, Bradley’s didn’t think you really knew you had a crush on him.

“I’m sure you two had plenty of time to catch up while I was gone, but now you’re all mine, kid.”

You wrapped your hands around his upper arm and gave it a squeeze. With a few nods at his fellow aviators and other assorted crew members, you two made it through the gate and to the parking lot where Maverick was waiting in his 1962 Ferrari 250 GTE. 

Otherwise known both as the smallest car in the world and Bradley’s inheritance. 

The car was in really good shape and drove like a dream. But it was very much not designed for a 6’1” naval aviator - especially when one was relegated to the back seat. Because Bradley didn’t want you to be in the back seat alone and you had refused to sit in the front. 

So, now his knees were up to his shoulders and you two were separated by an armrest because the damn Italians hated fun and had foregone a bench seat. 

Though this did not stop you from laying a cheeky hand on his knee, inching it higher and higher up his thigh as you crossed the Coronado Bridge. You glanced over at Bradley and winked, stopping yourself from getting higher by holding his hand instead. 

It was never a long drive back to his - your house, but today it seemed to fly by ever faster. Maverick was unusually chatty in the front seat, asking about your upcoming trip and if you needed a ride to the airport on Thursday morning, while also telling Bradley about the newly renovated ready room on base. 

The chatter petered off into the background as Bradley suddenly zeroed in on the song playing on the radio - Everlasting Love. He found himself mouthing the lyrics. 

Need you by my side, girl you’ll be my bride 

You’ll never be denied everlasting love 

That was you. That was you and him. Everlasting love. 

He squeezed your hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. And while you and Maverick chatted and told Bradley some of the more lighter happenings of the last three months - mainly the raccoon garage saga - he was counting down the minutes till it was just you and him. Peace and quiet with his everlasting love.

Which was really everything he could ever want. 

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

After a long shower with all his favorite products and even some new ones you had brought over, Bradley made his way downstairs and was greeted with the unfairly adorable sight of you chopping potatoes at the kitchen island. There was music playing, candles lit, and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. He smiled, seeing you wearing the apron he’d picked out for you all those months ago and was relieved to see that it looked broken in from wear. Because, to be honest, it was nearly impossible to pick out clothes for you.

Originally, Bradley had wanted to get you some frilly old thing, dainty and cute and proper if only to feed some long repressed kink of his. But the denim apron was practical and you would get use out of it for plenty more years to come. 

And he could always get you another one for special occasions. Because he had had a lot of time to think about all those special occasions with you while he was away…

A beautiful smile lit up your face as you saw him pad down the stairs. “My, my, don't you look cozy?”

Once his socked-feet were firmly on the hardwood floor, Bradley spun on his heels showing off his comfy joggers and plain, grey t-shirt. “Do I pass muster?” He pressed a kiss to the cheek you tilted up for him. 

“I’ll think you’ll do, bubs.” He pulled you in for a hug from behind. “Mmmmm, you smell so good.”

He swayed you back and forth in his arms. “I should, I used all your shampoo…” 

“Cheeky boy.” You craned your neck and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “You want a drink while I make dinner? You can lay on the couch for a bit if you want? You must be exhausted.”

“Oh?” He hadn’t even considered going into the living room, not when you were in the kitchen. “Uhhh, sure, yeah. I’ll take a drink.”

You smiled and pulled back from him. “Old fashioned?” He nodded. You got out a rocks glass from the cabinet and went over to the bar cart in the dining room for the whiskey and bitters. “I got those fancy bitters at that liquor store you like.”

“Did you take care of everything?” He said it to hide his own reddened cheeks, but you appeared equally as bashful.

“Tried too.”

“You gonna have one, too?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, but we’re also having wine with dinner, so just one for now - here you go. Got to start you off slow, Bradshaw.” You slid the glass over to him and held your own out to toast. “To your long awaited homecoming.”

Your eyes locked over the rim of your glasses and you had both barely set them back down on the table before Bradley pressed a kiss to your lips. You tasted like sugar and whiskey and felt like home. 

“Missed you, kid.”

“Missed you, too, rocketman. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re home.” You kissed him again. “Now, you gotta let me finish cooking. The table’s already set, so there’s nothing for you to do, but relax.”

“Fine, fine,” he heaved out a great sigh, “banishing me already and I’ve only been home for a few hours, I see how it is - owww!” You smacked his ass with a dishtowel. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

The living room looked nearly identical to how it had when Bradley had left in December - minus the Christmas tree, of course - but there were still little touches of you everywhere. The pillows were arranged far nicer than Bradley had ever been able to manage and there were three new candles of differing heights on the coffee table. Plus, the cream colored cashmere blanket from your apartment that he always stole was artfully strewn across the back of one of the leather sofas. 

With one glance back towards you in the kitchen - you were completely focused on some Russet potatoes - Bradley flopped onto the couch and tucked himself under the blanket. It was warm and cozy and so comfortable under there in his couch clothes in the house you two shared. Quiet, too, even with some Van Morrison playing from the kitchen. It was the kind of quiet that could lull Bradley to a peaceful sleep, especially after having been ensconced in constant noise for the last three months.

And he tried for half an hour - he really did. He thought of how excited you were to show him the perfectly organized closet and how you’d put all the little bits and bobs you’d gotten for him over the last three months in the guest room for him to look over at his leisure and how he’d corrected you on where the mail should go. 

It was just - it was too quiet and too perfect and too comfy and he just wanted to be with you. Even if it meant sitting on one of the uncomfortable kitchen barstools. 

You shook your head, but smiled as he approached. “You don’t have to watch me, you must be exhausted?”

Bradley shrugged. “Just wanna be near you, kid.” Were you nervous about cooking? Was that why you didn’t want him in the kitchen with you? He backtracked. “If that’s alright?”

You bit your lip and gestured for Bradley to sit at the island in front of you. There were a couple mise en place bowls laying around, but you quickly made room for Bradley and his drink. 

“It’s like a taping of the Barefoot Contessa.”

You chuckled. “Let’s just hope the food’s as good as Ina’s.”

“Walk me through it.”

With a teasing smile on your face, you went back to mincing the garlic - with a glowing comment from Bradley on your newly acquired knife skills - and he just sat there, chin propped up on his hand watching you explain the next couple steps. You even got a yes, chef out of him when you asked him to turn the music down. The roasted potatoes smelled absolutely divine cooking in the oven and you had just finished snipping the ends off the asparagus when your demeanor suddenly changed. You fiddled with your apron tie and abruptly turned around to face him, looking almost surprised by the action, though you wouldn’t exactly look him in the eye.

“Actually, now that you’re here - or here at the table,” you huffed out a laugh, “there’s something I want to talk to you about that happened while you were gone - no, that’s not - something I was thinking about while you were gone?”

You put the burner down on the sauce pan, leaving the minced garlic to simmer before you were facing Bradley yet again. You looked nervous, unsure of yourself, as you played with the bracelet he had gotten you for Christmas. Had something happened while he was gone that you hadn’t told him about? Were you sick? Hurt? Was there someone - no, no, you’d never.

Bradley leaned back in his chair and hoped he sounded surer than he felt. “Sure, uhh, yeah, go ahead.”

“It actually has to do with some emails I sent you - last week, in particular. One of them is actually that email.” You looked down at the granite countertop as Bradley tried to think of which email would constitute italics. “But I also want to talk about one of the other emails, when I messaged you about that dream I had and kind of how that all falls into everything that we’ve been going through and probably will be going through -”

“- Because this is it,” he interrupted. Because you and I are it.

“Yeah. Because this is it,” you returned, equally as resolute. “So…”

Bradley sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. “Which one do you want to talk about first?”

You fiddled with your apron bow. “Maybe the one from the thirteenth?”

“Which one was that?”

Now you definitely were avoiding looking at him. Your words came out slowly, like you dreaded saying them and Bradley had a sudden inkling that he knew exactly which email you were referencing. 

“The one about me needing you. Needing you to take care of me,” you whispered the last part.

He could feel his cheeks coloring. “Oh. Right, yeah.” 

Bradley had never received an email like that before. Had never even received a text like that before. It was just so raw and almost animalistic the way your need for him jumped off the page.

nothing soothes the ache inside me like you do. need you to call me good girl, pretty girl, sweet girl, anything as long as it’s yours.

“I shouldn’t have sent that one to you - especially since if I could’ve waited five more days, none of this would’ve happened. It’s just - I needed you so badly and wanted you - ugh, no! No, I shouldn’t have sent you that email. It wasn’t proper, it was embarrassing for you and me and I was just missing you so much and in such a different way that I’ve never experienced before when you’d been gone and - I couldn’t bear not telling you for another moment. Because no one was there to tell me what to do or -”

You threw your hands out and put them on the top of your head. God, it looked like you were about to cry. And it broke Bradley’s heart. He pushed his barstool back from the island and padded over towards you. 

“Come ‘ere, kid.” 

You let out a sigh and your eyes were swimming with tears as you fell into Bradley’s arms. You felt small in his arms - not necessarily in the physical sense, but like you were folding in on yourself. He needed to take care of you - take you, take you, take you - 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, whenever you want, it’s fine.” Bradley pressed a kiss to your forehead and squeezed you tighter. You held on to him tightly, which muffled your next words. 

“I’ve never had someone who I need in that way. And it’s not even necessarily about the sex, itself. I could go months without having sex - had before I met you. It was never something I really needed to get by, I guess? I could take care of it on my own. 

“But then - then I met you and you just? You make me need you - make me crave you, you tell me what to do, make me want to please you. And then you just leave for three months and I have to learn how to do all that on my own and it was just so hard? It felt like I dropped? Like everything caught up to me after all those months and weeks and I felt scared and lonely and needy and desperate for you and for you to tell me I’m a good girl and take care of me and be my d - be dominant with me.”

Your breathing quickened as you talked and Bradley felt you getting more worked up. He rubbed his hands across your back, hoping it would soothe the ache inside of you, if only a little bit. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, kid.”

i need you i need you i need you i need you bradley bradley bradley bradley

You sniffled. “I guess I just didn’t think - I mean, I knew other people would see it - and I did think that was kind of hot, especially when you called me out for it - it was only after, when I’d realized what I’d done that I saw how embarrassing it was for you. 

“Like Joe from Comms being like hey, did you know Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw’s girlfriend is a horny, pathetic, subby mess for him? You gotta see it, man. She couldn’t even make it three months without getting fucked. He can’t even take care of his g -”

“- Stop it.” Bradley grabbed your chin. “You know that’s not true.” 

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But I was already feeling shitty about my mom and being so busy at work and how I loo -” you broke off and Bradley desperately wanted you to finish the thought. “I guess it all caught up to me.”

“But I wrote back. I wrote back and told you everything I wanted you to hear and what you needed to hear. And god, I’d do it again, I’d do it in a heartbeat if it brought you comfort and I probably should’ve done it sooner.” 

nothing stretches me out like you do, nothing makes me feel as small as you do, nothing makes me flush like the sound of your voice against my neck as i come, nothing soothes the ache inside me like you do

You squeezed your arms around his stomach and breathed him in. God, he loved you so much, he’d say anything and do anything to make you realize that. 

“I needed it, what you wrote me, and I needed to tell you what I said, but I should’ve waited so, I’m sorry, can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, kid. You message me when you need me, no matter how.” He kissed your temple. “I know we’ve never really talked about how that part of our relationship would work while I was gone, so maybe next time we just make a plan?”

You nodded. “I’d like that. I know it’s not like that all the time between us, so I didn’t even think of it before you left.”

“I hadn’t either,” he confessed.

Long distance d/s relationship reddit would be Bradley’s best friend over the next few days. Neither of you would have to go through that again, not if he had something to say about it. The whole idea of not being allowed to use anything besides your fingers to masturbate was a good start, but it was just that - a start. Because like you’d said, you two weren’t in that dynamic all the time, but you both needed it. It was new for both of you. You’d just have to come up with a list together. 

But just to give you a little encouragement in the meantime…

“And let’s not forget…” You peered up at him. “You did tell me you read my email seven times…”

You giggled and shoved his shoulder. “Might’ve been an understatement.”

“Oh?”

“I think I came three times that first night alone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and played with the ends of his hair. “‘Kept picturing you in your bunk writing it while fisting your cock. And then I was laying next to you in your bunk - and it had to be a secret. I had to keep quiet - just like at Thanksgiving - and not make a peep.”

“But you don’t like to be quiet…” 

He crowded you against the island and rolled his hips against yours. The thin fabric of his joggers did little to hide how much he desired you, especially after the conversation you’d just had. 

His subby little girlfriend. God, he couldn’t wait to take you apart bit by bit later. 

Now say thank you Bradley. Good girl. 

Though, that’s not to say that you couldn’t partake in a little preview now. Bradley’s lips crashed against yours, caught up in the furor and headiness of it all, and your body melted against his. Three months later and you still responded so well to him. Your breathy little sighs as he bit your lip and pressed countless kisses along your jawline and neck sounded like heaven. You smelled so sweet, tasted so sweet, felt so sweet - he kissed you again, coaxing your mouth back open.

“Bradley, bubs, I -” you gasped against his lips, “I need to turn the stove off if we’re going to -”

Without taking his lips off yours, Bradley reached behind his back and turned off the gas burner. The garlic still sizzled in the pan, but now without the risk of burning the house down. You could put fresh garlic on later, now he just wanted you. 

His hands went back to their place on your hips before the left slid underneath your oxford and up your body. You stiffened slightly, but welcomed his touch, if only for a moment before you pulled back from him. 

“We have to - I have to finish dinner.” He nodded, albeit reluctantly. You pecked his lips again. 

There was something deeply erotic about waiting - even if it was just for a couple of hours. 

Where are you going to have me first?

In our bed, in our house, after you make me dinner in our kitchen. 

Bradley cleared his throat. “You said you wanted to talk about another email? The one about your dream, right? The one with our kid.”

It felt right saying it - our kid. 

God, Bradley, I wish you were here right now so you could hold me and tell me you loved me because I just want to feel your arms around me and know you’re real. I want to tell you about the little boy - the perfect mix of me and you

“We can wait until dinner - or even after dinner, if you want?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I’m sorry I’m dropping all this on you. I know you’ll say otherwise, but I shouldn’t have done this right when you came home - the dryer hasn’t even finished your first load yet. I know you’re exhausted and definitely have your own stuff to work through after being gone and we should be having sex on the floor or over the arm of the couch, not listening to me blubber -”

Bradley shook his head and interrupted you. He didn’t want to give you another moment to doubt yourself. 

“- Hey, hey. I wanna talk about the heavy stuff with you, it’s okay. And I’d rather we do it now so we can really enjoy these next few days together - and maybe then have sex on the floor and over the arm of the couch. I don’t want this hanging over your head, kid. 

“And you’re not alone in thinking about that over the last few months - it’s probably been even longer for me…”

You wiped at the tears pooling in your eyes. “Really?” 

“You know you’re it for me, kid.” Have been since our fourth date went unsaid. “So, come on, walk me through it.”

You leaned against the back counter near the stove, while Bradley mirrored you against the island. You sighed. 

“I love you so much - sometimes I’m scared that I love you this much and that it’s not quite been a year since we met. And I never thought I’d be so heart achingly in love with someone in the Navy, of all things, and just - sometimes it hits me that you’re not even fully mine? That a part of you will always want to be in the sky or out at sea because you have this other entity that tells you what to do? And when to do it and what to wear and how you should act? Where you’re Rooster and not my Bradley?”

Bradley frowned at the use of his callsign coming from your lips. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t sound right. He didn’t want to be Rooster around you. He liked that he didn’t have to be Rooster around you.

“And it makes me absolutely crazy because you love it and you’re not going to stop - and you shouldn’t stop, not for me! But, god, Bradley, sometimes I want to shake you and hold you down and beg you to stay. Like that fucking story.” You wiped your eyes. 

“It’s all I wanted to tell you when I had that dream. About how I want you to come home so badly. I want you to stay here with me forever and never leave and to have that cute little boy who was the perfect mix of me and you and to have you here in my arms every night. And I know it’s selfish of me to ask or even make you think about it, but I want you right here. I don’t want you looking at the sky when you’re here and wanting to be up there. And I know you don’t either, Bradley. You give everything to everyone, you don’t do things by halves.” 

You both stood there, Bradley stunned by your words, and you, seemingly stunned that you’d actually said them. He took a step towards you, but didn’t cross that final barrier to touch you. He remembered highlighting a particular passage from the story in his response back to you and how he never wanted you to feel the same way as Lily. He didn’t want to let it - flying, the Navy, all of it get a hold of him.

“Don’t ever be a Rocket Man.” I stopped. “I mean it,” he said. “Because when you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there. Don’t start that. Don’t let it get hold of you.” “But-“ “You don’t know what it is. Every time I’m out there I think, If I ever get back to Earth I’ll stay there; I’ll never go out again. But I go out, and I guess I’ll always go out.”

You sniffled and wiped your eyes on your sleeve. “And I was so scared when you didn’t get back to me right away. Thought I’d scared you off…” You glanced down at the floor and played with your bracelet. It looked so fragile and dainty on your wrist. “I think I wrote five different responses to you after - deleted all of them.”

Bradley nudged your foot with his own and got you to look up at him. Even though it felt like his tattoo was burning into his skin - xxxix, xxxix, xxxix, the number ran through his head constantly as of late - he tried to put on a brave face. Everything you were saying was what he had been mulling over for the last three months. Thousands of miles apart and you both were still so in-sync. He cleared his throat before speaking. 

“You turned my life on its head when you sent me that story.” Even weeks later, he was still in disbelief. “And I know it wouldn’t have changed anything - not really - but I kept - I keep wondering how my dad would’ve reacted to it? Or my mom? I don’t think it would’ve made anything different, but just knowing about it? Because I don’t want us to have kids and still be a ‘rocket man.’ I don’t want them - that little boy in your dream - to wonder if I want to be up in the sky more than I want to be with him. And be with you. I want to be around, I want to be their dad and your husband. I love it, I love flying. But I don’t love it more than being with you and having a family with you. I don’t want to die in an F18 with a family at home.”

You let out a sob and he wrapped his arms around you and slowly swayed you from side to side. “Kid, I got six more years and then I’m all yours.” He could feel your tears seeping into his shirt as you cried. “It’s like what I said after you sent me that story - I don’t want our kids chasing ghosts. Not like I did.”

“You’d give us your wild?” you whispered. 

Bradley nodded and felt his own eyes welling up. “I want us to have what my mom and I didn’t. And it’s not that my mom wasn’t enough, but there was always a piece missing for both of us - Maverick, too.” You wiped the tears away from his eyes. “I love you, so, so much, kid. You know I’m gonna marry you. And I just want to be yours when it comes time for us to have a family.”

Honestly, it was a relief that you’d brought all this up. It only reaffirmed the thought that had been bouncing around Bradley’s head lately.

You two wouldn’t have kids until he was out of the Navy. 

There were six years until Bradley could put in his twenty years and retire. It was a little fucked, honestly, and he was sure his therapist would have plenty to say about it. But why not avoid something that could end in tragedy for everyone involved?

Why run the risk?

Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home.  

And he knew his logic wasn’t exactly sound. It didn’t entirely make sense even to himself. There would be plenty of times over the next six years where he could get into an accident or not come home from a mission. He understood that. 

Except, currently, there wasn’t a kid waiting at home for him. There wasn’t a three year old Bradley waiting at home and being told by his mom that his dad wasn’t coming home. He knew that if you had a family, it would be harder for you to move on if something happened to him. And he didn’t want to put you and any future little nuggets through that. He didn’t want to be a rocketman with them.

Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home. 

He wasn’t going to do that to your family. So, why not just wait to have a family until after he got out of the Navy? It seemed obvious. Perfectly so. The words had been ready to pour out of his mouth, except you beat him to it.

“I know,” your cleared the scratchiness out of your throat, “we talked about waiting to have kids until a couple years after we get married, but if you want to wait until you retire, we’ll do it. And then we’ll get all of you. I want to do everything with you, Bradley.”

Give you my wild, give you a child.

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and squeezed you hard. “I love you, I love you, I love you. God, I love you so much.” He kissed your forehead and cheeks and lips and tried his damndest to pour all the love he had for you into it.

“I love you, too, Bradley,” you said simply. 

And maybe it wasn’t exactly healthy to wait and almost be consumed by this desperate need to control both your lives and have a countdown clock to when everything would be okay. Because maybe things wouldn’t be okay in six years? And maybe you and Bradley would get in a car accident tomorrow or maybe you both would have trouble having kids or or or…

But Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home.  

He would need to talk about this with his therapist at some point. The therapist the Navy gave him eighteen months ago after he ‘recklessly’ went back to save Maverick. The therapist that he just never stopped seeing even though he was cleared from last April. 

“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” Bradley asked after a moment.

You pulled back. “Maybe? And maybe it’s a little extreme for both of us to think like that, but we’ll make it work, okay? However we have to, we’ll make it work for us.” You punctuated your words with a quick kiss over his heart. 

“Oh dear,” you said suddenly. Bradley tensed up. “I got tears on your shirt.” 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, I know you can afford to get me a new one.” You shoved his shoulder and you both laughed. And just like that, the mood was lifted. 

Bradley had been right earlier - he felt lighter. You looked lighter. And that wasn’t to say that you’d looked gloomy or upset or scared before, but your shoulders weren’t as tense and you kept smiling, at him, at whatever you were cooking, at nothing.

This could be his life every night. You could be together like this forever. Cooking dinner side by side, talking about where the mail should go (it very much was not on the hall table, that was for damn sure), complaining about Mr. Harrington next door or arguing over who should vacuum. All the little things that made that big life together. The one you both wanted so badly. 

And contrary to your earlier statement, you did make you and Bradley another drink before dinner. In fact, it probably was what gave you the courage to attempt to flip the chicken in the saucepan like a regular José Andrés. (Even more surprising was the fact that you didn’t drop any.)

Once the potatoes finished, you swapped them in the oven for the asparagus, hoping the former would cool while the latter was roasting. All the while, you talked Bradley through everything - how much oil you added to the asparagus, where you’d gotten the potatoes, and the recipe for the chocolate cake you’d made for dessert. 

It was - well, Bradley didn’t really have a word for what it was. His first thought was how nice it was seeing you so confident and capable and proud of yourself. But his second thought was that it was also oddly stirring seeing you do all this for him while he just watched. 

Watched his pretty little girlfriend bopping around the kitchen, bopping around the house making sure everything was perfect for him. All you needed was a pretty little dress and a string of pearls to match your earrings. His pretty little housewife. Mrs Bradshaw. Bent over the kitchen island, wearing nothing but a frilly white apron and a pearl necklace as he fucked you from behind -

“All set!” Your cheerful voice interrupted Bradley’s fantasy before it could really start. He had zoned out while you’d been prattling on about the herb cutting scissors you wanted to get at Crate & Barrel. “Shall we?”

Bradley readjusted himself before getting up from his seat and helping you bring the drinks and serving dishes into the dining room. 

Mrs Bradshaw.

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

“So, how is it?” you asked once the food had been served and the wine had been poured. You had your chin propped up on your fist as you watched Bradley take the first few, slow bites of food. 

It was good. It was more than good, it was excellent. It was hot and perfectly seasoned and all the textures were just right. And it wasn’t just because he’d been on an aircraft carrier, eating out of the officer’s mess everyday. Because the food was actually pretty good on the carrier and the Aussies had even treated him to a couple meals. 

But he wouldn’t be Bradley and you wouldn’t be you if he didn’t mess with you a little. He tilted his head back and forth, trying to look like he was mulling it over. “It’s good…”

You nudged his foot under the table once you saw the smile threatening to break out on his face. “You ass.” The words lacked any heat.

Bradley took another bite of potatoes before speaking. “It’s really good, kid, seriously. You killed it. Seemed like you really enjoyed it, too.”

“I did,” you nodded, “I just always used to be so nervous I’d undercook something and make everyone sick, you know? Or that people would be lying to me about the food and that it was burnt or under-seasoned or something? But those lessons really helped and made me more confident, which is exactly why you gave them to me, so thank you.”

Maybe it wasn’t exactly why he had given them to you, but…

“You’re very welcome.”

Dinner continued on with only light hearted conversation after that. What Reuben and Bob were planning for their leave (Reuben and his wife were going up the coast for a mini-break and then building out the nursery for their baby, while Bob was going home to see his parents), the work you had to finish up before your trip, and what you both were hoping to get out of your vacation (good food, a tan, reading plenty of books, and having copious amounts of sex). 

All the while, Bradley had another helping of everything, except the potatoes, of which he had two additional helpings - you refrained from seconds entirely. You two must have sat at the table for over two and a half hours, talking and eating and laughing. It was perfect. Bradley helped you bring the dishes back into the kitchen; both of you were more than happy to deal with them a little later. 

And then there was the dessert. The chocolate cake looked heavenly - Ina’s recipe, of course - and you asked Bradley if he wanted an espresso martini to wash it down.

“What? ‘You trying to get me drunk?” 

You put your hand over your heart. “I would never! Though, I know your tolerance might be a little shot. Did that affect your stamina, too?”

“Ha, ha, ha hilarious.” He took the cake plate and knife from you while you went over to the bar to make the martinis. “I’ll have you know that the Aussies were very accommodating hosts.”

“The Aussies, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. It wouldn’t be an issue to tell you now, not after he’d been dying to mention it for the past few weeks. “It’s not classified or anything, they just don’t like us talking about it in the moment.”

“Wait,” you came back into the dinning room with a coupe half filled in your right hand. “Did you go to Australia?” 

“Possibly…” You shot him a look. “We do this joint training exercise with them every year. Last year was my first year.”

“That’s so cool! Did you spend much time actually on land or…” You went back to preparing the drinks and tossed your next question over your shoulder. “When was it? I think I saw something about it in the news.”

“After you got back from London. It was just a week for the actual exercise, but there were a lot of meetings in the lead up, we did a couple war-games, too. We were mainly in New South Wales with the aviators, but went up to the North Western Territory for the actual exercises.”

Last year, Bradley hadn’t had the opportunity to really get too involved in the planning aspects and being on base - his promotion hadn’t come through yet, so he had been just a lowly lieutenant - but his elevated rank granted him that privilege this year. 

“Wait, that’s so cool, I’ll have to read up on it more! I definitely remember hearing about it on the news, should’ve made the connection.” You came back over with the drinks. “How were the other pilots? This isn’t going to be some Manchurian Candidate bullshit, is it?”

Bradley barked out a laugh. “Nah, that’ll be Bob.”

“Did it have a fun name? They always seem to!” 

Bradley took a sip of his martini. Damn it was delicious. “Exercise Talisman Sabre - R-E. You want me to cut the cake?”

You nodded. Bradley pulled the cake stand closer to his seat. The cake was stunning. The frosting was definitely homemade and the white piping on the top looked perfect. “‘You take a picture of it yet?” 

“Of the cake?”

“Gotta commemorate this, it’s gorgeous. Need one with you, too!” You smiled bashfully as Bradley snapped a couple pics with his phone and then put it face-up on the table. The picture of the two of you at your Christmas party before his deployment smiled back up at him. 

You sat back down in your chair. “Here’s hoping it tastes just as good.”

There would still be plenty of cake for leftovers, but Bradley thought the two of you deserved a little something extra tonight and measured the first piece a little bigger than he normally would. 

“Oh. You can have that one. I’ll take a smaller piece.” He went to cut another piece, slightly smaller than his. “Little smaller.” He kept scooching the knife closer and closer for your approval until it was only about a third of the size of his piece. “That’s perfect, thanks.”

You took a huge first bite of cake and Bradley did the same. “Oh, god. It’s so good,” he said. “I need the recipe so I can make this every week.” 

Your fork froze midair for a moment, before you took a slightly smaller piece this time. “I don’t know if I can handle this every week...” You chuckled. 

Bradley moaned. “But the ganache! The whipped frosting on the top! Sweetheart, it’s so good. The world cannot be deprived of its beauty.”

That got a proper laugh out of you. “‘You writing sonnets about cake now?”

“I’ll write sonnets about you, this cake, anything you want, you got me in a good mood, kid.” He licked the frosting off his fork and then went back in for the final two bites. 

“That might just be the martini talking, bubs. Here,” you slid your barely eaten plate over towards him, “you can have the rest of mine.”

Bradley frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I had extra batter and made some cupcakes. Had one this morning. I’m chocolate cake’d out.” 

He was a little dubious since you loved chocolate cake, but took your words at face value. 

“But first,” you swiped some extra frosting off your plate and streaked it across Bradley’s cheek, “you got a little something on your face, bubs.”

“Oh no,” he laid it on thick, “guess you’ll have to come over here and help me clean it off.”

In a flash, you were on him - arms wrapped around his neck, legs astride his thigh. Your feet remained firmly on the ground, but Bradley wanted all your weight on him, reminding him that he was here in the house you shared and not back in his bunk on the carrier. 

“There we go.” You swiped the frosting off his cheek and sucked the excess off your finger. “My pretty boy again.”

He smiled. “You say that like you haven’t wanted to fuck me since we got home.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. “I’m trying to draw out the anticipation!” Bradley squeezed your hips and you shifted your weight on his thigh. This time your words came out quieter. “Thought you wanted me in our bed the first time back?” You pressed light kisses across his neck and jawline until you nipped at his ear. “The same bed I’ve been getting myself off in every night since I brought my stuff over.”

“But just like I asked, right? Just your fingers?” You nodded. “Good girl.”

You ducked your head at the praise and then pulled yourself even closer to him before capturing his lips in a deep kiss. You tasted like espresso and chocolate and Bradley wanted to take you right there on the dining room table with little regard for the state of his stem and dish-ware. Slowly, you rocked your body on his lap and let out a breathy gasp against his lips. The seam on your jeans must have been driving you absolutely crazy, but you didn’t let up. And, frankly, Bradley didn’t want you to - all he wanted right now was to keep kissing you, keep pressing his chest against yours, keep grabbing at your hips over your shirt. Except that soon wasn’t enough. 

He slipped his hand underneath your shirt and went straight for your lace bra. He smiled against your lips. Good girl. You wore his favorite one. His hand slid lower to drag his fingers across the soft skin of your stomach and side. God, you were so warm. So soft. But he couldn’t linger on the spot for too long after you pushed his hand away and gestured for him to get up.

Without separating yourselves for too long, you and Bradley made your way from making out on his dining table chair to making out on the couch. You were on your back, half wedged between the back cushion, and entirely under Bradley’s bulk. 

God, had he missed this. Touching you, kissing you, holding you, fucking you. You’d already talked for hours, now he wanted to kiss you for them. 

The couch felt ten times more inviting with you now than it had earlier in the evening when it had just been Bradley. Because now he had you underneath him with your head on the throw pillows he had made note of earlier, now the candles on the coffee table were lit and were the perfect complement to your perfume, and now the cashmere blanket he had always loved was half draped over you both.

This was where you’d watch movies together at night, where you’d open Christmas presents, where you’d ride him after a long day at work, where you’d have meals with the news on in the background, where your kids would watch TV. 

“I love you,” you rasped against his lips. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeated.

It could have been twenty minutes or an hour later, but now the two of you were just laying side by side on the couch. You were wrapped in Bradley’s arms, nestled against his chest, where you had been pressing little kisses against his neck for the last five minutes. Occasionally, you’d play with the ends of his hair or drag your finger across the scars on his neck. 

Bradley pressed a light kiss to your temple. “This has been really nice, thank you. I’ve never had someone to come home to - not like this.”

You tilted your head up and bit your lip, looking adorably flustered. “I always want to be here when you come home. And I wanted to do something nice for you, make you happy.”

“You made me very happy, always do.”

“Always, huh?” you teased. You kissed his neck. Nipped at his neck. 

Bradley mimicked your tone. “Well, not when I saw the way you put the mail on the hall table…” 

“You gonna punish me?” There was a little glint in your eyes as you said it.

While the idea had plenty of merit, Bradley didn’t want that tonight, he wanted everything to be soft and slow, so he could really get his fill of you. Plus, you’d be so fucking tight for him, so responsive to his touch, he wanted to make that drag out as long as possible. He wanted you to babble, he wanted you to beg.

“Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow if you’re good for me?” He pinched your side and you let out a giggle and then suddenly sat up on the couch, almost startled.

“I should do the dishes, don’t want to leave them for too long. You can head upstairs, though.” You cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You sure you don’t need any help?” he said the last word through a yawn. 

“Nope!” You smiled over your shoulder and headed off to the kitchen. “You’re off the hook. I’m gonna finish putting these in the dishwasher and lock-up while you go upstairs and get ready, okay?”

Bradley scrunched his nose. “Is this gonna be a normal thing? You doing all the housework? Because that’s not gonna slide, roomie.”

“Oh, so I’m just your roommate now?” you teased. You bent over the dishwasher to put some larger plates in the back. “I see how it is, Bradshaw.”

He doubled back over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Got a feeling you’re gonna be my last one,” he murmured against your neck before he pressed kisses against it. 

It was like you melted against him. God, you smelled so pretty and tasted so pretty and looked so pretty and sounded so pretty giggling. And Bradley had never felt so welcomed home before. He couldn’t wait to do this with you every night. 

“Bradley,” you sighed and turned around to face him. “The sooner you let me finish, the sooner I can come upstairs…” You pecked him on the lips. 

Upstairs. Where Bradley would take care of you. 

Take care of you. Take you. Take you take you take you -

He groaned and gave you a longer kiss. “Okay, okay, okay.” He kissed you between each word. “But this is the last time you’re getting away with this...”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You kissed him again. “Now go! Get into something comfortable, powder your nose, touch up your hair -”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised. “Don’t be too long, we can always do everything tomorrow morning.”

You waved him off good-naturedly and went about setting the kitchen to rights. Bradley smiled at the sight of you already appearing so at home in his house - your house and headed upstairs. With startling alacrity despite the numerous drinks he’d had and the late hour, Bradley quickly brushed his teeth, did his skincare routine, and turned down the bed for your arrival. 

Even a floor apart, he could still hear the sounds of you puttering around downstairs. If he concentrated really hard, he could imagine exactly what you were doing. 

You had just opened the silverware drawer, probably had just washed and dried something - oh right, he had noticed you used the hand-wash-only salad tongs for the asparagus. Then you opened the tupperware cabinet and got out some snapware and eventually opened the freezer, putting the leftover chicken piccata away for another meal. Then there was the sound of the cake plate on the granite countertop and more snapware. He was still surprised you hadn’t eaten much cake, much of any of the food really, but chalked it up to nerves or excitement at his homecoming.

With a sigh, Bradley laid back against the fluffy pillows lining the headboard. God, he had missed this. His high thread count sheets, your fancy Laundress detergent, his side of the bed - and more importantly, you being on the other side. He stretched and let out a groan, getting comfortable. 

This was perfect. He was home - in the house you now shared. You were going to come upstairs - probably in some cute little outfit - and give him a proper welcome home. Bradley bet you even got a new matching set just for the occasion. The two of you had gotten all the tough conversations out of the way - for the most part - so now you could really enjoy these next few days together before your trip. 

And Bradley was so excited to go to Punta Mita with you. You had done such an amazing job planning everything. He had done some additional research on his flight home earlier and definitely wanted to hit up the spa and maybe sneak in a round of golf over the ten day trip. Plus, you definitely had the cutest fucking outfits planned. He always liked that, imagining what you were wearing while he was gone. The sporadic pictures hadn’t been enough. You always looked so pretty and he always needed to tell you. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty. His pretty girlfriend. Downstairs, making sure everything was all set. He yawned. Mmmmm, he hoped you’d be upstairs soon. His eyelids were getting heavy. 

And it was so warm and comfy and his stomach was full and everything smelled so good and he was here. 

Finally, he was here with you. 

In your house, talking about your future. 

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes. Maybe if he just took a quick nap…

a/n - sorry for the cliff hanger, but it's the PERFECT spot for a break! next part will have that first night back AND the lead up to their trip, which will be in the final part! couldn't have gotten this done without all the encouraging messages and texts over the last few weeks - special shout out to @sometimesanalice @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @ofstoriesandstardust @cherrycola27 @heartsofminds and @greenorangevioletgrass xxjordan

[soapsilly]

Reunion - Roronoa Zoro Imagine

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Spoilers for One Piece (?)

Summary: It's been five years since Zoro had to leave (Y/N) and their son. Five years since he promised he'd come back for them. Now that they finally found the One Piece, will Zoro be able to choose between life as a pirate and his young family?

A/N: This is Part 3 for Betrayal and Redemption, so read that first... or don't. Who am I to tell you anything?

Requests are closed

************************************************************************

Zoro swore under his breath as he turned the corner and found himself on the same market place yet again. It's been five years since he's last been on this damn island but nothing about this fucking village seemed familiar to him. He's been wandering around for what felt like an eternity but realistically couldn't have been more than two hours or so. The townspeople were muttering and mumbling behind their hands once they spotted him. He didn't know if they recognized him from when him and his crew saved the village five years ago or if they had seen his wanted poster in the newspapers. Ever since the Straw Hats finally found the One Piece and made Luffy Pirate King, there hasn't been an issue without their faces plastered on the cover page.

After he rounded the same corner for yet another time, he had to admit defeat. Zoro just knew, (Y/N) would've found his abymsal sense of direction hilarious, if she were there. Often she would have him lead the way just to see where they'd end up, knowing full well that they'd been walking in the wrong direction all along. The memory triggered a familiar pain in his chest - one that would always appear whenever he thought about the girl he had to leave behind. He had promised to come back for her. Her and their son... Sora.

Zoro had thought a lot about them these last couple of years. The boy that was barely even a toddler when he last saw them - and yet clearly looked so much like him already - must've been around seven years now. Would he remember him? Could he forgive his father for leaving him and his mother behind? Did (Y/N) even want him to return? It's been so many years with no contact. Maybe she decided to finally move on. These were the thoughts that tormented Zoro these past couple of months during night watches. After they found the One Piece he wanted nothing more than to return to (Y/N) as soon as possible but the journey was long - many opportunities for his mind to wander.

"Hey, Zoro", Nami pulled him from his thoughts. The swordsman only grunted in return.

"I bet you're glad to finally see (Y/N) again after all those years, huh?", the navigator continued. She could sense the nervousness that surrounded her friend these last couple of weeks. She didn't blame him, she'd be nervous aswell.

"I guess", the mosshead has never been a man of many words.

"Do you miss her?", Nami's voice was quiet but he could hear her clearly. The Thousand Sunny was almost silent during those night hours - a stark contrast to it's chaotic state during the day.

Zoro didn't answer at first. Of course he missed her. He missed her everyday. Especially at night, when the two of them would sit down with (Y/N)'s homemade liquor to talk about anything and everything. It was then that Zoro got to truly open up.

"I do, you know?", Nami continued when she sensed the swordfighters struggles to find the right words.

"What if - what if I took to long?", Zoro turned to face the red-head. Talking about his feelings made him uncomfortable but Nami was (Y/N)'s friend. If anybody could help him tame the chaos in his mind it would be her.

The woman knew exactly what he was referring to. No need to elaborate. A sympathetic expression took over her features.

"Nonsense, you know her. It's (Y/N). I doubted her once... I won't make the same mistake twice. Trust me she waited", Nami didn't enjoy thinking back to way she treated her friend back then when she thought that (Y/N) had betrayed the crew during those two years they were separated. She knew, (Y/N) told her not to worry about it - that she'd have acted the same way - but the memories still hurt. Nami was determined to trust her friend this time around. They were Nakama after all...

Zoro sent her a nod but he wasn't quite sure if he actually believed what the red-head said or if he was only trying to convince himself.

"Oi, you two!", Zoro had enough of wandering around the market place, "I'm looking for uh - the witch?"

Their eyes widened when the two men realized who was standing before them.

"Oh, you're that Pirate Hunter dude! You found the One Piece", one of them answered.

"Yes, yes! Roronoa Zuko or something", the other guy agreed.

Zoro had to take a deep breath as to not lose his temper.

"The witch. Where can I find her?", he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Oh, yeah", one of them drawled out, "I'm sorry, man, but she died - like what? A few years back?"

Zoro couldn't hear a word from the bickering that followed about whether it's been two or three years already. All he could think about was the fact that he came too late. He felt panic rise up in his chest. This wasn't a situation he could fight his way out of. And what about their son? Where was he and who took care of him? He never felt so helpless before. There were a thousand thoughts rushing through his head - until a new voice interrupted his strings of thought.

"No, you idiots! He's looking for my mom", Zoro's eyes grew wide when he saw whom the voice belonged to. There was no doubt that the little boy before them was his son. He had the same green hair, the same lopsided grin - albeit a few of his teeth missing. Zoro felt like his head was spinning. He didn't know what to feel. Relief because apparently (Y/N) was well? Happiness? Fear? He had thought about this moments so many times but nothing could have actually prepared him for when it actually came to meeting his son. He had honestly relied on (Y/N) being there and guiding him through the situation but fate had some different plans for him that day. It was almost comical - how was he expected to handle these kind of situations when he couldn't even deal his own emotions most of the time.

"Right, right, right", one of the two men seemed to remember what the boy was talking about, "You mean (Y/N)! Oi, he means (Y/N)!"

Out of all the people Zoro could've asked, of course it had to be these two morons. He was just about to lose his temper, breathing heavy already, but his mini-me reminded him why he was even there to begin with. That didn't stop him from giving them the death glare as he followed Sora away from these two idiots, who by the looks of it didn't even notice it anyways as they were still deep in discussion about God knows what.

"They're idiots", the little boy's voice pulled Zoro out of his thoughts, "Mom's fine"

The swordsman noticed that the little guy didn't seem nervous at all. In fact, he started talking to Zoro as if he had known him his whole life.

"They were talking about Mim...", he continued. Zoro remembered the old hag that mentored (Y/N) during their initial two year separation. He met her briefly. She was old. Ancient even. His heart ached for his lover. He was glad that she had someone on this island. Some kind of support. He felt better knowing someone was there for her - that she wasn't alone. And still, the older woman was yet another person that left her to fend for herself. He knew his thoughts were merely a projections of his own guilty conscience. That it was actually him that left his girlfriend behind.

"We knew you'd come", the little boy happily babbled on as he led the way out of the village towards the edge of the forrest, "The others said you wouldn't come but Mom knew"

The little boy may have inherited his looks but Zoro noticed that his essence - the way he just happily talked and talked without a care in the world - was all (Y/N).

"Look!", the witch ran up to the swordsman and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him with her.

"What's going on? Who's hurt?", his free hand immediately found it's way to the swords that were hung closely by his hip.

"Huh? No one?", she scrunched up her face adorably, "Look what I found!"

Zoro could hear the excitement in her voice as she pulled him up to a meadow she had found while exploring the new island the Straw Hats stopped at. Her eyes marveled at all the flowers, plants and herbs that grew all over the place.

"Isn't it beautiful?", she turned to him wide a wide smile.

"Depends", Zoro grunted.

"On what?", her face fell. The mosshead noticed that cute little crease between her eyebrows that appeared whenever she was in deep thought or confused.

"Well, depends on how many of these plants could kill me"

"Most of them", she shrugged but couldn't help the happy laugh that left her lips, "Come on now"

With that she grabbed his hand again, already talking about what each plant could be used for, taking samples as she went, shoving them into the swordsman's arms so that he could carry them for her. Zoro didn't understand a word she was saying. He didn't mind though. He enjoyed her rambling about potions and balms.

"Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

Zoro smiled to himself as the memory played in his head.

"We're almost there", the little boy shouted over his shoulder.

And indeed, not even two minutes later (Y/N)'s little hut appeared before them. The mosshead noticed how similar to his lover the house looked. It was small. Whimsical. A plethora of flowers decorated the little gardenspace in the front. All in all a peaceful sight. But appearences can be deceptive. He knew that most of the plants were poisonous. No matter how beautiful they seemed, even a little dose could be deadly.

"Mommy!", the little boy yelled out as they approached the house, "Mommy, look!"

It wasn't even thirty seconds until the door to the hut swung open and (Y/N) hurried out, a dish rag clutched in one of her hands.

"What did you do now? Whatever it is that you caught, you better-", (Y/N) dropped the dish towel when her eyes fell onto the mosshead. Zoro's heart skipped several beats when he realized how close they were. All these years apart and yet he still felt like it was yesterday that the two of them kissed under the moonlight. She was beautiful. Eventhough she looked exhausted, she was clearly the girl he fell in love with. His (Y/N).

Sora excitedly ran up to his mother, squealing happily, "He's back! Look, Mommy. You were right. He came!"

(Y/N) patted his head - stroking the green hair - almost mechanical, her wide eyes remained on the swordsman. Her lips slightly parted as if she was trying to come up with something to say but struggling to find the words.

"Yes, love... I can see that", her voice was full of shock but she still did her best to sound excited for her son.

Zoro felt self-conscious. He didn't know what to do. Should he say something? Walk up to her? Would she even want that? He scolded himself. Why did he take a seven year old's word for it?

The mosshead was so busy with his thoughts that he almost didn't notice her walking up to him and practically flinging herself into his arms. Her head comfortably found it's place underneath his chin. Zoro got emotional as her scent filled his nose. For a moment they just stood there.

"I knew you'd come", he heard her whisper against his chest.

"Always", he answered as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

When she looked up at him, he could see the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. He was just about to wipe them away with his thumbs, when their son - their son - interrupted the moment together.

"Mommy, I found him", he smiled brightly as he squeezed himself between his parents' legs.

(Y/N) hastily wiped her tears away before clapping in her hands once. An excited smile present on her lips, "You're right, Honey! And I think we'll need to celebrate that!"

"A party?", the little boy looked up at her with bright eyes, "Can we - can we make a cake for dad?"

Dad... Zoro noticed how the green-headed boy's voice tripped over itself due to the sheer excitement. The swordsman blinked a few times at the mention of his new title. He felt a strange feeling in his stomach area. Of course, he was his dad. There was no doubt about that. And of course, he wanted to be - of course. But still it felt so strange being called that, being welcomed back with open arms like that. He felt (Y/N)'s eyes flicker over to him before turning back to the child.

"Well, I'm sure your father would much rather celebrate with a good bottle of rum... Here", she handed the little boy some bills, "go back into the village and buy him a nice bottle at Old Mickey's place, yes? And when you're back, we'll bake something nice anyways"

Zoro's eyes widened. Did she really sent their son to buy hard liquor for them?

"Yes, Mommy!", the little guy nodded enthusiastically and skipped away.

"Did you just sent our seven year old to buy alcohol? Who in their right mind would sell alcohol to a child?", the swordsman raised his brows.

The witch shrugged, "Hopefully no one. I mean, they know him 'round here but still. He's only seven", she grinned, "Besides, you know I have my own liquor. You didn't forget about that, did you?"

The concerned look on her face hit Zoro straight in the heart. How could she ever think that he'd forget just a single thing about her?

"Okay but... I still don't understand", he furrowed his brows, "Why did you sent him away then?"

"Of course, you don't", she started laughing as she grabbed his hand to guide him into the hut, "Sora is so happy that you're here. Haven't seen him like that since that one time Mim made him float through the air... You seemed overwhelmed though. Sorry that he found you first. Ever since I told him about how you guys found the One Piece he's been patroling the island for when you'd arrive. He can be pretty stubborn you know? Thought I'd give you some space..."

(Y/N) grew quiet towards the end when she noticed her rambling.

"You- you told him about me?", Zoro was shocked.

"Well, of couse", she looked at him with those eyes - those eyes that he couldn't resist, "We always read the newspaper together during breakfast, you know? He loves hearing about your adventures. He wants to be a swordsman just like you. Or a devil fruit user like Luffy... Or both"

The swordfighter's chest swole with pride as he imagined his son wanting to be just like him. Maybe he could teach him?

"I missed you", her voice was low. Merely a whisper.

"I missed you too", he answered thruthfully, "I thought about you everyday"

And with that he crashed his lips onto hers. For the first time in five years he felt at peace. Like a she was the missing piece that finally completed him again.

When they eventually separated, she smiled at him, her hands already tracing circles on his thighs.

"You know? There's another benefit of us having some alone time", she mumbled against his lips, already climbing on top of him, "The downside? We won't have long..."

"After five years?", he panted, "I won't last long anyways"

The giggle that followed was like music to his ears. This didn't play out like he had imagined but with them the things rarely do. At the moment he was just happy to be back with his love - how her lips felt against his own. How her hands roamed his body. How hot her skin felt against his.

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"That scar wasn't there last time I saw you", she traced the pale pink line that decorated his side.

He shrugged. Being the Pirate King's first mate came with it's price.

"Neither were those", he gestured towards the little pictures that were plastered all over her ribcage. Each tattoo symbolized one member of the crew. A straw hat, three katanas, a clementine - even a little violine that represented Brook.

"This way I had you with me... Wherever you guys may have been", her voice was quiet. Peaceful.

"I see...", Zoro thought about her words. He knew she chose to stay behind but it couldn't have been easy for her. The Straw Hats were her family and even after all those years, she never stopped thinking about them as such, "But did you really have to get one for the ero-cook, too?"

He pulled a face. He didn't like the thought of any part of that pervert being anywhere near (Y/N)'s naked body - even if it was just some ink.

She laughed at how whiny he sounded as he fixated on the little lighter that resembled the one Sanji would always carry around with himself.

"So I take it, the two of you have not become best buddies then?"

Her question was only met with a contemptuous snort.

"Where are they anyways?", she continued - more serious this time.

"I asked them to drop me off here. Wanted to have some time alone with you before they would come barging in causing chaos again"

"That's almost romantic", she smiled, "For your standards, I mean"

"Wow, thanks a lot", he sarcastically replied but secretly he loved the way she just seamlessly picked up where they left off. There was no awkwardness. No unfamiliarity.

"They'll join us here in a couple of days...", the mosshead continued.

"Wow, it's going to be so strange seeing them again", she spoke moreso to herself than to anyone in particular.

"You don't have to be nervous... You're still part of the crew", Zoro's hand reached out to play with (Y/N)'s hair. A glimmer of hurt flickered over her face. It wasn't even a second but the swordsman still noticed.

"Well, we'll see about that", she forced herself to sound cheerful, "For now, let's celebrate. We should get dressed, Sora could be back any time now"

And with that she pushed herself off the bed to get dressed. A sight Zoro could get used to. This domestic life. A little house. A family. He never wanted this, never dreamed of it. But right this moment, this didn't seem so bad.

(Y/N) was right, not long after the two of them got dressed they heard the happy voice of their son approaching from outside.

"Here, Mommy", the little boy pushed the bottle of rum, he was carrying towards his mother.

"What the-? Sora!", Zoro watched his girlfriend as she struggled to find the right words, "Did Old Mickey seriously sell you this?"

"Oh, no. Here!", Sora reached into his backpocket and handed his mother the bills back that she had given him before he left.

"I don't -", she took a deep breath to compose herself, "Sora, why do you have this?"

"Old Mickey didn't want to sell me the rum. He said I was too young. I told him it was for Dad but he wouldn't believe me!", the child sounded appalled.

"So, instead of just coming back and getting one of us - you just stole it?", his mother was in disbelief but the little boy just shrugged.

"Fuck, Sora. You know that's not okay! I thought I taught you better than this"

"Oi!", Zoro interjected, "Cut the boy some slack! At least he's honest"

"Honest?", the swordsman couldn't help but laugh at how shocked his girlfriend looked, "He just stole a bottle of rum, Zoro!"

"Yeah, well but he didn't keep the money though", Zoro grinned, "He could've said that he bought the alcohol and bag the money for himself. Besides, what did you expect? You told him to go buy some rum"

"Well, not my proudest moment as a parent I guess", she massaged the bridge of her nose.

The swordsman decided to walk over to the witch, hugging her and pressing a kiss against her temple.

"Don't sweat it. We can't all be perfect"

Her content smile quickly turned into a slap to the biceps once she registered the words her boyfriend just said. He wasn't usually known for joking around - sure a few sarcastic remarks directed at the cook but other than that, the mosshead was always rather serious.

"Guys, you'll never believe what I witnessed last night", Usopp excitedly told the rest of the crew during breakfast. It was the morning after (Y/N) and Zoro's first drunken night together. Neither of them joined the crew for breakfast, too hungover from the night before.

Immediately Chopper and Luffy were intrigued. Leaning forward eager to hear what their friend had to say.

"Last night when I had guard duty I saw Zoro with (Y/N) goofing around", Usopp revealed waiting for his friends to be as excited for the newly aquired information as he was but the desired reaction remained absent.

"So what? (Y/N) is always goofing around", Nami shrugged, popping another blueberry into her mouth.

"No! No,no. Zoro was goofing around too", Usopp insisted.

The breakfast table remaind silent for a few seconds before the whole crew broke out in laughter.

"Yeah sure", Sanji grinned, "When I made my rounds last night, the marimo and (Y/N)-san enjoyed a few drinks together. Not that that alcoholic could distinguish a good wine from dishwater", he finished bitterly.

"Typical Usopp", Chopper agreed, hinting towards the snipers affinity towards bending the truth to make up the wildest stories.

"I mean it though", Usopp whined. Why wouldn't anybody believe him?, "They did impressions and everything! Zoro's impression of Sanji was actually pretty hilarious"

It took a few more rounds of convincing but slowly one after the other the Straw Hats started believeing the sniper.

"I knew she was a real witch... She cast a spell on him", Chopper whispered almost fearful of (Y/N)'s abilities.

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It was night and Zoro laid awake (Y/N) peacefully sleeping in his arms. It was a good day. Sora seemed to have alot of fun asking all kinds of questions about their adventures, fish-men and how to become a swordsman. So why couldn't he sleep?

He gently pushed (Y/N) off of him, hoping not to wake her, and got up to get some fresh air. It would only be a couple of days more until the rest of his crew would arrive. Zoro didn't know how he felt about that.

"Leaving already?", (Y/N)'s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"I tried not to wake you", Zoro knew his love was just teasing him.

"Well, you failed", she laughed as she walked up to him, hugging his biceps, "What's wrong with you? Do you already regret coming back for us?"

Zoro could still hear the smile in her voice but he knew her well enough to also hear the hint of genuine concern that swung along with it.

"Of course not!", the swordfighter was appaled, "You were all I could think about ever since finding the One Piece"

"What is it then?"

"I guess I feel guilty"

"Guilty? For what?"

"I know you said it was fine and that you made the decision yourself but all of this - raising Sora by yourself - it must've been so...", he struggled to find the words, "And - and... Sora! He's great and I missed so much. I just don't understand how - how ... How can you just forgive me?"

(Y/N) just listened to his word-vomit, letting him spill his feelings. It was rare that he said that many words without interruption - especially not with that deep of a meaning.

"Oh, Zoro...", the witch cooed, "You're thinking to much about all of this. It's really quite easy... There's nothing to forgive"

She shrugged. The mosshead tried to protest but she wouldn't have it, shutting him down immediately.

"There is nothing to forgive", she repeated this time more forcefully, "We are happy that you're here"

(Y/N) sent him a questioning look as if to ask if he understood her. A loving smile lit up her face when he finally nodded in return.

"Very good", she sighed, "And now let's get back to bed. Your son is a morning person"

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These last remaining days just flew by. Zoro enjoyed spending time with his little family and he was almost a little sad that their crew would disturb their peace.

"(Y/N)!", Luffy flung himself into the witch's arms, wrapping himself around her.

Her happy laugh filled the air.

"I'm so happy to see you all again", she grinned, "Congratulations! I guess I'm in the presence of royalty now"

(Y/N) was still busy greeting all of her friends when Nami spotted a certain green-haired boy hiding behind his mother's legs.

"As happy as I am to see you, (Y/N), where is my little nephew?", the navigator feigned.

The witch grinned, not being used to her son being timid.

"Guys, this is Sora. He's a big fan"

Nami crouched down, pulling the little boy into her chest and immediately peppering his face with kisses.

"Oooooh Nami-swaaaaan, you're so loving and kind~", Sanji was smitten with the way the red-head acted around the child.

Once Nami released Sora from her grasp, the cook leaned down holding out his hand for the little mosshead to shake.

"My name is Sanji and I'm-"

Sanji was interrupted by the little boy kicking him in the shin.

"Sora!", (Y/N) scolded her son.

Zoro couldn't hold back his laughter, patting his son on the shoulder to show his approval.

"Sanji, I'm so sorry!", the witch fussed over the cook.

"Like father like son, huh?", Sanji scowled at Zoro who still couldn't stop laughing.

"Yep", the swordsman had never been more proud in his life.

"Sora, apologize right this instant", the Straw Hats had never heard (Y/N) be this strict.

"C'mon, Babe! What happened? Out of anybody you instigated the most fights", Zoro was still laughing.

It was true. She always found the little fights her boyfriend and the cook would have hilarious. That's why she told her son about them during their bedtime stories but that didn't mean Sora could just do as he pleased.

"No fighting now", Nami interjected, "Sanji, make some food. We need to celebrate. The crew is finally back together"

Sanji did as he was told, happy to be of service. And he didn't disappoint. The meal he created was nothing short of a feast. There was more food than they could possibly eat - if it weren't for Luffy of course. Brook played some happy tunes. And (Y/N) felt at peace, it was just like back when she was still part of the crew. She was just getting to know Jinbei as she watched Sora dance arm in arm with Luffy, Chopper and Usopp, his legs dangling in the air. Her eyes wandered over to Zoro, who was enjoying a drink at the moment and she decided then and there to just let her mind rest for the night and worry about what's to come once the party was over.

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It's been a few days since (Y/N) and her son joined the Straw Hats on the Thousand Sunny. Sora didn't leave Zoro's side even once. The little boy loved watching his father practice and even begged him to teach him some. Zoro didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy spending time with his son just as much. Seeing the two people she loved most - being with her nakama again - all of this felt right. This made it all the more tragic when Nami anounced they'd have to leave soon.

"Great! (Y/N), go get your stuff. Sanji and Franky can help you carry everything", Luffy sounded happy, "Sora can stay here on the ship with us while you do that"

It was Sabaody all over again. Five years ago (Y/N) had to have the same conversation with her crew. She knew Zoro had obligations as Luffy's first mate, so she tried to savour their time together while it lasted. Maybe he'd visit them every couple of years - at least she hoped he would for Sora's sake. Her heart ached as she thought about the little boy. He loved his father so much. Losing him now would devastate him. (Y/N) tried to ignore the fact that she felt the same way.

She sighed, "Luffy... A pirate ship is still no place for a child. Especially now that you are pirate king. You've got a target on your back. All of you"

As if on command all of the Straw Hats yelled some kind of suggestion or protest - even Sora pleaded for his mother to reconsider.

The witch leaned down to be on eye-level with her son, taking both of his hands in her own, "I'm so sorry, Honey... but I promise they can visit us anytime. They found us once... They'll find us again"

She tried to sound cheerful so that her son didn't notice how hard this was for her but she could feel the tears forming already.

"No!", Sora screamed, "I want to be a pirate. Just like Dad!"

Before (Y/N) could answer, Luffy interjected.

"That's a great idea! I was seven when I started my pirate training!"

"But that's not the same!", (Y/N) had never raised her voice at Luffy before so when she realized her yelling she took a deep breath to calm herself, "Luffy, you were a devil fruit user already. Your grandfather is Garp and you spent a significant amount of time with Shanks. Sora is... just a child"

The crew was quiet as (Y/N) unloaded all her frustrations.

"Listen, I was so happy to see you again but I'm not part of your crew anymore and I haven't been for a long time. All those things you've accomplished - everything you've done - I took no part in it. These last couple of days were special but I'm need to take care of my family"

"But we are your family", Nami pleaded. She could only try to imagine how (Y/N) must feel. She knew her well. She knew that (Y/N) wanted to stay. She knew she would never ask Zoro to leave the crew for them because (Y/N) knew that Zoro would do so without hesitation. He loved her more than anything. Anyone could see that. But Nami also knew that (Y/N) was scared.

"I'm sorry...", the other woman shook her head, signaling for her son to say goodbye to the crew.

"Enough", Zoro had been quiet during most of the discussion but he had heard enough.

(Y/N)'s eyes were wide as she stared at her lover.

"I accepted your decision five years ago. I understood that it wasn't safe. I got stronger. We all did. We found the One Piece and made Luffy pirate king. I trained day and night to become the best. The strongest. And then I returned to you. I came back. I will not lose you yet again. Do you hear me?", he sounded almost angry, "I love you more than anything. You and our son. I love that he has your personality. I love that he wants to become a swordfighter just like me. You are not leaving and that's it"

"Zoro...", (Y/N) sighed.

"No! Just no. We can protect you. There's a fight? Fine! We'll fight, you'll go below deck and stay there with Sora until the coast is clear. What about school? I know you're going to ask. You are smart. So is Robin. You can teach him. Fuck, even Chopper can"

(Y/N) could see Robin nodding from where she was standing.

"Zoro-"

"No!", he wasn't finished, "What do you want me to do? Stay with you? Leave the crew? I will... Just say a word and I will"

The witch marched over to where the mosshead was getting increasingly more desperate by the minute. Once she reached him she put her hands on either side of her face.

"Zoro!", she almost yelled.

"What?"

"We'll stay"

The whole crew errupted in cheers as Zoro grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around, pressing a deep kiss on her lips. (Y/N) squealed in surprise - not only by his sudden movement but also because it was the first time that he had initiated closeness between the two of them when other people were around.

"But I swear, if anything happens to us, I'll curse you", she giggled once he sat her down on the ground again.

"I would never let that happen", he assured her.

(Y/N) knew things wouldn't be easy but they were her family and she trusted them. It's been years since she felt like she truly belonged somewhere but seeing her son so happy, she knew she made the right decision.

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Epilogue

Zoro had meanwhile turned towards his mini-me, who couldn't even believe his luck.

"Oi, Sora! Your training starts tomorrow"