#i need six hundred more shoots like this :(

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

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[stupidlittlespirit]

Just For Tonight (Valentines Special)

Rating: NSFW, mdni Type: Longform Tags: Fake dating, no use of pronouns for reader, messy kissing, pretending to be in a relationship, making out, Reigen being a cheapskate, flirting, riding, fingering, PIV sex, glasses!reigen Word count: 9630 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

There's a nice new sushi place in town. It's a shame they're only offering discounts for couples....

“Valentine's day is a total scam,” declares Reigen, feet kicked up on his desk and lounging in his desk chair. “It’s so lame.”

It’s 5PM on a Wednesday afternoon and work is drawing steadily to a close. You’re filing the last few pieces of paperwork for today, tidying up your things before you head home for the evening, and all you’ve done is ask if any of your colleagues are doing something nice tonight for the lauded day.

In his typical fashion, however, Reigen has seized the opportunity to launch into a pointless spiel about his one-sided beef with made-up events and how much he doesn’t buy into them.

“It’s a capitalistic concept invented to sell cheap, poor quality products marked up by like, five hundred percent, to dumb idiots that are so blinded by love that they’ll part with cash hand over fist just to prove how much they allegedly care about someone,” Reigen yaps away. “Don’t people care about the integrity of love? People should show how they feel every day, not just when society tells them they have to. It’s a dumb holiday. It’s stupid. Totally ridiculous.”

“I heard that fancy new sushi place is doing half off for couples,” says Ekubo, floating aimlessly past your head.

“Half off?” says Reigen without missing a beat. “For real?”

You roll your eyes from behind your laptop and click it shut. Trust him to only care when he can save a few Yen.

“Yeah,” Ekubo yawns. “I was gonna go down there and haunt a few couples. Y’know, spoil their day or whatever.”

“Nice,” you snort, wafting the spirit away from your face. “That doesn’t scream bitter at all.”

Ekubo grins. “Gotta make entertainment somehow, honey. You have no idea how boring it is to be dead.”

It’s hard to look disapproving when you’re laughing but you shoot him a look anyway.

Reigen snatches his feet off of the desk and sits up straight, his chair creaking with the abrupt motion. He taps away on his PC, lightning fast, and makes a sound of interest. “Holy shit,” he says. “Looks like you’re right. Half off food and drink.”

Ekubo ignores him and turns his attention to you. “Any plans?”

You shake your head. While you’d rather not give him the satisfaction, you partly agree with Reigen. The holiday is a made up scam; almost every restaurant and bar in the city ups its prices under the guise of special dinners and intimate drinks, filling their windows with hearts and flowers and corny banners about love.

Being single on Valentine’s is even worse. No one wants to go out alone and the commiseration prize for being so is a condescending offering of dating events and pathetic ‘self love’ bullshit. It's unbearably sad and you'd rather drink a bottle of wine alone in the bath than be seen to engage in any of that shit.

Still, the thought of spending it with someone you have feelings for is, in theory, very attractive. It's just a shame the only person you want is sat two meters away and very much not interested in doing anything of the sort.

Bottle of wine in the bath it is, you think.

Once everything is packed up, you wish them both good nights and make your excuses to leave. Reigen lets you go without even looking up from his laptop and you decide that tonight, more than one bottle might be needed.

♡

At six thirty, just as you pour your first glass, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You pick it up and flip it open, hoping this isn't going to be a late night call to come in to work even earlier tomorrow morning.

[Reigen] - are you free?

You stare at the message and another one comes in straight afterwards.

[Reigen] - obviously you are.

That’s a little hurtful but it’s not like he’s wrong. Why? you message back.

Three dots show up as he types, then they disappear, then return, and after a few minutes another message buzzes through.

[Reigen] - Emergency, meet me ASAP.

He pings through an address in the City and briefly, you're worried that he might be in trouble. The office diary hadn't listed any out of hours clients for tonight and it would be unlike Reigen to take a job that he couldn't handle alone; Serizawa is at night school this week to cram for exams and Mob is busy with his friends, so nothing is due to come up.

Another text comes through.

[Reigen] - and wear something nice.

You have absolutely no idea what he means by that, however if Reigen says it's an emergency then you'll never forgive yourself if you leave him high and dry. The last thing you want is for him to get hurt.

Must be a posh client, you think. Last minute demands for your presence are usually related to a high paying job, so it isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he needs you to butter up a stuffy customer and show off some leg to make a sale. It wouldn’t be the first time and you usually get a good commission for your troubles. It’s easy money.

Sighing, you screw the cap back on your wine bottle and down the half-full glass in record speed.

It’s better than moping about alone.

♡

You make it there in thirty minutes, give or take. The short notice gives you just enough time to make yourself presentable, pick out an outfit and make it into the city, yet by some stroke of luck you manage to catch the last train into central.

The address isn’t far from the office and with a brisk pace, you make it in good time. It’s busy out here tonight. It’s hardly unexpected. You’re in the food district on a major holiday, throngs of people are wandering through here at the best of times.

What is, however, is the sight that greets you when you arrive at the map’s marked location.

Reigen is standing outside a dimly lit restaurant, browsing his phone in one hand and clutching a lush looking bouquet of roses in the other. You almost walk right past him, he's unrecognisable without his usual suit and tie; he's dressed in navy slacks and a perfectly white dress shirt, silver glasses on the end of his nose and hair styled nicely. He looks good.

“Reigen?” You ask, approaching him warily.

At the sound of his name, he glances up from his phone briefly to see who’s asking and double takes. He looks a little surprised to see you and you have to admit that you feel similarly.

“Oh,” he says, looking you up and down. “You made it.”

“Where’s the emergency?” You frown, looking past him to search for awaiting clients.

Reigen clears his throat and jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the restaurant. “Here.”

There are no concerned looking people waiting around behind him. In fact, the entire place looks to be filled with couples who are anything but. You glance between him and the shop front again, and wait for him to expand on why you’re here.

Reigen stares back at you for a moment and then proffers the bouquet. “Here,” he says, a little flushed in the face. “You like flowers, right?”

You stare at him, clearly confused, but you take them from him all the same. They’re roses, deep red and freshly cut, tied together in layers of pink paper that rival the colour on his cheeks. You have to admit, they're lovely.

“What are these for?” You ask, laughing. “Where are the clients? You said there was an emergency.”

Reigen looks slightly guilty and you realise, after a moment, that there isn’t any client. No one needs your help and there doesn't appear to be any spirit floating around to cause bother. Now that you think about it, the front of this place seems vaguely familiar and when you look again, you realise he’s totally played you.

“This is that fucking sushi place, isn’t it?” you sigh, shifting the flowers into the crook of your arm. If what Ekubo had said is true, it’s not like you’re going to get to take advantage of the discount he so desperately wants. “Reigen, we're not exactly….” You gesture between you both and the words that go unsaid are obvious: ‘a couple’.

“Look, they’re doing fifty percent off the whole menu!” Reigen launches into his reasoning and you can tell he’s practised it. “It’s just for tonight, and we don’t have to do anything except look like we are, right? They won't know any different!” He pouts slightly for good measure and you hate that it works so well on you. It always does. “Plus, they sell that swanky shrimp shit and I really wanna try it…. Please?”

The flowers suddenly make sense.

“Are you asking me to date you for the night?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. The concept is hardly unappealing. Reigen is cute and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Well, thinking about it and dreaming about it are two very different things and the little candle you hold for him has only been getting bigger over time.

You’ve kept it quiet for the most part; the only person in the office that has any vague idea is Ekubo. He’s perceptive enough to have caught you looking when no one else is and although he's sworn to keep it a secret, you suppose if he isn't around then you can get away with playing things off as pretending.

He shrugs, unabashed in his request.

“Ugh,” is all you say and it's the vague confirmation he needs.

Reigen grins.

He drags you into the restaurant, hand wrapped around your wrist, and announces to the waiter that's taking stock of the visitors that he's booked a table for two. The waiter looks from Reigen, to you, to where he's holding you tightly by your arm.

“Tonight's dinner is for couple's, sir….” He says, looking unconvinced.

Reigen wilts slightly, letting go out of you and gesturing towards the flowers in your arms. “Uh,” he clears his throat. “We are.”

The waiter regards you both with suspicion and Reigen visibly prepares himself to argue with the guy. If you're honest, you'd really rather not cause a scene in an establishment like this by allowing him to fight with the first member of staff he comes into contact with.

The restaurant is clearly not made for people like the two of you: it's modern and luxurious, filled with mahogany and crystalline chandeliers, and all the staff look like they've smelled something unsavoury. It's clearly an upper-class joint.

Still, you think it might be nice to take advantage of an opportunity like this and you don't really want to spend tonight by yourself. Besides, you'll never hear the end of it if this gets screwed up and frankly, pretending to be on a date with him is probably as close to the real thing as you're going to get.

Reigen opens his mouth and you take his hand before he can get himself in trouble, slipping his arm around your waist and leaning into his side. He stiffens, looking at you in surprise, but you ignore him in favour of giving the waiter your best loving smile and lean into him.

Reigen smells like musky aftershave and something that’s distinctly him, and it makes your mouth water. “He's just shy,” you laugh, laying it on thick. “Of course we're a couple.”

It's important that you sell the idea first, Reigen had told you after you'd floundered a sales pitch once. Convince them even a little bit and the rest of it sells itself.

The advice is sound enough and you decide that the situation calls for a little more manipulation in order to close the sale and get the fucking stupid shrimp your boss wants. If nothing else, this'll teach him a lesson for tricking you into things. You press a chaste, but decent, kiss to the corner of his mouth and shoot the waiter a look that you hope conveys how much a couple in love would definitely do something like that.

You can feel your body warm up and you will yourself to stay relaxed, hoping your face doesn’t show how silly you really feel.

Reigen isn’t doing as good a job at running with things and he laughs, a little manic and high pitched. He mumbles something about you being right and gingerly squeezes your waist.

The waiter sighs and gestures for you to follow, apparently adequately persuaded.

When you risk a glance at Reigen, he's alarmingly red and slightly sweaty. All of the argumentative energy has left his sails and he seems rooted to the spot, unable to meet your eyes.

It's more than a little entertaining. You slip out of his half embrace and take his hand, having to drag him along in the wake of the waiter when it becomes clear that he’s forgotten how to move independently. “This better be the best fucking sushi I've ever had,” you warn him, but it's hard not to smile when he almost trips over his own feet on the way to the table.

♡

The meal is otherworldly.

It's a testament to how the other half live. You've never had seafood like this before and knowing you probably won't have it again seems to make it all the sweeter. Everything is ten times better than the usual places you go.

Reigen lets you order whatever you want, provided it’s on the discount menu, obviously, and he even shares some of his fancy shrimp with you. Not much, but some.

The atmosphere is nice, too. Admittedly it's very romantic, candle lit and dark, and you suppose that is rather the point of it all. The lights stay low, the music is soft, and even the sushi arrives arranged into cute little hearts.

Your company is even better. Reigen has taken you out to eat before but usually he drags you to a cheap ramen place on the way home from work, and he always makes for entertaining companionship. This, though, is new. You've never actually gone out with him for a proper dinner and the entire time you sit across from him, you can't stop the way your stomach flutters at the thought of spending time like this together. It's silly, really.

It's not like this is a real date, after all. You don’t want to push the boat too far. There’s no sign that he actually feels any way about you beyond needing your compliance for his plan and you don’t want to make an idiot of yourself by getting too into it all.

You're halfway through sharing a round of nigiri when you realise Reigen is holding your hand. You're not sure how you missed him do it to begin with. After you'd sat down to eat, Reigen had been quick to keep himself to himself. The rosy tint to his face had stayed for a long time after your little over the top display and you had assumed he’d been too embarrassed to try something similar again.

Except halfway through dinner, you realise that his fingers are laced with yours as he laughs about a comment Mob had made the day before and he seems completely oblivious to the way his thumb is stroking over your knuckles.

You don't intend to mention it. It feels nice and you can't deny how enjoyable it is to play pretend like this with him, except he must catch your line of sight because he hums into his water glass, starting like it's also the first time he's noticed it, and starts to untangle himself.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I didn't-”

“I don't mind,” you say immediately. You're not sure what makes you blurt it out, but you tighten your grip to prevent him from backing off and surprisingly he gives in with no resistance.

He glances up at you, taken aback, and you try to clarify your meaning with only the tiniest of white lies. “The waiter already thinks we're making it up,” you say hurriedly. “We should probably keep it up until we leave, right? I’m not getting stuck with the full bill.”

Reigen raises his brows, seemingly astounded that you're not horrified by the concept of holding his hand, and he nods quickly to hide the expression. “Good idea,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours again. “Just for a bit longer.”

The hand holding lasts for more than just a bit. Even when you eat, neither of you let go of one another and no one mentions it. Sushi is easy to eat with one hand anyway, so it’s unobtrusive and easily forgotten. In fact, it’s oddly natural.

As the evening ticks on, you both relax enough that you start to forget that you’re supposed to be acting like you’re totally in love. It’s easy to get on with Reigen. You’ve always played off of each other well and this doesn’t feel any different to how you always behave around each other.

Beyond the handholding and the way his knees bump against yours under the table, you could be anywhere with him right now and you’re not sure you’d notice the change.

You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse about the situation.

The menu extends to several good wines and some specialty cocktails too, and in spite of the fact that you’re both scheduled to work tomorrow, you’re not shy about indulging. A single glass for you becomes another and even Reigen takes a risk on a second cocktail once he realises they’re serving something with citrus and fizz in it.

By the end of dinner you’re both getting on for being tipsy. Reigen begs off halfway through, a lightweight as usual, and relinquishes his for you to finish instead. It's probably for the best. His face is turning a pretty pink as he leans forward on the table, the alcohol bleeding into his system nicely, and dinner has been far too nice to puke up on the way home.

The alcohol settles in quickly and as mixing drinks tends to do, it goes to your head. You're not quite drunk, but you're not stone cold sober either. You think it might be why you stop paying attention to whatever Reigen is saying and start to let your thoughts wander a bit.

He's busy explaining a job from a few weeks ago, one that according to Mob had been fairly dicey, yet as you polish off the remainder of your glass, you’re not really listening to him brag about how he’d definitely been the one to save the day anymore.

You’re far too busy admiring the view to care about his stories. The fine wine feels like it cushions your mind in velvet, warming you up from the inside out and blurring everything around you except from him.

The chatter of the restaurant has faded away and the intimate lighting makes it feel like it’s just the two of you in here, trading stories and laughing with each other.

Reigen talks with his hands a lot, especially when he's had a drink, and while he expresses how close he’d come to death for the fifth time that day, he rocks your joined hands back and forth in time with his free one.

Reigen has nice hands: they’re wide and square, strong from all of his massages, with thick, long fingers you can’t help but imagine in places entirely unsuited to a public restaurant.

You’re enjoying a mental movie of said fingers on your body when he waves his hand in front of your face. Obviously you’re not doing a good enough job at showing him the attention he so craves.

“You're drunk,” he says, amused at your embarrassed look.

“No, I'm not,” you protest weakly. The stupid smile on your face belays your dishonesty and Reigen is clearly entertained. He blatantly doesn't believe you and you hide a laugh behind your hand. “Anyway, if I am, it's your fault.”

Reigen pretends to look aghast at the suggestion. “I'm your boss, I'd never get my employee drunk,” he scoffs.

“You don't remember having to scrape me off the floor of that bar at the Christmas party last year?” That one had been a particularly messy night out, even for you. You’re still all banned from the place for being idiots.

He smirks and you can see he's recalling it in real time. “That was your fault, not mine.”

“No way, you practically plied me with alcohol,” you say, laughing. “Very irresponsible of you.”

“Shut up,” Reigen grins and nods to the bouquet that’s propped up on the chair beside you. “I’m a great boss! I got you flowers, didn’t I?”

“Only so I’d date you under duress!” You say.

“I mean, sure, but also because you never get anything for Valentine’s.”

You stare at him, totally caught off guard by the confession. For what it's worth, Reigen looks even more surprised that he's said it. “I…. How did you-”

“Uh,” Reigen rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I… heard you talking to Serizawa about it last week.”

You can barely remember the conversation yourself. Serizawa had been talking about seeing flower arranging classes at his school and you'd made a comment whilst Reigen had been in the other room making tea, off the cuff and totally meaningless, about how you'd never gotten them before, not even for Valentine's day. It hadn't been said for any reason other than conversation, but it had been true. Up until now, anyway.

“Reigen, I-” You don't know if you should be over the moon that he cares so much or humiliated that the object of your affection knows about your shitty dating history. “Thank you.” You say finally, giving his hand a squeeze. “I think that's the nicest thing someone has done for me for a long time.”

Reigen shrugs it off like it's nothing and you're reminded of how much you really, really fucking like this guy. He's so sweet and kind and thoughtful, and no matter how frustrating he can be, he makes up for it so easily that you can never hold it against him.

Your head swims and ridiculously, your eyes start to burn a little.

You’d really rather not cry in front of him and very graciously, Reigen pretends not to notice. Instead, he reaches for the desert menu and this time, he tells you to pick whatever you like.

♡

For the last stretch of the night, the two of you share mochi and a couple more cocktails. The wine is a little heavy for dessert and Reigen talks you into splitting drinks so neither of you get completely wasted.

You're using them and his accidental confession over your flowers as an excuse to show a little more affection than you ought to, and he doesn't give the impression that it's a problem for him. He does start a little when you press your ankle to his under the table at one point, but at your apology and attempt to move it back, he catches your foot between his and holds it there without comment.

The casual touch becomes a subtle form of footsie without either of you consciously meaning it to and by the time dinner is done, you're sitting with your legs slotted together. Despite the fact you've let go of each other's hands to eat, everything feels much more intimate than it had at the start of tonight.

On the last few pieces of mochi, Reigen pauses his chewing. “You've got-” He gestures to his lower lip and you realise he's signifying that there's something on your mouth. “S'not much.”

Your hand flies up to seek out whatever he's talking about and you're mortified momentarily, expecting something obvious and gross clinging to your teeth, but your fingers come away clean with only a little powdered sugar on the tips.

“Oh,” you say, with a relieved laugh. “I guess I've had worse on them.” It isn't supposed to sound suggestive and the hidden meaning bypasses you until Reigen opens his smart mouth.

“Yeah,” he mutters, smirking to himself. “I bet.”

His comment comes out of nowhere and you almost choke on air, blindsided by the double entendre.

Reigen realises you've heard him and he turns so red you're sure he could light the entire way home. He panics a little, holding his hands up and starting to stammer out an apology until he realises you're laughing.

It's more than a little funny and you really don't don't mind. In fact, you suddenly wonder how far you can get him to take things. If he's making jokes like that, you're intrigued to see if you can coax out a different side to him. Just because he's your boss, that doesn't mean you both have to be uptight and on your best behaviour all of the time.

And anyway, it's all in good fun tonight. Couples are supposed to flirt, aren't they?

“Are you trying to push my buttons?” You ask, sucking the sugar from your fingertips and smiling over at him.

Reigen's eyes follow the motion and he clears his throat. “No, I-” He glances up at you, eyes searching yours, and you can almost hear the bell go off in his head when he realises he's safe to mess around a little.

A slow grin begins to bloom on his face and, slipping comfortably back into a playful attitude that you always enjoy being around, he shrugs. Reigen sits forward to lean on the table and props his chin up on his fist. “What are you gonna do if I am?” he asks, smirking. “Report me?”

You mirror him, leaning on the table too, and feint innocence. “No idea,” you say, layering on the helplessness. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll have to call HR and tell them my superior is bullying me….”

“Oh yeah?” Reigen's grin grows, cocky and lopsided. “Unfortunately,” he says, taking your hand again without acknowledging it. “I run that department too.”

Biting your lip to hold back a laugh, you duck your head and take the bait he's so clearly dangling in front of you. “Then I have a complaint to make about my boss….”

“Your boss?” Reigen says, tilting his head and pretending to recall who you might mean. He's extraordinarily good at committing to the bit. “Oh, you mean that really good looking, powerful psychic guy?”

“Uh huh,” you laugh softly and you run your toes up his ankle under the table. “Super powerful, very handsome.”

Reigen's eyes dart down toward where you're touching him, unseen, and he clears his throat again. “Handsome, huh?” He says, playing it as cool as he can. “How handsome are we talking?”

“Oh,” You smirk, shrugging one shoulder. It's hard not to break into giggles, not least because he's so cute when he thinks he's being subtle about fishing for compliments. “Enough that I don't mind him pushing a few of those buttons, I suppose.”

You know you're supposed to be joking around. All of this is a joke, a game, and yet…. The way he's allowing your touch, letting you do it back to him, it's impossible not to keep pushing.

Reigen's brow twitches and he grins. “And what if he pushed them harder?”

“I don't think I'd say no,” you sigh happily. “I like my buttons pushed pretty hard.”

“Careful,” Reigen warns playfully. “I heard he's bad news.”

You laugh under your breath. “He's not that bad once you get to know him.”

“You think so?” Reigen asks, eyes searching yours. Nonchalant, he takes your hand again and turns it over until your palm is facing upwards so he can draw slow circles on the soft skin

The sensation makes you shiver. Distractedly, you chew on your lower lip and nod. “Don't tell him, but I think he secretly likes being nicer than he gives himself credit for….”

Transfixed by your mouth, Reigen bites down on a grin. “How do you know what he likes in secret?” he says quietly. “I bet you've never even asked….”

“D'you think he'd tell me?” You say, toeing off your shoe to push your foot past his trouser leg and curl it around his calf. It's risky and stupid, and you can't even play it off as part of tonight's front, but Reigen doesn't seem to mind at all. “If I did.”

Something has changed in his gaze and all of a sudden, it doesn't feel like you're acting the part anymore. The two of you are very, very close together now and the air feels charged, like it's full of static that's pulling you towards him. He's only a few inches away from your face and you can smell the sweet scent of lemon on his breath.

Reigen is still trying to play it cool, working hard to maintain his composure as though he isn't sweating nervously. “Maybe if you show him yours, he'll show you his.”

“Yeah?” The din of the restaurant is distant and muted, like your head is full of cotton wool, and all you can concentrate on is the way he keeps licking his lips.

Reigen meets your eyes again and there's a tiny glimmer of hopeful interest in them. He doesn't appear to be joking anymore. “Go ahead,” he mutters. “Run it by me first.”

You're practically touching noses by now, leant across the table in each other's space, and if you were to tilt your head only a tiny bit, to pull on his hand, to drag him down onto you, you think you might be able to finally get the real kiss you've been dreaming of since you-

“Are you ready for the bill?”

A voice cuts through the woolly atmosphere, loud and abrasive, and both of you almost fall off of your chairs in sheer surprise, jerking away and righting yourselves in your chairs. You whip your foot back, Reigen stops touching your hand, and the intimate air abruptly feels broken and ruined.

“Apologies,” says the waiter, not looking very sorry at all. “But we do need the table.”

You can barely look up at the guy, face burning hot. It feels like you’ve been caught in the broom closet with your boss, doing something far worse than winding each other up, and Reigen seems just as embarrassed. Awkwardly, he takes the small, folded piece of paper from the waiter and reaches into his back pocket for his card.

♡

Reigen pays the whole bill and when you attempt to offer your half, he looks at you like you're insane. Typically, you split the bill with him whenever you go out to eat. He's a cheap bastard and you know better than to expect anything less, but he refuses your offer the second you hold out your own card.

He doesn't even complain about it, either, apparently just happy to have achieved his goal of qualifying for the discount he's been aiming for all night.

Once everything is settled, Reigen calls a cab for you both to share and the whole time you wait for it, you stand arm in arm with him, grinning like idiots and laughing together about cheating the system.

The taxi arrives quickly and in it, you sit closer to him than necessary, warm and toasty against his side.

The journey is quiet to begin with. You're sated and full, and still a little tipsy, so the silence isn't unpleasant. Slumped down in your seat, hiding your face from him, you can't stop turning over the memories of the dinner. He'd been so close to you, so within kissing distance, and you're too nervous to say anything about it in case he laughs you off.

What if he was just playing along? you think silently. What if I'm reading into it? The thought is nauseating. Perhaps you've sold the idea of dating him a bit too hard….

At your side, Reigen clears his throat softly and you shift so that you can see him properly. He’s sitting so close to you that your head is practically on his shoulder, and he looks down at you with a small, soft smile.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For coming. And for, y'know, going along with it. I hope it wasn't too weird.”

“I had a lot of fun, Reigen.” You laugh quietly. “Thank you. It was totally worth it.”

Reigen snorts. “I think we sold it pretty well, too,” he says. “Especially, y’know, on the way in.”

Oh, you think. The kiss.

“Sorry,” you duck your head and laugh, awkward. “I didn’t think he was gonna let us in and, well, you told me to make it work, so….”

He doesn't say anything and risking a look back up, you see that Reigen is watching you closely again, just as he had in the restaurant. Reigen smiles slightly, so warm and soft that your stomach feels like it might climb up your throat, and he looks down at your mouth again.

“Maybe I need to call HR,” he says with a half-laugh. “Kissing a subordinate is probably against some kinda law or something.”

There’s a playfulness in tone, like he's joking and simultaneously trying to see what your reaction to such a comment will be.

You decide to test the water. “Depends on whether the subordinate is into it, I guess….”

Reigen smirks, teasing, and a little bit relieved that you're not backing off. “I dunno, they didn’t get the chance to tell me.”

You realise he’s talking about the conversation you’d had before you had been so rudely interrupted, and your nerves flutter. Tonight has been full of flirting and teasing, and if you're still playing stupid games, you suppose you might as well go all in and see what happens.

You're both tipsy enough that you can play it off if he doesn't go for it. “Well,” you say, biting your lip. “I guess I'm pretty partial to a redhead. Especially if they’re in charge of me.”

“Yeah?” he says quietly, smile growing.

“And men with big mouths that they can't keep shut, too,” you smirk, glancing down at his.

“Noted,” he chuckles, his breath ghosting over your face. “Anything else you like?”

You look back up at his smug expression and decide you can't let him get too ahead of himself. “And swallowing.”

Reigen makes a funny noise, strangled and hoarse, and closes his eyes for a moment. “Fuck,” he murmurs. You can see his throat bob up and down as he tries to compose himself, and when he finally opens them again, he looks like he's struggling to keep it together. A blush crawls up his throat and the look in his eyes is so hungry it makes your knees go weak.

“Fuck HR,” Reigen says, and then sways forward slightly with the motion of the car and, leaning the rest of the way into your space, he ducks his head and kisses you.

Your eyes flutter shut and he cradles the side of your face, turning your head so he can get you exactly where he wants you.

It’s soft and nervous at first, like he's still not sure if he's making the right move and he pulls away almost as soon as he makes contact, only to return without hesitation for a second and a third at your insistent sounds. The chaste kisses become deeper as he lingers, slow and unhurried, and you can taste the sweetness from your desserts and drinks.

It’s so unbelievably fucking perfect.

You press your tongue against his and he gives a low groan, his hand finding your thigh to pull you closer. The kisses keep coming, his fingers trail upwards, crawling closer and closer to your lap, and you drag your teeth over his lower lip when he pulls away to breathe.

Reigen looks like he's had more than just a couple of cocktails to drink now; his face is redder than ever, his gaze glassy, and he's panting against your mouth like he's run a mile. You press another kiss to the corner of his lips and you shift in your seat, encouraging his hand to explore even higher.

He does as he’s asked, thick fingers slipping up between your legs and he leans down again to keep kissing you while he teases you through the fabric of your clothes.

You sigh into his mouth. His touch doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere near enough, the sensation dulled by your stupid fucking outfit, and you try to press up into him to seek out more.

Reigen laughs at your desperation, mumbling a stupid comment about being needy, and you bite his lip again in warning. “Careful,” You whisper, reaching over to palm him through his slacks with a smirk. “Don’t get smart.”

Reigen chokes out a grunt and his hips buck up of their own accord. He’s already hard, tenting his slacks, and you're not about to let him think he's in charge of the show. “HR won’t be happy if they find out I didn’t get my way,” you tut, rubbing his cock up and down slowly. “Then you will be in trouble.... And we don't want that, do we?”

Reigen hisses, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. He stares you down, challenging your gaze, and he smirks at your unwillingness to let him get away with being an asshole. He goes to kiss you again, surging forward, and then the taxi driver clears his throat very loudly.

You're yanked back into your surroundings. The car is parked up outside your apartment, engine running, and the driver is watching you in the mirror. He doesn't look very impressed. “You kids mind taking this somewhere else?”

You cover your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from laughing and grab your bouquet of flowers, flinging open the door while Reigen grabs whatever cash he has in pocket and flings it into the driver's tray.

He scrambles out of the car, darts around the back and grabs you by the hand, dragging you away and ignoring the guy's shouts of how much he's overpaid.

You only live on the first floor. Your apartment is small and simple, so much so that it hardly qualifies as much more than a shoebox with a kitchen attached, and you have to shuffle around in the hallway in order to let Reigen get inside.

He passes down the hall and makes his way into the main room, and once you’ve locked the front door you go after him. He's hovering about in the tiny living area, hands in his pockets as he inspects your room, and you drop the flowers on your coffee table whilst he’s busy.

This is the first time he’s been in here. On a proper night out, you tend to crash at his if you can’t make it home; it’s marginally bigger than yours and the cab is cheaper, which means his place always wins out. It’s a new experience to have him in your space like this.

“This is nice,” Reigen says awkwardly, gesturing to the apartment at large. “Cozy.” He seems a little stiff, unsure what to do now that he’s here.

You snort, coming to stand in front of him. “What are you, an estate agent?” You put your hands on his chest and guide him backwards until his legs hit the edge of your bed, and he falls back with a soft thump!

Willing and able, Reigen makes room for you between his legs. He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks on as you begin to undress. Your movements are slow and deliberate, never once looking away from him, and you can see his breathing pick up in pace.

He’s hypnotised by every move you make. You shed your clothes until you're in just your underwear, exposed to him, and climb carefully into his lap. You take off his glasses and lean over to deposit them on the bedside table before going back to him.

Reigen's hands come up to hold your waist and he boosts himself upward to restart his feverish kisses. He's ungainly and needy, licking and biting his way back into your mouth while you start to strip him of his dress shirt. You make quick work of the buttons, slipping them out with deft fingers and peeling the fabric away.

You tug at the back of his shirt until it slips free of his slacks, hands wandering over his lower back as you explore his soft skin. Much to your delight, the muddy freckles on his face continue down his shoulders, cascading onto his upper arms and spattering the pale skin like paintbrush flecks.

Reigen's body is slight. Narrow and slim, yet soft at the edges. He isn't very muscular; you know he runs on the weekends and you suppose he stays reasonably fit in order to chase after the others at work, so there's a subtle hint of strength hidden underneath the puppy fat of his stomach.

It's more attractive than it has any right to be.

Without breaking away from his kisses, you slip your hands down his chest and work your fingers under his belt until you reach the buckle, blindly undoing it with practiced skill.

The metal gives way and you slide the leather from the pin quickly to give yourself easier access. You're about to do the same to the buttons when he pulls away from you panting hard and clinging to your hips.

You try to chase his mouth, still pressing open mouthed kisses there while he tries to speak.

“Wait, wait,” Reigen says, voice hoarse. “Hang on.”

“Are you alright?” You ask, leaning back to make sure he's okay.

Reigen looks bashful, eyes searching yours. He goes to say something and then stops himself, visibly nervous about whatever he intends to say. "I…" He sighs, closing his eyes to steel himself. Whatever is wrong, it’s enough for him to reconsider what he's doing.

He doesn't move you off of him, but he suddenly looks like he wants to hide away somewhere. His flirty confidence from earlier is gone, replaced with the same shyness he'd shown when you had kissed him at the restaurant.

You take his face in his hands and force him to look up at you again. “Reigen, what is it? If you're uncomfortable, we can-”

“No!” He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around your middle to keep you still. “It's not that, I just…. I'm-” Reigen groans, not out of pleasure but embarrassment, and he buries his face in your shoulder. “I haven't really…. Done this. Before”

“What, fuck an employee?” you say, laughing quietly. “It's alright, I was just kidding about making a complaint, I-”

“No, I mean this,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Sex.”

You push at his chest until he has to sit up, revealing his cherry red face. He's uncharacteristically out of his depth and you're confused as to what he's saying . “You mean, like, it's been a while?” You ask.

Reigen grimaces, shaking his head. “Like, ever.”

“What?” You don't mean for the shock to show so obviously. He’s clearly already struggling and you gaping down at him like he’s mad won’t help the situation, however the idea that he’s never had sex before is utterly insane to you.

“I’m sorry,” Reigen apologises, avoiding meeting your eyes. He shuffles like he means to get up, jostling you about. “I didn’t wanna say anything, I know it’s stupid I can just go-”

“Reigen, stop,“ you put your hands on his shoulders and he stills, nervously glancing up at you through his lashes. He looks like he expects you to laugh at him, to kick him out now that you know his secret. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a good topic over dinner,” Reigen huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s embarrassing, obviously.” He’s very obviously humiliated by his admission and it makes your chest ache to see him so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

His point is valid enough; tonight was supposed to be fake, it’s not like there had been any need for him to tell you anything of the sort. Still, you feel a little bad for pushing him so much now. Admittedly it’s a surprise. He always seems to know what to say and being able to talk the talk usually gets you pretty far when it comes to sex, but the more you think about it, the more it starts to make sense.

All throughout dinner, he’d been happy to shoot the shit with you when he’d thought it was just a game, however the moment you’d done anything that even bordered on actual affection, he’d been decidedly less confident. Even in the car, his touches were hesitant and his kisses were unskilled.

You run a hand up his chest to soothe him, watching his tense shoulders relax. “Idiot,” you say, fond. “I don’t care.”

Reigen raises his eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“Not even a little bit,” you smile, leaning down to kiss him again.

Reigen doesn’t stop you. He breathes out heavily through his nose, gradually beginning to calm down, and you decide that things will have to go a little differently than you’d originally intended. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You murmur.

He nods quickly and you trail kisses from the side of his mouth down to his jaw line, open mouthed and hot, and he tips his head back with a groan. His skin tastes slightly salty, probably from sweating so much around you, and you drag your teeth over his pulse point.

Reigen sighs happily. He squeezes your hips, grabbing them gently and digging his blunt nails into the skin.

You slip out of your bra and toss it across the room. You stop bothering his neck in order to sit up, and you guide his hands up from your hips to caress your chest.

His big hands grope at you, squeezing experimentally as he explores the new sights, enjoying himself immensely. It makes you keen under his touch and he grins, his bravery growing at your enjoyment.

You unbutton his slacks whilst he's busy touching you up and slip a hand into them to palm at him through his underwear. Reigen grunts and presses his hips up into you, seeking friction to rut against, and you push down to meet him.

He gasps at the contact, his hold on your hips tightening, and before he can get carried away with dry humping you, you tug at his slacks and force him to stop. “Take these off,” you instruct, climbing off of his lap to give him room.

Reigen scrambles to shove off his trousers, kicking them away with his underwear and shuffling back into place, lightning fast. His eagerness is horribly endearing and it makes you grin. You slip out of your underwear and push him back against the pillows. “Lay back,” you smile.

Reigen does as he's told and with him flat on his back, you can finally see him as exactly as you've imagined. A trail of deep red hair leads down to a small patch that surrounds his thick cock, well kept and neat.

His thighs are curved nicely, long legs stretching down to hang off of your bed, and they show far more evidence of his exercise than his upper body. Regardless, he's gorgeous from head to toe. It drives you insane and you drink in the view for a second.

Reigen begins to look a little self-conscious at your attention. He squirms under your scrutiny and you're quick to settle his fear, straddling his waist and kissing him again until he forgets all about his worry.

You trade touches with him, hands roaming over one another as you make out for a while and Reigen's bravery begins to grow. He's encouraged by your soft sighs and casual exploration of his own body, and quite bravely he walks his fingers down from your hip to your bare pussy.

Your breath catches and you look down to him, giving him the silent go ahead.

Reigen bites his lower lip. He looks excited and shy all at the same time. Very carefully, he runs his fingers along the soft folds of you and studies your face to see how you react to his touches.

You gasp and tilt your body towards him, opening your legs to give him better access to you. His fingertips meet wetness and he makes a soft sound, both interested and surprised, and he trails them through your arousal.

Reigen is so busy investigating the feeling that he seems to forget that you're attached to the other end. He toys with your pussy, listening to you gasp and moan, grinning to himself greedily.

“Reigen,” you whine, reaching down to cover his hand with your own. “Put your fucking fingers in me before I-!”

He does as you ask, pushing one into your cunt and silencing your command. You moan loudly and push down onto his hand, desperately seeking more.

“Should I just….” Reigen looks a little awkward, unsure how to proceed, and with your hand that holds his wrist, you guide his finger in and out slowly.

“Keep doing that,” you sigh. “That's perfect.” The motion makes you shudder and you grab at his shoulder with your other hand. Reigen works his hand up and down, slow and steady as though he has all the time in the world.

You’re so wet that he hardly has to wait to add a second finger and you encourage him along to keep him calm.

Reigen appears to be enjoying the praise you give. His cock is hard against your hip, precum smearing against the skin when you shift, and he rocks into you in time with his fingers.

As he moves his digits within you, you lean back to take hold of his cock, squeezing him gently. Reigen practically mewls when you do so, cock twitching in your grip.

You bring your hand back to spit in it and gently, you coat his cock until it's wet enough to glide your hand along smoothly, starting to stroke him.

Reigen gasps and bucks upward into your hold, desperate for more as he grips the sheets with his free hand. He adds another finger into you carefully, watching your face with barely concealed awe. His fingers inside you burn in the best way, and Reigen's digits curl perfectly to hit your sweetest spot, making you cry out.

He pauses for a second, frightened he might have done something wrong, and you shake your head at his silent query. “Don’t stop,” you say, breathless.

Reigen nods and moves in time with you for a minute, unable to look away from where you sit above him. His hand speeds up as yours does and within minutes, Reigen is falling apart under your touch.

Worried he'll get carried away, you lift up off of his hand and guide his fingers out. At first, he protests with an annoyed grunt, trying to snatch you back down, and you shove him back by his chest, grinning.

Reigen looks confused until you shift backward to hover over his cock and he catches on quickly.

“Ready?” You ask, making sure he's okay.

Reigen nods quickly and takes hold of your waist. “Fuck, yes, please.”

You can't help but tease him a little, rubbing the head of his erection over your cunt for a moment and watching how easily he works himself up with unrestrained glee.

He goes to say something smart and you seize the chance to catch him off guard. You ease your weight down onto him until finally, you're completely filled by him. It feels so good you cry out and pitch forward, bracing your hands on his chest.

Reigen chokes out a moan, grip on your waist tightening, and he screws his eyes shut. He tenses for a moment, trying to calm himself before he can manage to go on. As much as you'd like to let loose, you force yourself to be patient. If he's never done this before then you can't ride him too hard to begin with. He'll come in five seconds flat and you're desperate to feel him for as long as possible.

“Relax,” you coo, covering his hands with your own. “Look at me.”

Reigen manages to open his eyes and you smile, reassuring. “Take a deep breath, don't panic.” You say, running your thumbs over his hands. “You're doing so well.”

Reigen blushes and manages a sheepish smile, breathing in and out slowly.

After a long minute, Reigen nods for you to go on, and you lift yourself up and down slowly, thighs straining as you move. He watches you in disbelief for a second, like he's committing the sight of you to memory, and a big grin crawls onto his face. “Fuck,” he gasps. “You're so fucking hot.”

The compliment is unexpected and you feel your face warm up. Having his fingers in you feels like nothing in comparison to the way he's looking at you right now, hungry for more and leering at the sight of you on his cock.

You can't stop yourself from smiling and you roll your hips forward, slow to begin with. Each move has you both moaning and sighing, encouraging each other to give more and more until you're not sure who's fucking who anymore.

Reigen's eyes roll back when you speed up, eyes fluttering to stay open. His fingers are digging into your skin and the thrill of being bruised by him runs straight to your pussy.

The room fills with only tiny moans and sounds of fucking; No smart come backs, no more faking, just pure pleasure and excitement.

With a good pace set, you run your fingers over your clit, sighing happily as you circle your touch. It feels so good that you can't even focus on keeping rhythm, your hips stuttering a little.

Reigen seizes the moment to take charge of the moment instead of letting you control the movements, and he fucks up into you. His confidence is unexpected so you barely have time to process what happens, falling forward and leaning on his chest for support. His gaze moves from your face to where your tits bounce, and back up again. He meets your eyes and the sight of one another is enough to make both of you laugh.

He sits up a bit and presses your foreheads together, kissing you over and over, messy and uncoordinated as he gets closer. You both make soft little sounds, panting into each others space like you're desperate for air, and as your fingers work furiously over your clit, you begin to feel a coil build in your stomach; you're so close you feel like you might explode, and you cry out when Reigen snaps his hips particularly hard.

It's enough to force you over the edge and you tighten around him, body shuddering as your climax hits you. You moan his name loudly as the waves wash over you and the sensation is obviously too much for Reigen, because he buries his face in your neck and makes the most obscene noise you've ever heard.

It's somewhere between a sob and a moan, but his voice breaks halfway through and he bites down hard on your neck to stifle himself.

You can feel him cum inside you, cock twitching, and you collapse forward onto him the second he's done. Both of you go limp, lying pressed up against each other as you try to catch your breath again. Neither of you move for a while and it isn’t until you feel your thighs begin to cramp that you decide you’re going to have to get off. You lift up off of him carefully and you both groan at the loss as he slips out from you, cum trailing after his soft cock, and you flop beside him on the bed.

Reigen looks thoroughly fucked. His hair is astray and his mouth is red, lips bitten and slightly swollen from all the attention you’ve given them throughout tonight. You know you probably don’t look much better, but you’re so exhausted you can’t bring yourself to care.

You shuffle up into his side and Reigen tucks an arm under you, pulling you in close. Your eyes are growing heavy against your will and Reigen drags your leg up over his hips to make you more comfortable.

He draws circles on your skin with his thumb, breathing slowing to a normal pace. The silence is comfortable and calming, and you’re almost drifting off by the time you manage to speak again.

“You okay?" you whisper, peering up at him.

Reigen hums, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says, sounding entertained. “Very.”

You laugh quietly to yourself at his smug face and snuggle closer to his side. He squeezes your upper arm gently and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Are you?” He asks.

“Definitely,” you sigh happily and close your eyes. “I think we went above and beyond to convince that place tonight, don’t you?”

Reigen smiles into your hair. “Eh, maybe we should go out a few more times. Just to make sure.”

You grin into the crook of his neck. “Sure, if you’re paying.”

Reigen chuckles and gives your ass a gentle slap. “Only if you show me how much you really like swallowing.”

“Deal.”

[russo-woso]

Wonderland | Alessia Russo

“Baby, come with me, please.” Your girlfriend, Alessia, asked as she buried her head in your chest.

It was one of those days where you both wanted to be with each other and not let go.

However, Alessia had a big shoot and had to go, there was no cancelling it.

“Am I even allowed to be there?” You mumbled into her hair, brushing it out of her face.

“I don’t know but I’ll find a way to let you stay. I just want you there.” Less responded

“Then I’ll be there, but lessi baby, we really have to get up if we need to be there on time.” You told her, but in response, she climbs on top of you so you couldn’t get it.

“Two more minutes.” Less mumbled and you laughed as she clings on to you impossibly tighter.

————————

“I can’t wait to see you be a model today.” You tell Alessia whilst walking into the building.

“You seem to be enjoying the thought of me being a model more than a footballer. I might as well just quit football. I feel like you won’t love me if I go back to football.” Less sighed, jokingly and you hit her arm gently.

“I’m not saying that. I’ll love you no matter what career you’re doing. I could never stop loving you, less.”

“I could never stop loving you either.” Alessia stopped walking when she said it, making you stop too.

She turned to face you and pressed her lips against yours.

“I love you, my girl.” She whispered against your lips before pulling completely away. “Now, where is block 3?”

Eventually, after minutes of looking for the place, you both found it.

You walked in and was blown away.

Outfits were everywhere, bright lights were on, clothes racks filled with designer clothes were dotted around the place.

Alessia was immediately taken away to get her hair and makeup done.

You tried to follow after her but with all the people rushing past, blocking the path from you to her.

Six tries it took for you to get through the crowds of people.

But it was worth it to see Alessia’s smile reappear when she saw you in the mirror.

“Hi, baby.” She said to you, her smile growing even bigger.

“Hi, lessi.”

You walked over to a stall that was next to the hair and makeup bays and sat down on it, thinking it was meant to be sat on.

But when one of the legs collapsed from underneath you, you went tumbling to the floor, creating the attention to go in your way.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I could sit down on it.” You apologised to a man that looked like he was in charge.

“You really had to go and break this stall? This is nearly a hundred year old stall that we use for advanced shoots. Do you know how much money that costs?” He snapped back, shaking his head at you.

“Are you okay, baby?” Alessia questioned, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You responded, shaken up from the encounter with the man, and walked over to the corner where you knew you couldn’t cause any damage.

Alessia got changed into her first outfit, and god, did she look good.

She had a few shots taken of her in that outfit before she was directed to change into another outfit.

You were still stood in the corner just watching when you heard Alessia call for you.

You walked behind the privacy fence, that had been put up for Alessia to change behind, knowing she was there.

“Can you help me do this dress up?” She asked and you nodded, smiling at her.

“You look so pretty, lessi.” You told her, zipping the back of the dress up.

It was true, she looked gorgeous.

The black dress hugged her figure and her hair and makeup complimented the dress.

Once you’d zipped up the dress, she turned to face you, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“You always look beautiful, my girl.” She told you and once again pressed her lips on yours.

“Lessi, I don’t want to mess up your makeup.” You said, pulling away from the kiss.

“Fine, but please come and stand by the camera. I want to see you when I look at the camera.”

It was a simple request so you couldn’t say no.

“Of course, love.”

And that’s what you did, her next few shots, she looked more relaxed. She was more relaxed because you were the one behind the camera.

“My girl, can you please get me that drink over there?” Alessia asked, smiling politely at you.

As you turned around to get the drink, you walked into the same man from earlier.

“What is wrong with you? You’re everywhere I turn! Just get out! Get out from my sight! Get out of the building!” He shouted at you, tears welling in your eyes, as he did.

“Don’t speak to her like that! Who says you can speak to her like that? She is the kindest, most loving person ever. And I’m so lucky to have her. So just because she broke a stupid old stall and accidentally walked into you, when she was doing me a favour, doesn’t give you the power to talk like that to her. Come on, baby, we’re going. I’ve had enough, use the shots you got, I’m going.” Alessia screamed back at him, her arms wrapping round you, comforting you.

“Alessia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was with you. Please can we just—” He started to apologise, but before he could finish, Alessia cut him off.

“—You don’t get to talk to my girlfriend like that. No one does. End of, we’re going.”

And with that, you and Alessia left the photo shoot, your hands trembling from the incident.

————————

“I’m so sorry I ruined your shoot, lessi.” You apologised to her as you were cuddled into her later that night.

“Oh, pretty girl, you didn’t ruin my shoot. You made it a hundred times better with you being there. Please don’t say sorry. It should be me saying sorry. I was the one who dragged you there, I was the one that didn’t say anything to him when you sat on the stall, I was the one that made you get the drink. It wasn’t your fault.” She reassured you, pressing kisses on your head.

“He was such a twat.” You said and she laughed at your comment.

“He really was. Nobody gets to treat you like that. Nobody. Just thinking of him makes my blood boil. I’m sorry you had to deal with him.”

“It’s not your fault, lessi, please don’t say sorry. And anyway, seeing you in them outfits made it up to me. Especially you wearing a tie.” You told her, a smirk resting on your face as you remembered the outfit with the tie.

“Pretty girl, if you let me get up, I’ll go get a surprise for you.” Alessia said, you face lighting up, lifting your body off of hers so she could get up.

You watched as Alessia walked over to her jacket that she wore today to the shoot, reaching into the pocket and pulling out the same tie.

“I saw how you reacted when I wore it so there was no way I wasn’t bringing it home with me. I’m glad I stole it after what he said to you. Even if it just a tie, I stole it from him.” Alessia stated, pressing a passionate kiss on your lips.

“Fuck, I love the tie. And you, of course.”

[cosmiccardistry]

Pick An Emoji: What Is Coming Toward You In Love?

(Minors DNI + DNF!) Hello again everyone, it's Cosmic! I know this post is very off-schedule, but I'm wishing you a Happy belated Valentine's Day with this tarot reading anyway! Below, I have four emojis for you to choose from. When choosing a pile, look at the hearts before you. Truly take them in. After that, shut your eyes. Breathe in and out until you feel calm - almost empty. Once you are calm, allow the heart that corresponds to the pile you're meant to engage with to appear within your mind. 1)💝 2)💗 3)💖 4)💞 DISCLAIMER: I do tarot for fun and as a means of entertaining other people. This is not something that I intend for people to take one hundred percent seriously! Also, this is a collective tarot reading. I am not reading your specific energy alone, so not everything here will likely apply to you. Be discerning and use your own intuition! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

💝 - "Let It Be"

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) - You're Beautiful - James Blunt, Let It Be - The Beatles, Your Face - Wisp, Paper Bag - Fiona Apple, Get Gone - Fiona Apple, Yellow - Coldplay Keyword(s) - Beautiful, balloon, water-balloon, laughter, 2/222, 3/333, paper bag, plastic bag, get gone, tanktop, funny, sacral chakra, solar plexus, crown chakra, throat chakra, ocean, ocean breeze, banana, 'baba', pacifier, 'devil in the details', fluctuating Base - The Moon, Ten of Swords (Reversed), Seven of Cups (Reversed), Ace of Cups (Bottom of Deck #1), Nine of Cups (Bottom of Deck #2) Clarifying - The Chariot + Six of Pentacles (Reversed) - Ten of Cups (Reversed), Ace of Swords, Judgement - Four of Cups, Seven of Swords, Ace of Pentacles The first thing I noted while doing this pile was the Ten of Swords (Reversed) and the Ten of Cups (Reversed) clarifying each other. I feel you will gain an understanding of something in your love life that didn’t work out before. It’s necessary that you really focus on your healing, though. Your reading keeps returning to the healing they really want you to be doing. You may be prolonging your sadness and healing unnecessarily because you refuse to leave the past behind. This could be subconscious. You are existing within illusion and/or confusion, because of something that happened way back when. Maybe someone refused to reciprocate in an equal give and take with you? Whatever happened in the past, you find yourself unable to give and receive in the present because of it. I empathize with you. The universe wants to give you more opportunities! In love, or otherwise. However, you may overlook them. In fact, you may currently be overlooking opportunities for growth and excitement because you are suffering. Keep your eyes peeled! That being said, though, I don’t think overlooking opportunities is always necessarily negative. The universe is abundant - always willing to provide. If you need more time before receiving something from the universe, that is totally acceptable! What is meant for you will always be. Just remember that you need to fight. Shoot forward and manifest, so the universe can provide based on the powerful energy it receives from you! Even if you brush your teeth, and then sleep for the rest of the day afterward, you are manifesting. You are fighting. You are healing, and engaging in self-care. An effort - no matter how small or slow - is always important! Use your judgment and your intuition to get through this period of negativity and sadness. Take note of those who you might be taking more from than necessary - give back on occasion, if possible. Send love energetically to the people around you, even through all the confusion, illusion, and fear. For Advice Portion - King of Pentacles (Reversed), The Hermit (Reversed), The Lovers, The Hanged Man + Ten of Swords (Bottom of Deck #2) Clarifying - The Devil + Ace of Cups (Reversed) - Temperance (Reversed), Eight of Wands (Reversed), Five of Wands (Reversed) - Ace of Wands (Reversed), Queen of Pentacles (Reversed) Advice - Truly give into self-work via journaling and shadow-work prompts. Observe your negative patterns and write them down, if necessary. Be cautious when giving to energies/patterns/situations that have caused you to spiral into negative habits before. Stop fighting the healing work that you must do and focus less on romance, for now. You will absolutely find your romantic match. Your healing will take you directly to them. Learn to be happy single, for now, and have a fresh beginning with yourself and yourself alone! You will find true, genuine, healthy love in divine timing. You are not being forced into this time alone. See this experience of singularity as a blessing and know that you are already one with your ideal partner. Be kind to yourself. Love yourself as you love them. Also, stop reading and/or watching as much romance-related tarot? That could be a negative habit you currently have. ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

💗 - "Change"

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) - Listen To Your Heart - Roxette, Heart To Heart - Mac Demarco, Blue Lips - Regina Spektor, Cry Me A River - Justin Timberlake, Cry Me A River (Different Song, Same Name) - Julie London, Kiss Me - Sixpence None The Richer Keyword(s) - Kept trying to say 'green words' instead of 'keywords', heart chakra, from the heart, baseball, Modern Baseball, Halloween, veteran, veterinarian, throat chakra, poet, seeds, teacup, bag, angel, bagel, ocean, lips, mouth, kiss Base - Ace of Swords, The Star (Reversed), Five of Swords, Justice, The Lovers (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - Five of Swords (Reversed) & Four of Pentacles (Reversed), Nine of Cups (Reversed), The Moon, The Hermit, Temperance (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #2)

An end is coming toward you. The ending of a relationship. If this relationship doesn’t end entirely, then the perspective you have on the relationship will change. You are quickly gaining control over conflict in this situation, retaining a leadership position. In doing that, you are allowing yourself to find stability, happiness, and pleasure. A tower will fall and cause hopelessness, helplessness, and dissatisfaction to dissipate - allowing any future work on your part to actually create something stable. In the past, any work put into this relationship might have only resulted in suffering, pain, and confusion. You really know your situation better than I do, and I know I stated that the relationship doesn’t - necessarily - have to end, but many of you will cut somebody off in favor of keeping your effort and energy to yourself. If you haven’t done this already, that is. The Justice card is out here, later clarified by the Devil in reverse. This relationship could be karmic, or that's what I felt when seeing these two cards come out together. Saw the Emperor and the Empress (Reversed), too. It's like this relationship was almost a match. They were a person you saw everything in...- If only they had fallen upright, or... allowed themselves to. After ending this relationship, being alone as a means of allowing yourself to retrospect could be best. There is no need to rush or place unnecessary pressure on yourself. In doing so, you could trick yourself into believing that there will be no victory out of exhaustion, or you could simply delay progress altogether. Also, know that everyone will receive what they deserve and trust the Universe to dole out karma - positive and negative - wherever necessary. Whoever you might leave in the past will have trouble freeing themselves of their stuck manner. Finding themselves heartbroken, while they miss your stability and commitment-minded mentality. Do not remain stuck with them and take their karma for yourself. Holding onto this relationship - or the way that the relationship was - will not assist you in any way! Don't be afraid to look at this relationship differently as a means of healing! For Advice Portion - Two of Wands (Reversed), Ace of Pentacles, Five of Swords (Reversed), The Emperor & Ten of Cups, The Star (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - Ace of Wands, Five of Swords (Reversed) & The Emperor (Reversed), Ten of Pentacles, Justice (Reversed) Advice - This is a new beginning. Don’t allow a fear of change to deter you. Don’t be afraid to chase after your goals and passions - head toward what excites you most…! Be decisive at this time. And you can - absolutely - be decisive right now, even if you feel uncertain. You likely aren’t as confused as you think you are. You have been gifted with an opportunity to thrive peacefully without a conflict that has bothered you for a very long time. Allow yourself to be grateful. However, do not do anything in excess. Make sure that any passion you follow is healthy and doesn’t only serve you. Do not allow your suffering to turn you into someone selfish and controlling. You are the Emperor. No matter what. You don’t need force, manipulation, or control. You are a natural leader at heart. People will follow you simply as a result of you maintaining a healthy, balanced, exemplary disposition. You will find healthy love in due time, even after the conflict that you have suffered through- This love might be happening for you right now, even! A relationship healed after an internal conflict…- Just maintain emotional balance and all will work out for you. And, finally… do not - under any circumstances - allow your worries about justice and karma to stagnate you, or kick you out of emotional balance! Don’t worry about karma! Karma is not your problem, nor is it something you can control. Keep that in mind.  ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

💖 - "Shine Brightly"

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) - You're The Greatest (Reprise) - Wander Over Yonder, Pocketful of Sunshine - Natasha Bedingfield, Here Comes The Sun - The Beatles, Haven't You Noticed (I'm A Star) - Steven Universe Keyword(s) - Zipper, zoomies, phone, telephone, call me, heart, heart chakra, 2/222, 1111, plaid, earring, infection, star, cartoons, Piplup, Pokemon, trash, laundry day, yellow, solar plexus Base - Two of Wands, Four of Swords, The Hierophant, Ace of Swords, The High Priestess (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - The Emperor, The Sun, Seven of Swords (Reversed), Five of Wands, King of Wands (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #2)

Before I start, I want to state that being in your energy made me happy...! You are a great person, Pile Three, and you're fun to be around! You're reading is a complete loop, starting with the Two of Wands and then ending with the Two of Wands. You have thoroughly planned your next steps regarding your romantic world, and now you are taking action. Maybe you are considering putting yourself back out there again? Either by getting on a dating website, trying new recreation, or starting a new project? Whatever you want to do, I feel that you have the knowledge necessary to achieve your goals and succeed - to meet someone new. To create new connections, even those that aren't - necessarily - romantic. If that isn't the case right now, it definitely could be soon, if that is what you yearn for. I believe that you are very in touch with the spiritual world, whether you know that about yourself or not. Follow your intuition - your internal compass - and things will go well for you. You have already taken the time to rest, recuperate, and place your focus inward. You have a deep understanding of what might have been causing illusion in your romantic world. You have also taken your energy and effort away from a situation that might have broken your heart, and/or the hearts of others...! If this is not what you've done, it seems that this is what you are planning on doing - quickly taking control of the reigns and heading away from heartbreak, pain, and disappointment to find a relationship that will bring stability, love, and hope into your world. If you feel that none of this applies to you - that you have not moved away from a negative situation, spent time alone, and gone inward - that is exactly what you need to do. A good pause in love might be exactly what you need right now. Rest and recovery after situations like these are important! Don't feel negatively if you cannot force any sort of passionate energy to build within you. You will meet a romantic match who is just as intuitive as you in due time. So, don't rush - plan, examine what you know, look toward the future rather than the past, and take care of yourself. If you haven't healed from this negative romantic situation already, you will; and if you are still in the process of cutting a cycle out of your life, you will be successful in doing that, too...! Also, I saw the Two of Cups multiple times, there is definitely hope, Pile Three!

For Advice Portion - Six of Cups, Page of Pentacles, The Sun, Three of Swords (Reversed), The Wheel of Fortune (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - The Devil (Reversed), King of Cups, Three of Wands, Two of Cups Advice - If you're attempting to get into new hobbies, try and do stuff that you're inner child would want to do. Remind yourself of the dreams and wishes you had when you were a little kid, and bolt toward those. Doing so will end in a nice experience for you. Might even heal negative habits you currently have. There is no need to fear walking away from past negativity. It is recommended that you move away from old, negative tendencies and relationships - even those that stem from childhood. Maybe you work yourself too hard? Don't be scared of taking a proper break. Put your heart into your work. Don't be afraid to allow other people to see you, and your work - your efforts and goals. Ask for assistance from other people, if necessary. The future is bright, there is no more suffering in your future - as far as I can tell. Let the brightness of the Sun bring you into your bright, loving future. Point your love inward - show yourself self-love! Pamper yourself, even despite past conflict! Let the pain end. Allow cycles to finish. Don't fight the ending that will come with releasing this past pain. You deserve to live as happily as possible! Holding onto pain will not allow you to do that! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

💞 - "Yes/No"

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) - Excuses - Shakey Graves, Harness Your Hopes - Pavement, Don't Let's Start - They Might Be Giants, A Pearl - Mitski Keyword(s) - Accidents, whiplash, 'rushing or dragging?', drumming, orange, sacral chakra, red, root chakra, go, stop sign, pillow, pie, cake, 'what a bitter disappointment', sign, hello, goodbye, opposites Base - King of Swords (Reversed), Page of Cups, The Tower, Page of Swords (Reversed), The Hanged Man (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - The Devil (Reversed), The Magician + Two of Cups, Nine of Cups (Reversed), The Emperor (Reversed), Ace of Wands (Bottom of Deck #2)

You might have also wanted to pick Pile Three? Perhaps? Two cards from that pile kept showing themselves to me while I was shuffling, so...! If you cannot forgive someone for something, allow them to go find their happiness elsewhere. That's what I heard. You are detaching from something or someone. A romantic relationship. A negative thinking pattern. You could even be detached from whatever this is already. Single. You might be putting yourself out there, attempting to manifest a balanced, emotional relationship with another person. Do you have someone specific in mind? Do you even want a relationship...? You feel somewhat back and forth like you aren't even sure what you want romantically at the moment...- There is no rush! I want to talk about the tower we have here. Towers are not negative! We see them as negative because we're human, but they are a necessity. Some people will simply not learn without emotional pain. If you need to learn the hard way, then you need to learn the hard way. This tower that exists within your reading is not avoidable- I asked, 'Why..?' They gave me Four of Wands, Ten of Pentacles, and Six of Wands. If you want this healthy, amazing relationship you've dreamed about, you have to learn more lessons...! Specifically, you have to learn how to exhibit gratitude, patience, and balance. You also have to lessen your grip on control, and completely surrender to healing your emotional imbalances. Do not be afraid to look at this situation differently - from a less negative angle. It sucks, I know, but you can get through any healing that you need to!

For Advice Portion - Six of Wands, Ace of Wands, Eight of Cups (Reversed), Knight of Pentacles, The Hierophant (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #1) Clarifying - The Devil (Reversed), King of Pentacles (Reversed), Eight of Cups (Reversed), Seven of Swords (Reversed), Five of Cups (Reversed) (Bottom of Deck #2) Advice - There is a victory to be had here with some work. In healing and defeating the truly detrimental negative tendencies you might have, you will gain a new beginning in romance where you are completely on top...! Again, there is just work that needs to be done and stuff that needs to be distanced from. Specifically, a relationship or circumstance that is holding you back. This situation is only causing more trauma for you. Move forward and away from whoever, or whatever this is...! If you have done so physically, then you must release any disappointment you might still be holding onto as that might still be connecting you to this energetically. If you are going to try out dating again (or just meeting new people in general), I would suggest using a new method that you haven't tried before. A new website, a new hobby - something that hasn't resulted in a negative experience already. Also, it doesn't matter how 'slowly' you are healing. It only matters that you are trying and moving at a steady, consistent pace...! Doing so will bring you directly to emotional fulfillment. ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

I wanted to say thank you very much for the kindness my first post was shown! I really appreciate it...! Any advice is always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed this post and that some stuff resonated for you! Until next time! :-)

[pumpkinbxtch]

ok so like I just requested so please take your time on this next one, I’m over here asking again alr because you’re response was so nice to my last one it made me feel ok asking again 😭❤️❤️❤️ I’ll be a little more specific with this one <3

Apollo x Fem!Reader, where the reader is a mortal who keeps reincarnating every hundred or so years and Apollo falls in love every single time 🤭 and once again it’s been a 100 or so years, and suddenly he meets her again!!! this can be god!apollo or Lester!apollo bcs honestly there’s so many possibilities with both so I’ll leave that up to you :3

Again take your time with this one and feel free not to even accept it right away!!! Thank you for the last one again and pls have a great day!! YOURE THE BEST ❤️❤️

• ° . ☆ “Free coupons, take one and cry all afternoon”

— apollo x mortal!reader

part ii

Summary: Apollo has literally loved you for years and years and lifetimes. Now that you return to him, that time his crossroads will not be long, but at least he was able to see you and fall in love with you once again. warnings: bad words, yea umm. Haha a/n: I'm so happy you liked what I wrote. It's really very important to me. AND SORRY if I'm late, it's just inspiration. The gods refused to give it to me, but it is here. Kisses.- From the other side of the milky way, María.

The first time, Apollo saw you and without hesitation passed his heart towards you. Oh gods, he had the best weeks of his life, but then he had to let you go. You were a mortal, he couldn't be with you for long without exposing you to danger.

And since he loved you so much, he decided to give up, he forced himself to see more for you than for his need to be with you.

He had already calculated it, it was about 100 years or so to see you again, but throughout those, he changed completely, he had to face a great battle against his father's ego and that of himself. He almost forgot how old and ageless he was, when you spend more than six months fighting for your life, that's how it is. Until that day when he accompanied his now friends to an amusement park, the same ones as always; Will, Nico, Rachel, Meg, and the seven. Ten young adults, one teenager and ONE “apparent” young adult. They were having a great time, actually.

The roller coasters, the ice cream, the sun (him), the kiddie rides that Meg insisted on riding. But Apollo had gotten tired, can a god get tired? Well, he's trying to keep up with so many demigods with ADHD at a fun fair.

He took a seat on one of those wooden benches with faded rainbow paint. The others looked for him and gathered around.

— Apollo! I want to go to the water attraction —  Percy said, holding Annabeth's hand, who was apparently analyzing the map of the place.

— Yes, and then we go to the flying chairs — said Jason, his practically brother. A smile that he had never seen adorned his face, next to him, Leo hung from the blonde's neck.

—Yes, come on, sunny.

—Don't be lazy, I want to go to the carousel.— Meg said, squeezing the dolphin plushie that he had won for her in the shooting game.

Frank handed him his ice cream, and Hazel looked at him for any injuries.

Will and Nico seemed to have moved on, they were very lovey-dovey lately.

—Thank you, Frank. I'm fine —

— If you don't like sharing, I can go get one for you.

Apollo smiled and brushed his brown hair out of his face.

—I'm fine, man. Don't worry.

But he knew that wasn't the case, he felt something in his stomach that wouldn't leave him alone.

Piper and Rachel looked at each other, both seeming to read each other's minds as they discussed something.

—How about we walk Meg to the carousel and come back for you? It sounds fun, a bunch of us riding metal animals going up and down —  Piper said, taking Meg's hand. Rachel nodded and smiled at Apollo.

— Yes, I think it will be enough for you to rest.

No one had any objections, but Apollo had sensed a certain charm in the words of Aphrodite's daughter. Was he missing something?

Everyone advanced and Rachel was the last to set off, she looked at the god knowingly.

— Good luck.

Apollo did not know what those words meant, and he waved goodbye. A remorse for not accompanying them invaded him, but he stayed sitting on the bench. He ruffled his curls anxiously and leaned on his thighs, taking in the great view of the concrete with a cooler of ants carrying breadcrumbs. Then, he felt a hit on the head and an apology.

— Sorry! Are you ok?

He looked up and oh, fuck. It was you? He could feel his heart crushing and feeling on fire. Apollo stood up from the bench.

— I-I'm fine, don't worry.

The last time he had seen you, your eyes were the color of olive, now they were brown, but the look was the same. You gave him a warm smile and placed your hands on your chest.

— Really? —

He nodded and smiled, too.  For you, Apollo's blue eyes became familiar within seconds of seeing them.

— We know each other?

“We've met thousands of times,” he wanted to say, but he couldn't. In other lives, he had told you that he was a god, and you believed him. But the situation in how you had met that day, the hurried manner of your meeting, told him that the meeting with you would not last at all. Even so, seconds or glances were enough for him, he was already in love with you, again.

His heart was immersed in melancholy, and he wanted to hug you.

— Maybe…

You opened your eyes a little and approached him curiously, you smelled like lavender and sunshine, that last one made his stomach flip. You were almost invading his personal space, which made him push his chin back to avoid bumping into your nose.

— I thought that, too. Do you come here often? It's just that I work at one of those food islands. — You told him and stepped back smiling to show him your uniform. You had a cap with the company logo embroidered on it.

— Ahm yes, with… — He thought of Meg and the others. He made a silent apology to Artemis — My sister and my friends.

You widened your smile and dug something into your pants pockets.

Apollo wanted to kiss you.

You hummed and finally took out some papers. Would you give him your number?

You held them out to him.

— Coupons!

Apollo took them gently, your fingers collided with his, and you felt a kind of electricity in your stomach. You let out a nervous laugh.

— Well, see you…— The boy came out of his trance. A name, he wouldn't say Apollo, would he?, but…

—Lester! — You smiled again and waved your hand goodbye.

— See you, Lester.

And you walked away from him, leaving him empty and wanting to take you with him to spend the rest of the afternoon at the fair, to be happy, to be together.

He spread the coupons in the palm of his hand and looked at them. He was able to gain something from his misfortune, at least. Of course, why not? Burgers for everyone.

— Apollo! — Meg's voice made him turn, and he smiled when he saw everyone. It seemed that Will and Nico had found their way back to the others.

Rachel met his gaze, she seemed slightly worried. So at that moment it all became obvious, she knew he would meet you.

Apollo sighed and held up the coupons in his hand.

— are you hungry?

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

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wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#384

“Fucking hell.  If it ain’t Wallace McGrew’s oldest boy!…  Ryan, you did good.  Fuck yeah you did.  I can’t think of anything else that I would enjoy more for my 65th birthday....

 “TJ, did you know about this?...  I’m surprised you two kept this secret so well.  So is he a true faggot or one that you made?...  Well I’ll be damned, Wallace raised himself a screaming sperm burper, and that knob gobbler is standing before us, bound spread eagled, collared, gagged,…  plugged too.  All for me.  Fucking hell Ryan, you couldn’t have done any better with this year’s birthday cunt….

“…So you are the son of Wally?...  Just nod….  Good.  Do you know who I am?...  I would have been surprised that you hadn’t.  What about my ranch manager TJ?...  No.  Did you know Ryan was my boy?...  No.  Good.

“Ryan, why isn’t his pecker caged?  That’s one hell of a raging hard-on….  This faggot’s pecker is like steel….  It’s a good five- or six-incher.  It doesn’t look like he’s on any hard-on medication.  That’s all natural.  Goddamn!  This boy is leaking up a storm.  Now I understand why you didn’t put a cage on him.

“Why don’t you two bring the fuck table over and secure him bent over.  Nice body.  Ryan, you did a good job shaving him….  What?  You didn’t shave him?...  Well that’s interesting. 

“Look at that ass.  See those purple marks on his left cheek.  Those are scars from a savage whipping.  His back has healed up, but I can still see some marks.

“Faggot, you have played before, haven’t you?  It’s obvious you are a faggot.  But you have been beat before, right?  I mean a man has inflicted pain on you for his own enjoyment?...  Did your daddy do this to you?...  No?  Too bad.  You would have been a lot more interesting if he did.

“Fucking hell.  This changes things.

“Ryan, TJ, fuck him.  TJ you go first.  Be quick about it.  Ryan, yank out the plug and let me see it….  It’s spotless.  Did you clean him out?...  So the faggot was prepared….  Actually that doesn’t surprise me.  TJ, just shove it in and go to town.  Be rough on the fag’s cunt.  I want you to cum quick.

“Ryan, show me the video of him….  Wow, the faggot knows how to service your fat pud.  Look at him go.  That’s one hungry fag boy.

“Hey faggot, have you seen this?...  Look at how you throat Ryan’s sausage with ease.  I’m actually impressed here.  I know it’s hard to focus on the video with TJ plowing your twat.  He’ll be done soon.  He’s already started picking up the pace. 

“Look at your face here.  That is the face of a true faggot.  You are in ecstasy slobbering on Ryan’s cock….  You seem to have no trouble with his fat pud.  Most faggots struggle with throating him.

“Oh fuck here goes TJ!...  Damn!  He really came hard.

“TJ!  Pull out so Ryan can take over. 

“Ryan, go in hard and don’t let up.  Get your nut quick then you and TJ can get out of here.  I want to spend some alone time with my birthday present. 

“Hey faggot, the cock filling your mouth in the video is plowing your cunt.  You are kinda getting it from both ends from the same dick….

“Ryan, you should see his face right now.  He’s not struggling like the others.  It appears that Wally McGrew’s son is a seasoned cum dump whore.  I take it that he’s loose?...  Typical.

“Faggot.  When a man, a real man, is going to fuck you, you need to provide a hole that will provide him pleasure.  So tighten up that cunt….  Well, that got a smile out of Ryan….  He’s picking up his pile driving.  Hear that?  That’s the sound of a two hundred fifty-pound man grunting as he’s slamming into your loose cunt.  No better sound in the world.

“Shoot!  Shoot!  Flood this faggot’s guts….  Atta boy!  Fuck yeah.

“Faggot, clamp down as Ryan pulls out.  I want your cunt full of spunk.  Ryan is known for two things, his big dick and his huge loads….

“What’s that Ryan?...  Finish watching the video?  OK.  And I want to be alone with the faggot.  Plug up the faggot’s cunt, then go wait for me in TJ’s house.  Don’t get dressed, and don’t wipe your cock.  The fag will suck clean whatever dried slime flakes remain on it in a bit.  Now go. 

“…So here we are faggot, just you and me.  I have to admit, I was truly surprised.  Not that Ryan snagged Wallace McGrew’s son as my birthday present, although that did surprise me a little.  No, what shocked me is that Wally’s son has experience, lots of it, as a slave. 

“From the scars on your ass and back to your worked over nips, to the fact that you didn’t even flinch when Ryan shoved his beer can cock into your cunt, and to the compliance I saw as they were resecuring your bonds, I can tell you have done this before.  It’s more than that.  The look of ecstasy on your face as this was going on, wasn’t a look of ‘this-feels-so-good,’ but rather one of being in a submissive headspace.  I can tell that no matter what I do to you, what pain I will cause, you are suffering for my desires, and it naturally centers your mind.

“Am I right?  Nod yes or no….  Yeah, I see you.  You are clear to me.  I knew you weren’t a pain pig—a fag that is into receiving pain for pain sake.  Pain pigs bore me beyond the first few minutes I’m with them.  Yeah, if I need to get off, they serve their function.  But you need to connect on a much deeper level, craving to offer your pain and suffering for a higher purpose.

“You understand what I am saying.  Knowing that I—a naturally superior man—am getting my primal needs met by your service,… your submission,… your sacrifice,… and your suffering is all the motivation you need to continue.  You don’t want the pain, but knowing it’s getting me to leak, makes you want it more.  It may be confusing to many, but to you it makes all the sense in the world. 

“I’m always looking for a faggot with this mindset.  I have found a few in my time, never would have guessed that Wally’s boy would be one of them.

“Let me take my cock out….  Look down.  I am rock hard and leaking.  And I see you are too.  So it is safe to say that even though we never really met before, I know you.  I really know you.

“Let me ask you faggot, you want to serve me?...

“Submit to me?...

“Sacrifice for me?...

“Suffer for me?...

“Good.  Faggots like you are hard to find.  I thought Ryan was one when I met him eleven years ago.  It was clear that he did not have that mindset.  But he connected with me so well on so many other things, that we developed into something else. 

“He still serves me and helps me satisfy my cruel sadistic side.  He’s definitely my beta boy.  That’s what’s his groove is.  He likes to bring me objects like yourself so that I can enjoy the way I want to, that I need to.

“Hell, he’s the one who set up this birthday tradition of offering faggots like you.  He goes to Denver, and he takes his time to find the victim.  When my day arrives, I make the trek here to PJ’s ranch outside the city for the reveal.

“He doesn’t go into much detail with me because it’s my birthday present after all.  But I do know that this is a long process for him.  And I have to say the slave cunts he offers me has been perfect, yourself included.

“The one thing that he does with each faggot he offers is to make a video of the fag willingly sucking him off to completion.  He told me that he uses the fag’s phone to record it leading the fag to agree to the filming.  And he always manages to send himself a copy for me to view later.

“Like this video of you expertly throating Ryan’s mammoth cock.  You are a true world class cocksucker. 

“These videos are great.  They provide the motivation for the faggot’s entire time here.  Oh, I forgot to mention, every birthday present is closeted, just like yourself.  If the faggot does not perform to my satisfaction at any time, that video is sent off to where it will have the biggest impact: boss, wife, girlfriend, or—in your case—dad.

“Yes, the intention was to coerce you into submitting to me.  But that all changed in the few minutes when I recognized your true nature.  I don’t feel like coercion is possible; your hunger has been visible all this time.

“But don’t worry.  I will be outing you to your dad.  There is no way in hell that I am not going to pass up that opportunity.  Regardless of whether you make my cut, he’s going to receive a video.

“A word of caution: don’t even think of begging me not to.  Begging is a form of selfishness, and I do not deal with selfish slaves, faggots, or cunts.  You understand?

“No don’t try to say ‘Yes Sir’ around a gag.  The primary reason why I gag faggots like you is that I don’t want to hear the shit that comes out of your mouth. 

“A sharp nod ‘Yes’ is all that’s needed.  It needs to be a quick down then up, and it’s in that order.  Show me….  Good.  Remember that.  A sharp ‘No’ shake would be used in the rare occasion I allow a ‘No’ from you.  If your head is secured, then nod with your eyes.  If you are blindfolded, fuck it, I don’t need to hear from you.

“You will be staying with me for the weekend.  I can see your mind is where it needs to be.  I will be testing out your body’s response.  You will be filmed doing some extreme kink.  I’ll figure what I will use to show your dad.  The ability to fuck over Wally McGrew is the best birthday present I could get.

“Did you know he outed me to the whole town once he caught me plowing one of his farm hands?  That cost me a lot of business.  The worst part was his smug demeanor he had about town; being all righteous looking down at me.  Now I get to tell him his son is a piss drinking, sperm farting, ass eating, cum dump faggot.  It won’t be just him, our little town will know. 

“Oh I got it.  I will show your video to Dwight Smith the barber.  You dad goes in once a week on Thursday for a beard trim like clockwork.  I’ll make sure to be showing Dwight as your dad comes in.  Fuck yeah. 

“This will happen.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, will prevent me from outing you.

“I’m so fucking horny now.  First things first, let me unsecure you.  I want you to stand in the center.  Don’t try to run.  I don’t believe for one bit you are going to try to bail, but one thing I have learned over the years is never—and I mean never—trust a faggot slave.  And I don’t you.  Trust is something earned over a long time serving. 

“You have no shoes, and there’s lots of rocks on the ground; you won’t get very far.  Besides, these ankle and wrist cuffs that are padlocked on you have a tracking device.  So does that shock collar locked around your neck.

“Get over here and help me take my boots off….  That brought a smile to your face.  Just set them aside.  I’m going back in them once I take off my jeans and boxers.  Here, smell my foot.  Inhale deeply.  Better than any poppers out there.  Now my pants. 

“I see you eyeing my bulge.  Faggot, that is the center of your world from now on.  Go on and touch it; I know you want to.  But only briefly.  Now pull down my boxers.  Look at my cock.  It’s not as thick as Ryan’s, but mine is a bit longer.  It stays hard longer, and I can cum multiple times.

“Sniff my shorts, especially the tiny skid mark.  You are going to intimately know my shithole going forward.  Now help me put my boots back on….

“…Don’t worry, your tongue will be exploring my boots later.  But now, hand me my belt from my jeans.  Good.  Now go stand in the middle over there.

“Raise both arms above your head.  Keep them up there.  Today is my 65th birthday.  It is a birthday tradition that there needs to be birthday beatings.  Spankings are so pointless.  A good ol’ fashioned ass lickin’ is more in line with what is needed.  And there is no way that my ass is going to receive an ass lickin’ of any type other than with your tongue.  So that means you are the one who will be on the receiving end of said beatings.  65 of them.  I want you to count.  Make sure those numbers are clearly announced around that gag.

“I would ask if you were ready, but your dick is leaking harder than I have seen it before.  Look at my cock.  It too is leaking.  We are both ready to do this.  Let’s get some active welts going. 

“Now don’t fucking move from that spot.  No matter what I do to you, remain there. 

“One!  Holy shit!  That one was perfect across your ass.  You will learn, I don’t ramp up my intensity.  The first is as cruel as the last.  But this one landed perfectly across both cheeks.  Oh fuck, I already broke skin. 

“Cry all you need to boy.  I’ve only just begun.  Oh look!  There’s some blood.  Fuck yeah.  “And know this faggot, you are making me one happy man.”

[howtofightwrite]

in a lot of zombie stories like The Walking Dead, the only way to kill a zombie is to destroy the brain. Given that the skull is designed to protect one of our most important organs, how hard would this be on average? Would it be easier with bladed weapons like a hatchet vs blunt weapons like a baseball bat? And while killing anything is easier with a gun, I’ve heard headshots can be quite hard to nail. Is this something that can get better with practice, or will it always be something of a crapshoot?

Honestly? Thinking about it, destroying the brain to put down the zombie doesn't make that much sense. The first problem is the brain itself. The skull is pretty good at protecting the brain most of the time, but that's more impressive when you consider just how fragile the brain is. It's very soft tissue, suspended in fluid. It's also one of the first organs to really suffer from decomposition.

Particularly, the brain is the organ you have to really worry about when someone flatlines. It will start suffering serious damage within 30 seconds of being deprived of oxygen. Within minutes of death, it undergoes irreversible chemical changes and starts to break down, so, it follows that, the brain isn't going to be in a usable state by the time the zombie virus tries to claw its way back to the living.

This is a different kind of problem with living “zombies,” such as the 28 Days series or REC. Though, in those cases, the zombies would have a very limited shelf life, as the strain of the virus would kill them long before the second film rolled around. But, in those cases, massive trauma should still kill the zombie, so you don't really need headshots, when a shotgun, center mass, will get the job done.

For clarity, you know there's no way to answer that comment about headshots without sounding like a psychopath, right? The short answer is that, yeah, if you' know what you're doing, and you know your gun, you can hit a small, semi-mobile target at medium range. A sapient being? That's harder, people don't tend to present their head for a convenient bullet, like a video game shooting gallery, but, with practice, you can reliably hit a head sized target at about 30m. Landing that shot against a live person running for cover or shooting back might be a bit tricky, but against a shambling, reanimated, corpse, it should be pretty doable. Obviously, I don't have a lot of first hand experience shooting reanimated corpses, so I'm having to make some educated guesses here.

However, having just said that, I'm immediately reminded of something the Resident Evil 2 remake pointed out: Shooting someone in the head doesn't mean you destroyed their brain. Surprisingly, shooting someone in the head will only kill them about 98% of the time, so I can see some logic in the thought process.

That said, shooting zombies tends to run up against a problem, that doesn't make a lot of sense when you step back and think about it. Generally you don't want to shoot zombies because the sound will attract more zombies, and there are inevitably more zombies than you have bullets. This the exact scenario that The Walking Dead works with. So, I have one small question: How did we get here?

Before we go any further, and spoilers for a comic book that published 15 years ago, but The Walking Dead did answer that. (The TV series and comic have different answers. In the TV series it's a virus from space that reanimates corpses, in the comic book it was a presumably supernatural force reanimating the dead. Though, it might have become a space virus now. I stopped reading the comic when it just got too goddamn depressing.)

When you're looking at a city like Atlanta (from The Walking Dead), and you're facing something north of six million zombies, yeah, that's a serious problem. You can't headshot six million zombies. But how did you get six million zombies? Six million zombies is a problem that can't be solved with brute force. Six-hundred-thousand zombies is a problem that can't be solved with brute force. But, sixty-thousand zombies? That can be contained. Six thousand zombies is an orderly riot. Six hundred zombies can be locked in a building and disposed of. Sixty zombies can be easily contained and neutralized. Six zombies? You can send out animal control and nip that problem in bud before there's an outbreak. And without higher brain function, there's basically no chance of patient zero avoiding detection.

But, I know the answer to this one, “well, they sent cops to catch patient zero, and the cops got bitten, then they turned in the hospital, and...” this would be a lot more plausible if rabies didn't exist. Actually, with the reputation of American police, there's basically no chance a zombie gets within biting distance.  But, even if they did get closer, you know what else likes to bite cops? Meth heads. You know who has more higher brain function than a zombie? Meth heads.

Is there zero chance of a first responder getting bitten by a zombie? No, there's a chance. There's basically zero chance of that zombie biting anyone else, and on the slim possibility that the infected first responder turns and manages to chomp on one of their coworkers, there is no chance that the infection daisy chains out from there.

There's also a real likelihood that any growing outbreak will suffer, “a negative biomass shift,” as it tries to expand. That is to say, if someone sends twenty soldiers to contain 100 zombies, and those soldiers are overrun and infected, you're not going to have 120 zombies. You probably won't have 100 zombies, after they're infected and turned. So long as those soldiers drop more than two zombies, the horde will experience negative population growth. Incidentally, it doesn't matter if this is a modern or medical fantasy setting, in either case, the zombies aren't going to be able to put up much of a fight against armed and armored troops. Militaries train to fight against sapient foes, while zombies are going to be little more than training dummies. Even if they are eventually overwhelmed by the hoard, the hoard only gets a few corpses to replace all the zombies it lost. (Note: This doesn't apply if you have necromancers raising undead forces, in those cases, the actual loss of zombies will be minimal, as they reanimate zombies that were damaged enough to break their previous reanimation, but could still be used on the battlefield, so in this specific case, the goal would need to be more egregious destruction of the corpses.)

So how did we get to six million zombies? Any zombie outbreak will be at its most vulnerable when there are only a handful of infected. This even applies, to some extent, when you're looking at non-traditional zombie scenarios, such as fungal infections. Zombies are generally not very stealthy. (Ignoring The Walking Dead (TV)'s ninja zombies for the moment.) So, if you have a biohazard situation like that, unless there's a very long incubation period (which most zombies don't exhibit), then  the danger of them going undetected and reaching critical mass is pretty limited.

Also, once you start looking at urban environments, that's not a great space for zombies to navigate. Things like storm drains and security barriers can effectively stop zombie advancement through an urban environment. Sure, zombies might be a threat to massive glass windows on the ground floor, but how are they going to operate the elevators, or the keycard reader to get into the stairs? Much less climb multiple flights of stairs to find the survivors? They might be able to chase them up the stairs, but getting there under their own initiative? Not so much. Same problem with any structure that puts steel bars on the windows. Zombies can't get in, or out.

After that, there's still the problem of decomposition. Dead bodies don't typically hold up particularly well. Maybe there's an embalmed zombie out there somewhere, shambling around, years after the outbreak, but most of the corpses will, quite literally, fall apart in a couple weeks. (Probably less, if they're chasing after survivors and slamming into walls.)

Having said all of that, I don't hate zombie fiction. Zombies can be a fantastic metaphor. You can even come up with compelling and interesting zombie scenarios. I know I just said it was implausible, but I don't hate The Last of Us's scenario, even if I do have some issues with some of the writing (specifically in the last few levels of the first game, before anyone asks.)

So, would it be hard to kill a zombie? Usually no. You might have some exceptions, such as magically reanimated corpses that really don't need to be intact to continue trying to kill you. Dead Space's necromorphs come to mind as an excellent example of creative zombie assembly.

The issue is usually the volume of zombies, just the sheer number threatening to pour out onto the street at any moment. Which requires that things went exceptionally wrong in ways that don't really make a lot of sense when you step back and think about it.

The issue wasn't shooting one zombie in the head, it was the next ten, and the next hundred, and the next thousand. Because, in those numbers, it doesn't really matter if they're easy to kill, there will always be more.

-Starke

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[glow-worms-are-believers]

Rain on my parade

I can’t find it but this is inspired by that post about how if you create a lot of cold air (like Danny with his ice power) you could potentially create a cold front which would cause rain! So thank you, this was inspired by that wonderful science-enthusiast.

It had been days. At first, Bruce hadn’t given it much thought, forecasts were wrong all the time. That a supposedly warm and sunny day had turned into a near-constant heavy shower wasn’t surprising, so Bruce had gone about his business. When the second day of rain had come around, the vigilante still hadn’t thought too much of it, but as the afternoon rolled around with no change, he got on the phone to make a few inquiries. By day three, he had called Dick in Bludhaven and on day four, the younger hero had actually answered. Considering how sparse communication was between them since Jason’s death, this was an indicator that something was very wrong.

Bruce had already sent out feelers into the underground, he’d contacted some of his less savoury acquaintances. He tried everyone, absolutely everyone, and yet. Nobody had heard anything about a new villain or a meta with meteorological abilities. By day five, Bruce knew he had to do something before everything went out of control. Non-stop heavy rain was not only unnatural for Gotham, it was dangerous. Already, hundreds of homes near the river bed had gotten flooded and people were being forced to find temporary refuge with relatives and hotels if they were lucky and could afford it. There had been no death reported yet, but the longer this went on, the higher the chance of it became. With more rain there would be more flooding that would encroach on the normally dry land and that meant more people being left homeless, not to mention what would happen if the river overflowed completely.

“Bruce, I’ve got something,” Dick’s voice came through the communicator.

“What is it?” The man asked.

“There was a sharp drop in temperature near Milford about six days ago,” the younger man said.

“Send me the coordinates,” Bruce answered as he started putting on the cowl.

They finally had a lead.

Danny was ecstatic. This was the best vacation he had ever had. He owed Jazz so many favours when he finally got back. Not only was she currently covering for him with the parents, she had driven him to the middle of nowhere with his camping gear when he’d asked. She’d said he needed time to relax and this week where he was technically supposed to be doing some kind of fictitious space program was her way of making sure he got it.

The out-of-the-way location was ideal for what Danny had wanted to do for a while, which was testing the limits of his powers. He had messed around with a few of his ability: intangibility, flight, strength, before starting on the newest and thus most exciting one: his ice powers. Since he’d gotten them he’d wanted to test his limits with it. At first he tried to see how much ice he could produce at once and how far he could shoot it. Then it was how long he could maintain the ice and how long it took for it to melt. Then, he decided to find out how cold he could go. This took more concentration and he fell into a state of sharp focus as he sent wave after wave of colder and colder ice away from him. Time started to become meaningless as his ghostly body didn’t need food or rest for a long while longer than normal humans.

By the time he “woke up” six days had passed and he felt as relaxed as he had ever been since he became Phantom. Danny let out a relaxed sigh as he sat down. Jazz would come by tomorrow as they had agreed on one week. That meant he had one last day to do whatever he wanted before he returned to Amity and his responsibilities. This was going to be fun!

[queenhunter102]

Part 9 (Part 8) (Part 10) Lore Page

you pick up the glass shooting a thankful glance to Gaz, “Colours?” Simon asks, You nod your head, as you take a sip of water. “Yeah, It was something I had put in place on my ship, in case any supplies were intercepted,” You say, as you pick up the sandwich taking a bite. “Give me an example” That demand came from Johnny, you glanced over at him thinking of an example, as you chewed. “Ok, So say purple is the colour for an emergency refill on bandages, I would send that out on the next shipment and that would get here faster,” You say as you thought, it truly was a lot simpler than that. “So what? You put a colour in a shipment, and they know what to send back?” Johnny asked, you nodded, “Yeah, the colours on my ship were everywhere literally, my Captain made sure”. There was a hum from beside you, as Simon picked up his glass of water, “I’ll take you to Provisionals and see if I can get you a meeting” he said, as he eyed your plate and how little you had eaten. “You need to eat a lot more than that if you want to keep up with us in the field or training,” he says, as he stacks another large portion onto your plate. You shrug, as you nibble not wanting to delve into why you don’t eat as you should, “Omegas don’t get that hungry” you say, Simon’s eyes flick to Gaz who makes a grunting sound, as he rests his head on his hands. Simon nods his head slowly, and a heavy hand drops onto your shoulder, practically forcing you to jump out of your skin a little squeak forced out as your ass reconnected with the seat, looking up to find Captain John. “Right, ‘Mon time to drop you off, Jenson’s Captain is upset” John says, reaching onto Simon’s plate and stealing a piece of meat. “Our little Omega already making waves?” Alejandro asks laughing, Gaz laughs with him, and he whips his face before he asks “Bigger than Johnny or?” John tilts his head side to side as he speaks “You try and say no to a group of the biggest and strongest Alpha’s, who look like they bite” he says as he shakes his shoulders uncomfortable with being challenged. Simon laughed “Why did you ask for me and Johnny to come with you?” John pulled you out of your seat, “Can we discuss on the move? I’m slightly worried that Jenson’s Team might try something” The boys groaned as they stood up, and Johnny stuffed as much food as he could into his mouth. The six of you arrive at your barracks, John swings open the door walking inside, and his Gaze shifts to the makeshift bed you had made earlier he sighed as he ran his hand over the ledge of the bed. You growl at him, a look of rage on your face, Gaz snatched John’s hand back, “Cap, Don’t touch their nest” John looked between you and the bed, “It’s not a nest? There's no walls, no scented items” He said looking confused. “For someone who looks a hundred, you sure don’t know a lot about Omegas,” You say, growling, as you push him away from your bed, “For someone who’s supposed to submit, you really rebellious” You huff at John,  Gaz takes a seat on the bed across from your bed, you mimic his movement, Alejandro closes the door, you give him a warning growl, not liking being trapped in with alphas.

“Is there any need to growl and us?” Simon asked as he sat beside Gaz, “I don’t like your smell” you say as you push back further onto the bed, sitting at the head of the bed. “Johnny open the window, to elevate the scent,” Gaz says, as he settles on the bed, Alejandro takes a seat on a bed. “So, Gaz you got a little brother,” Alejandro asks, Gaz nods his head “Yeah, He’s nuts, He’s the one who taught me the laws and the regulations around Omegas,” You scratch at your patch, the glue making your skin itchy. Gaz turns to you with a questioning look in his eye “You said you were patched?” You nod your head, “Why do you want to know”, Gaz shrugged “My brother said that not all patches are safe for Omegas, that they can cause adverse effects”. “Shit…How adverse are the effects?” Johnny asked, his eyes dropping to your wrist, his eye analysing the red area, you block his view with your hand. “If you were lucky it would kill you,” You said, climbing out of bed walking towards the cupboard pulling out more blankets and pillows bringing them back over to the bed, rearranging them. There was a beat of silence before Johnny asked “…And if you were unlucky…” You looked over at him, his face full of apprehension waiting for the answer. You turn your head back to your pillow smoothing it out with your hands feeling uncomfortable about talking about patches. “The Basements” You say blowing out a breath hating that those words left your mouth, you hear Gaz take a sharp inhale, and you glance over to him, his eyes shut in empathy or sympathy you weren’t sure, but what you did know was that he understood.

[octuscle]

I met this man at a bar recently and he was absolutely gorgeous. He’s here shooting a movie but otherwise wasn’t into me at all. Could you possibly make me into an even bigger hotter more muscular movie star so that he’ll notice me and want to get together?

Well… You're not particularly good-looking or charismatic now… No wonder the first contact wasn't particularly successful. But what do you expect with your baggy sweatshirt and ill-fitting jeans?

After the nasty rebuff you received, you're sitting alone at the bar again, looking into your… Whiskey? When did you order a whiskey? You notice that two girls in the corner keep looking over at you, whispering, looking and giggling. One of them gets up and walks towards you. You straighten up, smile at her, she turns bright red, giggles and asks if she can take a selfie. She has an adorable Indian accent. And you reply in Hindi that it would be a pleasure and an honor. She takes the selfie, gives you a kiss on the cheek and runs to her friend, giggling. You finish your whiskey and wave the bartender over to pay. He replies that it would have been an honor to serve you and that the drink is on the house, of course. And a second one if you like. Your crush looks at you questioningly. You accept the second whiskey with thanks and toast the actor. He toasts back and frantically thinks about how he knows you.

It's getting warm in the bar. You unbutton two buttons on your shiny shirt. Like the trousers, which are made of a similar fabric, the shirt fits like it was painted on your body. The bar is getting fuller. Of course, many guests are whispering about your crush. But even more stare at you, want a selfie or ask for your autograph. Many of your fans are glowing-eyed and black-haired. Lots of Indians. Your crush asks you if you're an actor too. The Indian beauty who is taking a selfie with you, pretending to give you a kiss, almost collapses with laughter. She opens Instagram and shows your crush an Instagram account. Your Instagram account. 58 million followers! He turns pale. Very pale. Your skin turns a deep brown. You answer his question with a heavy Indian accent. Yes, you're an actor too. Bollywood is productive. And you are one of the biggest stars. Four to six films a year. And each one is a box office hit. Your fitness videos? Top sellers! Your own fashion collection? A must-have in Delhi, Mumbai and Calcutta. And now also in London and Berlin. You smile your hundred-million-rupee smile. It leaves him speechless. But the bulge in his pants speaks its own language…

For the two young men who ask for a selfie, you throw yourself back into the cool macho pose that half of India loves you for. You give the bartender a 100-pound note as a tip, put on your leather coat and tell your colleague "Savoy, Charlie Chaplin Suite. Ask for John Rolfe". You don't need to look around to know that he's rushing to pay and grab his jacket. Tonight will be a close exchange between Hollywood and Bollywood.

Pic found @maxx-magnum

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FIVE: What Belongs Together Will Find Back Together

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Your shitty day gets worse when an agitated patient decides to completely lose his temper.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, violence, mentions of gun violence, knife, mentions of drug abuse, blood, attempt at humor (again), mentions of abuse, flirting

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: This is the second part of the double update. Enjoy!

Read Chapter 5: What Belongs Together Will Find Back Together here on AO3

You’re having a downright awful day. A witch must have put a curse on you, or maybe God finally decided to turn his grudge into never-ending misfortune. 

You came into the hospital late, hungover, and in the back of an ambulance with a man who was beaten to a pulp by a masked vigilante, but you couldn’t tell anyone that, so you left that part out. Shelly wasn’t happy when the police showed up to question you, and she was even more displeased when she found out that you decided to play the hero instead of heading to work straight away. 

She lectured you for ten minutes without taking a moment to breathe, and then she convinced you to take a double shift as an apology. You are far beyond your limit, but if you let the exhaustion seep in, people will die. 

Eighteen hours down, six more to go. At least, that is what you believed when you set foot into the emergency room for a surgical consult. You didn’t expect to see yourself where you are now—standing between the security guard’s loaded gun and a troubled young man holding a pocket knife. Then again, the past eighteen hours have been hell, and after everything that happened the night before, this feels more like a cruel joke the universe is playing on you than a threat to your life. 

You always happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The man threatening you with the knife isn’t even your patient. An ambulance brought him in after a bad trip on amphetamines. He was aggressive. They even had to strap him down. Someone else was in charge of him by the time you came downstairs to take care of your patient, but somehow, the young man managed to free himself of his restraints, knock out the nurses around him, and demand an almost lethal amount of drugs. When he didn’t get what he asked for, he pulled a knife, and security jumped in. 

“One bullet requires over a hundred healthcare workers,” you blurt out. The security guard has his eyes focused on the man with the knife, but your words make him turn to you for a second. He frowns. 

“Put the gun down,” you repeat. “If you shoot him, you will take almost all of the staff in this ER away from other patients. People already get shot on the streets like it’s a sport. We can resolve this some other way.”

You’re babbling, but the situation is about to escalate. If he hadn’t assaulted two nurses and pulled a knife on everyone else, including innocent sick people, security would have taken him down, you could have sedated him, and no one would have gotten hurt. But it’s already too late for that. 

“Doctor Clarke,” the security guard, Hal, says, his voice eerily steady as he points the gun forward still, “Step aside.”

“No,” you insist. 

“You’re gonna get hurt.”

“And you’re agitating him by waving a gun in his face. If you keep doing that, we’re all gonna get hurt.”

“Shut up!” the young man yells. You flinch. “Shut up, both of you!”

You turn to face him. “Easy. No one wants to hurt you. Why don’t you put the knife down and we’ll talk about what’s bothering you, hm? I can help you. You just have to be a little patient,” you say. 

A calm voice can do wonders when someone is agitated, but this time, your words fall on deaf ears. 

“I want ten milligrams of Dilaudid,”  he says. “Now!”

“Okay, I heard you the first time, but 10 milligrams is a lot. Are you in pain?”

“Yes! That’s why I need you to give it to me or I swear to God I will use this knife and gut you like a fish.”

The gasps in the room are audible. You sigh. The way he’s shaking, you aren’t sure if he can gut you like a fish even if he tried. He’s in serious withdrawal. “I can give you two,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. “I want ten!”

“I can’t give you that. I can give you two milligrams. You know they do the job just as well.”

“No, no, no…” His voice grows higher, and it sounds almost as if he’s sobbing. His fist tightens around the handle of the knife. “No!” he says, louder this time. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see some of the security guards ushering the remaining patients, the ones who are mobile, at least, out into the waiting room.

“Five,” he begins to argue. 

“Two,” you repeat.

“I said five, you bitch!” He wipes the counter of the nurse’s station clean with his free hand. “You do as I say or I’ll cut you. I swear, I will cut you!”

You don’t let him sway you. You don’t let him agitate or scare you. Instead, you take a deep, calm breath and lift three fingers into the air. “Three,” you say. “Last offer. I can’t give you more than that. For now. I can give you three milligrams of Dilaudid, we’ll check you out, and if you’re still in pain, I can round up to five. How’s that sound?”

He licks his dry lips. His eyes keep darting around the room before falling back on you. He’s contemplating. 

“I promise, I’ll do it. You just have to put the knife down.” You take a careful step forward. You almost have him. “I’ll make sure that the pain stays away, but we have to be careful about this, alright? Three milligrams, and I will add up to five if it’s as bad as you make it sound. You just put down the knife and I will take care of everything else.”

His nostrils flare as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “You will give me five?” he asks. 

You nod again. “If you happen to need them, yes,” you say. 

“Three then five?”

“Yes.” You smile gently. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m not tellin’ you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Let me introduce myself then. My name’s Olivia. I’m a doctor. And I promise you, I always keep my promises.”

The man looks between you and Hal, the security guard. His hand keeps shaking. He doesn’t look angry anymore, simply nervous. “And him?” he asks. 

“He will put the gun down,” you say with an obvious glare over your shoulder. 

Hal hesitates. He stares at you, then at the man, then back at you before he slowly lowers his gun. He doesn’t holster it, he keeps it at his side, but that seems to be enough for the young man before you. He slowly lowers his knife as well, placing it on linoleum floors. The seconds tick by in slow motion. 

When the knife is on the ground and his hand is gone, you nod. One of the nurses grabs him from behind. He yelps. You can tell that he didn’t expect that, and the betrayal on his face is visible. You almost feel bad. 

You get handed a syringe and a bottle of clear liquid. You have to be fast. The young man, despite his state of withdrawal, is rather strong and you’re not sure how long he can be restrained before he starts throwing fists. 

“Okay, this is gonna hurt,” you state as you fill the syringe with the liquid. It could be Dilaudid, but judging from his eyes, he doesn’t believe you. 

“No! Let me go! You promised!” he growls as he struggles against the grip keeping him in check. 

“I’m sorry,” your words sound genuine. You mean them. 

You truly are sorry. He’s suffering from a disease you are more than familiar with. You know what it does to a human being and those around them. You know the physical and emotional toll this disease can take. It requires so many sacrifices, and those affected have no choice but to give up everything.

You’re about to jab the needle into his upper arm when he manages to dig his heel into the foot of the nurse behind him. He stumbles back in pain, and the young man uses his newfound freedom to haul his arm forward. The syringe falls from your hand and out of his arm. You don’t have time to brace yourself. His anger escalates, and the faith you had dissipates. 

A sharp pain tears through the bridge of your nose. The bone lets out a crack that sounds like a scream straight from a megaphone. It’s a pain you have felt many times before, but it still hurts like hell. You let out a groan of agony, losing your balance and falling against the counter of the nurse’s station. Thankfully, your assailant wiped it clean, giving you enough free space to hang onto. 

For a moment, you’re disoriented. You can only feel the sharp pain tearing through your skull. The blood from the burst vessels starts pouring out of your nostrils in hot streaks. You can’t breathe. Not through your nose, at least. 

When you finally manage to turn your head, you see the young man making a run for the ambulance bay. You push yourself off the counter, breaking free from whoever is trying to grab you and get you to sit down, asking you if you’re okay, and you take a few quick steps after him. You don’t get very far. Not only is your head pounding and your coordination is slightly off, but something gets in the way of the man’s escape plan, and he stumbles. He falls face-first to the ground. He instantly stops moving, and the security guards are all over him in seconds. 

You’re holding your broken nose, a look of pain and surprise etched into your features. Your eyes switch from the man to a familiar face. Your eyesight is slightly blurry, but you recognize him right away. You take another step forward. 

“Matthew?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

The young man didn’t just stumble, he stumbled over a blind man’s cane. If that was on purpose or simply karma, you’re not sure, but the attractive lawyer whose number you tossed into the trash because you were feeling sorry for yourself made sure that no one else could get hurt. For that, you want to kiss him. 

You wince. You probably have a concussion. You’re bleeding and confused, although when you look at him and he tilts his head in your direction, you don’t feel confused anymore. 

The man next to him raises his eyebrows. “That was so cool, dude,” he says. Then, his eyes fall on you. “But that does not look cool. Hey, why did she just say your name? Do you know her? Matt?”

“Olivia?” Matt isn’t even paying attention to what you assume must be his friend. 

You don’t have a lot of time to process the awkwardness of the situation. What felt like hours since you got punched has been nothing but mere seconds. You evaded the caring hands of your colleagues, and you are starting to regret that. 

“I–” your vision blurs. One of the nurses rushes to your side when your knees buckle. “Excuse me,” you murmur, “I have to pass out.”

Before she can even tell you to stay awake, the black curtain closes on your vision and you lose all control of your limbs. You’re floating between consciousness and darkness. The strong arms that catch you before you can hit the ground though, you can feel them. And you can hear Matthew’s voice just above your head, telling you, “Hey, stay with me.” 

But you’re tired, and your mouth tastes metallic. You hate the taste of metal. You open your mouth to respond, but that is nothing but a subconscious reflex. Before you know it, even the last pieces of your consciousness have slipped away, and you fall into the abyss of complete and utter darkness. 

There is no telling for how long you’ve been out by the time you regain consciousness. Everything around you was dark for quite a while, but it still felt like only a minute or two. Your eyelids flutter. The bright neon light above your head hurts your already throbbing head. 

You groan, reaching up to touch your nose. The blood has dried. You dare to inch closer to the injured bone, ready to face the pain, but someone touches your arm. It’s a soft touch that sends shivers down your spine. When was the last time someone touched you this gently? When was the last time someone touched you and wasn’t planning to hurt you afterward?

Your first instinct is to pull away. Your eyes slowly adjust to the white walls around you, nurse Miriam with a concerned expression to your left, and the steady beeping of the machine in the background. 

“Welcome back,” she says with a relieved smile. “You scared us there for a second.”

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” another voice says to your left. 

You don’t want to believe it. You must be dreaming, or maybe you’re already dead. When you turn your head, you see him. Matthew. The lawyer. The guy you rejected because you tend to feel too sorry for yourself. You can’t help it. You’re scarred. You had a good reason for throwing his number away. What else were you supposed to do?

It takes you a moment to register his presence as something more than a hallucination. You want to ask him why he’s here, but you’re not sure if you want to know the answer. So, you just stare, and you try to figure out why Matt Murdock is sitting next to you in the middle of the emergency room after you got punched by a drug addict. 

He smiles softly, even a little shyly. “Hi,” he says. 

You blink a few times. He’s still there. “H-hi,” you stammer. 

This is real. He’s really next to you. And he looks concerned. The past few minutes slowly come back to you. He tripped the young man who attacked you with his cane, and when you recognized him and walked toward him in a haze before passing out, he caught you. He looks strong enough to explain the way you felt when your knees buckled. The question of how he did it doesn’t even dawn on you because blindness is a complex disorder. It can’t be that easily explained. 

You’re merely asking yourself why he’s at the hospital and why you’re suddenly so confused, and your body is tingling all over. All because he touched your arm to stop you from touching your nose, which is either dislocated or broken. You’re not lucid enough to determine that yet. You just know that it hurts. 

Matt clears his throat. “You fainted.”

“To be fair,” your voice cracks a little, “I gave you a heads-up before I did.”

He laughs. He has a beautiful laugh. The way he adjusts his glasses as a faint blush covers his cheeks from the blood rushing to his head and the way he laughs are both equally as endearing, and you can hear your heart beating a little faster. The beeping of the monitor changes ever so slightly. 

His laughter dies down after a few seconds. “You, uh–you okay?” he asks.

You want to look into his eyes, but all you can do is look at your reflection in his red glasses when you say, “Yeah.” 

It’s a lie. You’re far from okay. He tilts his head as if he knows that you’re not, and it makes you want to curl in on yourself. 

“There’s blood on your shirt,” you point out. His white dress shirt has a small stain toward the left of his chest. You don’t connect the dots at first. 

Matt nods. “You kind of…fell on me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I caught you.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip. “Thank you?”

“It’s nothing. This is the first time someone fainted when they saw me, so… I’ll just take it as a compliment.”

The laugh that escapes your lips is involuntary. The vibrations tear through your nose. “Ow,” you wince. Your finger brushes against the bone this time, and the pain shoots through your body like an arrow. 

Nurse Miriam gently pulls your hand away. “Careful, sweetheart,” she says. “We still need to get an X-ray, but Max thinks it could be broken.” 

You don’t even question the mention of your colleague. Instead, you ask her, “How long was I out?”

“Five minutes, but your vitals are stable. You probably just fainted from the stress, not the punch itself.”

Turning your head back to face Matt, your finger brushes his hand that is resting on the mattress next to you. “You stayed,” you say.

You don’t understand why he would do that. You don’t know each other well enough. Your frozen heart cracks a little. You’re not used to this level of kindness. You’re not used to being cared for or worried about. You do it for other people. You do it for a living. When the tables are turned, however, you don’t know how to accept it. You don’t know how to deal with it, and you don’t know how to judge the way Matt is looking at you—in his own way, he is looking at you, just without his eyes, and you don’t know what his expression means. 

You’re confused and possibly concussed, and your nose hurts. This day couldn’t get any worse. But Matt being there sends an almost welcomed shiver down your spine.

Matt tilts his head slightly, softly. “Someone laid their hands on you and then you fainted into my arms,” he says. He makes it sound as if that alone is reason enough to stay with a stranger he gave his number to but who never called him. 

You feel bad. The guilt is eating you alive. He stayed because someone laid their hands on you. Involuntarily, your heart flutters. 

“You tripped him,” you murmur. “With your cane.”

“Did I?” The smirk on his face tells you that he knows very well what he did.

You chuckle. He can be the epitome of innocence if he wants to be. “You made sure he wouldn’t get away.”

The redness in Matt’s cheeks only grows. “Ah. He just tripped over my cane,” he says. “Could happen to anyone.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Maybe it was God’s will.”

God’s will. You remember the conversation you had with him in the abandoned hallway a few days ago. You talked about religion. You told him why you are an atheist. He’s a devoted catholic, but he didn’t judge you. That’s not something you see often. 

You don’t know what else to say, so you close your mouth and take a moment to look at him. He runs his hand over the stubble covering his jaw and neck. His chest strains slightly against his tight dress shirt whenever he takes a breath, and his suit jacket fits just right around his biceps. He fidgets with his fingers when he’s nervous, like now. You wonder what he’s thinking. Should you say something? You probably should, but you still can’t find the words. 

“Listen, Matthew,” that is all you get to say before the curtain jiggles and a man passes through. 

You remember his face. You saw it briefly before you passed out. He was standing next to Matt. Blonde, tall, nice smile—he’s the complete opposite of his friend. He’s colorful and giddy; he’s daylight, whereas Matt represents the night. They complement each other perfectly. 

He’s clutching two packs of Capri-Sun from the vending machine in his hands. “Dude, you won’t believe what just happened to me,” he says. “I pressed the button for one Capri-Sun and the machine gave me two. Two, Matt! I told you, I’m on a lucky–”

He stops when he sees you wide awake, staring at him. Matt is pinching the bridge of his nose. “Foggy,” he warns. 

“Oh!” Foggy breaks out of his trance. “Hey, you’re awake.” He offers his hand to you. “Foggy Nelson. So nice to meet you. I’m Matt’s friend, business partner, and fellow eligible bachelor.”

“Foggy!”

You raise your eyebrows. Part of you wants to laugh, but you swallow it. You take his hand with shaky fingers. “Olivia,” you introduce yourself. 

Foggy smiles and it lights up the room. “Did Matt tell you we’re lawyers?”

The fact that he is still trying to flirt with you even with your face covered in blood baffles you. Words go lost on you. 

You open your mouth to answer, but the curtain moves again. This time, someone pulls it back all the way. You’re met with a crowd of familiar faces. Everyone asks you how you are doing. You all tell them the same thing. “I’m fine,” you say. It’s nice to know that they care. 

“You’re alive,” your colleague, Max, steps forward in his white coat.

You scoff. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“Hey, if you die, I’ll get your job. I’m just waiting for nature to take its course.”

“You think you’re as good as me?”

He smirks. “Hardly.”

You can’t help but chuckle. After a moment of silence, you dare to ask, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Max puts the chart down. “Let me take a look,” he says. 

You love being a doctor, but you hate hospitals, and you hate being in a helpless position that you can’t control. 

For the longest time, you dreaded setting foot into the hospital that was supposed to kickstart your career. For years, you studied for a job that was injecting your veins with the purest essence of fear. It was poisoning you.

You spent so much time and money to become a doctor, but for most of your residency, you hated it. You loathed it. And you loathed everything that was somehow connected to it. Now, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. 

You don’t have to be, but you are. That is the problem. You’re afraid every day, and while it doesn’t make you hate your job the same way you did when you were still a student, it makes your blood boil whenever you think about the fact that the person you thought loved you took away the only good thing in your life, and that was the ability to feel good doing what you do. You will never get the excitement you harbored in medical school back. You lost it all. 

You’re tense when Max’s slender fingers check your nose for possible fractures. All you want to do is get up and finish your shift. You don’t want to be the one lying in a hospital bed in the emergency room. 

“Okay, that looks like a dislocation rather than a fracture, but we still need to get an X-ray,” he states.

You hear him out. You let him finish his sentence. Being rude to someone you get along with is the last thing you want to do. When he’s done though, about to turn around and tell a nurse to book you in for an X-ray, you cup your nose with your hands. 

“No need,” you say. 

The bone emits a loud crack. You groan. The pain travels to your toes where it paralyzes you for a brief moment. The eyes of the people around you are filled with horror. Foggy exclaims, “Woah, dude!” And the nurses all let out a collective gasp. Max pales. Matt is the only one who raises his eyebrows and shows the slightest sign of a smirk. You’re not sure if he knows what you just did.

The pain is only temporary. Your nose still pulsates under the discolored skin, but it’s back where it should be, and you can finally take a breath again. The small amount of blood that trickles out of your nose is quickly caught with a cotton swab. 

Your glassy eyes meet those of the people around you. “What?” you ask. 

“Did you just… reduce the dislocation on your own without an anesthetic?” Max retorts. 

“Yeah. I was just waiting for you to tell me it’s not broken.”

“Olivia.”

“What?”

“You can’t be your own doctor.”

“Who said that?”

“I don’t know. The law?”

“Actually,” Matt cuts in, and you have never been more grateful for the sound of a stranger’s voice, “To know how to heal yourself is a basic human right. Legally, you’re not allowed to prescribe medication to yourself, but no one can forbid you to reduce a dislocation on your own if you know how to do it.”

Max frowns. “What? Who are you?”

“My lawyer,” you blurt. 

“You–okay, you know what? We’re done here.” He picks the chart back up. “Shelly will want to talk to you, but after that, you can go home. Doctor’s orders. You need to rest.”

You sit up. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” 

“Whatever.”

If you leave before Shelly can catch you, maybe you can escape a possible second lecture. This was in no way your fault, but the woman has been on edge for months. Budget cuts, staff quitting, and a significant hole in the money pool makes her job so much harder than it should be, and you’re only adding to her headache with your reckless behavior. 

Being reckless is so unlike you. You used to be careful. You used to be scared of the consequences of your actions. To a certain extent, you still are. You still believe everything is your fault and you think twice about doing the easiest things, especially for yourself, because you don’t believe you deserve them. But ever since you started running from your old life, you have grown more prone to taking risks. You’ve become reckless. For someone as rational as you, that is odd behavior. Even you can admit that. 

You can feel Matt’s attention on you. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

You blink and look up at him. “I think so,” you answer. “Do you know what they did to the guy?”

Matt opens his mouth, but Foggy cuts him off. “They sedated him, put him in a secure room, and called for the police and a psych consult,” he says.

“Okay. That’s… not perfect, but it’s good. Thank you.”

You’re still a bit weak on your feet when you get up. Matt catches your elbow. His senses must be excellent. He picks up on the smallest of movements without an issue. At first, that wasn’t obvious, but he’s no longer trying to hide it. 

His scent hits you. He smells like the earth, rain, and sandalwood. He reminds you of fall. You like fall. When it’s not too cold and not too hot outside and all the leaves start changing colors. He reminds you of that, and perhaps even a cozy hug under a warm blanket. 

You stare at him, and you feel like he’s staring back at you in some way. He tilts his head. His attention is entirely on you. He’s listening, smelling, and feeling. A silent connection passes between you, wrapping around you like an invisible string and tying you together. It’s weird. You’ve never felt anything like this before. Maybe he’s confusing you because he’s so attractive and you haven’t felt someone’s genuine touch in a while. Or maybe it’s because he cares that your mind can’t process it and is instead confronting you with all of these unwanted feelings for a man you don’t even know. You're sexually confused, frustrated, and it is emotionally draining to feel so many things at once and not be able to understand them.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I got your number, but I didn’t call,” you whisper.

Matt smiles, but his smile looks pained. He’s not the kind of man to pressure you into anything. He wouldn’t be mad if you rejected him, but you can tell that you hurt him. That was never your intention.

You threw away his number to protect you and your fragile heart. You tried telling yourself that you did it for him, but you were being selfish. You were feeling sorry for yourself, and you refused to allow yourself even a moment of reprieve from the constant weight of your past that is weighing you down. You are and will always be a masochist.

“I get it,” he says. His voice sounds even more like gravel when he speaks at such a low volume. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I can’t blame you for being careful.”

His hand slips from your elbow. “I, uh, should go. We have a cab waiting.” He grips his cane with both of his hands. Those beautiful hands. “Take care, Olivia.”

No.

“Wait!” Your eyebrows are already furrowed when you call out to him. You know that this is probably a huge mistake, but you’re not in charge of your own actions; your heart is.

You hate your tricky heart, considering it’s broken and frozen and won’t survive another heartbreak. Yet it changed its course last minute, and now you’re heading straight into the unknown, which scares the life out of you.

Matt stops. Foggy stops. They both stop. You take a step forward, approaching Matt again. 

“Can I call you?” you ask.

He’s taken aback by the question. Your forehead wrinkles as he raises his eyebrows, and his jaw drops. He blushes. He reminds you of a fish on dry land, gasping for air. It’s kind of cute, you have to admit.

“It’s just that I misplaced your card and I would really like to call you later.” 

He stammers. “What?” 

“Yes. I realize now that I’ve made a mistake. I’d like to make up for it if you’ll let me.” 

His blush only deepens. “You don’t have to make up for anything.”

“Even if so, will you still let me?” you ask. 

The air is charged with awkward tension that could explode at any moment. 

Matt reaches into the inside of his suit jacket to retrieve another one of his business cards. You recognize the delicate Braille instantly. 

“If you happen to replace it again, I’m sure we will find each other some other way,” he says.

The blood rushes to your head. It’s your turn to blush. “I—” You take the card from him, and your fingers brush. An electrical current runs through your body. 

“Call me,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

You nod, equally as breathless. “If you don’t hear from me,” you say, “you know where to find me.”

“At Metro General, getting your nose broken?”

“Only on Wednesdays. The rest of the week I’m at Metro General without suffering a concussion.” 

“I’ll remember that.”

“Seriously, I am so glad you can’t see me right now,” your mouth is faster than your brain. “Sorry, that was probably offensive. I didn’t mean—”

Matt chuckles, but he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I don’t need sight to know that you’re beautiful,” he says. 

You had been successfully keeping your head above water until now. One sentence and he’s got you hooked like a fish. Your jaw drops. 

“Have a good night.” He squeezes your arm one last time. Then, he turns around, and with a small, “See ya,” he leaves.

You still haven’t regained your voice.

Only when you hear giggling beside you do you turn to face the nurses.

“Don’t even,” you say. 

“Just one question,” one of the nurses pipes up.

You glare at her. You know this won’t be good. 

“How can I get what you’re having?”

The group erupts into laughter, and you have no choice but to yield. 

“I’m gonna find Shelly,” you sigh. You wipe your bloody nose again. “Maybe she’ll kill me for free.”

Anything would be better than becoming the center of the nurses' gossip, even getting lectured by a pissed-off hospital administrator who won’t believe her luck when she sees what happened to you.

You leave the emergency room with the intention of avoiding any and all mirrors, but when you pass the vending machine, you catch a glimpse of your face in the glass. The reflection is a bit runny. Your nose is blue and swollen, but it could be worse. What strikes you the most is the small smile on your lips. You’re used to being covered in bruises—a real smile is a rarity. 

You pull away, looking back down at the card in your hands. This feels less like a curse now. 

You can either regret something that happened or regret something you didn’t do out of your own fears paralyzing you. You have the choice. You’re in charge of your life now, and you would rather regret trying something and it not working out than never trying it and regretting it when the opportunity has passed you by. 

You will call Matt, and you won’t be afraid because he’s the present and all of your fears are from the past. There is no place for the past in your present, let alone in the future. If you ever want to heal, you have to allow yourself to settle down. Perhaps that will finally give you back a piece of what you’ve lost. 

“Yeah,” you say to yourself, “I’ll call him.”

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Could I request a Dick x wife!reader? They’re newly married and just had a baby. They make it a competition to take care of the baby when it cries. So much so that Dick pulls his wife out of the way to run to the nursery. It’s all fun and games

The Baby Race

Dick Grayson x plus size reader

Dickie and Dove are always competing on who gets to take care of the baby.

Warnings: Fucking all the fluff, some references to sex, talks about boobs/breastfeeding

WC: 557

A/N: I loved this idea so so much and I fell in love with our little Alice so… here’s the start of the Grayson’s universe! Get ready for more stories involving our perfect little family!

Minors DNI

The cry came through the baby monitor’s speaker a mere ten minutes after silence had settled over the small apartment. There was a brief moment of quiet as you and your husband looked at each other, tensing in preparation for the argument about to ensue. 

Another wail shattered the tension and you both made a break for it. “Don’t you dare go near my baby, Grayson!” You scrambled on the hardwood floors, your socked feet not getting proper traction.

“Don’t you mean our baby, I did have a hand in making her!” Dick taunted, vaulting over the couch he was just laying on to make a mad dash towards the nursery. As delicately as he could, he pulled you to the side as he slid by, forcing you back down onto his recliner. You landed with a grunt, taking only a second to right yourself before you were back on your feet and chasing your new husband.

“I don’t think a five minute workout gives you the right to claim that you made her, especially since I was the one growing her for 9 months!” You darted forward, only just fast enough to grab the back of Dick’s shirt and yank him backwards, sending him flying past you.

He huffed in frustration before overtaking you once more. Damn his vigilante strength, you cursed to yourself. “It was six minutes and you know it!” He left into your daughter’s bedroom and slammed the door, the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place following. You had lost but, you were smiling, like an idiot in fact.

Dick was an incredible father, doting and kind, with a sense of humour that never failed to cheer you up, even in the middle of a difficult labour. With a bit of a struggle, you fished the key for the door off of the frame and quietly entered the nursery.

Alice was fully awake and staring at her father with an intensity that rivaled Tim and a cup of coffee. Her little hands were balled up into fists, her brows furrowed, her lips puckered as she grunted. You knew that face very well. “Unless you have a pair of boobs under that shirt, you better hand her over to me.” 

Your husband looked at you briefly, then turned away. “How do you know that I don’t?” You sighed and made your way over to them, wrapping your soft arms around his torso to rest your chin on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen you shirtless hundreds of times Dickie, I think I would know that.” You could feel the sadness radiating from him, disappointed that he couldn’t feed his daughter. With a small peck to his clean shaven cheek, you briefly cupped the back of Alice’s head. “I’ll go get a bottle ready for her but I’m feeding her next time.”

“Yeah sure.” He said absentmindedly, his gaze fixed upon the perfect little life in his arms. But you didn’t take any offense to his dismissal, knowing that you did the same thing. When you had her in your hold, it was impossible to look away from those big eyes that looked so much like yours. “Hey Dove?” You looked back at your husband. “Thank you.”

You shrugged and walked out. “I’ll beat you one of these days Grayson!”

“Don’t count on it Grayson!”

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[skyward-floored]

For prompts Link loving/collecting shiny treasures please? I feel like I remember you saying that he doesn’t necessarily hoard things but I love the idea of him liking fun trinkets and treasure like a dragon might

Tysm <333

Mask looks curiously at a strange rod with what looks like a wave on the top as the captain wanders deeper into the tent, and Tune lingers at the front, watching the rain pour outside.

“...got all sorts of items at a discount, badges, arrows, bombs with extra powder... I’ve even got some special potions in from the apothecary!” Ravio continues as he waves items in Tune’s face, and Tune rolls his eyes.

“Ravio, we’re just in here to get out of the rain, we don’t want any of your over-expensive items,” Tune says with a huff, and Ravio hums, tapping his hand on the counter.

“You sure Mr. Sailor Hero? Not even a nice gift for that lovely pirate friend of yours? I’ve got a few knives here—”

“No,” Tune says pointedly, and the strange bunny merchant sighs.

“Well all right, but you don’t know what you’re missing— Mr. Captain Hero! I see you’ve found something to catch your eye!”

The captain had been crouching down and looking at a shelf, and at Ravio’s call he jumps like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Tune moves closer to look at the object Link had been looking at.

It was a small piece of dark purple stone, in an unusual shape, almost like a crescent. It shines in the lantern light when Tune picks it up, a small hole in the top, a shiny purple gleam running across the surface.

“This is really pretty,” Tune says, and Link scratches the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just a rock though, and I don’t have the rupees, so...”

“How much?” Tune asks Ravio. The captain balks.

“Tune, I don’t need a—”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” Tune says with a hand wave, and ignores Link’s mutter of how his birthday was a few months ago, turning back to Ravio. “So? How much?”

Ravio leans on his counter, scratching the little bird that keeps him company under the chin.

“For you?” he says, and Tune is sure he’s grinning under his hood. “A mere 8,000 rupees.”

“Eight thousand?” Mask shouts, stomping up to the counter. “That’s highway robbery and you know it!”

“I have to keep this business running somehow,” Ravio shrugs.

Tune crosses his arms. “Five hundred.”

Ravio gasps. “A mere five hundred? Mr. Sailor Hero you wound me, do you know the effort I went through to retrieve this item? The sweat I shed? The tears I shed?”

Tune snorts. “You probably found it on the ground somewhere, Ravio. One thousand.”

Ravio crosses his arms. “Six thousand.”

“A thousand five hundred.”

“Five thousand.”

“A thousand seven fifty.”

“...four thousand.”

Tune slams a bag of rupees on the counter. “Two thousand, take it or leave it.”

Ravio stares at him in silence, a hand thoughtfully rubbing his chin. Then his hand shoots out and takes the bag.

“Deal.”

Tune nods, and swipes the shiny purple stone, turning away from Ravio. “Thank you very much. And now that the rain has stopped, we will be going.”

Mask nods decisively, and the captain follows him and Tune out of the tent, Tune setting the stone in his hand.

“You didn’t have to do that,” the captain says gratefully, and Tune shrugs, a grin twitching at his lip.

“It’s no big deal. Turns out yellow rupees are worth way more here then in my time, so I’m basically loaded,” Tune grins, and Mask laughs, Link shaking his head with an amused smile. “So, is there a reason this caught your eye?”

Link shrugs, stepping around a puddle as he admires the stone.

“I found a few like it when I was in Skyloft, but in a different color. They’re all orange, and I’d never seen a purple one until now, and it’s shiny in a different way, I... thought it was nice,” he mumbles.

Tune holds back another smile. He’s well aware of the captain’s little collection of treasures. And he’d noticed he hadn’t been able to add anything to it recently, so the sudden rainstorm where the only shelter was Ravio’s tent just happened to be good luck.

“Well I’m glad you like it,” Tune says as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Happy birthday.”

Link laughs. “Thanks sailor.”

[loosingmoreletters]

For the ask game Ghostbat, 37

I barely go here anymore babe, you’ll have to excuse the characterizations.

meeting in prison au

Bruce Wayne’s parents die. He copes with it and everything else that happens to him in the next decade as well as one would expect for the richest orphan in the world, pushed around by relatives with sharp teeth and greedy hands. Maybe, in some other world, there’d be someone who cares, but in this one, the Wayne and Kane names are not spoken kindly. Any cousins he has, are much older, distant, and more likely to tell Bruce to stay quiet and out of sight.

Bruce is pulled from school after the first fight he gets into over his parents’ death. It’s just until he’s learned to manage his grief a little better, until he’s fit for society again. He never returns and it suits him just fine. He occupies his days with self-studies in whatever matter interests him and remains unseen as is demanded.

The first real decision Bruce Wayne, all of nineteen, makes about his life, is taking a gun into his hand and shoot the man who ruined his life three times in the chest.

He does so in broad daylight, is caught on the spot, though the police doesn’t have to tackle him down, he’d already on the ground, heaving, throwing up over the gun. Erratic, the report will say later, not a practiced shooter. He isn’t, he’s fired the handgun he nicked from his uncle a hundred times in the forest behind the manor, practiced until perfection, for three shots that will have his parents’ murderer most certainly die a slow and agonizing death.

Poor Bruce Wayne, a fragile child presented only at the right occasions like expensive jewelry.

The sentence they give him is barely a slap on the wrist. After all, so proclaim the papers, what good son wouldn’t avenge their parents?

It should matter, Bruce thinks somewhere, that he perpetuated the same violence as the one that ruined him, ruins him still. It doesn’t matter to anyone, it just feels hollow.

It’s Gotham, they decide on a year in Arkham.

His mental health has never been great, his aunt proclaims in some interview, crying crocodile tears. We had to pull him from school because of it! We tried our best, but poor Bruce, he was hurting so much.

Bruce has no doubt that by the time he is released from Arkham, all of his assets will be seized. All the papers he had to sign to even get admitted, he knows exactly what freedoms he gave up. Bruce Wayne will no longer be of worth to anyone, and that suits him just fine.

It’s fine anyway, there’s no need to live beyond this.

The first month is surprisingly quiet for all that he now resides in Arkham. He supposes the doctors are still careful with him, paid to keep him docile and quiet. They’re probably happy that this criminally insane inmate never throws a fuss, isn’t anything like the freaks they keep downstairs. After all, Bruce Wayne really only got revenge. The motif is clear, his trigger as well. He’s a predictable patient, and the diagnosis they write on their little clipboards amount to nothing more than severe depression. The doses of depressants he’s prescribed is too high, and since nobody expects Bruce to act out, nobody checks if he actually takes them.

More often than not, his therapists end up telling Bruce how happy they are to speak to him instead of anyone downstairs. Bruce’s monotone behavior is well rewarded after the six-month mark, he gets a cellmate.

Anton smiles, flirts, charms, and never speaks of what sentence brought him here.

Bruce isn’t stupid, he figures that whatever it is, it isn’t what he’s actually here for. Anton is amusing in his own way, though Bruce supposes his own reactions to Anton’s flirting are the true entertainment to the other. It’s what you get when you raise yourself in isolation. Anton cracks a joke about attraction and Bruce replies with formula for dopamine.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Anton says one night, out of the blue.

“How’d you know?” Bruce asks in return, his eyes never straying from the page of the book he’s reading, thankful for the moonlight. He can read and keep up a conversation at a same time just fine. Could probably add a third task if he had anything else to occupy his hands with that wasn’t turning a page. Maybe he should ask the doctors to add some creative classes. Cooking would be fun, though he supposes the knives would be a challenge. It’s sad, he misses chemistry.

“The way you talk,” Anton answers.

Bruce doesn’t think there’s anything special about the way he talks. He’s blunt to a fault.

Why did you kill him?

He murdered my parents.

Did you plan this?

Obviously.

Are you taking this seriously at all, Mr. Wayne?

No, sir.

“I don’t say much.”

Nobody wants to listen to poor, orphan Bruce Wayne after all.

“And yet, if I were to ask you how to get to the bottom levels undetected, I’m sure you could tell me, probably open our door as well without anyone noticing.”

Bruce does look away from his page now and finds Anton staring at him with interest, a sincerity about his own character that Bruce hasn’t expected. Anton, Bruce thinks, beneath all his smiles, is angry in a way Bruce doesn’t have the energy or patience for anymore.

Don’t lose your heart, Master Wayne, Alfred said before he returned to England. Perhaps love would’ve suited Bruce better than endless anger.

“Is that what you’re actually here for?” Bruce asks instead.

“Mhm.” Anton leans back on his bed. He brags about his morning routine outside of Arkham, but he looks plenty pretty to Bruce even without. “My teacher sent me here with a little task. Said Gotham is the best place to practice.”

It’s Gotham, Bruce doesn’t really want to imagine what kind of task Anton has been sent here for.

“Do you want my help?” It’s easier to simply cut the chase.

“Maybe.” Anton tilts his head. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Bruce shrugs. He’s got nowhere better to be, really. “Are you offering a place to stay after?”

Anton grins and it’s more honest than any of his previous flirting, though Bruce supposes that wasn’t entirely for show either. “Oh, I’ve got a whole damn world for a brain like yours. Are you in?”

He holds out his hand.