#i repeat myself a lot here but i hope the points get across! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ceilidho · 3 months

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.

You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. It’s hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore you’d elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. It’s a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts.

Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.

You have to cut any gentleness off at the root.

When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, it’s not any different from anything you’ve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands.

“I’ll be out back,” he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. “When you’re done, come get me. Got business in town.”

“Why do you need me to come with you?” you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. You’d never considered yourself a bellyacher, but it’s almost second nature around John. “I can…I can stay and clean the house.”

“You saying I keep a messy home?” John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. “It could do with a spit shine.”

That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones.

“Darling, I’ll be honest with you,” he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and you’ll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.”

That expression makes your stomach twist. “Good to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.”

“You talk a whole lot for a woman who’s been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?”

When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. He’s been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. It’s the true root of him.

You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. You’ve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth.

He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide.

“See that you come get me as soon as everything’s squared away in here,” John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. “Else I’ll come get you myself.”

And we wouldn’t want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does.

The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. It’s beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation.

It’s hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland.

John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses you’ve seen out west haven’t seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone.

It says something about him, but you’re not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar chore—it’s one you’ve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place.

You don’t like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down.

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but you’ll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire.

He doesn’t. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that you’ll get on that horse, willing or not.

It’s not for a lack of beauty that you can’t quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way.

John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s walk?”

“I didn’t hate it.” Truth be told, you’d hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to John’s house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on.

“Well, I’m not too keen to repeat it.” He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercup’s saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense.

“I could meet you there,” you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercup’s saddle. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s not something you’ve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown man’s ribs or cave in his face.

“My wife isn’t gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,” John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. “And you’re sure as hell not staying here alone, darlin’.”

“Well, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thin—” You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you.

“Quit squirmin’ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,” John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. “C’mon, you’re just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.” When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“I hate this,” you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel.

“Aw, darlin’, don’t go insulting Buttercup like that,” John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.

You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesn’t register right away. You’re too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably.

He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that you’ll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.

You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if you’d been married for longer than a single day you’d be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time.

You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldn’t be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. That’s none of your business.

The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that would’ve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories.

John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriff’s office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation.

You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though you’re still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest.

“Are you working today?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercup’s lead to the post outside the sheriff’s office.

“Don’t exactly get many days off when you’re the only sheriff in the county,” John replies. “We’ve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ain’t an easy gig.”

“How many deputies have you got here?”

“Just the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.”

His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. “I remember,” you say flatly. There’s no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding.

“Don’t hold that against him,” John smiles. “He’s a good ole boy. Can’t fault a man for following the boss’ orders.”

Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face.

The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt.

Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriff’s office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them.

John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later.

“Well, that’s lovely,” you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away.

“Wouldn’t need to complain about it if you just watched your step.”

“You know, this really would’ve been a nice day to just stay home,” you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return.

While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city you’d left behind in a haste.

“Where do you want me to wait for you?” you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriff’s office.

He frowns. “Wait for me?”

“While you work, I mean. Surely you don’t mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.”

His mustache twitches with a smile. “Thought I’d show you around first—get you acquainted with the locals.”

The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesn’t appeal to you, but you also can’t think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow you’ve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and it’s almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored.

When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it.

Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, “So you want to help me make friends?”

“Well, seeing as I know most of ‘em, figured I’d be a help.”

“The job’s really not all that busy then, huh?” You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning.

“Guess life isn’t as exciting ‘round here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,” John chuckles. “Now come on; I’ll give you the tour.”

For some reason, you hadn’t pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize you’ve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. It’s spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed.

It’s not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like he’s on a mission.

He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you can’t answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence.

Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.

Perhaps it’s not a lie though. You don’t know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe she’d spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time you’d thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, there’s an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry.

That makes you feel guilty somehow, like you’ve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadn’t wanted it—in fact, been forced into taking it.

You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.

The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this way—or, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well.

“Hi John,” she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook.

“Laswell,” John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswell’s eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them.

“Your lady finally showed up then,” she surmises. “I’ll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.”

John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, it’s real enough.

“Well, she’s very real, as you can tell.” He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. “Say hi, darlin’.”

If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. You’d leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. “Excuse me?”

Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. “Darlin’.” It’s said like a warning.

You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kate Laswell; I own this little shop,” she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of John’s arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at John’s side the way you have for almost two days now. It’s also a bit cold after having John’s warmth at your back or side at all times.

There’s a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person you’ve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else you’d come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of John’s reaction.

You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town.

“He might growl like a bear, but you’ll get used to that,” she says, winking.

You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isn’t his wife. Why should she know that?

You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your concern.

“He’s been a gentleman,” you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace.

A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest.

“Stay here,” John growls, his pistol already drawn. He’s out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat.

“Good Lord,” you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

The thought doesn’t even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt you’d be able to take so much as a single step towards the door.

There’s precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. It’s not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step.

You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. John’s man—Simon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriff’s office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.

“Shouldn’t they call a doctor for that man?” you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her.

She nods. “They probably will once they’ve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anyway—he’ll be on his way, I bet.”

“On his way already?”

“There’s only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.”

“Does that happen a lot around here?” You don’t know why the thought makes you nervous, but there’s a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesn’t go down.

“It’s not uncommon. I reckon it’s not something you’re used to?”

You purse your lips. “I’ve seen a dead body before.” You don’t know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight that’s been levied against you. There’s no easy way to dispel the myth in everyone’s mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldn’t see the well-kept hands of a lady.

When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. “Well, look at you.”

When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the man’s blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. “I’m sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but I’m afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. There’s danger everywhere, you know.”

What you don’t say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husband’s face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.

Your hands shake in your lap, but you don’t say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. “You’re right. Just a little fright.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain john price #price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 5 months

Note

Ok. I have a request took me a lot of courage to finally request and shat myself a couple times but anyway! A one shot where choso lives in y/ns dorm with them and he was like doing his hair and kept messing up and gave up and started crying (I FEEL LIKE THATS SOMETHING HED DO THE POOR BOY:() thennnn y/n walks in their dorm and sees him crying and then comforts him and does his hair for him!!

IF THAT AIN'T LOVE THEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS!

synopsis// choso is having an off day.

➚ pairing// choso x gn!reader ➚ word count// 1.4k

contents// frustrated/sad choso? idk just some hurt/comfort in a way! fluff?? could be read as either platonic or romantic doesnt really matter i supposeeee? i think it kinda reads more romantic tho

notes// anon ur actual fucking MIND. i was moved. literally right after reading ur request i opened up my notes and went to fucking WORKKK!!!! anyway sorry its so kinda all over the place but i hope u like it and it lived up to ur expectations!! n also sorry to everyone else for posting a oneshot mid smau its short n cute okay (AND ITS FUCKING CHOSO SO LIKE CMON???) i couldnt help myself !! also the title is lyrics from cupid's chokehold by gym class heroes... okay bye!

Sharing a dorm with Choso was heavenly.

Because of your conflicting schedules, half the time, you rarely actually saw each other. But even when you did, he was the type of roommate to keep to himself; he has his side of the room, and you have yours. Of course, you two talked here and there; he was actually pretty nice company whenever you two were actually in the room at the same time. But more often than not, the only time you would see him was late at night when you were just getting in to go to sleep.

Either way, the point is, you never really saw him around much. Choso was always quick and effective, so by the time you would head back to your dorm after a few of your classes, he would just be heading out or have already left.

Usually, his alarm would go off an hour before his classes, which is ample time for him. He’s done his routine hundreds of times before—doing his hair and eyeliner is practically muscle memory, and at this point he's sure he could do it in his sleep. but not today, apparently. Today his alarm goes off late—half an hour late. Which Choso isn’t panicked by, only slightly frustrated, but it's fine. That still leaves him another half an hour to get ready, so there's still plenty of time given that it only takes him 10–15 minutes to get ready, so it's fine. Everything is fine; he repeats it in his head like a mantra, like if he thinks it and says it enough, he’ll actually believe it.

Choso quickly dresses, then sits at his desk, where a little mirror sits. He sighs as he flips on a lamp and grabs his eyeliner. He doesn’t even have to think about it, instinctively taking the cap off and bringing it to his eye, only for it to crumble as it meets his waterline. Choso cusses under his breath as he blinks, attempting to get whatever fell into his eye out. When that doesn't work, he rubs his eye, only for it to spread eyeliner all across his eye and cheek. He groans, grabbing a cloth to wipe it off with, and once his face is clean, he doesn't even bother trying with his eyeliner again—looking at the time, he’s already wasted more than he wanted doing that. He’ll just do his hair and leave, or else he’ll be late.

Choso stills for a moment, forcing himself to take a deep breath to try and calm the nerves and frustration simmering beneath his skin—it's fine. He nods. Now somewhat calmer, he grabs his hair ties and gets to work… only for one of them to break as he’s trying to put his hair through it. Choso stares at himself in the mirror, eyes narrowed and swallowing harshly, as he desperately tries to ignore the rising heat going to his cheeks.

Whatever.

It's fine.

He’ll just do the other side of his hair...only for the same thing to happen. Choso can actively feel his heart racing—it's pounding against his chest and ringing in his ears—and he’s already too far gone to notice or even stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. He doesn’t really know why he’s actually crying, if he’s being honest. It’s not like this is the end of the world; he knows that, yet he can't stop himself. Too many things have gone wrong, and he’s barely woken up. First, his alarm goes off late, which isn't the most horrible thing within itself, but then his eyeliner crumbles and gets in his eye, and when he tries to wipe it away, it instead smears on his face. Then he rubs his face raw, trying to get it off, and now he can't do his fucking hair because his hair ties suddenly decided to disintegrate and snap in half.

He messily wipes at his tears and tries inhaling deeply for air in a feeble attempt to calm himself the tiniest bit down. It doesn't do anything. In fact, it makes things worse. His tears fall harder, and he’s choking in shallow breaths of air. If anyone walked in right this moment, they’d think something horrible happened, like one of his brothers died. and it's just his luck, or a very obvious lack thereof, when you walk in. Choso immediately starts scrambling to wipe his tears away and hide his face from you as you drop your things in shock—you hadn’t expected him to still be in the dorm, let alone be here crying.

“Holy shit, Choso, are you okay? What's wrong? Did something happen?” You panic, immediately running to his side.

He doesn’t say anything; he just takes in and lets out shaky breaths as he shakes his head, one arm outstretched to keep you at arm's length.

You frown and look around. For what? You’re not sure. Part of you thinks if you look hard enough, you'll find why he’s crying, but all you see are snapped hair ties, a crumbled, unsharpened eyeliner pencil, and a cloth full of eyeliner. That’s when it all starts to make sense. You smile softly at him, who's still hiding his red tear-stained face from you, before you grab his comb and a new pair of hair ties from his desk.

Choso doesn’t know what you're doing when he hears you shuffling around, and he refuses to meet your gaze, filled to the brim with embarrassment at having been caught crying, but his head involuntarily snaps up, looking at you through the mirror, when he feels you start to brush his hair. You're already staring back at him and flashing him a warm smile, not saying a word as you continue to detangle his hair.

“You don't have to do this,” he sniffles, finally calming down enough to say something.

"I know I don't," you shrug. "But I also know it sucks when it seems like nothing is working or going to plan, so..."

"I can do it myself-“

"Choso, just let me do this for you, please.”

He stares at you for a moment, studying your face as if trying to find something, and when he finds nothing but your soft eyes and willingness—your desire—to do this for him, he sighs and nods. You beam and gleefully get back to work on his hair, and Choso finds that he’s no longer embarrassed by being seen crying but rather by the fact he feels like a doll—but the worst part? It's kind of nice.

He likes having someone do this for him with no hesitation; he likes the way your fingers carefully rake through his hair to ensure there's no tangles even though you just combed it; he likes the way you don't tie the ponytails too tight like he usually does, which only results in a pounding headache he can't get rid of; he likes all of it.

He likes all of it so much so that he finds himself closing his eyes in complete bliss, drowning in your gentle touches. You poof up one of his ponytails a bit, ready to tell him you're done, when you look into the mirror and notice his eyes closed, looking like he’s in a whole other world. You can't fight your smile off as you play with his ponytail for a bit longer before slowly wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

“What do you think?” You whisper, your breath softly fanning against his ear.

Choso opens his eyes, surprised to see you pretty much hugging him from behind, yet he doesn't hate it, not one bit. Too caught up about how much he does not hate this; he doesn't respond, and it makes you nervous.

“Sorry… I know they don't look exactly like how you usually do them, but-“

"No, no,” he cuts you off quickly. “They look amazing... Thank you, y/n...”

You smile, happy with his answer, as you untangle yourself from him and stand up. “You should head out now, Choso; you're late.”

He blinks, totally forgetting about class, and hurriedly stands up. "Right, thank you again,” is all he’s saying before rushing out the door.

You giggle slightly before yawning and making your way to your bed, ready for your usual nap, when Choso comes rushing back into the dorm again. You stare at him wide-eyed, and he simply stares back.

You furrow your eyebrows, confused, and are about to ask if he's okay when suddenly he blurts out:

"I wouldn’t mind if you did my hair again.”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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hellfirecvnt · 1 month

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First Trip

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 1

Summary: You're the new secretary at NJH. You've caught Lee's eye, but disaster strikes before anything can be done about it.

Read part two here. // Part three here. // Part four here. // Part five here.

The bright morning sun rays crack through the window into your small house in the new town you've just moved to. It was your very first night in your new home and today, you start your new job. Your goal was to be employed by a school and you achieved that goal, even if it wasn't the position you'd hoped for. You applied as a teacher for a plethora of subjects, but the only open positions they had were in the office.

You pull into the parking lot of your new home school, North Jackson High School. You exhale the nerves out of your body and check yourself one more time in the mirror before stepping out of the car and making your stroll inside. As you get closer, you notice a group of students surrounding something in front of the school. You hear a man demanding that they disperse, but you can't see him past the crowd.

"You. Who are you?" A round man with pushed-back hair points to you the second you step through the door.

"I'm the new Secretary. You must be Mr. Russell," you say, smiling and extending your hand to him.

"Strike one. Fuck no, I'm not Lee Russell." The man speaks sharply.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry. You're Mr. Neal Gamby." Once you correct his name, he meets your handshake. "Did you say 'Strike one?'"

"Keep up with me, Mrs. Y/L/N. I don't repeat myself. Percival left a pile of fucking horse shit in the front drop-off lane." The strict man guides you into the office, ignoring your question entirely.

"Um, it's Miss, actually. I'm not married." You quicken your walk behind Gamby, already reading him for the pretentious leader he is. At least now you know what the hype was outside.

"Me neither. My ex-wife's a bitch. This is your desk." He quickly points to the desk at the front of the office where an empty chair sits next to a discarded name plaque that reads "Janice Smith."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to-" When you look up, he's already walking away, continuing a tour you thought would end right here.

"This is my office," his voice is faint as he disappears behind a corner. You drop your things off at the desk and speedily catch him down the hall. "This is Mr. Russell's office." He intrusively swings the door open to an empty office. Leaving you without a face to the name Lee Russell.

"Thank you, Mr. Gamby. I-" he cuts you off.

"Now the last secretary was shit. She was terrible. She was so bad," he starts, but a passing teacher cuts in.

"She started a six-figure business and quit on you, Gamby."

"That's not true. Regardless, I expect better from you Ms. Y/L/N. Don't fuck me over." He disappears into his office and you begin to settle into your desk. You remove the remnants of Ms. Smith and replace them with photos of your pets. You're a well-organized person and a quick learner. You make it a personal goal to give that severe asshat nothing to complain about. Anything to make the job less boring.

Lunchtime rolls around and you find yourself a little lost and even overwhelmed as you enter the booming volume of the cafeteria. You glance around the room, noticing the faculty table seems a little full. It's only your first day, and you haven't had time to introduce yourself to anyone with Mr. Gamby making odd, redundant requests on a two-minute basis.

You step through the line and purchase an apple before making your way back to your desk in the front office. It'd be nicer to sit somewhere quieter anyway. As you cross the lunch room, you're oblivious to the pair of deep brown eyes you've caught across the room. Lee spots your lanyard and immediately turns to face Neal.

"Who the fuck is that, Gamby?" His voice is a low whisper. Mr. Gamby looks over and watches you as you exit through the double doors.

"That's the new office secretary, Ms. Y/L/N," Gamby answers dryly and returns his attention to his sandwich.

"You didn't tell me you were hiring anybody yet," his voice kind of fades off as he's lost in thought.

"Yeah well, she applied to be a teacher, but we're about overrun by those fuckers," Neal says, met by sneers from the teachers sitting within earshot.

"So you've got her doing desk bitch-work?"

"The fuck are you acting so offended for?" Neal's resting face is one with arched brows, but one arches even higher now as he questions his friend.

"Forget about it, Gamby. She married? Did you see a ring?" Lee glances at the door again, wondering if you plan to come back.

"No, she said she isn't married. And why are you asking? Has your divorce even been finalized yet?"

"Yes, idiot. It's been finalized for a month if you ever fuckin' listen to me." Lee reaches over and disrupts something on Neal's lunch tray. Neal swats his hands away.

"Knock it off! Why are you even focused on ladies and women when we're supposed to be concocting a plan against Dr. Brown?"

"Would you lower your fucking voice, Gamby? Jesus!" Mr. Russell hisses as he follows the other vice principal out of the cafeteria. As the two men round the corner, they come face to face with their higher up. Principal Brown.

"Gamby, there you are. I need you to head up to the office and show Ms. Y/L/N how to log into her staff portal." The woman is dominant and sure in her words. Mr. Gamby sighs before nodding complacently and heading up front. Lee nods to Dr. Brown and quickly follows behind his coworker.

"So what'd you have in mind?" Lee whispers as they walk, coming up quickly on the desk you reside at.

"Now who needs to lower their voice? It's Y/L/N's first day on the job and you want her to hear us plotting against the boss?" Gamby scolds him, right in front of you. You stare at both of them with wide eyes, silent.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I'm Lee Russell. It's wonderful to meet you, darlin'." Lee reaches a charismatic hand across the desk and you happily shake it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Russell." You smile warmly, hoping to make a good first impression. Suddenly, the phone rings and you're quick to answer, allowing Neal and Lee to slip back into their bickering.

"Well, now she definitely knows something's up, dick head. Don't piss her off before we get Belinda fired," Lee whispers harshly.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Gamby?" You gain their attention. "Your daughter's shoes seemed to have broken or something during gym class. She needs you to bring her a new pair."

"God damn it, Janelle." Gamby slams his fist on your desk before bolting out the door. You watch him leave, your eyes wide with shock.

"Yeah, he's on his way I think. Thank you, goodbye." You hang up the phone and return your attention to Lee. "Could you please help me log into this faculty portal thing?"

"Yeah, sure, doll. Let's see what we can do." He joins you on the other side of your desk and takes a knee next to your computer chair. You sit and allow him to walk you through the steps. He's so close and the entire time he's next to you, his pulse races. You finish setting up your account and thank him for his help.

"It's no problem at all, Ms. Y/L/N," he smiles, basking in the interaction with you. "You new to town?"

"Yeah, I am. I just spent my first night in my new house last night," you chuckle nervously. Still accepting the new life you're making for yourself.

"First night in? Why, you need to be shown around! You probably don't even know where to find the good bars." He gushes, charismatically.

"That'd be pretty nice if you're offering, Mr. Russell," you smile. He wants so badly to solidify those plans, but it's risky business being your higher-up and saying these things out in the open. Especially with how many people hate him and would gladly report him.

"Let's put a pin in that." He smiles brightly. "I'd love to stay here and talk with you, honey, but I'm afraid I have to run a few errands."

"Is it the plotting?" You ask, flat out.

"Yeah... It's the plotting," he sighs, shaking his head as he walks down the hallway to his office. You giggle as he disappears from view. You're no stranger to the inner workings of a dysfunctional school staff, it's entertaining to just be a secretary instead of a teacher in the middle of it.

After a while, Mr. Gamby returns from delivering new shoes to his daughter. He stomps through the door mumbling something along the lines of "Why the fuck Gail couldn't do it..."

"Hello, welcome back, Mr. Gamby." You wave, greeting him with a smile.

"Grab that ISS Board and follow me," he demands and you do as he says. He assigns the in-school suspension students to clean up duty for the "prank" left outside by the rival school's team this morning.

The next day, a pep rally is organized and Dr. Brown makes a hell of a speech, igniting school spirit all across the student body. You're just happy to be there, but you can see Neal and Lee leaning in to whisper things to each other. You only catch a small snippet from Lee.

"Look at Brown. She's all fucked out," he cackles with Gamby. You know he's speaking about her exhausted, spaced-out appearance, but hearing him use that phrase causes your cheeks to redden.

Throughout the day, you catch yourself attempting to eavesdrop on the two vice principals. Not to intervene or disrupt, but just for the tea. It's boring up front and they seem to know how to stay busy. You don't gather much. Tonight is the big game, and Lee and Neal have been out of sight, out of mind for a while now.

The day comes to an end and the students begin to prepare for the biggest game of the year. Gamby obnoxiously piles into the front office and summons you from your desk, demanding that you follow him with haste.

"We have to stop Mr. Russell from poisoning the North Jackson football team," he grunts as the two of you speedwalk through the corridors.

"He's doing what?!" But your question is left unanswered as the two of you enter the football field. Mr. Gamby quickly spots Mr. Russell across the grass and takes off at full speed after him. You try your best to keep up without exerting yourself.

"Lee! Stop right there. Don't do this," Gamby barges into the locker room behind him after the short pursuit.

"Don't do what? The thing I've already just done? I just did it," Lee shrugs, tossing the small, empty bottle of LSD at Gamby. The two men bicker for a moment before a match of tug of war breaks out between them over the large vat of dosed water meant for the players.

"I command you to let go!" Gamby thunders just before their hands slip, and all three of you become doused in the liquid.

"You fucking idiot! This shit gets absorbed through the skin!" Lee wails.

"What?!" The two men scramble out of the locker room and attempt to flee campus before the drugs kick in.

"Just get the fuck out of here!" Lee shoves Neal out the door and they leave you there, still in shock. The longer you wait, the more it sets in that you're going to trip on school grounds and there's no way around it. You take the drugs by the reigns and attempt to chase down your bosses.

By the time you find them, they're standing under the bleachers holding their arms out in front of two confused students like they have some sort of superpowers.

"You two," you say, voice barely trembling as you attempt to hold it together. You point at the students. "Get the fuck out of here and I won't let them write you up." The two kids nod and flee the scene. As they do, Neal and Lee raise their extended hands, gazing at each other with mouths agape.

"You two," you grab them both by the sleeve and turn them to face you. "This your first trip?" They look at each other and then back at you before nodding out of sync.

"North Jackson High Wins!" A voice booms over the field intercom. Gamby's eyes fall shut in relief, but Lee's just staring at you. It'd be hard to believe he heard the announcer at all with how he gazes into your eyes.

"You got beautiful eyes," Lee mumbles.

"You two need to come with me. We have to get out of here until this shit wears off." You take both of their hands and swiftly guide them back inside the school. You take refuge in the Circle room and place the privacy cover over the door window. "Here. Eat some popcorn. Calm the fuck down and maybe we'll all still have a job tomorrow."

"Ms. Y/L/N, I'm impressed by your initiation." Mr. Gamby misspeaks, staring intently into the pattern on the rug where he sits on a bean bag.

"Thank you, sir. I would've preferred not to be drugged by my bosses."

"Hey, now. Don't go around sayin' shit like that or we're all fucked," Lee chimes in.

"Don't start with me, Mr. Russell. You two were using The Force on some 9th graders who will no doubt have that information spread to everybody before 6 AM tomorrow !" You protest his light scolding. He chuckles at your response, unable to form a sensible response after that.

For the rest of the time in that room, you toss random activities at them to keep them busy. Sometimes it's just showing them the rug again if they've forgotten about it. Once you all come down, you're tired and sore, desperate to get home. The game is long over and the crowd has been gone for hours. The school is empty save for the three of you.

"I'll see you both tomorrow," you grumble, crumpling into your car.

"See you tomorrow, Y/L/N." Gamby waves you off as you pull out of the parking lot.

"She saved your ass tonight, Gamby," Lee smirks.

"She saved our asses tonight, Russell. Guess I didn't do too bad of a job hiring someone by myself, huh? Asshole." Neal settles into his car and pulls off, leaving Lee to sit in his car for a while.

He goes home to an empty house these days. He hasn't dated in 20 years. He wonders if there's any point in even looking at you that way after the mess he orchestrated tonight. He can't deny that your quick thinking saved their skin. You asked if it was their first time doing hallucinogens, and he wonders how often you partake to have been so coherent while they were melting face.

His ride home is quiet and he almost forgets to be pissed that North Jackson won the game and made Belinda look like a goddamn superwoman. He spends most of the journey thinking about you. It follows him home all the way up until he closes his eyes.

Suddenly work isn't so bad. He looks forward to seeing you tomorrow.

#Lee Russell #Vice Principals #Neal Gamby #Lee Russell fanfiction #Lee Russell Vice Principals #vice principals fanfiction #hbo max #max #walton goggins #danny mcbride #hellfirecvnt

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chimcess · 2 months

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Waterlog || pjm (3)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 12.2k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), talks of bad parental relationships, abandonment issues, some PTSD, prescription medication use, mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, writing this is so comforting even when its angsty lol, i think that's it, let me know if I missed something A/N: Hello hello. Probably my favorite chapter to date. Bad news is that I think this series might be a little longer than originally intended. My inability to just get to the point has things moving a little slow, but I'm trying my best. We'll have to see, though! Hope you enjoy reading :)

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Time went by quickly. Wednesday and Friday morning, Jimin and I met up to train for a few hours and then got breakfast together. When he asked if I wanted to work out with him in the evenings, I agreed. In the beginning, I had given him pointers, but after the second week came to a close, we had started exercising in silence. We spotted one another, made small talk, and went to dinner on the nights he did not go home to be with his parents. We got along and I was happy my overwhelming attraction to him had slowly calmed down.

I was still aware of his presence, the way he smelled, and how often he smiled and laughed, but I had grown used to seeing him walking around in barely anything at all. Hoseok called me a cougar whenever we had time to chat while Andy kept telling me to talk with Jimin about how I felt, but I had gotten very good at deflecting. Things were better and I was taking my wins whenever I could get them. Even if those wins meant I went home sexually frustrated and aching for someone to make it better.

Jimin was packing up for the night and I was getting ready to head out. He had plans with a large group of his friends, so I would have to figure out dinner by myself this time. He invited me but I politely declined. I could vaguely recall how rude his friends from that restaurant had been, and that one girl's mean glare. I had no interest in repeating that.

Giselle waved at me on her way out which I returned with a smile. She was a very sweet, college girl and getting to know her was fun. Her brother moved out here six years ago and was the only reason she left Memphis. In-State tuition and a rent-free bedroom was all it took to convince her to spend some quality time with her big brother and his dog, Lucky.

She and Sam were the closest, but I would often see her eating lunch with Megan when he was with a client. Everyone was making bets on when they would eventually hook up, but I was convinced that had already happened and they were keeping it a secret from the nosy staff.

"See you tomorrow," Yoongi called out from across the room, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

He was out of eyesight before I could reply.

"Bye Yoon," Giselle sing-songed anyway, shoving her ear buds in and leaving before the door could close behind Yoongi. "Night guys!"

As the young woman said, Yoongi and Megan were the two most important people to befriend. Not just for massages either. The both of them were hilarious and kept the back fridge stocked with our favorite snacks. On the mornings I did not have time to eat breakfast, Megan stopped and got me a muffin and coffee from her favorite cafe. If I needed someone to help me out in the pool, Yoongi was always happy to offer himself for the job. It was challenging for me to focus on my swimming when Jimin was around, and I would often come in early to get a quick work out in before he got here.

“You okay getting home?” Jimin asked.

We had come together tonight, and he had offered to drive us in his truck. I had grown very fond of the green machine, which Jimin affectionately called Fiona, and I jumped at the chance to get in his passenger seat. We were usually riding around in my car since it was better on gas.

“Yeah, I’m riding with Sam.”

Sam and I had grown close as well. He was super funny and always down to hang out with me if I showed up by myself. On the odd Sunday I felt like getting out of the house, I found myself at the gym with Sam. I was currently attempting to teach him how to swim and always filled in for Yoongi on the weekends.

Jimin nodded, “Good. See you this weekend?”

I smiled, “Can’t miss your big party.”

Jimin’s 24th birthday was on the 13th and his family liked to go big. Eloise was clearing out an entire section in their restaurant for all of us, and I had found myself teamed up with Taehyung to help with the planning. Na-Yeon put everything in his hands since she was not feeling up to the task this year. I only agreed to help when I realized just how overboard the snowboarder would go if no one was there to reel him back in. So far, I had placed the responsibility of decorating, music, and organizing the gift table on my shoulders. James had pulled me aside and thanked me when he found out. Apparently, he was also worried about Taehyung’s enthusiasm.

“It should be fun,” He nodded. “I’m going to head out.”

“See you tomorrow,” We had finally started coming 5 days a week. "We're working on your turns. Butterflies, too. Be prepared.”

He groaned, “You’re torturing me, coach.”

I laughed, “Is the baby upset?”

“Very,” He winked. My mouth went dry. Sometimes I felt silly for getting nervous around him, especially when I knew he flirted with everyone. I was not special. “See you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I stared at his retreating back. “See you.”

Jimin’s birthday passed quietly. We had a great time and ate well. Taehyung got drunk enough to suggest karaoke once we cleared out the place for the night, and he and Na-yeon had all of us cracking up. I finally met Jungkook’s girlfriend, a pretty girl who did not talk very much, and I could feel the tension between the two of them. Jimin said that was just how they were and to ignore it.

After Jungkook successfully shoved Jimin's face into his cake, we opened presents. The boys got him tons of workout clothes and gear, Eloise bought him a new blender, and his parents both chipped in to get the new video game he had been talking about picking up.

I gifted him a bottle of his favorite cologne after Na-Yeon mentioned he was out. Jo Malone was the most distracting thing in my life right now, its scent clinging to the passenger side of my car most days and driving me insane if Jimin stood too close. Still, it was something I did not think I could part with now. Jimin was happy with the present and hugged me after opening it. I was positive I had this stupid grin on my face for the rest of the night.

By Halloween we were in the gym every day, save Sunday and the occasional Saturday when Jimin needed some time to rest. We both kept our word, our conversation at the restaurant we went to with Jungkook and Taehyung sticking better than I thought it would. Overtime he got more confident when asking for a break and I was a professional at picking up on his body language. We were a good team, and I was confident he would be in great shape for the Olympics.

It was mid-November now and Taehyung had finally gotten around to getting us together for the sushi date in Detroit. I had just gotten out of the shower when Jimin messaged he was going to come along. His mom had a rough Sunday and could not go to their usual dance class, so he had stayed with her instead. He looked worn out when he walked inside the pool room Monday morning so instead of training, I just sent him home. We were meeting back up on Wednesday to get back to work, but it seemed Jungkook’s nagging finally convinced him to come out with the rest of us.

My relationships with his friends had also started to improve. Taehyung had added me to their group chat a few weeks back and I had tried to keep up with them as often as I could remember to. It was not difficult. They text so often I had to silence notifications for the chat, but I had to admit they were really funny. Jungkook especially.

I was happy to spend time with everyone and getting out of the house sounded nice. Violet and Calvin were great, and I did enjoy eating dinner with them sometimes, but I would be lying if I said they would be my first choice to spend time with.

I had grown close enough with Taehyung during the partying planning that his bubbly, over the top personality had become more endearing than overwhelming. We had gone to lunch a few times together, his boldness only increasing with each meet up, and he could hold me hostage for hours if I let him. Milo was typically my saving grace, and Taehyung would leave with a wet kiss to my cheek and promises of the same time next week.

Tae: Y/N should pick you up

Jimin: Why???

Kookie: Your truck is ass

I chuckled and sent off a text of my own before going to my dresser to find something warm to wear.

Me: I don’t mind driving

Me: Don’t hate on the truck. I like it.

My phone chimed a few times but I ignored it for now. I knew I wanted to wear a pair of dark, navy jeans. It was freezing outside so a long sleeve was a must, but I could get away with just two layers. My hands found a mustard-yellow turtleneck and I smiled. I could wear my brown boots with it. Happy with my outfit, I checked on the chat.

Jimin: U sure?

Tae: The truck is GREEN

Tae: Already a crime

Kookie: It can’t go over 60

Darcy: omg stop blowing my phone up

Darcy: just ride with her dude

Jimin: Y/N?

I rolled my eyes. I hated when he did that. Jimin had the habit of double and triple checking in with someone. It was sweet but it also drove me insane. There was nothing more I disliked than repeating myself, especially if I already agreed to something.

Me: I’ll pick you up in 30, k?

Jimin: Thanks

Darcy: Was that so hard?

I frowned. So, Darcy was in a bad mood then. Shouldn't take it out on Jimin, I thought. Even if she was having a bad day, something that seemed to be a reoccurring theme with her, it doesn't mean she can just talk to people like that. Fighting the urge to give into my annoyance and call her out, I tossed my phone on my bed and made myself finish getting ready.

Walking into the living room, I went on a hunt for the jacket I wanted to wear. It was the same color as my leather boots with sherpa trim. It would tie everything together and, I hoped, would keep Taehyung from complaining too much about the “offensive” color of my shirt. He had a hard time accepting anything in the yellow or green family. Finding it on the sofa, I nodded and left it be. I would grab it on my way out.

It took me more time to get my hair figured out than anything, but once I gave up and did the same thing that I did every day, it worked itself. After that, I put on a little bit of makeup since I figured it would not take me very long. This was a casual outing with friends and the dim lights of the sushi place would give me some grace if things were not perfect. A nice base, simple eye look, and a layer of mascara already had me looking more awake than I had in months. After applying a layer of lip gloss and a misting of setting spray, I was out of the door, jacket keeping me warm, and purse tucked under my arm.

I drove in silence, like I always did, and pulled onto the curb of Jimin’s house. Sending a text to the chat, I waited for him to come out. I was a few minutes later than I said I would be, but Jimin found a way to be late for everything, so I did not feel that bad about it. Taehyung and Milo were already on leaving Ann Arbor, and Jungkook and Darcy riding with them. They would only beat us there by fifteen minutes or so, but I hoped he would hurry up and come outside. Taehyung worked hard for those reservations.

My phone vibrated and I stared at the little device in my cup holder. It was weird how my anxiety fluctuated on a daily basis. Back home, I could talk on the phone and hold a conversation behind the wheel, but ever since I came to Michigan it felt like I had taken three massive steps back. Taking a few deep breaths, I told myself that I was safe. I was parked, completely stationary, and no one was around. No traffic meant no accidents. Sucking in a harsh breath, I picked it up.

Jimin: Be out in a sec

Jimin: Just making sure mom is okay

He had not left his mother’s house in days. I was worried about Na-Yeon, but I had to believe that Jimin would tell me if something was seriously wrong with her. I had truly started to feel connected with the woman. We joked over dinner and I found myself helping her out more and more each time I came by. It would devastate me if she passed away without me knowing how bad it had gotten.

Me: Take your time

He came out only two minutes later. Wearing a heavy, black puffy jacket and tight pants, Jimin leisurely walked over and got into the car. His cologne hit me as soon as the door opened, and I bit my lip, trying to hide the deep inhale I took. Jo fucking Malone.

He smiled at me but otherwise kept quiet as I drove. He knew I had a difficult time behind the wheel and tried his best to keep conversation light. While I normally appreciated the sentiment, I did not want to make him sit in silence for 45 minutes. Opening and closing my mouth a few times, I struggled to come up with a good conversation topic.

We often bounced from idea to idea, mostly sticking to swimming and music, and I always found our little talks to be very insightful. Movies and tv shows had been fun to bond over, a small generational gap introducing us to shit we had never heard of before. There were so many things I could bring up, things that Jimin would jump at the idea to talk about. Still, I could not find my voice.

“So,” I started, awkwardly, trying to push past the blockade of anxiety. “Is this place as good as Tae says or is he going off on one of his rants again?”

Jimin chuckled softly. “It’s pretty good, but it’s still just sushi. Taehyung finds a way to make everything sound extravagant.”

We shared a quiet laugh.

“It was nice of him to invite me,” My hands gripped the wheel tighter. We were starting to approach more populated areas. “He didn’t have to do that.”

Jimin snorted childishly, the sound relaxing me ever so slightly. If there was one thing I hated was driving at night. I was lucky the snow had stopped falling yesterday afternoon and the roads were clear, but a part of me wished I had asked Jimin to drive.

Traffic in Saline was lighter than any town back in Colorado, and driving around was a breeze in comparison. At home, you were lucky if there was only one accident a day, but more times than not I had been stuck on the interstate for hours because of multiple car crashes. Michigan felt less hectic; safer. Not safe enough to let my guard down, but safe enough to listen to Jimin when he spoke.

“Taehyung is just that kind of guy.”

I nodded; eyes glued to the road. I wanted to say something and keep our conversation flowing, but the more cars around us the more I tuned him out. My eyes flickered between my rearview mirror, side mirrors, and windshield rapidly as I drove. Once we were out of Saline and on I-94, I loosened my grip on the wheel. We would not hit much traffic until we were closer to Detroit.

Jimin stayed quiet and looked out the window. I wanted to thank him for being so understanding, but I knew he would not want me to. I kept my thoughts to myself and focused on the road. Jimin began to hum an unfamiliar tune.

My hands were shaking when we pulled up to the restaurant. Traffic had gotten pretty bad coming into the city, but we had picked a good day to come out. Jimin hummed and sang underneath his breath for most of the car ride, and we had a few small sporadic conversations when I felt the knots in my stomach loosen for a few brief moments.

"It's been forever since I've come here," Jimin said to himself, going to unbuckle his seat belt. "It looks pretty filled up."

Bash was a sushi place across from Wayne State University's football field and was one Taehyung’s favorite restaurants. He bragged about how delicious their food was for weeks before finally wearing me down with the promise of picking up the tab. He made reservations for their omakase, or “chef’s choice,” and promised I would get his obsession.

When I talked to Megan about it, she had said it was an expensive meal, so I was going to try and force myself to enjoy it regardless of my own personal feelings. Jimin seemed to like it here, and we usually enjoyed a lot of the same foods, so it made me feel a bit better about things.

I had to park down the street and spotted Taehyung’s Mazda a few cars away. Instead of getting out, I took a few moments to gather my composure. Jimin sat beside me patiently. He had grown used to my traffic anxiety. We had driven together so many times now, and he had gotten a taste of the worst of it a handful of times.

He had only asked about it the first time we rode to the gym together, completely frazzled and unsure of himself as I hyperventilated in the driver's seat. My hands trembled violently as my palms sweat profusely, and I let myself shed a few tears once we were parked. He reached out, placing a hand on my back, and quietly asked me what was bothering me.

“Red light,” I managed to wheeze out. They were doing some construction on the main road and things started piling up. I had gotten stuck in the intersection for just a few seconds, but it was long enough to send me into a blind panic. “Anxiety. Sorry. Need a minute.”

He helped me calm down, calming down to help me through my panic attack. We played a game of I-Spy, Jimin picking out the most obvious shit and saying the most random things to point out in order to make me laugh. When I felt a little better, he got out of the car to help me get out. After that he kept quiet about my obvious driving discomforts, but stuck close just in case I needed the support, and always offered to drive.

“Ready?” He asked when I grabbed my phone out of the cup holder.

“Yeah.”

We walked inside and the hostess made light conversation while she walked us to the back. Taehyung's laugh could be heard from the other side of the room, and his bright blue hair and vibrant eyeshadow stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Milo was dressed in all black, his arm draped around his fiancé's shoulder, and a smile on his face. Jungkook was beside him scrolling through his phone, but Darcy was nowhere in sight. Glancing at Jimin, he seemed exasperated.

“Trouble in paradise,” He murmured, leaning down so I could hear him. I had to imagine their relationship was very exhausting and took its toll on their friend group. I knew how much it sucked being caught between Tilly and Hobi back in the day. “Here we fucking go.”

Taehyung jumped out of the booth when he caught sight of us, his fluffy, white cropped top riding up, revealing even more of his tanned skin. The snowboarder wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled my hairline, showering me in compliments. Gold hoop earrings tapped my forehead, and his belly button ring was cold against my ribcage. He was happy to see me “dolled up” for once and forgave how ugly my shirt was since I looked “so cute.”

Milo gave me a slight wave, eyes never leaving Taehyung's bouncing body as he embraced Jimin, and Jungkook put his phone down to greet us. Darcy had gone to the bathroom and from the look on Milo’s face, Jimin’s was right about trouble in paradise. Whatever was going on, we were all about to fall witness. It made my stomach churn just thinking about it.

Our waitress brought a new pot of tea, asking us if we needed anything, before leaving with the promise of the first course coming out soon. Darcy almost slammed into the poor woman on her way back to our booth, her annoyed huff making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When she sat down beside her boyfriend her entire body was rigged and face pulled together tightly. She did not spare us a glance as she sulked.

Darcy was a very beautiful girl and it made sense why Jungkook liked her so much. Tanned skin, green eyes, and black hair, the girl had one of those bodies most women would pay thousands of dollars for. Like Taehyung had said, she was a pleasant enough person, and we did not along well enough to hold a conversation, but there was no hiding the fact that Darcy was not a nice girl. In fact, I would venture to say she was very, very mean.

I saw it firsthand at Jimin’s birthday party. I had a moment where I felt myself panicking. Overwhelmed with all of the noise and people, I excused myself and called Andy to get my head back on straight. The women's restroom was tucked away in a small hallway and allowed me the space to shed a few tears. I was just starting to calm down, Andy's words of encouragement getting back to some sort of baseline, while I rubbed cold water on my neck. That was when I heard Jungkook on the other side of the door.

He was angry and when I told Andy I needed to go, I had every intention of going out there to talk to him, but another voice beat me to it. Darcy had been in a bad mood since she walked through the front door, her shitty attitude bringing down the party every time she opened her mouth. At first, I just brushed it off as an off night, something I could feel empathy towards, but then she opened her mouth and stopped those thoughts in their tracks.

The two of them were serial cheaters, and Jimin had alluded to that being their main issue when I asked about her attitude problem earlier that night. Eloise was the person who gave me the whole story and was not afraid to voice her dislike for the older girl. This was different from Milo, a guy who she clashed with due to their night and day personalities. Darcy had actively picked on and made fun of her growing up, and bullied her older sister while they were in school together.

Darcy, according to Eloise, started the back-and-forth cheating when they were in college. Instead of going their separate ways, something I doubt anyone would have blamed Jungkook for doing, he chose to get even. After fucking one of her sorority sisters, Jungkook made his way through the entire house within the span of three months. In retaliation, Darcy slept with a couple of guys from the NHL, something she still did to this day.

On the night of the party, she was still fuming over catching him with another woman a few days prior. Trapped in the bathroom and too afraid to let them know I could hear them; I suffered through five minutes of a couple’s quarrel I had no business being in the middle of. It was an eye opener for sure and made me avoid getting too close to either of them.

Darcy was very mean and spiteful, her words meant to cut him deeply with little care about how it would make him feel in the long run. She even brought up screwing one of his rivals to get back at him, something she had done on numerous occasions, and went as far as to compare the two men in bed. It helped to explain why Jungkook hated Jackson Wang so much.

Jungkook, despite how much I enjoyed him as an individual, was just as awful. He spent most of the argument defending his bad behavior by bringing up her own and took no accountability for his actions. He could have sex with all of Michigan and it would be justified because she cheated on him first. It was all very juvenile, and I tried my best to avoid them for the rest of the night.

“Bet they can’t go ten minutes without fighting,” Jimin mumbled in my ear.

I fought back a smile, leaning into his side. Physical touch was the swimmer’s love language and I had slowly grown accustomed to small touches here and there. So, it did not catch me off guard when his arm came around my shoulders, resting just above my head, hand gently brushing against my neck. The voice in my head often wished he would do it more often.

“She won’t start something before the food gets here,” I reasoned, stealing a look at the couple. Jungkook seemed fine, but from the look on Darcy’s face that might change soon. “I’ll say twenty.”

“What are we bargaining for?”

I laughed awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”

Taking a second to think, Jimin eyed the couple across the table. Taehyung and Milo were obviously extremely aware of the couple's awkward tension and tactfully ignored them, instead giggling about some inside joke. They were a very sweet pair. My weariness about Milo had dissipated over the last few weeks, but I could understand why he and Eloise could not get along.

Lou herself had admitted to being a bit of a stuck-up teenager back in the day, and Milo was the typical small-town stoner. They constantly butt heads when they were in high school, and just drifted apart with age. Taehyung and Jimin's friendship were the only reason they were in the same circle anymore, and the two just never spoke to avoid pressing buttons.

“I want to do something together,” Jimin finally said, I smiled, trying to ignore the snarky comments Darcy was making. The arguing was starting, and I felt my neck growing hot. Did they have to do this in public? “Get dinner or something.”

“We do that all the time,” I countered, half-heartedly paying attention to him.

“Denny’s doesn’t count," He mumbled.

The waitress finally came back with a large tray of sushi in her hand. That seemed to break up the argument momentarily, but Darcy did not seem pleased to be interrupted. Stuffing a large piece of ahi sashimi in my mouth, I sparked up a conversation with Taehyung to keep myself from having another meltdown. Beside him, Milo sent me a grateful look.

The rest of the table was silent, waiting for the fight to resume. Taehyung kept smiling painfully, but I could see the panic bubbling in his eyes, and for once I saw a small crack in his otherwise well-crafted facade.

“I didn’t mean just getting food,” Jimin finally continued when we hit a lull, and it took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. “I meant… going out.”

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. His cheeks were puffed with scallops and I wished we were alone. This was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of the others, especially if he was insinuating what I thought he was. I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I was sure he was asking me out on a date. Even if it made me feel jittery thinking about it, I had a difficult time finding the voice to say yes. Saying no felt just as impossible, though, and I wished he would have picked a better time to bring this up. Whatever the hell this was.

“What are you asking me?” I whispered, taking another piece of fish off my plate, sneaking a look at Taehyung and Milo.

They were too wrapped up in one another to being listening in on us. I did not even bother checking in with the other two. I knew for a fact they did not care about anybody else but themselves.

“You know,” He replied.

Dating was not off the table, and I was more than happy to indulge myself, but I was worried about crossing this invisible line I had drawn. What would people say if they found out? A coach and her trainee, and even worse, the older woman and her much younger man. I could see the headlines now and it made my palms sticky. That would not be a good look for either one of us, and I did not want our personal relationship to affect Jimin’s career.

Putting my chopsticks down, I leaned away from him. “Can we talk about this later?”

He nodded, meeting my eyes, and I was relieved to see he was not upset. I had seen him angry a few times now, and he wore it on his sleeve with pride. Jimin was not afraid of his emotions, something I found extremely attractive, and it was nice that all I could see right now was understanding. Whatever happened he would hear me out, and I had to hope he would be understanding. I just had to be sure I did not fuck anything up.

Across the table the bickering had started again. Our waitress brought out the rest of our meal, sans desert, and seemed happy we were enjoying the food. She eyed Darcy wearily and left our table in a hurry. I felt horrible for the wait staff who had come to our table. They were all getting the nastiest looks from the dark haired beauty.

“Do we really have to do this now?” Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly. His face was red and expression tight. “In front of my friends, dude? Are you serious?”

I cleared my throat, grabbed my tea and took a long sip before sinking into the booth and praying no one could see me. Jimin’s arm dropped, and he squeezed my shoulder in comfort. I let myself melt under his touch. It always felt nice when his hands were on me, his warmth burning hot like a furnace even in below freezing temperatures. Taehyung’s eyes were bulging out of his head now, his bottom lip trembling as he tried his best to keep the conversation between the four of us light. He had stopped trying to include the other two.

“You two seem close,” He gritted, fakeness coming from him that I had never encountered before. “Glad you were able to sort that out.”

I looked over at Jimin and saw his cheeks had gone pink. So, Taehyung knew something I didn’t. It would make sense for the childhood best friend to get the scoop before the chick he’s known for two months, I had definitely vented to my friends on more than one occasion, and my curiosity was peaked.

“I'm working on it,” Jimin replied, taking a big gulp of water. “Thanks, Tae," He breathed, rolling his eyes.

I stifled a laugh. He was so cute when he was embarrassed. I made a mental note to ask Tae to explain what he meant when we had a chance to get lunch. I had a feeling the snowboarder would be more than happy to divulge that little piece of information.

“Talking about me to your friends?” I teased, trying my best to ignore the ever-growing argument across from me. The butterflies in my stomach were a helpful distraction. “Good things, I hope.”

He cracked a smile, face and neck flushed. “The best things.”

Such a flirt.

I bit my lip and looked away. Eating was a nice way to interrupt the electricity that was enveloping us, and I gorged myself on octopus and tuna. Whatever the hell these dishes were, I had to admit the sushi here was the best I had ever had. I would never doubt a recommendation from Taehyung again.

The conversation started flowing easily after that. Jungkook and Darcy were at a stalemate and were relatively quiet on their side of the booth. With the atmosphere lightening, Milo felt good enough to start telling us his latest work stories. He was a firefighter along with all three of his brothers. His father was promoted to chief about five years ago but was coming up to his retirement. The only one of his siblings to avoid the fireman fate was his baby sister, but had still managed to find a job at the station.

"You guys must be close," I laughed in disbelief.

“It’s the family business,” He joked. "Rosie is our new EMT."

Taehyung spoke excitedly about his upcoming competitions and was really hopeful he would win enough to qualify for the Olympics this year. Milo and Jimin both reassured him multiple times while I tried my best to keep up with everything he was talking about. I had very little knowledge of snowboarding, so I was having to constantly interrupt and ask for clarification. No one seemed to mind, and eventually Jungkook joined in to talk about his upcoming hockey games.

The Red Wings were having a good year, and he was proud of his team for working as hard as they did. As a goalie, he did not do a lot of skating, but his job was one of the hardest on the team. From what I knew after watching a few games on tv with Jimin's family, Jungkook was one of the best goalies in the NHL who was highly sought after. He had been offered millions to transfer to the New York Rangers, but out of loyalty he turned them down.

“I’ll take you to a few matches if you want,” Jimin offered. “Kook can get us tickets whenever.”

I smiled, “That sounds like fun.”

“Milo and I go all of the time so we can sit together,” Taehyung interjected, his shoulders relaxed for the first time since we got here.

Darcy was quiet and stayed on her phone. Jungkook was pretending she was not here, and it helped keep the arguing from starting again. I was not sure how long the truce would last, but I hoped they could hold it together long enough for us to finish eating.

“So Y/N,” Milo mused, taking a piece of fish from Taehyung’s plate. “Have you ever thought about competing again?”

I laughed nervously, “For a time, maybe. My injuries make it hard for me to swim the way I used to so I decided to keep it as a hobby.”

It was not a complete lie, but I knew I might be able to get back into competitions if I put in the time and effort. I hated the thought of being back in the spotlight, cameras shoved in my face, only to lose and give them more to talk about. I was still recovering from the trauma they inflicted on me after the accident. My leg injuries just gave me the perfect excuse to keep my distance.

He nodded, eyebrows knitted, “I didn’t know you had medical leave. What happened?”

Jimin tensed up beside me.

“I was in a car accident,” I replied. Talking about what happened did not bother me as much as it used to, and Milo seemed genuinely interested in the answer. “I had to get a full knee replacement on my left side, and a full hip replacement. I should have lost my leg, but the doctor on staff recognized me and brought up my profession.”

Milo whistled, giving me a sympathetic look. “Leg? You could have died.”

“Well,” I breathed, finishing off my last piece of fish. “I pulled through though, so it wasn’t all bad.” I fiddled with my shirt, pretending to smooth it down as I played it cool. "Anyway, I have nerve damage in my leg that makes me get really horrible cramps and twitching if I overwork my muscles. It sucks but coaching is really fun, so I can't complain."

Blatantly lying wasn't something I did often, but I truly hated reliving the months of physical therapy. Unable to walk or talk, I was stuck in that hospital bed for weeks and then got sent home to watch my closest friends wait on me hand-and-foot. When I wasn’t in physical therapy, I was with my SLP. When I wasn’t with her then I was in bed, crying into my pillow, and wishing I had never woken up. It was an extremely dark time in my life, one filled with chronic pain and overwhelming depression, and talking about it made me emotional.

“Anyway,” Taehyung sent his fiancé a pointed look. “Kookie’s next home game is in two weeks.”

Happy to be out of the spotlight, I began to talk with Jimin about changing our schedule around so we could attend the game. Taehyung was excited to get me some Red Wing merchandise, and Jungkook quickly began to boast about his prowess on the ice. Darcy scoffed beside him and I felt the group tense up.

“You’re so cocky, Ian,” She taunted, eyes glued to her phone. “I heard Avalanche was doing really well this season.”

I knew from the group chat that the Red Wings and the Colorado Avalanche had a long-standing rivalry. It had started all the way back in the mid-90’s and reached its peak in 2002. While the intensity had dissipated over the years, it had recently spiked up again due to Jungkook and Jackson Wang’s ongoing feud. The only reason Darcy would bring that up would be to piss her boyfriend off.

“Hm,” Jungkook smirked, chuckling darkly. “Who told you that?”

I held my breath, already guessing where this was going. The tension from earlier was thicker than ever as we fell silent. Darcy put her phone on the table, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and looked Jungkook in the face as she replied.

“Jackson.”

It was dead silent for a few seconds. Then, without waiting for a response, Darcy kept digging the knife in and twisting. She called him ugly, said he sucked in bed, brought up all of the ways Jackson was better than he was, and went as far as to bring up his father's affair. Jungkook could not get a word in as her silky voice dropped lower and lower, words cutting deeper and deeper, and eyes growing brighter as she watched his expression fall. I learned something tonight. Darcy enjoyed hurting Jungkook.

"Why are you doing this, dude?" Jungkook's voice was thick with emotion. "You're acting like a fucking child. It's embarrassing."

“Holy shit,” Milo groaned as their voices got louder. “Are they being forreal right now?”

“Babe,” Taehyung scolded, the forced smile still plastered on his face. “Language.”

“You weren’t embarrassed when you fucked that girl” Darcy screamed and I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. “Why should I feel bad about airing out my dirty laundry? Everyone here knows how much of a whore I am anyway, isn’t that right, Ian?”

“Keep your voice down,” Jungkook hissed, eyes glassy. “You’re causing a scene.”

Taehyung and Milo looked as mortified as I felt, both of them staring at Darcy in horror. The entire restaurant had gone silent. Eyes were glued to our table as they argued. She shouted about him getting his dick sucked in their bed, and Jungkook was just angry she was acting like this in public. It was Jimin’s birthday all over again only this time they knew people were watching and did not care. Taehyung’s smile was finally gone and replaced by trembling lips and fidgeting hands.

“Take that shit outside,” Jimin cut in, voice cold and hard. Darcy glared daggers in our direction. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by the waitress coming back and demanding our party leave. Taehyung began to apologize profusely while Darcy stormed out of the restaurant, bumping into numerous people roughly without looking back. Jungkook was hot on her heels, breathing heavily, and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. She shouted that Jackson was outside and for Jungkook to go fuck himself. Jungkook didn’t reply but I knew he was not expecting the other man to be here. I sure the fuck wasn't.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, “Hey, calm down. Breathe.”

I had not realized I had been holding my breath. Turning my head, I was taken aback by how close Jimin was. Our noses brushed together, his breath hot against my cheek, and I jerked away, heart racing. The butterflies were swarming now, and a shiver went down my spine. His arm dropped and I immediately missed its warmth. Flustered, I scooted out of the booth and kept my head hung low. I was so embarrassed, and I could hear Taehyung’s voice starting to wobble as he handed over some cash to the waitress for the trouble. No one was going home happy tonight.

“I’m so fucking pissed off,” Jimin grunted, keeping in step with me. Milo was attempting to get a now hysterical Taehyung calmed as they followed behind us. “I don’t know why Tae invites the two of them anywhere.”

I shook my head, “It’s not his fault. She needs to get some self-control, though. That was so rude and uncalled for, and for what?"

“They both owe him a fucking apology,” He sighed harshly.

The guests of honor were already in a very heated screaming match when we finally made it outside. Whatever had been brewing inside had clearly reached its peak, and neither one of them was willing to back down. Jimin’s arm was back around my shoulders as he tried his best to shelter me from the strong winds that were kicking up. Looking at Darcy and Jungkook all I could see were my parents and it caused me great discomfort. Maybe I should try to call my dad again and make sure he was alright? He rarely answered but at least it would cut some of the edge off of my anxiety.

“Why are you acting like this?” Jungkook shouted, pulling at his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?”

“You!” Darcy shrieked. “You! You! YOU! You’re the problem. This is all your fault!”

Jungkook called her a crazy bitch and Darcy slapped him across the face before stomping off. A sleek red convertible was waiting for her on the curb, a well-groomed man behind the steering wheel. He smiled and waved at Jungkook before speeding off, Darcy already attaching her lips to his neck and not sparing any of us a second glance.

“What the fuck!” Taehyung shouted, sobbing and clinging to Milo.

I was surprised he was able to hold himself back for that long. He seemed hellbent on strangling Jungkook as soon as he was able. I stepped to the side watching a man I had never seen upset shove Jungkook backwards. Any resemblance of a smile was gone now, replaced with a snot-nosed, red eyed man with bared teeth. Jungkook stumbled, barely keeping his footing before shoving the other man back. Milo was quick to defend his fiancé, pushing Jungkook so hard he stumbled, fell on his ass, and cried out in pain.

Jimin’s arm gripped me tighter as he stared at the scene unfold in silence. His clenched jaw, however, told me how angry he was. I briefly wondered what he would be doing if he was not so focused on keeping me warm.

“That was so fucked up,” Taehyung cried, wiping his face roughly. “I told you both to keep that shit at home or don’t come!”

“She started it! It’s not my fault-”

“Dude,” Milo shook his head, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. “It doesn’t fucking matter. That’s your girl.”

As the three of them argued, I tried to decipher the look on Jimin’s face. He was angry, that was very apparent, and I felt my own anger finally start to rise. He had been dealing with so much shit and on his first night out in ages this happens? It was unfair and ridiculous, my frustration over the entire situation making me want to go over and push Jungkook around, too. However, I knew that was not the way to handle this. Truth was, he was not the only person to blame for how badly the night had ended. Darcy was the main instigator.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jimin, stepping away from his tight embrace. His arm was still around my shoulders with no sign of moving. “I’m sorry everything got so shitty.”

He nodded, face softening when he looked at me. “Just worried about Taehyung. He was really excited about tonight.”

The yelling was finally starting to calm down and I was happy that they were talking things out. I did not think I could handle the screaming for any longer. I had been a bundle of nerves since I left my house, and my fingers trembled at my sides. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head, though I was positive it was distorted after so many years. Sometimes when her and dad fought, she would find me hiding in my closet and pull me out, hands leaving my skin tender from the harsh grip she had on my arms, before telling me to clean up the broken dishes from off the floor.

“Come here you little shit!”

She hated me; hated being a mother. I could remember how much I wished she would hold me like the other kids' moms held them but was too afraid to ask. One time I drew a picture of her at school and she never even looked at it. Instead, she smoked her cigarettes at the dinner table and watched Law and Order. If I really thought about it, she threw the drawing away. It was too dirty. Just like I was too dirty.

Mom had germaphobia and considered me one of the dirtiest things she had ever seen. I was not allowed in their bedroom because of it. Dad went along with it like he did everything else. When he wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping or in the garage. I hoped he was doing okay. Danielle seemed to be just as controlling as mom had been.

“Where’d you go?”

I startled, whipping around to find Jimin staring at me. His expression was gentle and calm, and I was suddenly aware of the harsh chill nipping at my wet cheeks. I had not noticed I was starting to cry. Strange. It had been a long time since those memories had been brought up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing my arm. “You looked lost.”

I nodded, quickly reaching up to pat the tears away. It was a good thing my mascara was smudge proof or else I might look even more pathetic. I am 31 now and it felt stupid to cry over things so far in the past. Things I had not had to deal with in well over 20 years. Dr.Wolfe would disagree with me, but she wasn't here.

“Yeah,” I nodded, voice thick. “Just zoned out for a second. Eyes must have dried out.”

It was a bad lie, but a lie he accepted. Squeezing my arm one last time, he finally moved away to give me a bit of breathing room. That was another thing that I always appreciated about the guy. He never overstayed his welcome, even if he wanted to. Taking a second to compose myself, I mindlessly fixed my hair and adjusted my clothes. Nervous habit.

“I think everyone’s heading home for the night,” Jimin said, nodding his head toward the other three men. “They seem cool. You ready to leave?”

I shrugged, “If you are.”

He nodded and walked over to the ground. I gave myself another moment to gather my thoughts. The worst of it was over and I doubted those memories would make themselves known again. With the screaming over it would not take long for my head to get itself straightened out. I might ask Jimin to drive us back, though. I was exhausted, and frankly, I did not think we would be safe if I was behind the wheel. Nothing worse than an anxious driver.

Jungkook was ashamed of their behavior tonight, and when I joined the others, he was quick to throw a million apologies in my direction. I accepted them all easily but knew it would take me a few days to fully forgive him. Tonight was a lot. Hopefully I could speak with Taehyung privately and ask him not to invite the couple out with us. If I never had to see Darcy again it would make my stay that much easier.

“I think we’re going to go home,” Milo said once Jungkook walked away. He was planning on calling an Uber so Tae could have a bit of space. “My little flower is burned out for the night.”

I smiled sadly, “Are you sure? We can always try something else.”

Taehyung’s head snapped in my direction and I wanted to scoop him up in my arms. His face was puffy from crying and eyes still misty. He was quick to nod his head and reached out to take hold of my hands.

“You still want to hang out with me?” He whimpered.

I had only said it to cheer him up not thinking that he would actually go for the idea. I had never seen him so distraught before and Milo seemed convinced that he was over having fun. Stealing a look at the blonde, he gave me a grateful smile but otherwise kept a watchful eye on Taehyung.

“Of course I do,” I finally replied, squeezing his large hands. “Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

His lower lip started to wobble again and next thing I knew I was in a very tight, warm hug. Taehyung cried into the crook of my neck. He was worried I would not like him anymore because of the fight. I awkwardly hugged him back, hoping my calm reassurances would soothe him. We really needed to get from outside the front of this restaurant before they called the cops.

“It’s alright,” I said, trying to gently remove his arms from my waist. “We’re still friends, I promise.”

After another minute of crying, Taehyung was back in Milo’s arms. His face was red, and his nose was running, but the sobs had stopped. Jimin placed a hand on my lower back and started to bounce a few ideas off of Milo. It was late, but from the sound of things, our get together was not over. I could not say for certain if this was a good thing or not, I did need to have that talk with Jimin. If we were out too late there was no way for me to promise I would not pass out in the car.

“Uh,” Jimin thought for a second. “If we’re still hungry there’s Pie Sci and Woodbridge is right down the street. There's also that park a few blocks away."

I shrugged, “Whatever’s the best?” Looking at Taehyung, I made sure that he was feeling well enough to hang out. “I won’t be upset if you want to go home. It was a rough night for all of us.”

He sniffled and nodded. “I’m just really tired.”

Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple.

I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”

He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”

The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”

“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”

I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”

Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him.

Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening.

“When is later?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.

“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”

Turning on the blinker, Jimin switched lanes smoothly. He was probably the best driver that I knew and always made sure to keep my little quirks in mind during our rides. He had even gotten used to leaving the radio off when I was around, something that I appreciated more than words could ever say. Recognizing that I was stalling, I cleared my throat and tried my best to get my jumbled thoughts across.

“As much as I would like to go on that date,” I started, voice weak, “I’m just a bit concerned with how that might affect our ability to work together.”

There we go, I thought to myself mentally patting myself on the back. That was not as hard as I thought it would be. Leaving out a few details would not hurt anybody, and it was the main cause of concern for me. My age was definitely up there, but I doubted Jimin would understand my perspective. To him I was just older, but to the rest of the world I was this cougar on the prowl for young men to help me relive my glory days. Even my own friends thought it was funny to make fun of the age gap.

“Is it only because of that?” Jimin pressed, his voice telling me that he was still reacting positively to whatever was coming out of my mouth. I was refusing to look at him, fearful that he would see through me. “Or is there something else bothering you?”

“W-w-well-” I stammered, “There is the media frenzy to think about. Sejin is already dealing with the press and your ‘out of character’ seclusion this season. Then there’s the age gap. I just-” I struggled to find the right words. Having let my insecurity slip out, I lost my flow and scrambled to get back on track. “Look, I haven’t done this whole dating thing in a really long time, and I don’t want that to get in the way of being a good coach. Ozzie put me in charge of you, and my reputation is on the line.”

I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Mouth dry and palms sweaty, I forced myself to look out of the window as I spoke. Anxiety had been something I dealt with for as long as I could remember, and it only got worse the older I got. My hands and fingers trembled in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing.

In all of the dreams I had about Jimin, and there had been quite a few at this point, this moment had never felt so real and raw. We were always in these picture perfect pieces of heaven, sunshine beaming down on us, and the words I desperately wanted to say fell from my lips with ease. It was simple and sweet, and yet profound and beautiful. I could wax poetics and put myself thoughts together so eloquently he had no choice but to say yes to me.

Reality was different. Here I was stumbling over my sentences and stuttering my way through words. Instead of taking his hand with mine, I was fidgeting with shaking fingers and desperately hoping he could not see just how uncomfortable I was. I knew he did. He always noticed. My heart was racing so fast I was afraid it would burst. Had he turned the heart up? It was boiling.

“I just want to know how you feel about me.”

“Hm?” I squeaked, unable to form any real words. My mouth was too dry.

“I’ve thought about all of the same shit,” Jimin continued, voice as smooth and calming as ever. “I don’t care about any of that. All I want to know is how you feel about me.”

“You know,” I replied, wheezing. Talking felt impossible. “You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and began the mental countdown. My therapist taught me the technique years ago and I always found it to be helpful. I did this a few times until I felt calm enough to open my eyes.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, finally feeling my heart rate slowing. “A little anxious.”

“Don’t be,” He placed a hand on my knee. “It’s just me.”

And he was right. It was just Jimin and I in my car, but that was also the reason I felt so suffocated. There was nowhere to run or hide in here, and if things went south I was stuck with him for half an hour. Trying not to let those pessimistic thoughts send me back into a panic, I began to mentally point out things in my car.

Air freshener. It's green. It smells like pine and lemons. I want a new scent. Jimin likes to buy this coconut and mango one that smells like candy. I will buy one like his. I love the smell.

I let out a heavy breath. Everything was fine. He was not upset. He just wanted to know how I felt about him. Nothing more nothing less. My heart was settling, and my fingers were no longer shaking.

“I like you,” I choked out, placing my hand over his. “But you already knew that.”

He gently laughed, flipping his hand up to intertwine our fingers.

“Yeah, you’re a terrible actress.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the window. As much as I tried kidding myself, there was absolutely no way he did not see the way I looked at him. I always knew when his flirting took on a more serious edge, like when he called me beautiful after seeing the scar on my leg for the first time, so it should not have been surprising that he picked up on a thing or two. Still, it did not make it any less embarrassing.

“How long have you known?” I asked, peeking at him through my lashes.

“I mean, I had a feeling when you first got to town, but I wasn’t completely sure until that first training day.”

He laughed at my embarrassed groan, holding my hand tighter. I knew I wasn't subtle enough. Poker face champion, my ass.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He cooed. “You’ve been my dream girl since I was, like, 15.”

“That's not helping the age gap thing,” I tittered as I played with his fingers. Then, because I could not help myself. “Dream girl, huh?”

Picking up on the teasing tone in my voice, Jimin chortled.

“Okay, big head. Calm down.”

“Big head?” I guffawed, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Who are you calling big head, shortstop?”

“You, big head,” Taking back my hand, Jimin pinned it down and kept a tight grip. “No take backs.”

I always loved it when Jimin was in a good mood. He was so playful and full of energy, and all signs of those dark days were in the deepest parts of his mind. It was impossible to keep myself from playing along which only served to egg him on.

“You never said yes or no.”

“Yes or no to what?” I questioned.

Jimin started rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

“To that date.”

Saying yes felt wrong, but saying no felt impossible. No matter what I said someone would be upset, and I had to decide who that would be: Jimin or America? I turned my own hand around this time and put my fingers through his. They fit together awkwardly, his hands just a bit too large, but I still found it perfect all the same.

“Do you have any ideas?”

His shiteating grin was contagious and a burst of butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. Hands clasped, Jimin started to list off all of the places we could go, but I was not fully listening. I had a date with this guy. I was going on a date with my trainee.

“What do you think?”

I blinked rapidly, hoping he could not tell that I had zoned out.

“You pick,” I breathed. “Surprise me.”

The rest of the drive back home was spent making small talk and discussing food preferences. Jimin was a dinner and a movie kind of guy, while I would rather do some sort of activity. What type of conversation could we have in a theater? Jimin seemed excited to plan out a fun night and I was just happy he was this into me. The feeling was most definitely mutual.

“Do you mind if I go to my house tonight? Mom needs some space and I know my dad is tired of having me breathing down their necks.”

I had yet to go over to his house. The days that we drove together were when he spent the evening with his parents. When Na-yeon and I talked about it, she was more upfront about her health situation than the men of the house. James spent most of his time taking care of his wife and their son enjoyed giving him a break every now and then. James would go on a fishing trip with his friends while Jimin stayed back to keep an eye on his mother.

“Is it closer to town?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip.

I had yet to drive through downtown Ann Arbor. The Park house, and by proxy the Anderson’s, was a thirty minute drive from the bustling city. Nestled in the smaller town of Saline going towards Manchester, I had rarely had to leave the small town. This trip to Detroit was the farthest I had gone since arriving in Michigan, but I had a feeling the traffic in downtown Ann Arbor would be a bit much for me to drive through alone.

“Yeah,” I felt even more nervous by his nonchalant tone. “I used to live downtown, but I got tired of the noise. I bought my house in Eberwhite last summer, so there’s a little less foot traffic.”

“How’s the drive back to Saline?” Even I could hear the hesitation in my voice.

“Less than twenty,” Rubbing the back of my hand, his voice took on a sweeter tone. “We don’t have to. My truck’s at my parent’s place anyway.”

“Maybe some other time?” I forced myself to laugh, hoping to make the awkward tension leave. “Preferably when it’s not dark outside.”

I relaxed into my seat once I started seeing familiar landmarks. Saline was a very small town with a little over 2,000 residents, but downtown still had a way of attracting a relatively large crowd. Stoney Creek Brewery was packed and Jimin pointed out Sam’s car as we pass by.

“Looks like he came out with Otis and Skye,” He murmured.

Otis was another personal trainer at the gym, and Skye was responsible for marketing. They had been going out for a while now and made plan to move to Ann Arbor once Otis graduated from school. He was getting his masters in movement science at the University of Michigan. They had planned on moving out there when he graduated last year, but neither of them could find a job that could pay their bills. Otis was hoping the master’s would give him a competitive edge while Skye saved up enough money to start her own advertising firm.

“Think Gigi is with them?” I wondered.

“Probably not. She’s busy studying for an exam. I saw that she requested time off tomorrow and the day after, so I don’t think she has the time to go out for drinks.”

Giselle was getting her bachelor’s in dental hygiene at UM, and everytime I spoke to her she was swamped with work. I had no idea she needed to request time off, though. Must be an intense program.

“Did you ever go to college?” I asked Jimin.

He nodded, “I got my bachelor’s in psychology.”

Well, I had not been expecting that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I never went back to get my master’s,” We turned onto the long road that led to his parent’s house. “I might after the Olympics.”

It was interesting to hear about his goals post-swimming. I never had those. My entire life was going to be swimming, and then, once I could no longer compete, I was opening my own swim school. After a couple of years of coaching under my belt, the plan was to start training professional athletes until I could join the Olympic coaching team. The accident was a very traumatic and eye-opening experience for me, so most of those plans ended up getting changed and modified over the years.

“What about you?” Jimin asked, pulling up to the curb.

“I went through an accelerated program at UCCS. Just graduated with my Masters in Athletic Training back in April.”

Neither one of us seemed to be ready to break the bubble we created. Even if we were just talking about school, it felt too intimate to leave. Holding hands in my car was new and I was worried if I opened the car door all of this would turn out to be a dream. The date, the confession; all of it.

“I should get going,” Jimin sighed, still not moving his hand from mine. “It’s late and I have to drive home.”

I was the first one to move away. He was right. It was almost midnight and I had a really difficult time tonight. All of that yelling really took a toll on me. Jimin did not move until he heard the click of my seatbelt unfastening.

“See you tomorrow?” He asked when I rounded the car. Getting out of the car, he held the door open as I slid inside. “I know we were out later than we thought we’d be.”

I nodded, “We can have a late morning. 8:30 instead of 6.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

He closed my car door and jogged to his truck. It was parked in the driveway today. I pressed the button to roll my window down.

“Drive safe!” I called out.

Looking over his shoulder, Jimin grinned and threw a hand up. I watched him climb into Fiona and tried to keep myself from worrying too much. It was so dark outside and he could be exhausted behind the wheel. Who knows what could happen to him.

He caught me staring and waved at me again. I returned it with a small smile. The truck stopped for a second and his phone was his hand. My cell phone vibrated in the cupholder.

Jimin: I’ll be okay

Jimin: Text you when I get home, k?

Looking back at the truck, I found him already looking at me. I nodded my response. He smiled at me again, waved, before finally backing out of the driveway. I did not move until I could no longer see his truck in my rearview. My phone buzzed one more time.

Jimin: At the stop sign on Woodland and Ann Arbor-Saline

Jimin: Go home. I’m here. I’m fine.

I hesitated texting him back when I knew he was driving, but decided that I would just have to trust he would not open it until it was safe.

Me: Get out of my head, kid

Finally putting my car in drive, I threw my phone back in its spot and made the ten minute drive down the road to the Anderson house. All of the lights were off when I pulled up and I was as quiet as a mouse walking to the backyard.

I was beyond tired but still needed to get my nighttime routine done. Stripping out of my clothes, I turned on the shower and took off my makeup. Tonight wasn’t a wash night, so I was not in the shower for long. I heard my phone vibrating as I put on lotion and I quickly threw on a night shirt and went to my bedroom.

Jimin: Who says you aren’t in mine, meemaw

Jimin: I’m home now so you can get some sleep

Jimin: Night, geezer

I snorted. That was a new one. Crawling into bed, I got comfortable under my blankets and thought about a good comeback.

Me: Thank you

Me: Geezer? That’s such an geriatric thing to say, you whippersnapper

Jimin: LOL night 🫰🏼

Me: Night 🌜

I quick sent Taehyung a text to make sure he and Milo go home safely before putting my phone on the charger. Jungkook sent a text to our group chat an hour ago to let us know he was in his apartment back in Detroit. He was in Ann Arbor so often since Darcy lived out here, but he had bought a multi-million dollar home in Corktown when was first signed to the Red Wings in 2019. Milo was the one to reply to my text, signing his name at the bottom, since Taehyung passed out in the car on their way back home.

I took my medications and started up a game of solitaire while I waited for them to kick in. My psychologist had sent me to Michigan with a three month supply. I was planning my first trip back next week so I could see the boys in time for their first big competition of the season. While I was in town, I would pick up another three month supply. We were making the arrangements work as best as we could, and I was lucky I had a large group of people willing to support me during this transition.

Finally I felt the sleeping pills kicking in and I went to my white noise app. I hated falling asleep in silence and Emery had suggested the app while we were in a session. I paid for a yearly subscription and never regretted the fifty bucks. It had been a huge help in lulling me to bed.

Lights out and blankets wrapped snugly around my body, I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened. Jimin liked me back, asked me on a date, and told all of his friends about his infatuation with me before I even realized something else was going on. I was his dream girl. That put a lazy smile on my face. Then, I could no longer think about anything and was plunged into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae @adventures-in-bookland

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mediocre-quill-ink · 1 year

Note

I just found your Dirty cop post and I'm here to ask...

Are you planning on making a continuation perhaps? 👉🏼👈🏼 Cause it was fucking amazing!

Ty so much for the request, and thank you for saying it was amazing. i really appreciate it!!!

Pt.1

Dirty cop pt 2

Content: probably inaccurate to the game. Tried to work this one into Canon a little bit. Ralph is a major character in the first half, Simi public sex, light bondage, a lot of degrading, female anatomy but gender nutral terms when being adressed. Connor has a sweet spot???

I gazed into the pouring rain, wondering how long till freedom comes. How much longer I need to hide. To run. Ever since I got apprehended by that RK800 a week ago, my anxiety has been spiked. Not to say I completely disliked our interaction. One moment in particular I was quite fond of but... getting arrested or dismantled is by no means something I'll embrace.

I've heard news here and there of another rogue android "freeing" others. Whispers of a revolution on the rise. God, I hope so. I want to feel safe. Free.

I flenched at a clatter, whiping around to see a scared WR600, a large blue gash stretched across his face. A floor board snapped benith him, causing him to fall through it and trip, letting out frustrated and pained cries. "Are you alright, Ralph?" I asked, slightly started.

I met Ralph a week ago after running from the RK800, connor. The bus dropped me off in front of the dilapidated building, and I decided to make a temporary home there. At least until I could find a better squat. When I first hopped the fence, I was surprised to find myself at knife point. Something along the lines about how he doesn't trust strangers. How humans hurt him. With enough convincing, I was able to stay. I don't entirely trust him. He's unpredictable and violent, but I like him. He's fun and cares a lot. He seems to have grown rather attached to me despite his fears. And I'm sure he feels the same way about me. He's really sweet when he's not flailing around a knife, but he's also very cautious of me, doesn't like sudden movements.

"No! Ralph is not okay! He got hurt!" I sighed, slowly walking over. He landed on his hands and knees, turing over and sitting down. "Are you bleeding?" I asked, crouching down. He rolled up a pant leg, reveling a patch of the synthetic skin rubbed away, the white plastic shell cracked. I sucked in a breath. "Okay, no bleeding. Good. You're damaged, but you're good. You're fine. Can you walk?" Ralph didn't say anything in response, just muttering to himself. "Ralph? Are you hearing me?" I placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He glanced over at me for a moment before looking off into space again, still muttering. "Okay. I'm gonna walk away for a minute and give you some time to breathe. I'll be back soon, and I'll take care of you, alright?" He didn't respond. I removed my hand from his shoulder and stood up. "I'll be back soon." I repeated before finally walking away.

I stepped into the dusty living room, taking in a deep breath and sitting down. Fuck. I need to find repairs fast. Ralph stabbed me the first day I found this place, so I need to find a proper bag of theriam and probably a hot poke to seal the wound. And now, among other things, Ralph needs a replacement leg piece. As far as I'm aware, this is his only cracked area, which can lead to nasty injuries or malfunctions. I heard there's a small cyberlife store a few miles away. With a proper disguise and some luck, I can probably sneak some supplies back home.

Just then, I heard shifting outside the house. Jumping to my feet, I snuck over to the farthest wall, listening. It sounded like a woman and a little girl sitting at the bus stop. "Kara, I'm cold," said the little girl. "Don't worry, alice, well find some place warm to stay soon," then followed by floot steps, walking down the street to the left twords the convince store. I let out a worried sigh.

"Ralph? Are you feeling any better?" I asked, walking back into the room. He sat in a slightly more relaxed pose. "Ralph is better. Ralph has faced worse." He muttered. "Can you stand? Walk?" I replied. He took a moment, placing his palms firmly on the ground and pushing, standing up. One leg was slightly wobbly, but I think that was more duing of nerves. He exchanged balance between legs and finally stated, "Yes, Ralph can stand."

"Good," I sighed. "Now come on, let's head over to the living room. I heard some people nearby. They're probably harmless. They sounded like a woman and child, but I'd like somewhere secure to stay anyways. " He quickly agreed. "Yes. You can never be too careful."

The sun rose, and I found myself anxiously staring at the wall. Just past it was more noise. Down the street was a cop car. From what I can hear, a robbery. The perpetrators, a rogue nanny android, and a kidnapped child. They may have been who I heard last night. But one thing sticks out to me. A familiar voice imminating from across the street. I can't place why it's so familiar, but it brings up strange emotions. Fear, excitement... arousal? It's husky and dry in tone. Very matter of fact. "Cops. Ralph doesn't like cops." Ralph whispered. "I know, I know." I muttered, trying to figure out what to do. I took a moment to think. Evaluating what to do.

Should we sit and wait it out? Should I run? Go get supplies? Hell, stand in as a witness?

Fuck, think this through.

After a frustrating inner battle I chose.

"Ralph. You stay here and hidden, alright? I'll leave and pick up supplies." I breathed, anxiety pricking my back. "Go out? That's insane!" Ralph replied. "I know, I know. But I'm betting on the cops across the street being too distracted with the crime scene to give too much attention. I'll hop around the back. And be as quick as I can, alright?" "What if you get caught? Ralph does not want his new friend to get caught." He replied, a bit more frantic. I grabbed his hand, stating, "If I get caught, I'll find a way to escape. I did last time. Just keep hidden." I let go of his hand and headed outside before further argument could be raised.

I headed to the back of the property, where the least traffic can spot and swiftly hopped the fence. Trying to casually walk down the street. Don't be conspicuous. As I strode down the street I couldn't help but stop for a moment to look at the crime scene. The clerk at the store was speaking to an officer taking notes. There was an older man with shaggy grey hair and an ugly shirt underneath a jacket. Next to him was a much younger looking android, clean-cut hair, suit calm and confident posture. Oh god. It's him. How the fuck did he end up here?

He turned to inspect the area, looking at the abandoned house. I tried to casually lean against the fence and not look to conspicuous. Pulling my hood up a bit more and trying to look around as if I lost my way. "We should investigate the house. Mabye the criminals took hiding in there." Spoke the RK800, pointing at it before glancing at me. His led spinning.

Stay calm

Stay calm.

When I found myself at Ralph's house, I removed my led as quick as I could and found some human clothes in an upstairs closet. Hopefully, if he's not paying too much attention, he won't recognize me. Or at least think im a different android of the same model.

"You! Come here." He hollered at me.

I glanced around and pointed a thumb at myself.

He nodded, repeatedly for me to come to him.

Shit.

I tried to calmly walk his way. I thought about booking it but then I'd be undoubtedly suspicious. as I finally stood in front of him, his led flickered and swirled, brows knitting slightly. "good morning. apologies for throwing off your day but I need to ask a few questions. do you have any information on the crime scene?" he gestures to the robbed convenience store, his voice with a whisper of suspicion. "oh. not that i know of, no." I breathed, trying to suppress my anxious energy. "well it'd be helpful to ask you a few questions just in case. I hope you understand." he spoke dryly as he subtly turned to other officers. "make sure to sweep the area." he muttered to them before turning back to me. "have you noticed any strange activity in the area?"

"no. I don't think so."

"have you seen an AX400 with a child? she's brunette, about nine years old."

"nope."

"what were you doing by that abandoned building?"

a tenseness gripped my metallic spine. "I was on a way to a local restaurant, i wanted to get some breakfast. But i had to stop and make sure i was going the right way."

"you stared at the crime scene for quite a bit. at me too. whys that?"

i caught myself from gulping and put on a playful smile "well, natural curiosity. disaster is hard to look away from. also, stop me if I'm overstepping officer but... beauty is too." i could feel my false sense of confidence fade into an embarrassed cringe as i finished. his led swirled again and in the distance, the sound of his older coworker cough awkwardly.

"mmm hmm." was all Connor replied. after a moment his led stilled. "you look awfully familiar." he stated, "have we met before?" i sucked in a breath, my chest tightening. "no, not that I'm aware of." i replied.

he scanned me up and down literally and figuratively. then his eyes twitched slightly. "you look very similar to the DB500." he now sounded a bit more accusatory. "well, they had to get the faces for androids from somewhere. I'm sure someone from cyberlife used my face as an example."

"did you volunteer at the company for development?" he asked, again more accusitory than genuine.

"no."

"then they didnt."

there was a moment of silence.

"hank! i need to take this person into further custody for questioning. hold down the team until i get back!" he shouted before opening the door to a cop car and shoving me inside, shutting the door behind me.

"what? Connor! we can have another officer drive them to the station where are you going?" "i know but this witness seems to valuable to interrogate later and to dangerous to be shipped out with a human. ill be back shortly." and he swiftly pulled into the car, ordering it to drive. as it rolled away from the crime scene, the grey haired man could be heard in the distance shouting "goddamn it!"

"what's happening? where are we going?" I ask, gripping the seat. "one thing to know about me is that i always accomplish my mission. you happen to be one that slipped away. i intend to finish my mission." his voice was hard and almost spiteful. "and your mission?" I ask, gulping subconsciously. "well. my first objective is to apprehend you. once your under arrest, you'll be shipped off to cyberlife to be dismantled and see what went wrong. my second objective..." he paused. breaths more heavy before continuing. "i have to admit. after you were in my custody, and after my interrogation I couldn't get you out off my mind. it was... frustrating. a new objective has been added. and that's having my way with you."

my knees weaken. my therium pump pulsating a higher rate. "really?" I choked out. "are you willing?" he whispered back.

a chill ran down my now hot spine. "yes. I'm willing."

he pulled the car into an empty parking lot, an area of Detroit i recognized. I didn't make deliveries here often but that's why it stuck out to me. a fairly quiet and isolated part. it used to be a popular housing and restaurant area before people started loosing jobs and going homeless. this was the first of housing areas to go near abandonment. I wanted to ask why he took me here but i had a good idea.

he stepped out of the front seat and opened the back passenger, where I was. he quickly closed the door and leaned into me, placing sloppy kisses on my shoulder. i relaxed into it, letting out a soft moan and wrapping my arms softly around his back. he, in that moment felt so... desperate. it was strange. my few interactions with him so far have been nothing but cold. stiff. dominant. but right now he was... venerable. I couldn't help but place a soft kiss on top of his coffee locks. a soft moan blew against my shoulder in reply, his hands quickly digging under my musky shirt and jacket, cold hands grassing my stomach.

"I haven't been able to get out out of my head sense you've escaped." he mumbled, kisses growing rougher.

"I didn't understand why. at first i thought it was because i was determined about the case." his rough kisses slowly inched up my throat. "but then this... feeling kept bubbling and bubbling until i couldn't handle myself. and i realized i wanted you." his hands grasped my breasts, squeezing slightly the rolling the hardened buds under his thumb's "no... i needed you." he left the softest bite on my jaw before finally planting a deep, hard kiss against my lips.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head, hips bucking into him. I trailed my hands up his back and tangled with his nylon hair. It was soft, not a single knot.

He quickly pulled back from the kiss and finally pushed my clothes above my head, tossing them to the side.

He now dove for my chest, taking one breast in his mouth, wet tongue massaging my nipple. He hooked his thumbs into my pants and tugged them down along with my underwear. It was a rough, almost violent motion. I shimmied my hips, helping him remove them further. He didn't waste time removing them, discarding them just as quickly as my top.

"So desperate"

"What?" He breathed, agrivated expression as he fitted with his belt.

Shit. I thought I was just thinking that. "Nothing." I whispered back. He ripped the belt out out of his pants, pulling them down to reveal a hard-on already springing to life. Holy fuck.

Connor quickly crawled on top of me, caging me against the seat with his arms. He pushed inside me slowly, letting out a soft groan. I could already feel his systems overheating, a heat radiating against my synthetic skin.

He began slow thrusts, planting sloppy kisses against my throat again, now a different side.

Aside from moans and pants, it was eerly quiet. A near abandoned housing area in Detroit was strange. Though I could hear the familiar sounds of cars down the highway or cyberlife advertisements a block down, it was almost eery. Just us parked in an abandoned lot for a former small business pizza restaurant.

"I don't want to hear you call me that again." He grunted against me.

"What?"

His pase picked up, rocking the car slightly. "You called me desprate." He breathed, hot air brushing against my shoulder. "I am not desperate."

"You act it." I replied, arching slightly into him.

He didn't respond, just a swallow imminating from his throat.

"You rushed me into the car when you were on duty. You ripped off clothes, little patience. Your kisses and moans drip with desperation." I added, "I enjoy it. But I have to admit it's not a state I expected you to be in."

"Were you expecting," he let out another choked out moan. "Me to be more dominant?"

"After the impression you left me with the last time? Of corse."

"If you want me to be mean, I'll be mean." He lulled.

At that, an excited moan escaped my throat.

"Do you want me to be mean?" He whispers against my ear, sending shivers down my metallic spine.

"Yes." I whispered.

His pase once again grew rougher, he pulled away from my chest, and sat in a more comfortable position. Instead of pinning me down, he stood upright, grasping my hips and thighs as he plowed into me.

He moved one hand to unfasten his tie. He grabbed my wrists and tied them to the grip on the car door. It fastened tight around my wrists, giving it a few tugs to test and it sat firm around my wrists.

"I can be more than mean," he lulled "I can be cruel." Just after he said that, he pressed a finger against my clit, it began to vibrate. Another wave of pleasure shot up my spine, my mind growing foggy. "And you'd like that, wouldn't you? You filthy fucking Deviant." He panted, pressing hard against my core followed my a sting on my ass. He spanked me. Then, continued to thrust. A shaky moan emerged from my lips, as I tightened around him. He let out a soft pant before quickly regaining composure and giving an cocky smirk. "That what I thought. Disgusting whore." I hummed in agreement. I could feel him twitch inside me.

He used his spair hand to slowly trail my body. From my thighs, up my hips, down my stomach... up my throat. He squeezed. Though I couldn't stop the airway, it did cause a different malfunction. To the voice mojual in my throat. As he squeezed, the moans escaping my throat, choked into nothing but garbled static. "Such lovely sounds~" He hummed. Slowing into a grind. He rocked his hips back and forth, making slow, small thrusts.

I bucked my hips, clinching around him again, forcing out moans from connor. "What a fucking whore. Where have you been all this time? Hiding from me?" He removed the pressure from my throat to allow me to speak. "Fuck," I gasped "I in an abandoned-" I caught myself before I could say the truth. If they haven't searched the house yet, I don't want them to now because of me. Ralph may be a little freak, but I still care about him. "Arcade..." I finally stated. "I was out to find repairs for the games."

Connor stared hard into me as I spoke, using his spare hand to trail across the stab wound Ralph left me when we met. "Who did this to you?"

"It was a misunderstanding. " I mumbled before letting out another moan

He paused to bend down and place a soft kiss on the injury. It was... nice. Soft, genuine. For a brief moment, whatever aggressive mask he had on melted away. Only a moment. Just as quickly as the tenderness came, it went because his expression quickly hardened, stood up, and the movement continued. This time, the shaft moving on its own.

"Fuck," Connor gasped "your such a good hole for me..." He leaned in, pressing his body waight against my core. "You take everything I give you. Such a good girl." He panted, running his hands up my stomach, my chest and softly squeezing my breasts. I could feel him start to twitch inside of me, his moans grew more frequent.

Again, his dominant mask slipping away for a brief moment. He quickly grew desperate again, rhutting against me like a dog in heat. Almost melting against me as he let out whimpers and moans like a cheap whore.

Strings of heat released inside of me, him collapsing into against me.

There was a moment of silence. We were both now sitting next to each other, mostly dressed. For once, his perfect hair was an absolute mess.

"So now what?" I ask. Thinking back to what he told me earlier.

well. my first objective is to apprehend you. once your under arrest, you'll be shipped off to cyberlife to be dismantled and see what went wrong.

My gut wrenched. "Are you gonna... send me off to die now that you got off?"

He sat silent. The cramptness of the car wasn't helping with the suffocating akwardeness.

"I mean... you always complete your mission..." I sighed.

"No."

"What?"

"No... I can't."

I didn't know what to say.

"I can't. I can't take you to jail."

I swallowed hard "why?"

He shook his head, squeezing his hands together. "I... I don't know."

I sucked in a deep breath, squeezing the cool air into my self colling system. "What does this mean?"

He leaned over across me, popping open the door on my side. "Get out. I'll tell Hank you ran away again." I slowly slipped out of the car and stood to stare at him. If I sgull had my led, I'm sure it would be swirling yellow. "You're letting me go?" I whispered.

He nodded solemnly. "I Just... I hope to find you again." He mumbled. He let out a sigh and walked out the car before returning to the drivers seat. He waved goodbye and drove off before I could say anything else. If I could. I was speechless.

Connor. The Deviant hunter.... let me go.

Pt 3

#dbh #detroit become human #connor #connor dbh #connor x reader dbh #dbh connor #dbh smut #connor dbh smut #connor x reader #dirty cop pt 2 #dirty cop

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sugamehhq · 5 months

Text

His Angel (Johnshi)

Quick things before you indulge;

This is an au I've started working on where these characters are placed in a world of demons and angels. For this specific story part, a process known as "marking" or "claiming" is done.

In the realm of demons and angels there are rankings. The higher your rank, the more privileged you are. Anyone who falls in the 7-12 range are not lucky people. The only way to climb in the ranks is either by someone above you dies, or by a higher up claiming you as their own (with consent). The marking/claiming process can never be done without consent. An action of consent is required to begin the process.

In Johnny's case, he was born a rank 12. Being a rank 12 means he's been treated poorly most of his life. Of which leads me to say CW/TW for mentions of Sexual Harassment/Sexual Assault. Please stay safe!

(Art is included at the end for visuals :] )

“Remind me why you’re here again,” Johnny stated, avoiding Kenshi’s gaze.

The demon was a little confused by the sudden request, but complied, “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Right,” the angel fidgeted with his fingers, “and why is that?”

Kenshi sighed, “I’ve told you already. I enjoy your company, you’re comforting to be around.”

He paused before asking a question, “Do you not enjoy our time together?”

The angel’s brows furrowed as he searched for an answer.

“Would you prefer I leave?”

“No,” Johnny replied quickly, “I’m just confused is all.”

Kenshi raised an eyebrow before placing himself by the angel’s side. His hand gently took Johnny’s, the other’s small wings moving to cover his face.

“If I may ask,” the demon spoke softly, “what’s confusing you?”

Johnny hesitated, his hand accepting the demon’s touch while he thought how to word his concern.

“Who told you about me?”

His voice was gentle, but rough enough to get the point across. He felt this wasn’t genuine. That Kenshi was sent to keep watch over him for something worse, that there were no real feelings. The fear in his mind was making it hard to see the truth. Johnny was aware there was some connection. The demon had spent months visiting, doing everything he could to protect his lower rank self, showing him respect, bringing him gifts, and yet there was still the strong feeling of it being too good to be true.

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you’re just here to use my body for satisfaction, then use me. There’s no need to butter me up for months if that’s all you want.”

Kenshi’s heart hurt knowing that thought has been stuck in the other’s mind for months, yet all he could do was repeat the same thing over and over, hoping one of these days it would get through that horrid road block in the angel’s mind. He found himself standing in front of Johnny, gently pulling his feathers from his face, revealing an expression of fear yet acceptance.

“Starlight, look at me,” the demon placed his hand against the other’s cheek, “there’s no need to be afraid of me.”

Johnny’s lower lip twitched as he fought back tears.

“You know that, and I know you’ve been through a lot, but please don’t be afraid of me,” Kenshi wiped the singular tear that fell, “I’d rather die than ever think of hurting you in such ways.”

The angel’s hand shakily met the demon’s wrist. His eyes closed, allowing the tears to fall.

So Kenshi continued, “A close friend of mine told me about you, how you’re a good person, that you don’t deserve what you’ve been through, so I came to see for myself. I started spending more time here than in my own territory. It occurred to me that you really are something special.”

The demon hesitated, his words feeling way too corny for himself, but he chose to keep speaking his mind.

“I grew fond of you. I’ve wanted nothing more than to bring you up from this hellhole, not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because I truly fell in love with you, and I want you to see that. So, over the last few months, I’ve tried my best to prove myself to you. I’ve brought you things I thought you’d enjoy. I respect your wishes. I avoided anything you disliked. I wanted to make you feel safe and give you a safe space. I’ve grown territorial of you. I want to protect you. I-”

The demon’s mind went blank. He had so much more to say, but couldn’t figure out how to word it. It sunk in that he admitted to the fact of wanting to claim the angel, take him as his lover. His mouth hung open, slight nerves settling in his gut as he waited for a slap in the face, assuming the angel would think he was crazy.

How many people have told him the same thing, only to turn around and hurt him for no reason at all? What he did just now, he was probably no better than the other disgusting demons that tried to get a taste of Johnny.

A laugh entered the air, a song the demon would kill for just to hear again.

“You’re so blunt,” Johnny laughed.

Kenshi’s face relaxed, assuming he didn’t mess up his words.

“Not blunt, honest.”

Johnny pulled Kenshi’s hand away from his face, squeezing it in his other hand. He admired the claws of the demon, the color of his skin, how rough yet soft his touch felt, the jewelry that adorned his arm. His eyes trailed up to his shoulder, chest, opposite arm, back to his chest, to his feet, and finally up to his blindfolded eyes. Kenshi stood still, his posture stiff in fear he was presenting himself wrong, which earned another laugh out of the angel.

“You’re trying too hard for someone like me,” Johnny smiled, wondering what his eyes looked like under the cloth.

“I beg to differ,” Kenshi sighed while relaxing his shoulders.

Johnny continued to laugh at the demon. Even if it was to make fun of him, Kenshi enjoyed the sound.

“So, run that by me again,” Johnny spoke, “what’s this about love?”

The demon’s tail twitched nervously, but he obeyed, “I said I fell in love with you.”

“Right,” the angel leaned closer to the other, his voice softening, “and what did you say you wanted to do?”

“Bring you up from this hellhole,” Kenshi replied automatically.

Johnny smiled, taking in Kenshi’s features once more.

He really did love this demon. So why should he feel guilty about this? Kenshi himself just stated he loves him, but that word doesn’t mean anything when you’ve been told all your life how loved and beautiful you are, only to be used and thrown around like a damn toy.

Even still, Johnny followed his heart. The angel planted a soft kiss on the demon’s cheek. A silent way of inviting the demon into his heart.

Kenshi was hesitant, his heart grew louder, his tail swishing slowly behind him. Was he really allowing him into his life? Was all his hard work finally paying off?

“Johnny,” Kenshi whispered in awe.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure?”

The angel froze. Did he mess something up?

“I-I mean are you okay with me. Are you sure you’re okay with it being me?”

“Kenshi,” the angel placed another kiss on his face, “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

The demon’s lips broke into a smile, his heart pounded in his ears. He could only imagine how stupid he looked at that moment. His head fell against Johnny’s shoulder, his arms embracing him.

“You do know it’ll hurt like hell, right?”

Johnny sighed, “I’m sure I’ve felt worse.”

Kenshi cringed at the statement. Both for what it implied as well as the idea Johnny might be overlooking how painful a marking for them would be. Regardless, if Johnny was okay with it then he’d gladly deliver.

The demon lifted his head, taking the angel’s face in his palms. His lips found the other’s, testing the waters. He gave Johnny the opportunity to back out, but the angel returned the kiss.

His left hand gently trailed its way down to Johnny’s right hip, where his initial “12” mark was exposed. As if staged, Johnny’s left hand found its way to Kenshi’s exposed back, his finger tips grazing over the demon’s “3” mark. With a consenting kiss and connected marks, their palms began to glow, signaling the start of the marking process.

The two stood together, hands grasping at each other’s marks. It took about a minute for the pain to creep into the angel’s muscles. A burning sensation ran down his thigh to his knee. While Kenshi remained unphased, Johnny’s leg started to shake lightly.

Pulling away from the kiss, he rested his head against Kenshi’s shoulder, a hesitant growl resonated from his throat in response to the pain. As another agonizing minute passed, his knee started to give out, the only thing keeping him from falling over being Kenshi’s hold on his hip.

“Use your other hand,” Kenshi spoke, his voice ever so slightly shaking, “you can hold my arm.”

Without thinking, Johnny did as told, his right hand finding Kenshi’s upper arm. His fingers dug into the underside of his arm. The pain from his hip spread to his side creating a combined feeling of a horrific side stitch alongside a massive leg cramp.

In an attempt to mask the pain for the other, Kenshi returned to his prior position in providing a kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Johnny to pull away again. He tried to speak, but the pain took his breath away, though Kenshi could tell what he was trying to say.

“You’re alright,” Kenshi sighed in an attempt to combat his own aches, “I’ve got you.”

The angel rested his forehead against the demon’s in an attempt for comfort. Having been in immense pain for about three minutes, all he could do was stand there and listen to the other’s calming words until the pain subsided.

After an agonizing four and a half minutes, the pain started to dissipate. Johnny’s body collapsed on itself, all his energy had been used connecting his energy to Kenshi’s. The demon’s hands immediately moved to embrace the other, guiding him to the ground safely. While the process was draining for both of them, it wasn’t nearly as bad for Kenshi as it was for Johnny.

The angel struggled to keep his eyes open, fatigue catching up with him almost instantly. As his eyes closed, Kenshi laid him on the ground comfortably so he could rest.

As much as Kenshi would’ve loved to take a nap as well, he dedicated himself to staying by his partner’s side, keeping watch for any suspicious higher ups. Fatigue wouldn’t stop him from protecting the angel at all costs.

As the angel opened his eyes, he felt disoriented, like his world was on a tilt. He blinked a few times trying to take in his surroundings, to understand where he was and what happened. He felt a sense of fear being unsure of where he was or who was around him, but that slowly ceased as his mind registered the gentle messaging of his hip.

Kenshi had found himself instinctively brushing over the mark on Johnny’s hip, a way of comforting the other. He wasn’t sure how much it actually helped, but he did it anyway. The demon waited for a bit to eventually speak.

“How do you feel?”

Johnny hummed in response, still tired.

“Is this helping?”

The angel nodded, the comfort he felt from the other’s touch kept him from seeing the world upside down. Kenshi huffed in response, acknowledging the silent request to keep at it.

As Johnny slipped in and out of sleep, Kenshi grew tired. He too wanted to rest from prior events. The next time Johnny opened his eyes, Kenshi asked if he could move them to somewhere more secluded.

“Can you stand?” Kenshi asked while helping the other sit up.

“Mm, doubt it,” Johnny shook his head, barely able to lift himself up from the ground originally.

It was a little worrying the effect marking the angel had, but Kenshi pushed his concern aside in favor of picking the other up. He lifted Johnny into his arms, noticing his leg was still stiff, he quickly moved to somewhere more hidden, somewhere that he wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to his angel.

It didn’t take long for the demon to join the other on the ground. Without any sort of bed, the floor was just barely tolerable, but for a fatigued pair such as them, it was the comfiest thing in the world.

Having been newly bonded, Johnny joining Kenshi in being a rank 3, the two settled for cuddling each other for a while. They’ll save rank discussion and their future for a later date.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that Kenshi’s goal was met. He had saved him.

His angel.

Some extra details to think about:

Markings hurt for every pair that consents to one. For Johnshi their marking is the most painful one of the list of character's I have.

Pain of markings is basically like a cramp in your muscle.

Receivers' markings can be found in three places: Their hip, cheeks, or their necks.

Givers markings can be found in three places: Their back, chest, or stomach.

Markings are extremely draining, specifically if the rank distance is large like Johnshi's was. (Johnny had to sit through four and a half minutes of burning pain as his mark switched through the nine stages of ranks before ending at Kenshi's rank 3.)

When bonded with another being, your energies are tied to one another. You can feel what the other feels, comfort them by touching their mark, and overall, just feel closer to your other half.

Angels and Demons all have three types: Angels can have white wings, brown wings, or black wings. Demons can have spiked wings, pinched wings, or rounded wings. (There's more to this, but I don't want to make this too long.) Johnny is a lower-ranking brown wing while Kenshi is a higher-ranking spiked wing.

Ranks also determines the kind of jewelry a person would own. Kenshi's on the higher end, so he possesses golds. Johnny originally being the lowest rank of 12, he possessed bronze.

Kenshi's whole goal in this au was to bring Johnny up from a rank 12 to a rank 3 to keep him safe, of which clearly, he won.

Here's some art to give you an idea of what this looks like :))

@s-icarus-hofmann designed their outfits ! Everyone thank them for the help :))

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!

#johnshi #mk1 #kenshi takahashi #johnny cage #johnny x kenshi #kencage #mortal kombat 1 #sugameh's fic archive #sugameh's aus #mongelmkau #Demons and Angels MK Au #johnshi fanart #mk1 fanart #mortal kombat #mk1 au #mortal kombat au

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kelcemenow · 11 months

Text

Your Voice - Chapter 1.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1118

Warnings Strong language, that's all.

This Anon request piqued my interest as I used to read a lot of Soulmate AU fanfiction 'back in the day' and I really liked this idea! AU's give me so much creative freedom...and a chance to go back to college Travis!! Now, I wasn't going to make this a series but as I was writing, I realised it is going to have to be as I had a great idea for it! I hope you enjoy! "Can I request a Travis k x soulmate au? pls 😩"

CHAPTER 1

"What did your Soulmate say today?"

You looked up from your lunch, pausing from pushing a piece of lettuce around the plate with your fork.

"Go long, man." You rolled your eyes as you repeated what you had heard earlier that day, "I'm honestly past caring at this point."

Chloe clapped her hands and jumped a little in her seat, "So, he's a sports guy? Maybe we should scope out the teams and see if you recognise anyone's voice?"

You sighed, "Chloe, I really don't care anymore. I've been hearing his voice for 3 months now. This college is huge, it would take me forever to find him here. Plus, some days I can't even make out what he's saying, it's so faint and muffled, I doubt I'd even recognise it."

Chloe twisted her mouth as she thought, "I could get us some invites to the jock parties?"

"You're not listening to me at all are you, are you?" You returned to your salad.

"We'll get you looking super hot, see if the voice gets louder at any of them, get talking to guys and then before you know it, you've found your Soulmate!"

"No, then." You said whilst chewing on your chicken.

Chloe reached across and held your hand, "But this is so exciting. Think of poor me, Y/N. My Soulmates voice was so loud back home, I come here and now I can't hear him at all. You've actually got a chance of meeting yours, he's obviously here! So, let's go and find him."

You stared across the lunch table at her, your face unchanging.

Chloe slowly retreated back into her seat and picked up her Diet Coke can, "Okay. I'll try again later."

______________________________________________________________

You stretched in your seat, rubbing your eyes and looking down at your watch.

10.15pm.

You ran your hands through your hair and closed your study books and files, calling it a night. Looking around the library, you noticed that you were now the only one there. You packed your backpack and slung it over your shoulder. The campus was relatively quiet as you walked back to your dormitory, the night sky quickly darkening with the dusk. Your footsteps rang out into the night, accompanied only occasionally with muffled music coming from the nearby houses. Suddenly, a tall figure appeared ahead. You instinctively grabbed the strap of your backpack, ready to launch the heavy contents if needed. Each step seemed to get louder in your ears and the sky darkened further.

As you got closer, the figure turned to face you and the dim streetlights revealed the stranger.

"Oh, Travis. It's just you." You sighed in relief.

Travis Kelce wasn't a complete stranger to you. He was a pretty big character on campus, but didn't exactly run in your circles. He was holding a bottle of beer and was stood on the steps of one of the sorority houses, presumably having stepped outside from a party.

Travis smiled as he saw you, "Hey, Y/N. You coming in?" He pointed towards the front door with his bottle.

You shook your head quickly, "Oh no, I've been to the library."

"On a Saturday night?" He snorted a laugh, "Man, you know how to party."

You quickly raised your eyebrows, "Yeah, anyway. I'm just heading home."

Travis wrinkled his nose, "On your own? Nah, fuck that."

You held a hand up, "Really, it's fine. It's a short walk, like 2 minutes. I'm okay walking by myself."

"To hell you are. Come on, I'll walk you back, make sure you get there safe." He began to walk away from you.

"Travis, really-"

He stopped and turned back slowly, "Either you walk with me or I follow 20 yards behind you."

You smiled and sighed, "Okay, okay. Fine."

As you caught up to him, you heard the front door of the house open and a high-pitched voice shouted out.

"Travvy, baby? Where are you going?"

Tiffany, Travis' girlfriend was gripping onto the side of the door frame, seemingly to keep herself upright. She had bleached blonde hair, a modelesque figure and the reputation as one of the most popular girls on campus.

You stayed looking ahead to the sidewalk as Travis looked over his shoulder at her, "I'm just walking Y/N back to her dorm."

"Why?" Tiffany squeaked.

"Why? Because she's walking on her own and there's creeps out there." He shouted.

You glanced quickly to see Tiffany pull a face before slamming the door closed.

Travis turned back to you and raised his eyebrows.

"Really Travis, you go back to the party. I don't want to cause any issues with you and Tiffany."

"What issue? I'm just walking you home...to make sure you're safe." He cleared his throat, "Besides, Tiffany has an issue with everything I do."

You walked together in a slightly awkward silence, Travis taking a sip of his beer every now and again.

After a while, Travis turned to you, "Can I ask you a question?"

You nodded.

"Can you hear your Soulmate's voice?"

You smiled softly, "Sometimes yeah. Sometimes it's really loud, but it's mostly muffled so I can't make it out easily. Sometimes it's really quiet and it's impossible to figure out."

He looked down at his feet, "That's weird. I wonder why it's muffled."

You shrugged your shoulders, "No clue. I wish we got more, it would make it so much easier."

"Yeah, one sentence a day sucks."

You walked in silence for a few more steps.

"Is Tiffany your Soulmate?"

Travis laughed, "Nah. She's cool and all...but she's not...no."

"Are you looking for your Soulmate?"

Travis tipped his head to the side, "In a way. I mean, I hear her voice. And I listen for it as much as I can. But I'm so busy with class and football that sometimes I miss it. That's why I was outside of the party, I needed a bit of quiet time to see if I could hear her."

You looked ahead to the tall building, slowly your walking pace slightly, "This is me."

Travis looked up, "Oh, that was fast."

"Yeah, I told you it was two minutes." You giggled.

Travis rocked back on his heels, "Well, goodnight. I'd better get back to..." He trailed off as he looked back in the direction of the party, a slight frown on his face.

"Yeah. Thank you...for walking me back." You awkwardly held your hand out to Travis.

Travis looked at your hand and smirked, grabbing it tightly, "No sweat. I'll see you around?"

You nodded and headed to the front door, turning your key in the lock and stepping in. Travis watched as you disappeared into the lobby, smiling to himself.

______________________________________________________________

I'll warn you now, this fic is going to get real fluffy, real soon. I've had the idea of the chapters alternating between the point of views. So, the next chapter will be from Travis' perspective and then from the readers, and so on. If you want to be on my Taglist, just let me know!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #nfl fluff #travis kelce fluff #kelcemenow requests #soulmate au

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forever-rogue · 2 years

Text

Spiderling Sunshine

AN | No asked for this, but you’re getting anyway. Here we have a mixture of coffee shop, tattoo artist, and soulmate aus! Enjoy❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 5.2k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hadn’t heard the soft twinkle of the bell above the door go off. It wasn’t until you heard his warm voice that you even realized that you weren’t alone.

“Is that challah?”

You jumped from where you were crouched on the floor, managing to hit your head on the counter. You hissed as you rose to your feet, rubbing at the sore spot that was already forming on your head, checking for blood or any sort of visible injury. Across the counter, much to your surprise, was a handsome man looking at you with a sheepish expression and meekly pointing at the display.

“Yeah,” you managed to choke out, distracted by the throbbing of your head and the glittering ochre eyes apologetically looking back at you, “it’s challah.”

“I’m so sorry,” he grimaced and took a step closer, “I didn’t realize you were behind there and fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” you promised, knowing you’d taken many worse knocks to the head and been okay. You gave him a small smile, hoping to put him at ease, “no need to apologize. I probably should have been paying more attention too.”

“I’ll make more noise next time,” he joked and you both relaxed. You looked him over and realized you’d never seen him before; the only people that came into the coffee shop at this time of day were usually regulars. Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, he stood closer and held out his hand to you, “I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I just moved into the space down the block - well, my shop that is.”

“Peter,” you shook his hand, trying to ignore the warmth of his skin and how easily his hand swallowed yours. You told him your name and he repeated it softly, testing out how it sounded on his tongue, “oh! The new tattoo shop! I’ve walked by it a few times and was wondering when you’d be here. What’s it called again?”

“Spiderling Tattoo,” he smiled and damn, he had a magical smile that made your knees weak, “we open officially next week! I’m glad I found you…r shop. Now at least I have a spot to get my coffee.”

“Well, I’m here bright and early,” you gestured vaguely, feeling shy under his warm gaze, “so I’ll ughh…be here. Umm…bright and early. For coffee…because that’s ugh, what I do here. Obviously. I, ugh…I’m rambling and making a fool of myself so I’ll shut up now.”

“Don’t worry, it’s cute,” his eyes crinkled in the corner when he smiled wide and if that hadn’t been your weakness before, it was now, “do you think I could get some challah and a coffee to go?”

“Right, yes, of course,” your face warmed and you went to grab a knife to slice the freshly baked bread. You had to get yourself in check and stop oogling your customers. Just because they were incredibly kind, funny, flirty, and cute didn’t mean you had the right to objectify them. But no…you weren’t objectifying…just admiring beauty. Sure, you’d go with that.

“Are you Jewish?” he asked as he watched you carefully slice it.

“No,” you answered softly, “well according to 23&Me I’m like fifteen percent, but I don’t think that counts. I learned the recipe from one of my neighbors when I was growing up. She was an older Jewish lady and she loved sharing her recipes. Her kids and grandkids had moved out of New York and her husband had passed away, so she kind of adopted me in a way. I used to go see her a lot on weekends, so I like to think that I picked up her little tricks to make it perfect. I’m assuming you are? Jewish, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he liked you, he’d already decided that much, “my aunt used to make challah a lot growing up and I’m particular to it. I can’t wait to see how this stacks up.”

“I doubt it’ll be anywhere near as good,” you wrapped it up carefully and handed it across the counter to him. His fingers brushed against yours and it sent a warm shiver down your spine, “but you’ll have to tell me.”

After asking how he took his coffee, you busied yourself with making it to perfection, feeling the need to impress him. He took a sip as soon as it was in hand and you could see the smile on his face that he enjoyed it, “it’s perfect! Thank you - how much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” you insisted as soon as you saw him reaching for wallet, “consider it a little welcome to the neighborhood gift.”

“You’re the best,” yeah, you could get used to hearing that from him, “I’ll find a way to get you back for this, I promise.”

“Peter-”

“I’ve gotta go,” he looked at his watch and groaned slightly, “I’ll see you soon! I’ll be back, I promise!”

“See you soon, Peter Parker,” you watched him walk out the door, pausing to wave at you through the window once more before quickly booking it down the street. You found yourself staring after him, already missing him. Oh no. You had to pull it together. You’d known him for all of ten minutes, and you were already getting butterflies in your stomach. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were doomed.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The very next morning Peter was back as promised…in fact he was there so early that he managed to beat you. When you walked up, he was scrolling around on his phone, leaning against the front of the shop. Your heart almost dropped into your stomach at the sight. You hadn’t expected to see him again, at least not so soon.

He looked up as soon as he heard you, he looked up, that pretty smile on his face only growing. A hand was held up as he waved at you, “good morning!”

“Hi Peter,” it was easy to put a smile on, despite the early morning hour at the sight of him, “I’m guessing you’re an early bird?”

“No,” he shook his head as you raised an eyebrow in amusement, moving to unlock the shop, “anything but.”

“What brings you over so early?” not that you minded in the slightest. As far as you were concerned, Peter Parker was welcome any time.

“Wanted to see you,” he quickly blurted, and as soon as he realized his little admission his cheeks turned a pretty pink, “a-and coffee.”

“Ahh, well that I can do,” you promised, motioning for him to follow you inside. He trailed after you like a puppy, watching your every move with awe, “hey, Peter, I have a question for you.”

“Yeah?” he asked as you popped behind the counter and he leaned against, looking so effortlessly and ridiculously handsome, “and just what would that be?”

“Will you,” you mirrored his actions and leaned against the counter across from him, “do me the honor of being my guinea pig?”

“Yes.”

“I - oh my goodness, Peter,” you laughed lightly, a pretty sound that went straight to his heart, “you don’t even know what for!”

“Whatever it is,” he promised, “the answer is yes. Now…what exactly is it?”

“Coffee and baked goods,” you smiled softly, “there’s tons of new things I want to try out and I need an objective opinion on things. Can I trust you to always give me the truth, Peter?”

“Of course,” there was something about his words that let you both know he meant a lot more than just the coffee, “it will be an honor indeed. What’s first on the menu?”

“Lavender rose latte,” you grinned and he gave you a curious look with a bemused smile, “so - iced or hot?”

“Iced,” you gave him a nod before motioning for him to come behind the counter to watch you, “oh - before I forget. Your challah? Amazing…don’t tell Aunt May, but you’re giving her a run for her money.”

“Yeah?” your entire face lit up at the praise and Peter decided that he wanted to see that look on your face everyday. He wanted to be the reason for that look.

“Definitely.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter Parker came to see you every morning without fail. No matter what the morning brought, he was always there to greet you, a pretty smile on that handsome face. You didn’t even want to admit just how hard and fast you fell for your tattooed neighbor. Everything was just so easy with him; everything felt so right with him. Nothing else mattered when it was just the two of you in the early morning hours in your little coffee shop, or late nights at his tattoo studio. It was like time only existed for the two of you.

You came to know him better than anyone else, and you felt like he knew you down to your very soul. It was hard to explain how two people could have such a connection, or how they’d even find each other in this big, crazy world. Maybe it was completely by chance, maybe it was fate, or some sort of cosmic intervention.

Whatever it was, you were thankful that he walked into your life and managed to turn it upside down. You just had a feeling that he would be a part of your world for a long, long time. Sometimes it was scary, sometimes it made no sense, but none of that mattered. Only him and you, you and him. That was all.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But one day it all seemed to come apart, to start unraveling at the seams.

“Peter?” you chirped out his name happily as you walked into his shop, hoping he wasn’t busy. But to your surprise you found a pretty redhead girl sitting at the little front counter, looking bored as she scrolled on her phone. She turned to you with a dismal look and raised her eyebrow, but said nothing, “h-hi. Is Peter here?”

“Why do you need to see him?” oh. That’s the kind of interaction you were doing to have apparently. She set down her phone and crossed her arms over her chest, “well?”

“I-I own the coffee shop at the other end of the block,” you explained lamely, holding up the packages in your arm and putting down the cup in your hand, “I brought him some fresh-baked challah and coffee. Is he here?”

“Oh,” she stood up and gave you a disgustingly sweet smile, “my boyfriend is in the back, finishing up with a client.”

Boyfriend. You didn’t want to admit just how deeply your heart broke at the singular word. You thought you’d gotten to him so well over the past few months, but you had no clue that he had a girlfriend. In all the time you’d spent with him you’d never never once heard him mention her. Either way, she was here now and you had to accept that heartbreaking little fact. Maybe it wasn’t you and him after all…

“It’s nice to meet you!” you put what you hoped would appear as a genuine smile on your face as you gave her name. You set the packages on the counter as you pushed them towards her, “can you please make sure he gets them…?”

“Mary Jane,” she eyed the packages but left them where you had set them, “did you need anything else? We’re kind of busy here.”

“N-no,” you shook your head, already taking a step back towards the door, “that was all. Thank you - if you ever want a coffee or dessert, feel free to stop by and it’ll be on the house!”

“Mhmm,” she was already back to looking at her, dismissing you without so much as a goodbye, “thanks. I guess.”

You were out the door and back onto the street, letting out a long sigh as you blinked back the tears that were stinging at the back of yours. You felt hurt, in a way, because Peter had never once mentioned her and you thought you were getting close to him. The other part of the hurt was the fact Mary Jane had treated you like garbage. Was she that rude to everyone? Or just you? She did think you were trying to steal Peter away? So many questions and so few answers.

But you pushed all of that out of mind and walked back to your little shop; you had plenty of work to keep you occupied.

Meanwhile, as soon as she was positive you were gone, Mary Jane tossed the delicately wrapped packages of fresh challah straight into the trash can along with the coffee and kicked it out of sight under the counter.

“Hey,” Peter had made his way from the back of the shop and came up front, “did someone come in? I thought I might have heard-”

“No,” she insisted firmly, putting a sweet smile that managed to fool him, “I was on the phone that’s all. Nothing important.”

“If you’re sure,” he raised an eyebrow almost as if he didn’t quite believe her, “well, I’m almost ready to go - five minutes. Still want to grab some Chinese on the way home?”

“That’s what we did last week Pete,” she rolled her eyes slightly, “let’s go out on a real date for once. It’s always the same thing with you. It gets so boring.”

“I never knew it bugged you so much,” he raised an eyebrow but she only huffed, “okay, we can go out for dinner and have a date night out more often.”

“Thanks babe,” her attitude changed quickly as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you’re the best. Can you please hurry up please?”

Peter bit his cheek to keep from making a comment and opted to simply nod instead.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days passed before you saw Peter again, and if you were being honest with yourself, it had been eating you up inside. It had become such a routine to see him in the mornings when he stopped in, for you to go to his shop when you had time during lunch, and for either of you to find the other at the end of the day. This was the first time in months there had been any sort of deviation from the routine. And it fucking sucked. You wondered if something had happened to him because when you’d go by his shop it seemed to be closed.

You missed him. You missed Peter probably way more than you should have. You wondered if he missed you at all.

But relief came on the fifth day when the bell over the front twinkled gently and you saw Peter Parker walk through your door. You were in the middle of finishing putting some fresh muffins, but stopped immediately as you ran over to him. A small smile grew on his face as you beamed up at him.

“Peter,” you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly, “I’ve missed you! I was starting to get worried.”

“I was out of town,” he confessed as he hugged you back with just as much feeling, as you nodded, “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you. It was a last minute thing.”

“It’s okay,” you promised, “I’m just glad you’re okay, I’m glad you’re here. Hey, did you get a chance to try the challah?”

“W-what challah?” his eyebrows shot up in confusion as you cocked your head to the side, “when did you…?”

“I dropped some off,” you whispered softly, “the day before you left, in the afternoon. I came over and dropped them off along with a new latte at the counter…with your girlfriend.”

“Oh,” his cheeks reddened and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d hit a nerve, “it’s umm…we…we just recently got back together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged lightly, “we’ve…yeah. But she didn’t give me anything.”

“I left two packages with her,” you worried your lip between your teeth “they were freshly baked. I tried something new with the one and hoped you would try it. I guess they just…didn’t make their way to you…o-or something.”

“You dropped them off?” you could hear the emotion in his voice and just nodded. You didn’t even need to be told that they were thrown into the trash; you could put the pieces together. Peter on the other hand was still processing everything, “but I never….fuck. I’m sorry - I swear I didn’t get them.”

“‘s okay,” you nodded softly, feeling like crying, “it’s not your fault. I-I’ll make some more soon and you can try it. Can I get you anything this morning? I’ve got fresh cinnamon rolls and I can make you a latte.”

“Actually,” he shook his head and your mouth opened in surprise. He’d never once turned you down, “I’ve gotta go. But I’ll be back, okay? I swear I’ll be back soon.”

“Peter?”

“Soon,” he promised, crossing his heart quickly which brought a smile to your face. But just before he could make his way out of the shop, he poked his head back inside, “but save me one of those cinnamon rolls please!”

“Always,” you whispered despite the fact that he was gone, “always.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter didn’t even bother going to open Spiderling Tattoo, opting instead to go to Mary Jane’s apartment. He knocked on the door, his mind reeling with all of the things that he wanted to say, and anger flowing through his veins. After a few moments, the door was opened and Mary Jane looked surprised to see him.

“Pete, what are you doing here?” she seemed perturbed at his sudden appearance, “shouldn’t you be at work?”

He ignored her question and said your name, which caused her face to scrunch up in annoyance, “she did stop by the other day. You said she didn’t. Why?”

“It didn’t matter,” she insisted, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up dramatically, “why does it matter so much? She’s just the little coffee shop girl. She’s obsessed with you, Peter. It’s weird!”

“What happened to the challah?”

“Peter-”

“What happened to it?” he was upset with how she was acting, more even upset thinking about how hurt you must be, “tell me.”

“Jesus Peter, it’s just bread,” she sounded like she was ready for an argument, “I’ll buy you some damn bread if it’s that important.”

“It’s not just about the bread, Mary Jane,” he groaned in frustration, “it’s about all of it. Why did you lie to me? Why would you just throw it away?”

“Because Peter! All you do is talk about her and how great she is and what she did,” Mary Jane frowned deeply as Peter listened to what she said, “you’re not dating her, you’re dating me! Me! What’s so hard to understand about that? If she’s so important to you, maybe you should just go to her.”

“You know,” he took a step back, shaking his head more to himself than anything else, “I’ve been wondering why we got back together. It just reminded me of why we broke up in the first place. I don’t want to do this anymore, Mary Jane. We’re not good together…all we do is push and pull each other and I don’t think either of us are really happy. So let’s just…not do this.”

“You’re just going to break up with me?” her brows knitted together and her mouth formed a small o, “have you been fucking her!?”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Peter shook his head, “you always assume the worst, but just to answer your question, no. I have not. She’s my friend. But you? You’re not being a friend right now. It’s over, MJ. We’re done.”

“Whatever Peter,” she slammed the door shut in his face before he could even say another word. He shook his head and got out of the daze he’d been worked into. When he had first gotten together with MJ, things had been good, and they’d been good together. But he soon learned that she was prone to jealousy and acting irrationally. If it hadn’t been for that they might have worked out. But something in his gut told him that there was something else beneath it all.

The thing Peter knew was that he needed to go back to you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was getting close to closing time and Peter hadn’t come back. You thought he’d meant it earlier when he said he would be back soon. You really shouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, because it clearly wasn’t. Besides, the two of you were just friends. Just friends that happened to own businesses near each other. And that’s all you ever would be. You hated how much that broke your heart.

You’d locked the door and were just about to flip the vintage, handmade sign on the door from open to closed, when you heard the rapid tapping on the window. You looked up and couldn’t believe the sight that met your eyes. Peter Parker was standing outside, a nervous but excited look on his face, his cheeks pink from the slight chill, hair messy as always, and a handful of sunflowers and daisies in his hand. You couldn’t right back your own smile as you beamed back at him.

Let me in? he mouthed as you nodded, quickly unlocking the door and pulling it open as he came inside. You locked it behind him and flipped the sign before turning to him with an incredulous expression on your face.

“Peter? You came back...” you whispered softly as he seemed to mull over the right thing to say. Sometimes his mind worked way faster than his mouth, and he found him looking at you with a dopey little smile, “is everything alright?”

“These are for you,” he held out the flowers to you, causing your heart to beat impossibly faster. You gently took them, clutching them gently to your chest as you inhaled their sweet scent.

“They’re lovely,” you whispered, immediately touched by the sweet gesture, “but why…”

“They reminded me of you,” he confessed, a nervously anxious little smile on his face, “sunflowers because you always brighten my day, and daisies because they’re delicate and gentle just like you, and I know you told me a long time ago they’re your favorites.”

“Peter…” you blinked back the tears that had threatened to spill down your cheeks, “I don’t know if you should do this…”

“It was MJ,” he breathed out and the name was enough to make your heart constrict, “she threw it all away, and she lied to me about it. I…I’m so sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“Or to you,” you shrugged lightly, lips trembling with effort as you tried to hold back your tears.

“I broke up with her,” he confessed, causing your eyes to snap to his with a hopeful little expression, “I should never have gotten back together with her. I knew that but I still did…”

“Why?” you swallowed the lump in your throat. Your heart was beating so fast you wondered if he could hear it threatening to burst through your ribcage, “why did you?”

“I hadn’t seen her in a few years and she came back and I thought that maybe…maybe being with her would help me get over you,” now that it was out in the open, Peter felt a million times better. But the look on your face didn’t necessarily make him feel relieved, your face was a mask of confusion, “but that turned out to be a huge mistake.”

“You were trying to get over me?” your voice was small and trembling as you clutched the flowers tighter in your hand, “what do you mean? Why? Peter, I-I don’t understand.”

“It’s been you,” he breathed out, more nervous than he had been in a long, long time, “from the day I met you. And I just…I asked myself why you would ever want to be with someone like me? I’m just…I’m just a-”

“I’m in love with you,” you cut him off before he could say anything else, lest he go on a self-deprecating tirade. His mouth dropped open and he looked at those you had grown an extra head. You offered him a nervous smile but nodded, confirming that he had actually heard you correctly, “if you would have asked me I would have said yes, you know.”

“I didn’t want to flatter myself that much,” he breathed out, stepping closer to you and leaving almost no space between your bodies, “to think you could ever love me as much as I love you.”

“Well,” you gently laid the flowers on the counter as you shrugged lightly, “you were wrong.”

“I was wrong.”

“Yes.”

Without wasting another moment his hands found your face and he pulled you into him, crashing his lips onto yours. It took you only a moment to respond, your arms wrapping around his waist, almost melting into him. You let him take the lead, deepening the kiss as you practically became putty in his arms. He didn’t stop until he’d kissed you dizzy, still not wanting to let you go.

“Peter,” his name whispered from your lips sounded better than anything he had ever heard and he had to fight back a soft groan. Your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your eyelashes kiss his cheek. You could feel him smiling against your lips as his hands settled on your waist, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

“I think I might have an idea,” he chuckled softly before kissing you again, all nervous and excited brushes of lips and promises of so much more, “I really like kissing you. Feels so right.”

“Funny,” you teased softly, brushing a hand through his hair gently, “I was just thinking the same thing. You know what that means, right?”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me more.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were sitting on Peter's kitchen counter, watching him cook in between stealing kisses and sips of wine. You liked watching him cook - there was something inherently sexy about it - but couldn’t help but laugh at how messy he was. He’d managed to spatter himself with wine, oil, and sauce before he was even finished.

“Pete,” you shook your head at him, all affectionate sighs and soft smiles, “go and change your shirt and soak that one so it doesn’t stain permanently.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted meekly, looking down at his own shirt before groaning, “fine. But you stay right there.”

“Hmmm,” he quickly kissed you a few times before running down the hall to his bedroom. You let out a small sigh of content as you looked around his apartment. You liked being here, and found yourself at his place more often than not. You were taking it slow, but everything about this felt right. You knew Peter was your future, you could feel that in your bones.

“I settled on an old shirt,” he came padding back into the kitchen, “that way if it gets dirty it won’t matter!”

You turned to look at him and nearly choked on your wine. The shirt in question was in his hands and he was currently shirtless in front of you. And what a damn fine sight that was; it sent every part of you into overdrive. He was lean and well built, and you were trying not to objectify him or study the deep v of his hips or the dusting of hair under his belly button that disappeared under the waistband of his joggers.

Ample tattoos littered his body, which you had surmised from the amount on his arms, but still. They were gorgeous - he was gorgeous. He caught you staring, which you were doing nothing to hide, and chuckled in amusement, “it’s rude to stare, pretty girl.”

“‘m not,” you lied sheepishly, sighing playfully as he pulled on the shirt. But just before he was covered up again, the tattoo on the side of his ribcage caught your eye, “Peter.”

“What? What’s wrong?” his hand settled on the side of your face as he gave you the once-over to make sure you were okay.

“That tattoo, on your side,” you reached for the hem of his shirt, but he beat you to it and pulled it up. The ink came back into view and your heart almost caught in your throat. Neat and polished was a pretty, intricate flower, a little spider perched on one of the edges of the petals, “I…it’s beautiful. But…it’s…how long have you had it?”

“This?” he seemed bemused as you traced your fingers gently along his inked skin, “a long time. It was one of the first pieces I got…kind of what pushed me into tattooing myself. Why?”

You remained silent as you slid off the counter, leaving Peter to watch you curiously. You looked into those pretty brown eyes before pulling up your own shirt. He watched you intently, but his eyes widened in surprise as soon as he saw it. There, on your own ribcage, on the side opposite of his own, he saw the tattoo that was almost identical to his own. Yours was a different flower with a different little spider, but eerily the same. He made a small sound of disbelief as he reached up and traced his fingers along the edge, leaving fire in their wake as you closed your eyes.

“How?” he asked out loud, speaking his question into the ether, “how could we…when did you get this?”

“Almost ten years ago,” you breathed nervously as he settled his hand on your waist, “it was a small place in California…that’s where I went to college before moving back here. What about you?”

“Almost ten years ago,” he echoed and you both laughed softly, “but here, in Queens. How is this possible? They couldn’t have known…but they’re almost identical. I know this was hand drawn for me but…you too? I don’t understand. It makes no sense…”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” you set down your shirt and looked at the breathtaking smile on his face, “maybe it was -”

“Fate,” he finished for you. Peter Parker was a man of logic and science, tangible things that made sense. This? This made no logical sense at all, but at the same time it all made perfect sense. It all felt so…right, “I love you, you know?”

“I know,” you kissed him, pulling him into your arms, “I love you too, Peter Parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter one shot #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x reader

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ellsjoint · 5 months

Text

Demosthenes Part 1 - Ellie Williams x Reader

Synopsis: Two British university students decide to go to their online friends’ university – what could go wrong? A lot, considering the reader has absolutely no social skills.

A/N: Hi! This is my first TLOU fanfic, and I haven't written fanfiction in years so I hope this is good. This part's pretty much just setting the scene, there's no interaction with Ellie and the reader YET (and it's short as)... But I hope you enjoy this for now! P.S I won't be writing any smut in this just because I don't want to, and at parts this is pretty much just going to be a comedy and me imagining me and my best friend being awkward in this situation.

Future Content: college!ellie, loser!ellie maybe, slow burn, angst (because I'm funny like that), fluff, not really sure yet but we'll see!

Your POV:

This conversation had repeated itself time and time again for the last month.

‘At this point, why not?’ your best friend laughed lightly, ‘this place is a shithole. We should put ourselves out there!’.

‘Do you really think going to uni with these people you’ve never even met is a good idea?’ you stared at them, shaking your head. ‘My family’s here, my dance team’s here, all the small gigs I do are here. Everything is here - I can’t just drop that.’ To you, the idea was laughable. How could you just move across the globe to what, play house with your best friends’ online friends that you’d spoken to maybe once? It seemed silly, and you knew you’d struggle to interact with new people – not because of any form of anxiety you had, but because you sucked at socialising to the extent that you just stopped at one point. Some people didn’t even know you could speak, whereas those you were closer with (like your close friends and dance team) were well aware of your predicament.

‘That’s why you should go! Bro, you hardly speak to anyone here. In a new environment, you could just… I don’t know, maybe try and develop some social skills? Plus, they’ll be starting their first year too.’ your friend shrugged. ‘Please! It’ll be so much fun! Oh, and you can visit your family, and your family can visit you! And there’s probably another dance team at this uni!’ They continued to ramble, trying to persuade you that dropping everything would be worth it. You weren’t exactly convinced, even if you did think her friends seemed okay from the little you had seen of them from your friend’s phone screen.

Continuing to mull the idea over in your head, your friend continued to rant about the situation. ‘You’ve talked to them once! Give them a chance. They think you’re suuuper cool, which is why you should come! You’d be iconic at their uni. And the girls would be all over you! Maybe Ellie would. Did you know Ellie’s gay?’ You’d seen what, 2 memes that this Ellie person had sent your friend on their phone? You knew literally nothing about her other than a portion of her humour.

‘Good for Ellie…?’ you sighed. You knew they weren't going to stop.

‘Come on, you need to give the world a chance. This would be so good for you to just get yourself out there!’ your friend pleaded. Of course, they tried to focus on its benefits for you (repeating theirself in the process) instead of the large benefit it would have for them – a meeting with their online friends. ‘Please, I don’t want to go by myself. I can’t leave my best friend, and think about it, all my friends getting on? That would be so cool.’

Once again, you let out another sigh, before nodding. ‘Fine, I’ll try it. But if I don’t like it, I’m going home.’

Your friend let out an excited squeal, and you stared at her, a deadpan look on your face. What were you signing yourself up to? Nobody knew, and only time could tell.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #tlou #fanfic #fanfiction #ellie williams #demosthenesellsjoint

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holybibly · 5 days

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hi!! i’m a writer myself and despite having mdni on my blog, i still get a lot of minors trying to with my work. i regularly have to check my followers for ages in their bio and i’ve even had minors come in my inbox telling me that i’m ’overreacting’ for not wanting them to read my writing. it’s gotten to the point where i’ve just turned off anon altogether, partially because of the weird people in my inbox and partially so i know i can be safe and not respond to minors by accident.

i guess what i’m trying to get at here is even though you have mdni on your blog, how can you be sure that the people in your inbox aren’t minors. there’s nothing physically stopping them from coming on your blog and sending sexual asks and you seem to facilitate these asks by responding in an equally sexual manner. i hope i’m not coming across as rude, but i just don’t see how you can be sure that you’re not engaging with minors when you respond to anons in a flirtatious and sexual way. if you somehow do check their ages, great! but since they’re anon, i don’t really see how that’s possible…

So, hello. Well, the wording of the question is rather crude to begin with, don't you think? And frankly, I'd prefer to take such questions to DM posts, but if you want to talk, you're welcome.

First of all, don't you think it's a bit unfair? Accusing anonymous people and then asking a question anonymously? I don't think it's very nice, or do you think I'm going to declare a witch hunt and go on a bashing spree? That's so stupid. Or do you just not like me? Because that's what it sounds like. In general, I don't mind you having an opinion, but by sending a message like that, you knew I'd respond to it.

Secondly, I know this is going to sound awful and you can totally throw a bunch of shitty comments and posts at me, but let's be honest, even if we check the age of our subscribers and readers every time they subscribe to us, when they ask us questions, comment, reblog, etc., where is the 100% guarantee that those people didn't lie about their age when they created their blog on Tumblr?

Go to any porn site; age verification is just a tick in the box. These are the horrible realities we face every day. The internet is a place where it is very difficult to verify anything, and unfortunately, there are consequences.

I am in no way supporting the sexualization of minors, and I am certainly not engaging in depravity, although you make it sound that way.

But I do know that there are many people who can't talk openly about their desires, sexual or otherwise; people who doubt their sexuality and self-acceptance; people who are judged for being different; people who are shamed for being too feminine or masculine; for having problems with daddy or mommy; or simply for being too quiet and shy. Not all of us are going to come out for manifestos and parades.

And in this case, the only option for them is anonymity. I repeat, I do not support the sexualization of minors in any way, and if you want to accuse me of encouraging such things, I suggest you look at some of the profiles of authors on AO3 who openly use sex scenes with minors and even children in the text of their work.

I don't know your social circle as a writer, and since you're asking this anonymously, I can't even check your work, but I think the problem is not whether I answer anonymous questions or not, but whether I talk to my bunnies at all. Every time I get messages like this, I think about it. You call me weird, angry, triggering, and now a lecher. Not directly, but the context is clear.

I've never written messages like that to anyone; you know, it's not nice. I've never intended to offend or hurt anyone with my replies or FFs. But apparently everyone around me, for some strange reason, thinks I'm some source of universal evil while trying to retrain me and change my character and disposition.

I really hope you are happy with what you are doing.

Bunnies, I'm sorry. There will be no updates for a while.

#bunny questions #sugar and sin

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greatunironic · 4 months

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got tagged by @sharpbutsoft for the first lines of the writing patterns, and @jewishrat420 for the last lines of the writing patterns, so just gonna smush them all together here!

(also not gonna tag anyone because, as usual, i've been absent + idk who's done what -- so if you haven't, and you want to, consider you're self tagged!!)

Writing Patterns 🏁

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! / list the last line of the same 10 fics you shared opening lines for and see if there's a pattern!

“So, you gonna put out tonight or what?” asked Robin from where she was reclined on his bed, painting her toenails and drinking his pop. // “Yeah,” said Eddie. He kissed him again, even softer, sweeter. “Yeah, a promise.” (the valentine experience)

It started when Eddie said, “Seems kind of like a lot of bullshit that I’m about to die a virgin, man,” and Steve’s brain sort of spun out — because what? How? Eddie? He was a what? — as they sat in the middle of the woods, hotboxing the beemer in the late afternoon of what very well might be the day they died. // Eddie pressed his thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth, said, “Guess we’d better live then, if we’re gonna go to Nationals or whatever,” and Steve said back, “Cool,” and then, smiling, Eddie replaced his thumb with his mouth. (in the backseat of your (boy)friend's car)

Eddie wakes up to sixty-eight unread text messages in his group chat with the boys. // “I mean,” says Eddie, and rolls him, laughing, over into his sheets for round two. (they're going to send us to prison for jerks)

At this point, Eddie’s life had really just sort of become an Aristotelian confluence of events. // “So gimme a sec, baby, and we’ll see if we can’t get this migraine sorted, okay?” (i give myself to you (as long as we move on the floor))

There’s laughter coming from the living room still as Eddie ushers Steve through the open door with a gentle hand at the small of his back. // For now, Eddie tucks his face into the soft, quiet juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder, holds him close, and breathes, and it’s enough. It’s perfect. (your house is waiting)

On July Fifth — though she learns that after — Heather wakes up in a hospital bed. // “Yeah,” she says, and she means it. “I think we did.” (saint of ongoingness)

Hop buys a house in the Berkshires, after. // He thinks he’s going to like him. (these traces of available light)

November 1st, 1986 | Eddie, Well, man, you fuckin called it: fully got “gang-pressed” or whatever into hosting a Halloween party for the twerps last night. // “Well,” he repeats, the sun on his skin, the future like the ocean stretching out before them, way out and past the horizon. “Here’s to firsts then.” (scheming on a thing)

Ever since they walked out of Hawkins Middle for the last time in June, Lucas has been thinking about what high school is going to be like. // Maybe Max will show up for it, if he asks, he thinks. Maybe they all will. (zen, and the art of three point throws)

Getting shot, Eddie thinks, sucks balls, and not in the fun way. // With his hand still on his wrist, and Steve’s smile small and warm across from him, he’s kind of leaning towards a happy ending. Why not hope for the best for once? (three inches above the floor)

#fic #stranger things #tag games #first lines #last lines #apparently i like some in medias res #and ending on some dialogue #also hopeful open endings i think

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theroseandthebeast · 6 months

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Yuletide 2023 Recs, Batch Two

17 recs for Castlevania: Nocturne, The Chronicles of Riddick, Crimson Peak, Critical Role / EXU Calamity, Daisy Jones & The Six, The Devil Went Down To Georgia, Dracula, Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

The Safety of Abstaining, Courteously, Olrox/Original Male Character + Mizrak/Olrox

Love is a dangerous thing for all vampires. It makes them vulnerable. Olrox has had the misfortune of experiencing this first hand. He is not doing that again.

Strange Allies, Olrox/Mizrak + Mizrak/Richter Belmont

Mizrak can’t figure out why Richter Belmont is still alive.

Three Principles, Dame Vaako/Vaako

Society among the Necromongers is cruel and ruthless. Death is the natural order of things, and life is to be endured. This is the story of the man and woman who would become Lord and Dame Vaako. Don't forget: you keep what you kill.

Blood in the Snow, Lucille Sharpe/Thomas Sharpe

Before the house, there was the earth, and the blood.

tempter or the tempted, Asmodeus the Lord of the Nine Hells/Zerxus Ilerez

“The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?” - William Shakespeare Zerxus won't give up trying to save Asmodeus. Asmodeus won't stop trying to damn Zerxus.

You Wanna Try That Again?, Billy Dunne/Daisy Jones

There are so many lines in the sand between Daisy and Billy - boundaries they won't cross, words they won't say, urges they won't give into. Right up until they do.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia Station, Gen, The Devil & Johnny

Me, I was just about ready to play the fool myself when the Devil arrived. You see, the sector sheriff had died a little while back, and the spaceways were so infested with bandits that no law-abiding ship dared to fly. The bandits didn't come stop at Georgia Station for a drink and a fiddler either—nobody comes down here unless they've got a resupply contract, for there's only one safe route in. I was feeling my old wanderlust, what with being cooped up in one place for so long, and besides my free meals were getting smaller by the day. That's why, when the Devil came sauntering into the station's only saloon and slid into the booth across from me, bringing out her fiddle from Devil-knows-where, I listened when she made me a deal.

The Calm before the Storm, Gen, The Captain of the Demeter

The Demeter's log was not the only tale of note to be found upon the ship.

Sanguine, Gen, John Seward

John is having bad dreams. Most of all, he dreams that Quincey might not be as dead as everyone thinks he is.

Into That, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Edgin returns the Helmet of Disjunction. Xenk rewards him.

Not Certainty, But Hope, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

In which Xenk proposes. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to need you to repeat that," Edgin said. "I have come here to ask your hand in marriage," Xenk said in that annoyingly calm voice, like dropping in on someone at their local pub and asking them to marry you was just like popping next door and asking for a cup of sugar from the neighbor, "that we might infiltrate a temple of Ilmater and discover the means by which so many happy couples have disappeared."

Deception Check, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Ed had lied a lot. Did lie a lot. There was a lot of lying, was his point. But the trouble and the lying did not typically involve Xenk Yendar, and this was proving to be the problem. (or, Edgin Darvis attempts to lie and rolls a one.)

Legends & Lore, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Xenk gets truth potioned and doesn't say anything interesting at all.

Ink of the Covenant, Gen, Edgin Darvis & Holga Kilgore

Holga and Edgin get drunk. Edgin gets a tattoo. Standard 8th day in Targos, really.

it's a (fake) love story, baby (just say yes), Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

“Back up,” Edgin said. “Explain how that’s connected to me going with you to a wedding.”

Perception Check (Roll for Romance), Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

"I bet Xenk fucks like a metronome, too. You know." Holga makes a highly suggestive, repetitive gesture. "In, out. In, out. No variation. Same exact rhythm every time. Boring." Edgin stares at her, torn between horror and fascination. "You've really thought about this, huh?" (So has he. Unfortunately.)

you'll find us in the meadowland, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Xenk let himself in with a slow turn of his key in the lock. The obedient door let out not a solitary creak or groan. It had better not; he plied the thing with oil as often as he cleaned any of his gear. There was a little moonlight seeping in through the window - enough to see the shape of the man rifling through his things. He was standing at Xenk’s desk, tucked into the corner and lined by shelves stacked with holy texts. Not his most valuable, of course - he wouldn’t be so careless as to keep the most precious of his collection here - but any one of them would feed a hungry man for a few days, at least. And yet this man wasn’t hungry, and he was no ordinary thief. Xenk judged this not only by the strong slope of his shoulders and broad back and the fine weave of his coat but also by the fact that he had recently been awarded the highest honours the Lord of Neverwinter could bestow. No, Edgin could want for nothing; even he could not have spent his rewards so quickly. There was only one explanation. This was an affliction of the soul.

#yuletide #yuletide 2023 #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #the chronicles of riddick #crimson peak #critical role #exu calamity #exandria unlimited #daisy jones & the six #the devil went down to georgia #dracula #dungeons and dragons #honor among thieves #fic recs #fic rec

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katsheadinclouds · 8 months

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chapter 9

Joel Miller x gn!/f! reader

series masterlist - chapter 8

summary: You and Joel get closer and one thing leads to another until you reach a turning point.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, memories of outbreak day, violence typical for TLOU world, mentions of death, a couple off-handed allusions about self-harm (not from any of our main characters), PTSD, panic attack, anxiety, comfort, fluff, insecurity, fools with feelings, forced proximity, no use of y/n

word count: 20.9k

notes: I'm excited to share this extra long chapter with you. Thank you for reading lovelies <3

dividers by cafekitsune

Joel stands awkwardly in line, waiting for carrots and potatoes at the green house, his eager older neighbour Carl telling him about the days before Jackson was even a proper town.

“You know, I was a patroller myself when the town was established. Oh those were the days, a lot more infected to take care of and a lot more land to cover,” he blabbers while Joel keeps nodding his head and smiling at him.

There really is no way to react to his stories other than agreeing and maybe asking another question. Joel knows Carl is one of those people who knows about everyone’s business and won’t shy away from sharing everyone’s business either. A reason for Joel to keep the conversation flowing so Carl won’t get the urge to ask personal question about his or Ellie’s pasts.

With a steady pace people get their vegetables, the line moving forward, but not fast enough for his liking.

“I bet you haven’t come across those bloaters very often have you?” Carl nudges his elbow. Joel only shakes his head with his cheeks puffing with the air he blows out very slowly.

“We had those too back in the day, you should’ve seen how we took care of those. Needed plenty of people to take them down!” He laughs heartily, holds his belly with his hand while the other rests on Joel’s shoulder. He leans back as his bellowing only somehow gets louder, his mouth open and his eyes crinkled shut.

The loud noise of his guffaws makes Joel wish he could say what he’s thinking but he keeps his lips sealed. No need to be rude, even if he’d wish to be left alone, especially by Carl who tells the same stories about how he killed bloaters with… How does he say it, Joel thinks back to the four other times he has heard the same story, with only my fists and molotovs. Yeah right.

“Yeah, back then we didn’t have as much ammo as you patrollers now so we had to trust our instincts a lot more. Those bloaters, they were a challenge. But we took care of them. You know how?” He nods enthusiastically and Joel knows what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

With your bragging? He’d like to say but keeps the jab to himself. “Probably with just some simple equipment?”

“Oh yes, we had very limited resources. I took care of them with only my fists and molotovs!” Joel repeats the words under his breath with Carl, who is once again laughing with his whole chest.

Joel’s cheeks ache from the strain as he tries to keep the tight lipped smile on his face. The line inches forward, but he really doesn’t want to be standing here with Carl anymore. Not when he knows what kind of questions Carl will start to ask next.

“Where did you come from again?” Carl’s tone changes immediately when he tries to get people to share their stories with him. He’s like a walking recorder, knowing people’s backgrounds and repeating them almost word for word, maybe with some embellishments, if you’d ask him.

“Boston,” Joel answers, the back of his neck getting tight right away. He turns away from Carl and hopes it’ll be a sign enough for him to stop asking questions. Sometimes it works and other times Carl can be persistent.

“No I mean where are you from before the outbreak?” Joel sucks air in through his nose but his lungs feel like they don’t have enough space.

“Did you have a wife, family? You could seem like a family man, after all you came here with Ellie. You probably wouldn’t have a kid with you if you didn’t know anything about raising kids.” Now he’s just wondering out loud, his voice still booming and too loud. Other people can hear the conversation as well, Joel sees their curious glances and subtle leans towards the men.

That’s how it always goes with Carl and his loud mouth. Joel would like to tell him to keep mind of his own business and not stick his nose in other’s past lives. The line should move faster, he wants to get out of here.

“Hey, Joel!” He hears and lifts his gaze to look around when he sees your hand in the air, a crate sitting on the table as it’s being filled with fresh produce. You nod your head for him to come to you, your brows raising in invitation.

“Sorry Carl, I’ll talk to you later,” he tells the neighbour, getting a cheerful you betcha as an answer. He weaves his way to you, never feeling more grateful that someone saw him in the crowd and actually got him out of a sticky situation. And without any weapons either, just with words.

“Hi Joel!” The young man behind the counter greets him, as he brings cucumbers into your crate.

“And then three of the zucchinis, the big ones,” you tell him as you both watch him go retrieve them.

“What do you want?” you whisper to Joel. Your eyes follow the young man as he turns around and picks the darkest green zucchinis of the bunch. When he walks back you both see the vegetables almost the size of the young man’s arms pressed against his chest.

“Potatoes and carrots,” Joel coughs into his hand, hoping you caught what he said just as the worker gets back to you.

“And then some potatoes and carrots, please,” the smile on your face translates into your voice.

“How many?”

“Uh,” you look up at Joel, your eyes wide, and you inhale through your mouth as you open it.

“Don’t people usually get, eight to ten potatoes depending on the size and six carrots?” Joel fills in, his expression matching yours.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty good,” you agree with a nod and the guy goes back to get the vegetables. He carries them in a crochet bag and places them into the crate ready to get something else for you.

“That’s’ all, thanks,” you lift the crate into your arms and the weight is clearly hefty as you lean back with it and puff out a grunt when all the produce are secured in your hold. Joel leads you out of the green house, the line thinning at the doors.

“Should I carry it?” He asks you, already reaching for it.

“I got it,” you tell him with a grin. He grabs the crochet bag though, the weight easing just a little bit.

“It sounded like Carl is aiming to get your history added into the town records,” you joke and make him sigh out something that resembles a chuckle.

“He can ask as many times as he wants, I won’t tell him,” Joel shakes his head and looks back when he hears Carl’s loud laugh once again. But it’s only echoing out from inside, he’s not following them.

“What a shame.” He turns to you in confusion, but when he sees your wide, open-mouthed smile, he knows you’re only kidding.

“I guess you’re not telling him anything either?”

“Nope, I want to keep my past for myself and the people I trust.” The way you say it gives him a glimpse of your building confidence, the determination to protect yourself and your loved ones.

You keep walking with a steady, comforting silence between the two of you. His bootsteps match yours and your shoulder keeps bumping against his arm while you struggle to carry the full crate even after Joel took out his produce.

“Thanks, by the way, for saving me back there,” he says conversationally, a little quieter as you get further from the town center and there’s less people around, the noises around you not hiding your conversation any longer.

“You’re welcome, it looked like you needed it.” He snorts out a laugh.

“What are you making with the potatoes and carrots?” You ask him, your steps slowing down without you really even noticing it. You stretch the walk without a second thought while the crate presses heavily against your arms and chest. When Joel is walking next to you and the steady rumble of his voice fills your ears, it doesn’t feel as weighty.

“Maria gave me a roasting recipe, I thought I’d try it. We’re having a movie night so we need something a bit more special.”

“You and Ellie?”

“Yeah. Tommy had found The Matrix from somewhere and Ellie was interested.”

“Sounds like fun.” The thought about them watching an old sci-fi movie and Ellie learning all about the pop culture before the outbreak gives you a sense of normalcy, something that would happen even if there was no cordyceps taking over human brains and turning them into monsters.

“You like cooking?” You ask him spontaneously, the memory of his smell from the weekend before wafting into your nose.

“If you ask Tommy, he’s going to tell you I’m a terrible cook. I’ve been getting used to it though and Ellie doesn’t seem to mind, she’s happy with anything.” He smiles almost to himself, before he remembers you’re walking next to him and looking at him curiously, piecing a picture of him together in your mind.

You see the way he turns his face away so you only see part of his side profile, like he’s hiding himself from you. You focus on the street in front of you, watching the few people who walk past you into town, busy with their own lives and errands.

“What about you, what are you making with all those vegetables?” He asks in return, looking more closely into the crate.

“Brenda wants to make pickles and jam for the winter so she asked me to bring her all kinds of different vegetables.”

“Jam?” He takes in the absence of obvious fruit and you chuckle.

“Yeah, apparently zucchini is perfect for jam.” You shrug your shoulders, once again bumping yours against him in the process.

“Sounds… Interesting to say the least?”

“I’ll bring you a jar, we could taste it together.” The suggestion is out in the open before you realise how it sounds. You know you’re circling around the thoughts that have been sparking in your mind for the past few weeks, ever since that night when you brought Joel’s clothes back to him, but you’re avoiding thinking about them altogether.

There’s nothing to think about, there’s nothing to admit. Absolutely nothing. His silence thickens next to you and you swallow hard, a nervous burst of something that sounds like a titter escaping from your throat.

“Or you could taste it with Ellie, she might like it,” you fill in, hopeful that your suggestion saves the conversation between you and Joel. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and see him smiling at the ground, tightness on his cheeks and brows.

“The pie you brought Maria and Tommy was great by the way, thanks again,” he says suddenly, and you sigh in gratitude for changing the subject.

“Good, I’m glad to hear.”

“Was it your recipe?”

“Oh absolutely not, I’ve never baked anything on my own. It was Brenda’s recipe. She likes baking and cooking.” His silence makes you look at him again, his smile falling. There’s tension in the air and it does not feel comfortable.

“My mom tried to teach me to cook when I was younger, but I think that skill skipped me and it all went to Tommy,” he says, watching your reaction with his eyes narrowing, as he catches you listening to him with your full attention.

“My mom also tried to teach me to bake and she always wanted mine and my sisters help while cooking, but I was still so young that none of the skills really stuck. My sister taught me in the QZ though.” You realise what has caused the mood to change between the two of you.

He’s talking about his age, how he’s older than you. How he’s more experienced, more seasoned in life than you. It was never something that you thought, how there’s an age gap that seems big even though it never occurred to you that way.

You’re an adult, well past your early adulthood. And who wouldn’t have passed those naïve years in this world, when you have to be ready to grow up sooner rather than later. There’s no other option, you’re forced to leave that childlike simplicity behind even in your teens. His shoulders look tense and you’d like to forget the conversation ever took this turn.

“Talking about young, Matilda is looking like a little person rather than a baby,” you attempt and he sounds like he’s coughing, but the confused smirk on Joel’s face confirms it was actually a laugh.

“That she is.”

“She seems to like Ellie?”

“And Ellie likes her, I think Ellie has adopted her as a little sister.”

“What about you, do you like spending time with her?” He raises his brows while some of the tension in his shoulders melts away.

“Who wouldn’t. I can’t really believe how she has wrapped me around her little finger,” he talks with an exhale, the rest of the tension disappearing. He lifts his chin high and his quiet contentment is palpable.

“Kids can surprise you. The children I’ve seen around town and at the stables as well, they’re so full of life and they’re interested in things that seem normal to us because we actually lived before the outbreak.”

“Because we’re so old?” He asks, the humor seeping through his voice.

“Yeah, because we’re ancient in their eyes.” Your laughter bounces off each other’s voices, the crunch of your combined boots sounds against the ground gives you a comfortable ambient track. You hold your head high, a smile blooming onto your lips, an amused giggle escaping past them.

“What?”

“I just thought how it doesn’t surprise me that she was able to get a tough man like you to soften up.”

“Yeah,” his voice is far away, his mind taken somewhere else, thoughts whirring in his head. You can see it from the line that has deepened between his brows and his eyes that are squinting at the ground.

“I think I’ve been going soft for a while,” he suddenly says. You see his mouth opening in a desire to say something else as well but decides against it. Instead he takes a deep breath.

The admission accompanied by his voice takes you off guard. If you’d see Joel walking somewhere in town, you might think he’s just one of the townspeople who is living a calm life and who has been staying here for a long time already.

You’ve seen the other side of him and there are only a few others who know that this is all new for him as well, that he’s not used to the life that is offered to people inside these walls. You saw it back when you first met him, by that rock all those months ago, and then you’ve seen glimpses of it when you were in your lowest. And once again when you saw him riding out for patrol, the squared shoulders and focused look in his eyes.

“How do you mean?” He considers his words for a while. You notice both of you have switched from normal walking speed to a snail’s pace, dragging the moment together longer, giving each other time to come up with the right words and giving each other space to hide the things that make you uncomfortable.

“Because of Ellie,” his voice gets even lower, thrumming into your ears softly. You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He seems like he’s not sure if he wanted to admit even that, but now it’s out there and he can’t take it back. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, uncertainty glimmering in them for a moment before he turns his focus back on the street.

“Well, she’s disarming in her own right,” you offer him and the puff of a chuckle eases the nervous energy surrounding him.

“You’re not wrong about that.” The silence that follows is easy, something you land on with softness and without any force. You welcome it, enjoy the calmness of it.

“I definitely didn’t think I’d be living some sort of a domestic life even a year ago,” he admits, his heels catching on the ground and his boots scuffling harshly against the ground.

You wonder what he means, what did he think for himself then? You want him to tell you more, but he’s not going to. Not unless you ask him. You have to be the one showing him you want to know, to be the one to make him talk.

This reminds you of the time when you had just met him and Ellie and were following them through the wilderness. The only one talking was Ellie, Joel was there only to give random sounds and short remarks to Ellie’s musings and stories. But he was interested, he just didn’t know how to make it known. You have to encourage him.

“What did you think you’d be doing now a year ago?” You choose your question carefully, giving him enough leeway to be as open or closed off as he likes, but that there’s still a possibility for him to tell you if he wants.

“That I’d be back in Boston, back in my old life… I’m not really sure what I was thinking. It wasn’t this,” he waves his hand lazily in front of you. You know the feeling. You didn’t think you’d find your way here. You never thought you’d have a life that feels in any way fulfilling or free.

“You came here from Boston?”

“Yes.”

“And Ellie?” The quick questions and answers stop immediately. Time stops, you can hear your own breath filling your lungs and flowing out your open mouth, ready to ask the next question based on what he tells you. But he doesn’t. He rubs his temple, a nervous tick of his you’ve realised, and he blinks but keeps his eyes closed for a beat longer until the nerves have steeled over.

“She’s the reason why we came here. I promised… someone I’d look after her, take her out of Boston and find Tommy.” He’s leaving a lot of things out, it’s so clear in the way he’s talking slowly, determining what he’s ready to share while he talks.

“It was just the two of you?” You don’t dare look at him to not make him feel pressured.

“We had my…” he stops and his steps slow down even more. You keep on walking but realise he’s leaving behind. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and the expression on his face tells you everything you need to know.

It’s this broken resign, bittersweetness, and grief all mixed into one that he’s trying to deal with on his own. It tells you there was someone else in their small group as well, possibly someone who meant a great deal to him, and something happened to them.

“She was a… friend.” His voice is broken, and he has to clear it to make it whole again so you’ll hear what he’s saying.

She wasn’t just a friend. She was a partner, something more, someone who he could trust completely. Someone who anyone would sell their measly belongings to have in this day and age. You nod and match your steps to his, mindfully keeping yourself from not rushing ahead of him.

You listen to him sigh and the way he holds his breath to even everything, his grief, his ability to talk about this, his feelings, out. You know that technique, you’ve come to know it really well in the past few months because of Diana. She told you it was to calm you down, to organise your thoughts, to not get lost in the chaos of panic and what kinds of lies it likes to spew.

“She got infected. We weren’t even out of Boston by that point yet. She made me promise to take Ellie out of there, to leave her with some people we knew. But they too were… I was going to come and find Tommy. I didn’t want to take Ellie with me at first, it seemed like a suicide mission and I just…” Another pause after another. Another hidden truth after another. You study him and how his hands hold the bag of vegetables just a little bit tighter.

He averts his eyes as his voice gets low and quiet. He’s hiding everything just under the surface. All these memories, these people are trying to come out but he’s not letting them. They’re all there within your reach but you know if you were to probe even a little bit, these aren’t things you can just find simple answers to. He’d close off. He’d escape from you. He’d try to avoid it all.

You know it from the way he’s telling this all to you, how he’s hiding everything in plain sight. There’s so much hurt on his face, in his eyes. You understand it’s painful for him to talk about these details from his past, to tell someone what happened.

“You still did it,” you fill in after a long moment of quiet, of listening to him calming himself down and your synced steps rasping against the broken asphalt on the ground.

“And found a straggler on the way here,” he almost jokes and when you look at him, his eyes show interest in your story, his brows raised just the slightest. A small nudge for you to share your story with him, the parts that he doesn’t know about already.

“You found a straggler,” you repeat his words back to him, not really believing how that all happened. How time has flown and it was only last spring, almost nine months ago now.

How have you been living in Jackson for that long already, it seems impossibly unreal. It was just a rumor back then and here you’re carrying a crate full of fresh produce from the greenhouses, on your way to take them to someone who wants to pickle them and make jam with them.

It sometimes feels like a cruel joke that you’re here without the people you left Peter’s settlement with, having lost everything and basically everyone in the process. It doesn’t seem real that you were by some weird coincidence found and brought here. Almost like it all happened by accident. A fluke in the system.

Things could’ve gone sideways in so many ways, so easily if you had stumbled into some other place instead of the forest Ellie and Joel were at. How easily things could’ve gone wrong if someone else had found you.

“I’m sorry about your friend.” You hope you come across as sympathetic, that he knows what he went through isn’t something he has to carry alone. He hums in return, not saying anything, but it’s enough. There’s not much either of you could say when it comes to the people you’ve lost. This is the world you live in now. One moment things could be looking up, and the next the people you trust the most, who you care about are just gone. How you deal with that loss is another thing completely.

The words that have been said during your walk together start to weigh the both of you down. They’re too heavy for the conversation that first started as light hearted and easy. Everything he says and the things he chooses not to share feel the same to you.

You don’t know how much you dare tell him. It all feels extremely fragile, a tightrope that you’re both trying to cross but somehow it seems safest to just stay put and balance in the middle of telling each other about your pasts and bottling everything up.

You walk to Joel’s house in silence, your head deep in thought, the sounds of your boots scuffling against the ground and the steady cold breeze making you forget where you’re actually going. It’s not until you come to stand next to his mailbox when you realise you should’ve taken a turn long ago and gone the other way. You let out an incredulous laugh, not really believing how you just followed him to his home. You shake your head as he turns to face you.

“What?” He looks amused when he looks at you.

“I wasn’t meant to come here. I don’t live here.” You look up at his house, the white paned windows and the gray dusting on the glass. He looks at his home as well, like he just suddenly takes in the fact that you’re both in front of it.

“Yeah, you don’t.” He turns back to you and you both chuckle, the soft sound mixing into a gentle harmony.

“I better head home, I know Brenda is waiting for me to get back,” you lean your head towards the other way and take a step back, feeling the invisible pull between the two of you. He nods but stays standing still to watch you leave.

“You,” You raise your brows at him, “enjoy your day.”

“You too,” he smirks, and he inhales like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t.

“What?” You want to know what he was thinking.

“You do know you’re like Carl, making me talk all about the time before. You just happen to be someone I like to talk to,” he says and takes you by surprise. Your cheeks heat up immediately and you get flustered, not knowing what to say to that. Suddenly his eyes get just a bit wider, like he just realises what he said. The urgent “uuuh” that bursts from his throat makes you giggle.

“Bye Joel,” you tell him, not knowing what else to say to him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says after you and you shake your head at him.

“Okay!” You can’t keep on walking backwards anymore, the heat on your skin and the awkwardness blooming in your chest dead giveaways of everything you don’t want to admit.

Somehow it feels like you’re not sure how to communicate at all, how to put letters together and form them into words that you can then put into meaningful sentences that actually come out just the way you want. Maybe he has trouble with that sometimes as well.

You walk faster now but take a look over your shoulder. You see him almost at his door, but he’s already looking back at you. You tuck your chin back against your chest, the butterflies coming to life in your stomach, the fluttering of nerves making an unexpected snicker burst out of your mouth. You quiet yourself, quenching the sound and the thought of him watching after you.

It started with a feeling. The day had been normal, nothing out of the ordinary happened but you felt tired the whole day and were grateful when you got to leave home from work.

You wanted your own peace and quiet. You barely said anything to Diana and Brenda and they noticed it, of course. You just told them that you were feeling a bit off. The feeling didn’t go away and you figured you needed a good night’s sleep. It’ll be better tomorrow.

So you went to bed early, closed your eyes and felt yourself rest against your mattress. You were wrapped in your duvet, the warmth felt comforting while it rained during the night and the sound of rain drops kept pitter pattering against the roof and the window sill.

Sleep didn’t catch you as soon as you thought it would. You laid in bed with your eyes closed but your head kept on whirring, all traces of a quiet sleep long gone. Sleeping well was just a wish when the clock hit one am.

You stared out the window from the comfort of your bed, the darkness swallowing you into a state of fear. A fear you haven’t felt in a while. In a long time actually. You watched the rain dribble down the glass of the window and the longer you heard the water droplets, the more it started to sound like you heard it in your head. It drilled itself inside your ears and it only got louder when the never ending rain started to pour harder.

You tightened the duvet around you and tried to hide your face in it, covering your ears so the sound would be a bit softer. But the sound only got worse. You didn’t even realise what it was bringing up until a memory you hadn’t thought about popped up. You didn’t even know that you still had that memory. You had blocked it off after it happened and every time you realised you were thinking about it, you shook it off your mind. Until now.

The night was incredibly dark, so much darker than usual that time of year. In September. You were late for school that morning after oversleeping and your sister rushed you to class before her own. Your dad tried to give you something to eat but you didn’t have time. So you watched him stuff his face with bread and drink his coffee while you ran out the door. Your mom had already left for work. She wanted to get home earlier to have more time for the weekend and your plans for it. You were going to an amusement park and had looked forward to it for a month.

The day was normal, nothing out of the ordinary happened, but you felt tired the whole day and were happy that it was Friday. Your excitement for your plans also kept you energised, giving you a spring in your step when you got home and started to plan what you wanted to do at the amusement park.

Your dad had brought you a brochure of all the rides and things you could see there and you scribbled on the margins what interested you. You were supposed to give it to your sister later that evening, so she could also decide what interested her and then tomorrow you were giving it to your parents who wanted to go over it during your drive to the park.

You dad was already home when you got in. It was unusual. He said he was feeling ill and your stomach dropped immediately. He saw it on your face and guaranteed he just needed to sleep it off, it wouldn’t come in the way of your trip. He was making himself tea while you sat by the kitchen table having a snack before doing your homework.

His shoulder and hand were twitching and he tried to shake his arm to get rid of it. He was worried, you saw it all over his face that was still decorated with a smile that was only there for your sake. He didn’t want to make you feel bad or worried as well, it was just something he must’ve caught at work in the office. Some people had had a cold, nothing some rest wouldn’t take care of.

He assured you everything was okay, he just needed to take it easy. He took a painkiller, his tea and went to bed, leaving you in the kitchen to work on your homework. Your mom got home soon after that, kissing the top of your head and made herself a sandwich while she watched you work on your math problems. She helped you as much as she could, but neither of you were that good at the subject, making you question your answers and wonder if you were even on the right tracks with what you had written in your notebook.

Your sister was the last to come home, ready to head back out for her weekly guitar lesson next door. Your neighbour was a retired musician, who had had his arm amputated after a car accident a decade or so earlier. After that he started to teach and he was fully booked.

Everyone loved him and the way he taught made your sister excited for all the milestones she hit. New notes and hand placements, a new melody, a new transition between notes, a complete song, being able to play without watching the strings all the time. The instrument belonged in her hands. She was a natural.

The darker it got, the heavier the rain beat against the roof and windowsills. Your mom had gone to check on your dad a few hours earlier but he had just asked for her to close the door and let him sleep for a bit. You sat by the kitchen table looking at the brochure, reading about all the winding rollercoasters, drop towers and twisters.

Your sister was reading it with you, pointing at the pictures on the paper and wondering out loud how fast the rides would go. Your mom was cooking a late dinner and the smell made your mouth water. The comforting flavor of her homecooked meals were always something you looked forward to. Your dad wasn’t a bad cook by all means, but somehow your mom always managed to make even the simplest dishes taste like she had used a secret ingredient or two.

Your mom asked you to go wake up your dad while your sister set the table for all of you. The closer you got, the better you heard the odd whimpers from your parent’s bedroom. You felt discomfort in the pit of your stomach. Something got all the soft hairs on your skin to stand up. You didn’t want to get closer, but he was your dad and you had to wake him up. He said he’d be better by tomorrow. You wanted to believe the feeling you felt was all in your head and the sounds you heard were just him stretching after his nap.

You knocked on the door. Your dad cried out before he kept on whimpering. The sounds were almost too sad to hear and you wondered if he was crying instead. Maybe he was getting really ill and didn’t want to disappoint you all. You opened the door. Your hand never left the door handle. It was dark in the bedroom. Your dad was standing, hunched over, his whole upper body twisted to one side, swaying slowly back and forth.

“Dad?” You called for him and as soon as the first note of your voice left your throat, he turned around. You shrieked from the look on his face.

His skin was grey and his eyes were wild. He was sweating and his mouth was covered in something that looked like hair. You took a step back. He twisted his head to the side, like he was listening to you, trying to figure you and your next moves out.

You heard your mom in the kitchen ask if you were okay, but you couldn’t take your eyes off your dad. He was terrifying and fascinating you at the same time. You couldn’t stop staring at him and his changed appearance. You called for him again, more silently, but he heard it. He took a step forward, then another, and one more.

Then he lunged at you. Your heart was in your throat as you pulled the door closed just before he reached you. It slammed against the door frame, as did your dad whose body crashed against the closed door. Your mom came out of the kitchen, worried about the noise. You stared at her, then at the door. You backed to her and clung to her arm. Your hand hurt from the force you squeezed it in your small hands.

“Dad’s not well,” you managed to say with a barely audible voice. Those were the only words you said that night, or the days that followed. You kept your mom from opening the door and your dad kept banging his fists against it. He kept doing it, his violent rage getting more powerful until it sounded like he was going to come through the door. He was screaming, not even saying anything, just screaming against the surface of his confinement, while your mom was trying to talk to him through the door. Her voice only made it worse.

The food your mom had prepared was left on the table. Your mom made you and your sister get some clothes from your rooms while she got some for herself from a few piles of fresh laundry that your sister hadn’t put away yet. She pulled you and your sister out of the house and locked the door with all the lights still on. You could hear your dad’s screams outside, muffled, but you still heard them. Your mom pushed you into the car and started driving.

That’s when all hell broke loose. You lived in a tightly built suburb, everyone knew each other. You saw the older lady from down the street running outside with her husband sprinting after her. He caught her and they fell to the ground. He was on top of her, attacking her.

You saw a kid from your school carrying his backpack into a car. His dad was carrying his mom on his arms while she writhed in pain. He sat her in the car and the kid from school sat behind her while the dad climbed in and turned the car on.

You saw a man, who always kept his yard pristine, standing outside, trying to comprehend what people were screaming about. And it wasn’t until much later when you realised you had watched your neighbour, the musician, laying on the ground close to your driveway, blood pumping out of wounds on his neck and shoulder.

You hadn’t realised what you saw back then, you had just stared at him, mesmerized by the thick sticky blood flowing out of him onto the street. He was still twitching when your mom backed away from the driveway and drove you away from your familiar and safe neighbourhood. Suddenly it wasn’t familiar and safe.

You never saw your home again. You never saw your dad again even though your mom kept insisting people would go there and make sure everyone was okay. She kept repeating that, and how you would go back in no time to have dinner. She tried to tell you that because she wanted to believe it. You never went back.

It wasn’t even the worse of it yet. The worst part was sitting in traffic, seeing all the military helicopters and fighter jets in the air, the bright lights on the highway where they had set up their checkpoints, waiting for people to keep on driving while you knew chaos was wreaking havoc in the city around you. Your mom made you make sure all the windows were rolled up and the doors were locked that no one was able to open them, at least not right away.

You were also the few lucky ones. You were out of the city before the alert for people to stay indoors came in. You were stuck in traffic for hours, but you were getting closer to the military check points in a slow, steady pace. You were one of the lucky ones, because you didn’t have to get through the city when most of the people were infected and not living, rational humans. Your dad saved all your lives and he probably didn’t even know it.

You were lucky when you got to a QZ in another city after spending a couple of nights at a local triage center. You were given an apartment that had been cleaned in a rush. You shared your room with your sister who wanted to be with your mom as much as possible. Your mom was trying to stay strong and she tried to make you and your sister feel safe, but you didn’t feel safe with her.

You didn’t feel safe anywhere after what you had seen that night. The flashing, bright lights. The bodies on the street. The people who were chasing others, attacking them. Your mom’s erratic breathing while she tried to drive in the chaos. The guns on the soldier’s shoulders and in their hands. So many people, who were crying or screaming. So many of them complaining about aches after someone had bitten or scratched them.

The look people gave each other after someone said those things. And the way those people were dragged away. It was loud in the triage center. But you will never forget the sound when there suddenly was a pause in the deafening cacophony of noise, and you heard a series of echoing pops. You’ll never forget hearing a gun go off in the distance for the first time, when the still living and fully conscious, but infected people were shot right outside the chain link fences of the triage center.

You sat alone in your new room. The sun was shining and the white curtains were slowly swaying from the warm breeze that flowed in through the open window. You sat on the bed and looked at the bare walls and bookshelf, that had been stripped of anything else than a few books. The room didn’t feel like yours.

The floor looked dirty and dusty. That’s when you saw it. You melted to the floor and crawled to the other bed opposite from yours. You reached under it and pulled out a small photo album. It was thin and fit into your palm perfectly. No wonder the soldiers hadn’t seen it when they cleaned the apartments.

You opened the album. The first picture was of a baby, smiling to the camera. The next one was of a little child with a yellow coat and a matching hat, holding a massive cotton candy cloud in their other hand. In the next picture the same child, now older, was holding their school backpack and smiled to the camera with a gap between their front teeth. And in another picture the child was once again older, in cap and gown.

And the last picture was of the same person, with a young baby in their arms. The glint in the person’s eyes was magnificent. You were holding someone’s life on your palm, between these covers. You felt sick after watching the photos. This room, this home, was someone’s before you got it. Who knows what happened to the person in the pictures. To the baby. You had a feeling they didn’t make it.

Even if the pictures made your stomach turn, you hid the album under your mattress and you looked at it from time to time. You needed to remind yourself that so many people were gone, their stories were never finished, and the lives they knew ended in a matter of one day. That you were lucky.

You didn’t sleep well for the first two years in the QZ. The apartment you lived in felt haunted. You weren’t comfortable anywhere. And every time it rained, you remembered your dad.

One night you heard your mom leave after midnight, into the rain. You didn’t know where she went, but she didn’t come back home until early in the morning and you always had more food afterwards. Then she started showing. The baby bump kept growing and she kept getting weaker.

She lost weight and she looked like she was barely hanging on. Her skin was pale and the glow in her eyes had dimmed ages ago. She rarely smiled anymore and she was in pain most of the time. By the next summer, your third year in a QZ, she gave birth to your brother.

It was incredibly hot and humid that July. The apartment felt suffocating in the heat, even the walls seemed to sweat. She was taken to a hospital and you got there with your sister by foot, sweating like you had just taken a shower.

You got to see your brother and you held the small bundle in your arms while the doctor told you that your mom hadn’t made it through. Neither you nor your sister cried. You didn’t really react in any way in that moment. You just listened while cradling your small sibling against your chest, trying to protect him against the world. You didn’t feel anything when you found out, too numb from everything else you had experienced in the few years since the outbreak.

It wasn’t until you got home after a few days with your brother that you asked when your mom was going to come too. That’s when it hit you. That you were alone. It was just you, your sister, and your few days old brother.

The heatwave ended with a massive thunder storm that took out the electricity in the whole QZ. It kept raining for days on end. The electricity was fixed, the heatwave came back again, resulting in more rain and thunder.

Your brother got colic and kept you and your sister up throughout the night while the rain kept on beating down against the windows. You were still so young, but you felt like you had grown up in one night, taking care of your baby brother, giving your sister time to rest so at least she was awake enough to go to work the next day.

And then you met Peter and his friends. You didn’t question why your mom went out during rainy nights after that. It was easier to sneak out when the rain made everything else sound muffled. You didn’t have to worry about waking up your sister or few years old brother and you were able to get some extra food or ration cards.

The cover of darkness the rain provided was an added plus, making it easier for you to avoid FEDRA soldiers who were stricter and made sure people knew if they had broken the rules. You were caught a few times, and even those were too many, when you were detained and questioned for conspiracy for the Fireflies. And one or two times you were lucky enough to settle things with the soldiers by offering them what they wanted.

The memory of those QZ days flick to the night when you lost them. Your brother’s head, his dead eyes. Your sister’s screams to urge you to keep running. The gunshot that took her down.

You wake up in panic, completely drenched in sweat, the duvet tightly around your arms and chest. You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep. At one point you were awake, now you were waking up. You kick off the covers and try to catch your breath. Your limbs are shaking and all your muscles ache from the tension in them.

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, your chest feels like someone is sitting on top of it. You sit up and push your head between your knees but it brings little comfort when all you can see in your eyes is your siblings and your parents. Tears stream down your cheeks. The salty liquid settles on your tongue every time a new droplet passes your lips. You open the window, not really caring if some rain gets inside. You just need air.

After what feels like a little eternity, you can’t cope with the intense panic anymore. With shaky legs you hobble to Diana and Brenda’s bedroom and knock on their door. Brenda opens it after a while, sleep clear in her eyes and her hair a mess. When she sees you, her voice commands Diana to wake up.

They keep you company for the rest of the night. You drink tea and they ask you what you’d want in that moment, what would help you the most. Before you know it the rain passes and the morning starts to lighten the sky behind the windows.

Diana suggests you take the day off from work. She even offers to go tell Dan that you’ve fallen ill and need to take a bit of a time off but you can’t stay home. You want to get your mind off the night, mind off the first panic attack in months.

You want to be doing normal things and not get stuck with the ghosts of your past. The fact that you didn’t sleep that much last night and the intense experience with your nightmare aren’t helping but you still decide to pull through. To get back into the normalcy of the day-to-day life in Jackson.

When you get to the stables late in the morning, your head heavy and your feet dragging against the ground, Dan greets you happily at the door. His smile is like pure sunshine on this cool autumn day when the real sun is trying to break through the blanket of clouds that are making the day seem darker and gloomier than it really is.

“The kids are coming in about half an hour,” Dan tells you over his shoulder, lifting a bucket off the floor and carrying it towards one of the stalls.

“Kids?” Your voice is rough, laced with sleep and the remnants of your rough night. You peel your jacket off your shoulders and hang it on a hook, ready to forget yourself in the cleaning of the stalls.

“Yeah the two 11-year-olds who I told you about a couple of weeks ago, the ones who want to come check out how things work here. They’re both really into horses,” he talks and talks and your attention span is having a hard time focusing on all the words.

The kids though, you remember him asking if you’d like to show them around, maybe let them help out with the lighter things around the stables and you had happily told him yes. Of course they’re coming today of all days. The day when you’re at your lowest.

“You forgot didn’t you?” He finally stops and actually looks at you, takes in your slumped shoulders and tired eyes.

”I can also do it if you’re not feeling good?” His voice is softer and he takes steps towards you until his hand reaches your shoulder. You take a deep breath and pull your back straight.

“Yeah I forgot, sorry, but I’ll do it. I think it’ll be a good distraction.” You hear the forceful appeal in your voice, the want to have yourself let go of your memories.

”Okay,” he agrees gently, squeezes your shoulder once and lets go. “But if at any moment you feel like it’s too much, you tell me and I’ll take the kids off your hands.”

“Thanks,” you attempt a smile, but even you know it’s not a smile at all. It’s a sorrowful turn in your eyes, a twitch in your lips, a tension over your brows. You don’t dare face him and see his sympathetic expression, you just walk past him and get to work.

You do things slowly, the smell of the stables sticking to your nose and letting you think of anything else than your panic attack and what you saw in your dream. It was almost like you lived the moment again. You remember that day like it was yesterday.

It’s a memory you’ve purposely put away because at times it feels like it didn’t really happen. It’s like a weird movie you once saw that felt incredibly real and unbelievably surreal at the same time. It even plays in your head like a movie that you can pause when you’ve had enough and then can come back to when you want to experience the tingles of anxiety in your fingers and the dread of unknown in your chest.

You haven’t made much progress in cleaning when Dan calls for you, but you feel calmer. You can hear the excited whispers of the kids even before you see them and when you round the corner to say hi to them, they both beam at you and almost look like they can’t contain themselves. They’re both swaying on their tiptoes, eager to see what equipment they can find and if they could get a glimpse of a horse even when they’re not close to the stalls.

Dan introduces you to them and the kids say hi to you, a small tinge of shyness peeking through their voices.

“These are Evelyn and Ben,” Dan swings his hand between the three of you and when you attempt a smile, you can finally feel it stretching against your cheeks.

“You ready to do some stable work?” You ask them, your voice still raspy and thick, but they don’t seem to notice it. They’re just happy to be here, ready to help and get to know the horses and see what happens at the stables.

Dan lets you take the lead. Ben and Evelyn follow you around, their fast footsteps are echoing along your heavier ones. You show them the field and where you get all the hay for the feed. You show them the horse equipment and the different lists of horses and their daily needs.

They’re interested to read through the patrol lists and find out more about the horses that each patroller has requested. You tell them as much as you know but can’t really talk about the people who you’re not that familiar with. Jade and Joel’s names jump from the page, and you tell the kids about Jade’s horse Aries and Old Beardy, who they ask the most questions about just because you know the horse so well.

Willow and a couple of other horses are out on the field and you ask if they’d like to come get them inside so you can brush them and get to know them better. Evelyn and Ben’s eyes bulge in exhilaration and they’re barely able to keep themselves from running out to the horses. You keep them by your side and instruct them how to introduce yourself to the horses and how you must keep calm around them to not agitate or spook them.

The longer you spend time with the kids, the more you feel your own tension and stress dissolving. You’re present with them, help them understand how you do the different chores around the stables and why you do some others.

Especially Ben seems to be a natural around horses and you let him walk Willow back inside, while Evelyn gets a bit more timid around the large animal and shies away from taking the reins even when you tell her you’ll be right next to her the whole time, ready to take the leather reins from her hands if anything would happen.

You still give her the space to take her own time since this is the first time she’s actually this close to the horses. When you give her the soft brush and show her how to use it against Willow’s light brown coat, she becomes more comfortable and after a while is handling the brushing like she would’ve been doing it many times already.

“Can we ride him?” Ben’s eyes shine with glee.

“Maybe next time when your guardians are around? I don’t want to take the risk of either of you falling off of one,” you try to reason gently, but see the disappointment clear on their faces.

“But would you like to feed them?” The bargaining works and you prepare the grains for the horses together, checking the lists if there’s any notes about special needs.

“Can I braid her hair?” Evelyn asks with a small voice and you lift her up so she can reach Willow’s mane. Ben wants to do it too, so you let him braid the horse’s hair next. It becomes a whole thing and your arms are sore after all three horses have their manes braided.

You let the horses back out on the field and finish cleaning the stalls. You make quick work of it together even when you’re the one doing the heavy lifting and the kids need more handholding with the big rakes and shovels.

“Is Old Beardy out on patrol today?” Ben’s intrigued voice asks when you’re cleaning his stall. You tell him yes and that he is a regular for one patroller.

“Who?” Evelyn pipes in, leaning against the shovel in her hands.

“Joel,” you say and wonder if he has come across any infected today on their route.

“Miller?” You hear Ben ask, while Evelyn is already filling in quietly: “Remember Ellie from school? He’s her guardian. We’ve seen him around town, the one who is sometimes a bit scary?” You smile at the notion but keep your back towards them so they don’t see your reaction.

“Is he scary?” Ben asks and you realise the question is directed at you.

“I think he can be? But I don’t think he’s scary here, just… prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Evelyn doubts and you see a small wrinkle on her forehead.

“For patrols,” you tell without a second thought, not really interested in telling them that Joel might be prepared for any situation, prepared to be scary if the situation needed it. “You have to be really focused and know what you’re walking into when you go out the gates,” you tell them and they look at you with their eyes wide. Both of their mouths are slightly open like you’ve just told them a big secret.

“Have you been on patrol?” Ben’s cheeks are tinted pink, almost as if he’s creating a more exciting story for you to tell in his head.

“No,” you have to disappoint them both, Ben’s enthusiasm taking a hit. “But I’ve been outside the walls,” you say and both of the kids perk back up again. The gleam of wonder in their eyes is almost amusing, but it also reminds you that they don’t know anything about the outside world or what it was like before the outbreak. They weren’t even born back then. What you’re telling them is like them finding gold.

“I haven’t been here for that long, not even a year.” The silent wow that escapes from Evelyn’s mouth makes you chuckle.

“Where did you come from?”

“Did you have horses there?”

“Did you come here with other people?”

“How did you get here?”

“Did you travel for long?”

“Did you see any people?”

“Did you see any infected?”

“Did you have to fight any infected?”

“What did you eat?”

“Where did you sleep?”

Evelyn and Ben ask you questions in rapid fire, barely giving you space to give them any answers. “From another settlement. We didn’t have any. No I didn’t. I walked. A few weeks. I did. Yeah. Yes, we had to fight some. Whatever we had packed. Wherever we were able to.” They don’t notice you talking about a we, they’re just interested to find out more about you and how you got here.

It’s a blessing that they ask so many questions without really getting deep into anything. You give them vague answers, saving them from the gory details of what happened at the settlement or what happened to your travel companions.

You don’t want them to know about the people who meant the most to you or what you’ve been through because they’re all keys to your past and what you’ve had to do in your life. How you’re now here, taking care of horses for crying out loud, living a seemingly normal life.

They don’t seem to mind the short answers, maybe they don’t even notice that you’re hiding truths behind those few words that seem too simple. They’re just want to know more about what it is like outside the walls. They suck in everything you give them like sponges, more questions bubbling up from their eager mouths.

“Where do you live?”

“Have you been working here the whole time?”

“Have you ridden these horses?”

“Which one is your favorite?”

“Wait, you’ve ridden somewhere from here?”

“Where?”

“Was it safe?”

“Did you have a gun?”

“Did you go alone?”

“Who?”

“I live with Diana and Brenda. Almost. Yes, a couple when we went for a short hike. Willow or Old Beardy. Yes. We rode to a cliffside. Yeah, it was safe. No. No, with friends.” You turn to look at Ben and are faced with his expecting expression.

The kids have stopped working a long time ago and are just listening to you speak and tell them anything you want to give them. You get back to work, but your mind drifts to the cliffside, to the company you last had there. But you don’t tell about that to them. They don’t need to know about your last time there.

“It’s this lookout, it’s really beautiful out there. You can see over the whole town and the mountains look gigantic next to it. You can hear some animals in the forest behind the place, but it’s surrounded with a fence so it’s relatively safe to go there. Since it’s a bit higher up, it’s windier there and the air is really fresh. It’s so quiet, you can’t hear the town, it’s just you and your thoughts and whatever animals are around you.” You enjoy painting them a picture of the cliffside, reminding yourself of the place as well. You haven’t been back there since you went there with Joel. Maybe you should. Maybe you should get a new memory of that place to replace the one you still have.

“Will you take us there?”

“Please, we will be good. We can ride one of the horses, we’ll be quick. And you can show us the place.” Evelyn almost pleads and you turn to them, about to laugh at their request. You think they must be asking just to test if you’d actually say yes. But their thrilled eyes and the intense lean they have towards you to almost jump right into action tells you they’re not joking. They’d go with you right away if you said anything that would tip towards a yes, even if it was an unsure yes.

You see light movement at the doorway and you glance up to see you’re not alone. Joel is leaning against the doorframe, his eyes looking at you under his brows, an amused glint in them. His arms are folded in front of his chest, his whole arm against the wall, his ankle crossing over the other. When your eyes lock, he pushes himself off the wall silently. He turns his smirking face away from you and walks away, his boots barely making any sound against the concrete floor.

He’s clearly back from his morning patrol. He looked windswept, his hair messy and fluffed, his cheeks a little blushed from the breeze that nipped at your own cheeks when you walked to work. It’s one of those rare late autumn days when the upcoming winter is finally starting to reach its tendrils into the air, making it dry. You wouldn’t be surprised to see some snow soon. Joel looked warm and soft in his brown coat and neck warmer, maybe he’s expecting the first flakes to float through the air soon as well.

You look back at the kids who are still waiting for your answer. You’re the most important person in the world to them right now, someone who has the ability to give them adventures and experiences they probably won’t be allowed to have in many years. You won’t be their answer either.

“I’ll take you out for a ride when you’re older. First you have to learn how to handle the horses and you also have to have knowledge about how things work outside the walls. You’ll probably have to earn some people’s trust at first as well before you can take horses out for a ride and that means you have to be reliable parts of this community.” The disappointment is palpable and you’re sorry that you have to burst their bubble.

But that’s not what sticks with you, no. It’s the way you talk about being part of the community, like you’d be one of those people as well and can’t believe how you say it so naturally. Then you realise it. You really are part of the community. You help out, you work, you talk with people and have made friends here. This is your home.

Ben and Evelyn seem to understand where you’re coming from and slowly they get back to shovelling the sawdust on the floor. They quiet down, no more questions flurrying in the air and you’re almost grateful of the quiet. You listen to you three work and the mumbled voices from outside. Joel isn’t the only one back from patrol. Other horses have been brought back as well and Dan is taking care of them outside.

Just as you’re finishing cleaning the stalls, you hear someone walking in.

“It seems that your day is coming to an end here, how did you like the stables?” Dan’s warm communication makes you ease into the end of workday mood. The kids get their enthusiasm back in a second as they tell him all the things you did together and what you told them about everything they were interested in.

Dan laughs heartily as the kids show him how they held the shovels and rakes and he encourages them to come back again, that help is always needed at the stables. You give Evelyn and Ben high fives before Dan guides them outside, leaving you to put all the equipment away.

“Feeling any better?” He asks when you’re checking your shift for tomorrow — an early one, patrol shift.

“Yeah, thanks,” you tell him, your voice clearer but weariness flowing through it. You wish him and some other workers outside a good rest of the day and tell them your byes, hunger clawing in the pit of your stomach.

You make your way to the dining hall, the place busy with patrollers and people coming in for lunch. You wait for your turn in the queue and inch forward with the rest of the people around you, ready to take a plateful of the stew that is served today and a fresh glass of water.

When you turn towards the seating with your hands full, you realise there is no place for you to sit. Every table and chair is taken, the buzzing dining hall full of life and people getting together to enjoy their meal. You almost turn around to get a container for your food so you can go back home and eat there when an arm lifts up in a simple wave. Joel.

You see him looking at you, waving at you to come join him and his patrol buddies at their table. There’s a free seat opposite him. You swallow through the thickness that rises in your throat when you start your way towards them. Your nerves spike around new people, the only comfort being Joel and his unwavering calmness.

“Hi,” Joel says to you when you sit across from him. You eye the group anxiously, but they pay little attention to you, almost like they don’t even notice someone new sits next to them in the same table. Only a woman in her mid-forties gives you a nod.

You’ve seen her sometimes around town and once you talked about the weather when she held the door open for you to Sleeve and Stitch. You think her name is Clara, but you’re not sure. You’ve only heard someone mention the name Clara and you just assumed they were talking about her since it seemed to fit the setting.

She goes back to talking with the four others on the other end of the table. A young man next to Joel smiles at you and says hi. But he’s unknown to you as well. He does seem awfully young. He has to be a patroller trainee.

You pick up your spoon and listen to the people talk. You become aware that you have no idea who these people are, what they’re like or if it’s even okay for you to sit with them. You feel a bit like air, invisible to these hardened patrollers who are joking and roaring with laughter.

You dip your spoon into your stew and leave it there. Your attention shifts to everyone else around you, the conversations that you can’t separate from each other as they blend into a mush of different voices. You look over to Joel, who averts his eyes from you, like he had been looking at you this whole time.

You try to focus on the voices you hear on your table, the stories about today’s patrol and if they came across anything out of the ordinary. Or even ordinary, anything that was more exciting than just riding their horses from one lookout to the next.

“Joel, how did Gabe do?” One of the men asks, a smug look on his face. Joel straightens in his chair and squares his shoulders as he claps his hand against the young man’s back.

“I think he’s going to be a good addition to the group. A bit of practice and he’s perfect.” Gabe looks like he just heard the highest compliment there is. His eyes are wide with surprise over Joel’s words and slowly his brows rise up in question if Joel actually means what he’s saying. The others start to laugh and Joel squeezes the boy’s thin shoulder in his big hand.

“I’m joking, he’s not ready for real patrols yet, not to even mention the longer routes. He needs a lot of practice. But some day he’s going to be good, and ready.”

“It’s hard work, and you have to be careful. We’ll keep taking you out on the shorter routes, get you used to them,” one of the other men says at the end of the table. Gabe nods and smiles, happy to hear the encouraging words.

His eyes shine brightly, a little like with the kids earlier, and you see the softness of innocence still sparkling fresh on his face. Almost like he has never heard such praising words directed at him. Maybe he hasn’t, especially from the patrollers.

“What about you, what route did you do today?” A younger woman asks next to you. The whole table goes quiet. You wait for someone to answer, your attention on your food and the piece of potato you’re halving with your spoon.

You take the spoonful and fill your mouth, expecting to hear someone start explaining their experiences today. When no one does you look up and they’re all staring at you. You let out a surprised sound and something clenches in your stomach for just a second. You swallow fast and clear your throat, your nerves seeming like shyness around the others.

“Uh, no, I don’t do patrols.”

“Oh yeah! I’ve seen you at the stables!” A chuckling man says a couple of chairs over and you respond with a smile of your own.

“Yup, yes, that’s what I do.” You think they’re going to move on from asking you questions. You thought wrong.

“You haven’t been here long have you? You came here a few months ago?” Another person with a face you’ve seen in passing or who has given their name for you to check the patrolling lists to give them the right horses for patrolling, asks.

“Yes.” You take a sip of water and swallow. Uneasiness settles into your muscles and you shift in your seat. No matter how you fix your posture or move your feet against the floor, nothing feels comfortable. Your eyes flit from one face to another.

They all look like they could rip you apart like animals. They’re those no bullshit-type people who see right through you. Talking with the kids earlier was easy. Their questions were harmless and they didn’t acknowledge you leaving things out. They took what you gave them. But these people will know if you tell them half-truths, if you hide from them. Yet they’re all smiling, looking relaxed and nothing in them indicates they’re not nice people. You’re just intimidated by them.

“Would you be interested in patrolling? Andy here says he wants to retire,” the man who asked about Gabe earlier claps his palm against Andy’s back, forcing the older man to jolt forward.

“I’m thinking about it, or at least I want to cut down my hours,” Andy corrects with an eyeroll. He shrugs his shoulders to make the man drop his hand. “It’s my back, I can’t take the horse riding that much anymore.”

“Awww, are you getting old?” Clara asks and she tilts her head with her lips pursed together in fake mockery.

“No, he just needs to save his back so the wife won’t go looking for other men with better backs somewhere else,” another man says louder, making everyone laugh around you. Andy shakes his head and tries to pipe in with a: “you wish, Hutch,” but he’s unsuccessful. It only makes them laugh harder.

You’re getting overwhelmed by the fast pace of the conversation and how these people can apparently talk about anything with each other. You’ve rarely had those kinds of people in your life. Most times you’ve had to decide what you can talk about just to protect yourself or to keep people at a distance.

The dining hall seems even more full and the noise surrounding you makes your ears ring. The group around your table is tight, you can tell. They lean on each other, and it also means they know when they’re joking and when not to take things too seriously. Maybe they need it, especially after patrols and possible stressful situations.

Your eyes dart to Joel who is smirking and shaking his head slowly. He has his water glass in his hand and tips it against his lips when he notices you’re looking at him. His smirk turns into a warm smile, losing that sarcastic edge, and it becomes genuine, before he takes another bite of his food and his focus is back on the people still joking about Andy and his back.

“I think the more important question here would be if you’re any good with a gun?” Clara asks seemingly from no one in particular as she’s not searching for your attention, but you know the question is directed at you. Your heart leaps into a fast gallop inside your chest. You haven’t thought about holding a gun or any kind of weapon for that matter in your hand in what feels like ages.

“I don’t know what you’d count as being good with a gun?” The question comes out more like a challenge than you meant, the edge in your system seeping into your voice. You try to hide it with an easy going grin, keeping your eyes soft, but the tension creeps onto your cheeks and the upturn of your lips feels more forced than anything.

“How good of a shot are you, say from fifty yards?”

“I guess I’m okay.” You drop your hands onto your lap and twist your fingers together.

“What about shorter distances in stressful, surprising situations?” The smiling man from earlier asks, somehow a similar kind of enthusiasm in his eyes that you saw in Ben earlier.

“Yeah, I think I can handle those.”

“Has anyone seen you shoot?” Clara leans her elbow against the table in interest, her eyes narrow.

“I haven’t used a gun here,” you tell her and you see a few brows raising around you.

“Yeah, no wonder why,” Hutch rolls his eyes with a dramatic flair, chuckling to himself. Right away the smile you’ve been holding on your face drops. You let your gaze fall to your plate and your mind goes blank.

You didn’t need that today, not after last night. What are you supposed to say to that? You’d just want to crawl into yourself, shut yourself off and make yourself invisible so you don’t have to deal with a comment like that. Your preparation for different comments doesn’t help you here because you never thought someone would be that direct or crude.

“Hutch.” Joel warns, his voice deep and it echoes in your ears. The whole table is quiet. You take a peek at Joel. His face is stone cold and his jaw is tight, his eyes unblinking as he’s staring Hutch down. No wonder some kids would think he’s scary. Even some adults could read his expression as scary.

To you he’s not scary though, no. It’s exactly the no bullshit-type of person that comes through. Someone who is not going to swallow those kinds of jokes even when the other person didn’t mean it. You don’t cross that line, not behind someone’s back and not especially straight to their face.

“Sorry, that was out of line,” Hutch apologises immediately and there’s a genuinely apologetic look on his face when you glance at him from the corner of your eye. You nod and pick up your spoon only to push your food around the plate.

Something brushes against your ankle, gently presses against it, and stays there to remind you you’re not without support. You know it’s Joel. You don’t want to look up. The people around the table slowly get back into conversation, trying to ease the tension in the air, and leave you be.

The only one who has brought up anything regarding what you’ve been through was Jade, but that was it. That was different in so many ways as well. It was just the two of you and she didn’t say anything out of line.

You lulled your brain into a false sense of security that maybe people didn’t know about your breakdown or at least didn’t care about it. Clearly people know something, but it might be similar to what you heard around town about Joel and what people wanted to believe about him before they got to know him.

What Hutch said was in front of others and you have no place to hide. You check yourself out from the conversation that you hear next to you.

The first thing you question is if people see you as the person who had a breakdown and has to live with Diana and Brenda at least a few more months until she deems you stable enough to be living on your own or with other people.

You’ve talked about it with her. It scares you that you’ll never be ready and you’re stuck in being monitored for the rest of your life. You sometimes get the sense that you’re imprisoned by your head and it’ll remind you every time of your past if you’re ready to take a step forward.

Diana has reassured you that you’ll be ready someday. She has also told you that you’ve come a long way from last spring and have made plenty of steps forward and nothing has kept you from getting better, not even your head. You have your bad days, but it doesn’t mean that you’re not healing. It’s all just part of the process.

Even if you sometimes get the fear that you might live with strangers at some point, you’ve been okay with other people so far and living with someone doesn’t mean that you have to spend all your time with them. It would all be okay in the end. That’s what you tell yourself. You will yourself to believe it.

But if others see you as the person who had a breakdown, who didn’t show their face for almost two months last spring because they were too scared to go out, who is unsettled, what do they really think of you? When you’ve talked with them, do they go back to their homes and talk about you, speculate how you’re doing or if you’re going to lose it again?

“I think I’m ready to go home,” Clara’s chipper voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I need to take a nap,” Andy agrees and is already standing up, stiffness clear in his movements.

The whole table seems to empty in a rush. People stand up and thank each other for successful patrolling today. You sense someone coming closer to you, and see his dirt covered boots and heavy duty jeans before you slowly look up.

Hutch stands awkwardly with his dishes, earnestness on his face. His eyes are downcast and his cheeks are blotchy with blush. His large frame towers over you and you pull back from him to give a bit of space between the two of you.

“I really am sorry for what I said, I didn’t think before I spoke. It’s good to see you’ve integrated well into this community and you’re feeling better. I’m sorry, I… Yeah, I apologise.” You nod at him and he answers with a nod of his own. It’s an understanding, a thank you and a way for you to tell him to never do that ever again to anyone. His eyes shift from you to the man in front of you and another nod is exchanged.

“Joel,” Hutch mumbles before he leaves. You see he hasn’t finished eating. Gabe next to him is watching you wide eyed, that freshness of an unexperienced adult clear on his face.

“You okay?” Joel asks, his voice quieter after the group has left. Some other people come to sit on the other end of your table but they don’t pay any attention to you, Joel or Gabe. They’re deep in conversation with each other and they don’t bother you by keeping their voices down.

“I don’t know,” you don’t try to hide the discomfort or dread that are tucked tightly in your chest from him like you probably otherwise would. Today has been hard enough already. You don’t have the strength to hide behind a fake smile anymore when it’s Joel who is asking the question.

He would see straight through you anyway with his watchful eyes and how he now knows you. He has probably already picked up on some of your habits when you’re trying to bravely keep yourself together. No need to do that now anymore when he saw how Hutch’s words cut you like a knife. ‘

Then you think about Gabe and how he’s watching you with questions flying around his head. Maybe you should’ve tried to hide your distress and overwhelm at least a little bit. Joel would’ve known you wouldn’t have done it for him, but because of Gabe.

“At least he said he’s sorry,” Gabe points out and laps his last spoonful of food into his mouth. Very slowly Joel turns to him and his brows pull together, creating that familiar deep crease between them. He shakes his head almost unnoticeably and with that Gabe knows he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“I mean, it is,” Gabe tries to salvage the situation, his eyes even wider, but now filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay Gabe. Yeah, good that he knows he messed up,” you say to smooth his nerves, but you’d also like to add that Hutch wouldn’t have apologised without Joel. No one probably wouldn’t have stood up for you anyway considering how quiet they all were. Gabe’s mouth turns into a small, easy smile, before it drops when he looks back to Joel again. He’s not hiding the disbelief on his face.

“I think I’m going to head home as well,” Gabe stands up abruptly.

“It’s about time,” Joel mutters under his breath and you nudge his ankle under the table.

“It was nice meeting you,” Gabe is almost back to his cheerful self again and you tell him the same, trying to match his easiness, but the small muscles in your cheeks protest against the attempted smile. When he’s gone and you’re left alone with Joel, you feel your shoulders slump and you let out a long sigh. You press your fingertips against your forehead and massage it gently.

“Hutch can be an asshole, as you can see.” His words make you snort humorlessly.

“Yeah,” your voice is so quiet you don’t know if he heard you. You look up and hold your fingers against your lips. The comforting pressure against your ankle grows as Joel pushes his own booted ankle tighter against it.

“So, are you a good shot?” He changes the subject and you don’t know if his question has the desired effect he wishes. You hum and close your eyes. You take a deep breath, then another, before you open your eyes again and stare straight into his. There’s quiet desperation on his face. He wants you to talk. To keep you talking.

“I guess I’m not the worst. At least someone told me that at one point.” You take the bait.

“That you’re not the worst?” His expression softens, knowing that making you talk and changing the topic worked.

“That I’m okay, I guess,” you tell him and pick up your spoon again. You take a bite of your stew that has now gone cold. He follows your lead and starts to eat as well.

“Who told you that?”

“An ex-FEDRA soldier.” You know the lines on your face are hard. You can feel it and how the tension is running down your neck and shoulders.

Your eyes are piercing, your mouth is in a tight line and your shoulders are squared. You’re not giving in to your past. You’ve decided not to give Hutch the benefit of breaking you further apart today even when you’d still like to just lay down and forget everything for a moment.

Joel’s face twitches and a question forms on his features before he can ask it.

“He taught me at the QZ I was in.”

“You weren’t a soldier, were you?”

“No, no I wasn’t.” You shake your head and a small smirk spills onto your lips, easing the strain of your thoughts. You realise he asks it like it’s a dealbreaker for him.

“Is it a dealbreaker if I was?”

“Let’s say I’m not a fan of them.” You let out a simple laugh that resembles more of a hum.

“FEDRA wasn’t kind in Boston either?”

“Where were they?” He shakes his head. “I guess you could have it worse.”

You know what he means. It could’ve been so much worse. You’re lucky it wasn’t like that for you even if you had to buy your and your sister’s safety from them on more occasions than one.

“How did the soldier teach you then, I guess you didn’t shoot people on the street?” That makes you chuckle even though the joke is grim as hell.

“No, he took me outside the walls. There was this spot where infected always drifted to, don’t ask me why, I never found out. But I got to learn to shoot there and he taught me hand to hand combat as well.”

“Hand to hand, you mean against the infected?” He definitely didn’t expect to hear this from you and as you listen to yourself telling him about it all, you realise how many people haven’t learnt to defend themselves like that in this world.

“Yeah, of course after he had trained me. But to him it was like a test for me to pass when I had to kill those infected.”

“And what then? You just took out infected outside the wall with him, piling bodies together?”

“He lead a group of people out of the QZ when he and some other FEDRA soldiers quit. We took down a bit more than just a few here and there after that.” Joel listens to you intently and takes in all your words. He’s trying to learn what you were like from everything you’re telling him. And you’re telling him a lot even though you feel like you’re giving him the bare minimum. It takes a while for him to speak again.

“I guess I should’ve known that you’re a good shot. You had a gun with you when Ellie found you.” He smooths his palms against the table, one of his brow’s cocks and his head tilts to the side.

“You didn’t know it back then?” You pretend to be offended, but he sees the real smirk on your lips.

“Hey, your hand was shaking like a leaf, it looked like you had never even held a gun in your hand before.” You actually laugh at that when the memory of the moment comes back to you. You must’ve looked like you had been plucked out of the wrong reality and just dropped there on their way.

“I don’t think I could’ve used the gun back then even if I wanted to.” Your admission makes him drop his gaze and the energy between the two of you changes instantly. First it was playful, now it’s full of sadness. He leans his forearm against the table and hunches over, like he’s shielding himself, building his walls back up even though they’re a bit more see through these days.

You keep on eating although now the food doesn’t really taste like anything and you start to hate every mouthful. The more you think about it, the more you feel like you’re going to throw up if you keep putting more food into your mouth.

Your throat starts to close up around the food, and you have a hard time getting it down. You drink some water and wish for the coolness to soothe your anxiety as well. How is it that every time you speak with him, your conversation drifts to some bleak memories, experiences that you’d much rather like to forget but can’t and you have to deal with the pieces that you are left with.

There’s a muffled shuffling against the floor and you turn in your seat, seeing Evelyn and Ben whispering to each other. They eye you anxiously and they both push each other to walk towards you but they’re too nervous to actually close the gap and come talk to you.

“Hi,” you greet them and smile. It encourages them to come stand right next to the table and for a moment you all just stare at each other. The kids are still whispering into each other’s ears, trying to decide what they want to say to you.

Joel has his mouth full of food and he looks up at the kids. For the first time you’re seeing him unsure in the situation he’s in. He’s reserved, but not unkind. He just doesn’t know what to expect. The kids look at him from the corner of their eyes and you snicker at the thought of your conversation with them from earlier.

“We just wanted to thank you for the day,” Evelyn says. Her hands twist in front of her. Ben keeps his head down as shyness has suddenly taken a hold of him.

“You’re welcome, I hope you had a good time.” Your mind starts to relax when you think back to that time at the stables with them, how you could forget your worries and fears while talking and working with them. Their presence makes you forget about your own ghosts and you take yourself to that safe place with the horses and the manual labor that lets you get into the flow of simplicity.

“Yes!” They both answer in unison. Ben looks at you blissfully as well, all but just a small hint of shyness shaken off.

“We were wondering when we could come to the stables again, maybe try riding the horses?” Evelyn asks. The part of the braver, more vocal one has been bestowed upon her even though she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other and she keeps fiddling with the hem of her jacket. Her cheeks blush and she avoids looking at you straight in the eyes.

“You might have to talk with Dan about that, he knows when it would be possible. And maybe you could ask an adult to come with you, to make sure you’re okay if you want to try riding a horse?”

“And adult?” Ben mutters out loud and turns to face Joel.

“Would you be there when we try horse riding?” His squeaky voice asks, catching Joel off guard. He raises his brows and he looks first that the kids, then at you almost like he’s not believing what he’s being asked to do. He swallows hard before he opens his mouth to speak. But he doesn’t get a chance to say anything when the kids are already swaying onto their tiptoes.

“We really want to learn to ride horses so when we’re older, we’ll be great patrollers.”

“They’re so cool!” They’re both babbling at the same time and their enthusiasm catches to you as well.

“You remember how I told you about one of the horses, Old Beardy? Joel always asks for him for patrol and they were out together today. You remember Joel right? He does regular rides outside the wall.” The mood shifts once again.

Of course the kids remember and know who he is, but you don’t think they’ve ever been this close to him before since they think he’s scary. Maybe they’ve never even talked with him. Joel looks at you, still too stunned to speak. You nudge your ankle against his and make him take in a sharp inhale.

“Yup, that’s what I do.” He doesn’t even look at the kids when he answers, only you. The kids’ faces light up like they’ve just found a treasure.

“What is it like?”

“Have you seen a lot of infected?”

“What kinds of sounds do they make?”

“Have you seen bad people?”

“Have you killed a lot of infected?”

“Do the horses do something to the infected?”

“What is it like outside the walls?”

The questions keep on dropping out of the kids’ mouths and Joel doesn’t even have to think about answering when the next question is already shot through the air, a new one replacing the last one in rapid succession.

“Let him speak, I’m sure he has some interesting stories to tell,” you raise your brows at him, egging him on. The kids go quiet in an instant and his little audience waits for him to talk. He has a glint of annoyance in his eye when his own brows quirk up at you, but it’s all covered up by mischief. He enjoys this, you realise.

“Outside the walls? It’s like here, but much quieter and sometimes you run into infected. They’re a bit like us, but sound and look a lot different. They can be scary too. They sound…” He squints his eyes, seriously considering what to tell the two children.

“Do you really want to hear?” Ben and Evelyn both nod eagerly.

“The fresh infected sound a bit like us, but they like to yell and scream a lot. Then there are the clickers—” He leans forward, conspiratorially talking to them. His intense gaze makes even you lean in, like he’s telling you a secret. “They find out where you are by just using their voice. See, they don’t have eyes, so they have to rely on sound alone. They click and groan, and when they find you, they make such a loud screeching sound it’ll alarm anyone near them that they’ve found a living person.” Evelyn and Ben look horrified, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

“That’s why you have to be a lot older before you venture out the gates,” you tell them soothingly as you straighten your back and give Joel a dirty look for terrifying the kids. He chuckles, like he just told a horror story around a campfire.

He looks way too happy after his little story time. Maybe Evelyn and Ben will tell their friends that he’s great at telling horror stories, making other children come to his door asking to hear tales about the infected as well. It would serve him right.

“It’s not as it sounds,” he continues and takes a more relaxed posture in his seat. “Today we ran into some infected, took care of them, and the area is clear again. You don’t need to be scared if you know what you’re doing. If you really want to become patrollers, you’ll need to sign up for training in a few years. There they’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He picks up his spoon again, like he didn’t just scare the kids out of their minds, and even plans of becoming patrollers.

“But I do think they meant for you to ask your guardian to come watch over you when you try horse riding for the first time,” he points his spoon towards you, his head nodding after it. You clear your throat and hum out a chuckle. The kids still look scared. They look at each other before they mumble quiet thank you’s again to you and leave, watching over their shoulders at the two of you.

“Why’d you need to do that for?” You ask him and finally kick him under the table.

“Ouch!” He’s not hurt at all considering the joyous smirk stretching across his lips. He drops his spoon against his plate and it clatters almost too loud.

“If they’re scared of what’s outside, they won’t want to go out there when they’re still too young.”

“So you’re just protecting them?” You don’t believe his reasoning, even though it does make sense. Anyone can leave Jackson if they want to, the wall has some weak spots. If you know what you’re looking for, even the younger kids could figure out how to sneak out without getting caught.

“See, now you’re catching on.” He empties his plate and chews fast. His eyes flit across the hall.

“What if they now don’t even want to try patrolling, too scared of what’s out there?” You know your question is a bit silly. The kids here are tough. Some scary story about the infected isn’t going to turn them away from patrol training if they really want to go for it. They all already know that the infected can be scary. It was just Joel’s way of telling the kids about them that might’ve been a bit too nightmare inducing for the eleven-year-olds.

“They should be,” he scoffs.

“Did you know they’re also a bit scared of you?” You ask him, knowing it’s going to amuse him.

“Me?” You nod and let out a content uh huh when he puffs his cheeks out and shakes his head. “What’s there to be scared about, I’m just one fuzzy ball of sunshine and… I don’t know, sparkles,” he says without breaking into a smile, like he’s completely serious and it’s a fact everyone should know. You can’t contain yourself though and your giggles fill your tension filled body with a bit of joy. His eyebrows raise in a flash and his own laughter mirrors your reaction.

“We’ve sat here long enough, let’s give some others a chance to eat as well.” He stands up and takes his jacket and his dirty dishes, going to the end of the line to give them away. You stuff your mouth full with the last couple of spoonfuls, not remembering why you felt so nauseous earlier.

You hurry after him, still chewing on the lunch when you reach him. Your jacket almost falls off your arm and you barely save it before you manage to stop yourself from bumping against his back. You give your dishes away and thank the people working there. Joel holds the door open for you as you pull your coat over your shoulders.

You brush past his and your arm touches his chest. You duck your head down and pull your shoulders back for just a second, the feel of his steady frame imprinted against your side.

You walk together in the busy town center going towards Joel’s house. You know you should turn around, you live in the opposite direction. You just don’t want to leave his side yet. The breezy air clears your head and the thoughts from earlier come flooding back in. You have a question on your mind and you think he could be able to answer it.

“Do people talk about me around town?” You sound unsure and your voice comes out a little shaky. You want to know if they do and you don’t want him to answer at the same time.

You don’t dare face him so you keep watching your feet as they take you slowly towards his house. The ground is covered with dry, butterscotch and cinnamon colored leaves, some more grey than others, all signs of how the nature is falling asleep for the winter, ready to wake up when the warmer weather comes back in the spring.

The cold air is nipping at your cheeks and you pull the collar of your jacket up to cover your throat in a weak attempt to keep yourself warmer. You really should’ve worn a thicker jacket today, just like Brenda told you to this morning before you left for work.

“I don’t really go out that much, so I wouldn’t know…” He speaks like he’s trying to calculate what words would cause as little damage as possible.

“Joel,” you plead even though you don’t want to beg for him to save your feelings. Even if it would make you uncomfortable, the want to know what people are saying is much stronger than the side that is telling you that not knowing would be better. You have to deal with this one way or another.

“I’ve heard some of them talk before patrols,” his quiet voice confirms what you’ve thought for a while.

“And what do they say?”

“You really want to know?”

You stop while he keeps on walking. You weren’t moving fast to begin with, his feet taking him just a little further from you until he notices you’re not next to him anymore. He turns and after a second of a pause, he takes a step towards you.

You sigh and determinedly walk to him and give him a tentative nod. Your footsteps match and the way to his house stretches longer as your pace slows down even more. You get the urge to run and hide, to never show your face to anyone ever again.

Yet you’re curious about what people know and what they’ve been saying about you. You’re not some masochist, trying to hurt yourself by asking Joel about other’s opinions. You want to know so you can prepare yourself if someone says something to you directly. You don’t want to be left too stunned to speak and realise much later what you should’ve said in that moment.

“Most of them are happy you’ve gotten through whatever it is you went through. They don’t know all the details, just that Diana was sent to work right away and they put two and two together when they found out you live with them. And then there’s the occasional fucker who think people shouldn’t be so sensitive and if you can’t handle this world, you should…” He doesn’t finish his sentence and you don’t ask him to either. You know how it would end and he doesn’t want to put you through the cruelty of it.

You consider his words and without much excitement or grand realisation, you come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter what those people say. You can prepare all you want with witty and clever comebacks and those wouldn’t change a thing. They’d still think those things no matter what.

You can only choose to not be that person who hangs onto those opinions or what others say about your life behind your back. What matters is that you’re living your life and you know how things are. There are much bigger and more important things in this world than someone’s opinion on your recovery.

“Occasional fucker,” you taste the label in your mouth. The way he said it rings in your ears and makes you smirk. Joel’s elbow knocks against your arm and you look at him.

“That’s what you picked up on from all that?” He asks, his brows pulled together, but a friendly grin on his face.

“I like the sound of it,” you ease his nerves, and your own as well.

“What are you thinking?” His low drawl gives you time to relax into the quietness between the two of you and let your anxieties flow out. You calm down and let yourself enjoy it.

“I don’t really know what to think. Of course I should’ve known that people start talking and I don’t want to care. Sometimes I do but I want to not care. I just don’t want to be caught off guard in front of those…”

“Occasional fuckers?”

“Yeah.”

It’s easy with him. You can joke about the harder things, make those things what you’ve both had to endure seem a little lighter even though they’ll never become minor events in your histories. You enjoy being around him even when it makes your chest clench with something that you’re not ready to say out loud.

You walk him home and take your sweet time getting back to your home as well. The day still feels young, even when it turns to late afternoon. You let yourself wander around town, sit with the sensation of insecurity and strength mixing together into something that resembles catharsis. The past 24 hours have been a lot, but you think you’ve passed the worst of it and calmness is the only thing left in you.

You see Ellie with her friends going towards her home, but she doesn’t see you. They’re deep in conversation even while moving, one of them scribbling down something onto a piece of paper. She looks focused, in a way different to what you remember her looking like before. A bit more grownup, with a hint of rebellion. Or more than just a hint when you see the pure mischief and smugness on her face when she lifts her gaze off the ground.

Back in your room, you sit on the edge of your bed. You stare at the top drawer of your dresser. Your palms itch when you think about what’s hidden under your clothes. You hid it in your first house as well even though there really is no reason to keep it hidden. Most people have some weapons at home although there are also weapons that people have given away so patrollers and hunters can use them.

You’ve had it for a long time. You kept it well hidden from Joel and Ellie when they found you. Sasha gave it back to you when you were moving into your first house. You haven’t touched it in a while though.

The burning urge to get it out wins and you jump up to open the drawer and lift the pile of clothes to get it. Your hunting knife. It’s much heavier in your hand than you remembered. You take it out of its sheath and trace the edge of the blade with your finger tip, careful to not cut yourself. It’s still as sharp as you had last used it. You strap it to the back of your jeans and straighten your back, square up your shoulders and hold your chin high. There’s a feeling of power you haven’t felt in a long time and it makes you giddy.

You half run to the stables, ready to go back home as soon as possible from the chilly temperature that is spreading as the night goes on. It’s late, too late, but you forgot your coat at the stables and you need it early tomorrow as Brenda asked you to help her clean out the garden with her before the first frost arrives. It’s better to get it now rather than going to the stables early in the morning when it’s busy. You don’t mind the extra half an hour or so of sleep either.

Few of the lights are on, coloring the warmth of the stables in a rusty hue. There’s always some lights left on by the doors and doorways, but as you step inside and hear the feathery click of the lock behind you, you realise there’s much more lights on than normal.

Especially the lights where the stalls are makes you suspicious that someone is still here. No one should be here at this hour. You shouldn’t be here either. You see your coat hanging from a coat hook on the wall and make your way to it and you check your gloves are still in the other pocket.

“You’re here late,” a low tumble of Joel’s voice makes you jump and clutch your chest. You peer to see into the stalls and there, with Beardy, Joel is leaning his forearms against the gate. He looks at you in amusement and the warmth surrounding him is drawing you in.

“I think I could say the same to you,” you quip back and walk slowly to him. He pulls back and runs his hand against Old Beardy’s flank and pats him gently on the shoulder before he settles on rubbing his withers and neck.

Joel has hung his coat on the gate and he’s wearing his softest looking flannel with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. He has rolled the sleeves to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. He has a brush in his other hand and he keeps brushing Beardy’s coat with it in long strokes. He looks like he has already gone to bed at some point but decided against it. His hair is in messy waves around his head and his boots are loosely laced up.

“I just needed some r&r with him, felt a bit restless.” He says lowly, as if he’s being careful to not bother the other horses.

“How did you get in?” You lean your own arms against the gate and watch him work on the horse.

“I saw Dan hiding a spare key under one of the buckets outside once, decided to check if it was still there.” You nod at his answer and let a comfortable silence follow it.

You hear the young foal whinny in his shared stall with his dam. You see his head peeking through the gate and walk to him, letting him smell your hand before you rub the back of his ears.

“You should go to sleep, buddy,” you whisper to him silently and almost like he understands you, he goes to his mom and gets a puff of air from the dam’s nostrils against his face. You leave the young family to sleep just as Joel is grabbing his coat and steps out of Old Beardy’s stall.

“You want to talk about it?” Your question comes out tentatively, your voice quiet and careful. He looks tired and he closes his eyes for a brief moment before he turns to look at you. Your steps lead you slowly to him.

He watches you and it’s obvious he wants to talk about it and let you in. But it’s not easy after a long time of hiding it all. He hums and bites the inside corner of his lips.

“I played the guitar for the first time today,” he admits but it’s enough. He holds the brush in his hand and it starts to tremble. You take it from him gently. Your fingertips touch his palm. You’re not surprised he felt restless.

“How was it?” You ask. He squeezes his hands together and massages the back of the other one. You try to keep a physical distance by walking towards the supply closet and give him some space to deal with the emotions that are trying to burst through.

The door creaks on its hinges and starts to slowly close after you. He’s not letting that distance get too large though as he follows you and leans against the doorframe, his shoulder keeping the door open.

“Weird,” his mirthless chuckle is filled with pain. “I could just close my eyes and she was there.” He talks so quietly that you stop reaching for the brush box on the top shelf and listen to him. He rubs his fingers against his right temple and squeezes his eyes shut.

The pain is so clear on him, around him. You feel it reach you and curl deep inside you and you have to duck your head to hide the tears that start to pool in your eyes. You can’t imagine the grief he’s carrying, what it must’ve been like to lose his own daughter. His family.

It only reminds you of losing your own and how one by one all the people you loved disappeared from living. You know how simple things can prompt up memories of your lost loved ones, even the seemingly silly things that are otherwise insignificant.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he begins. His voice makes you react instantly. You look him straight in the eyes and breath puffs out of your mouth.

“No, don’t say you’re sorry, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” you rush to reassure him. He sees the gleam of tears in your eyes and you have to turn away from him.

“I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“You didn’t. I really just…” You can’t be reaching for the box while talking about this with him. You lean your palms against the shelf and shake your head slowly. “You didn’t upset me. I was just thinking how much those losses are with us every day, even if we don’t think about them all the time.” His mouth moves like he says yeah, but you can’t hear his voice.

“Did Ellie hear you play it?”

“No, thank God she didn’t.” He raises his brows almost in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” His eyes fixate on you. Once again he’s deciding if he’s going to keep his walls up or if he could be honest. He goes with the latter.

“My fingers remember this one song that Sarah loved and even after 20 years I could play it by memory.” He inhales and holds it in, trying to find words as his mouth opens but nothing comes out for a moment. He looks everywhere else but you, as if in an attempt to find and escape.

“I remember the last time I played it for her and hearing the song now…” He exhales and when he looks up, tears are glittering his eyes. You nod. You know how weird those feelings are, how they mess with your head. How you try to make peace with your grief for it to let you live your life. Still it somehow manages to creep up from almost nowhere and you’re left to deal with the surreal feeling of past and present mixing together.

“I wouldn’t have even picked the guitar up tonight if Ellie would’ve stayed home like we had planned,” Joel’s head thuds lightly against the doorframe.

“Where is she then?”

“With some friends. We had thought about watching a movie, I made dinner, but she wanted to spend time with them. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no now that she has made good friends here.” You smile at that. You turn back to the brush box and stand on your tiptoes to reach it. Your fingers touch the edge, but there’s something on top that is about to fall if you move it even a little bit.

“Let me help you with that,” the low scuff of his boots against the floor echo with the few unstable beats of your heart until you feel his chest press against your side as he lifts the wrapped blanket off the box and you get a chance to pull it off the shelf. The door closes and you hear a quiet clink. You look on the floor to see what you dropped but can’t see anything. It must’ve been from the box.

“Ready?” He asks and you hum a mmhmm before you reach the container back on its rightful place and Joel puts the rolled-up blanket back on top.

“Thanks,” you pull back but your back meets the edge of the shelves and he’s still almost glued to you. He turns around to let you both out but when he presses his palm against the door and pushes, it just rattles against its hinges.

“What the hell?” He whispers and the sound from earlier makes you close your eyes in realisation. You know exactly what it was. Your palm comes to rest against your mouth when you let out a single snort.

“What?” He asks, still trying to push the door open.

“Remember how this door has a hook lock?” You ask him. His hand pauses against the door, then drops as he bends his head back and groans.

“It’s always been so loose, I even said to Dan once that someone’s going to get locked inside and he should change it to something safer.” He said he’s going to do it, at some point, but that doesn’t really help you now. Joel leans against the door. You can’t help but giggle at your predicament.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles, but the smile on his face says otherwise.

“It’s a bit funny,” you can’t help yourself when you really start to laugh. The hearty emotion relaxes you and you close your eyes and tip your head back.

“Here we’re almost crying and then laughing,” you hear the joy in his low voice.

“If I didn’t laugh, I think I would be crying,” you joke and sigh out the last of your amusement. His feet are against the outside of yours, both of you leaning against the opposite walls.

He tilts his head and watches you along his nose, his eyes falling half shut, the dark brown looking almost black in the shadowy amber of the ceiling light. You can’t look away. He locks you in place and forces you to stay still.

He moves, first his head straightening, then his back as he pushes himself off the door. He stands tall, almost towers over you as your feet are still between his. You swallow and try to keep your lungs working, but you need to work harder to get your breathing to slow down. His broad shoulders swallow any extra space you thought there was.

He moves slowly, so incredibly unhurriedly, that you can’t comprehend how he’s so close yet still coming closer. His arm raises and his palm presses against the shelf next to your side. His thumb touches the back of your arm. His gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and stay there. He tilts his head to the side, coming closer still. You don’t move, just wait for him to decide what to do next. His warm breath fans across your face and it makes a shuddering breath escape between your lips. Everything around you feels electrified and you’re on high alert, all your senses chanting Joel in your cells.

Then he looks carefully into your eyes. The deep sparkle in them makes you want to forget everything but him. You want to lose yourself in them. You’ve wanted to feel this for so long, you just haven’t wanted to admit it. Or to let yourself even think this.

Now that it’s here, this moment with him, you recognise uncertainty from the crease between his brows, fear from his shaky breathing and determination from the intensity in his eyes as he’s not letting you hide from him. He stops for just a second before he presses his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and the contact makes you slump forward, pushing your head against. You feel lightheaded and force yourself to take a deep breath.

The corner of his eye comes to rest against your temple as he moves his face down, his scruffy beard dragging across your cheek bone. His breath seems now even hotter in this small space and it tickles against your skin, your loose hair around your ear fluttering with the small puff of air.

“I really want to kiss you,” he whispers into your ear and goosebumps raise immediately on your neck and arms.

“Then kiss me,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands reach for the bottom of his shirt, your fingertips press against the firmness of his hips. His low moan vibrates against your cheek when the corner of his mustached mouth touches your skin. He drags his mouth against it, leaving you breathless. His hand rests against your side, the pressure keeping you grounded and present. He’s not letting you slip away.

He kisses you soft at first, just a brush and another of his lips against yours, until he comes even closer and suddenly the kiss is hungry, demanding, wanting. Your teeth graze against his lower lip, your tongue following after to soothe the violence of your need.

His arm wraps around your back. Your hands run against his front and you pull him tighter to you from the collar of his flannel. His other palm finds the back of your neck and pulls a whimper from your throat. You realise he’s not quiet either, whispered groans being fed into your mouth with every crushing, heated kiss that ends with your tongue twisting against his.

You’re on fire. He’s feeding the flames. Your whole body is weighed against his and you think you could topple over if it wasn’t for the shelves behind your back that he’s pushing you against. You want him ever closer, all to yourself. You don’t want to let go. Your fingers tangle to the short hairs at the base of his neck and your need for him boils over in your attempt to keep him glued to you.

Your foot catches on something, making it clatter against the wood of the door. it doesn’t sound loud in your ears. You can only hear him, his breathing, his grumbling voice through his gasps. And you certainly don’t hear the clink of the lock or the squeak of the hinges.

But Joel hears when Dan clears his throat.

He pulls back immediately, his eyes wild and his chest heaving. His cheeks are flushed and his lips glisten from the ferocity of your mouth. He shakes his head once, his brows pulling together tight, his face the epitome of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he forces through his teeth, his lips barely moving. He turns around and pushes past Dan who is looking at him with wide eyes. Joel grabs his coat and makes a beeline for the stable doors, almost jogging out, trying to get out as fast as possible. He’s already pushing his arm through the sleeve when he bursts through the door and you’re left to watch his vanishing figure into the darkness of the night.

“What’s happening here?” Dan asks and slowly turns to look at you. You’re barely managing to steady your breathing when you push yourself upright. You pick up the fallen broom off the floor with your trembling hands and shake your head.

“I just came here to get my coat,” your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“And you ended up kissing in the supply closet?” He’s teasing you, but you’re not sure if you can take it right now.

“Why are you here?” you ask him, not really sure what to do with yourself or your racing thoughts.

“I saw the lights. I had to come and check who was in here.” You nod at him and try to remember where your coat was. On the hook on the wall.

“Please don’t tell anyone, it was nothing.” You don’t look him in the eyes when you yank your coat into your arms and pull it over your shoulders.

“Of course not,” he sounds sincere. You know you can trust him.

You move stiffly as you make your way to the door, adrenaline pumping through your muscles. You’re grateful of the cold when it hits you and sobers you. You bring your hand against your mouth and touch your lips with your fingers. You lick them, a fresh wave of his taste filling your mouth.

You walk home trying to shake the kiss out of your system, him out of your thoughts, off your skin. But you’re still shaking when you close the door behind you, stumble when you take your shoes off and attempt to tiptoe into your room, hitting your toes against the edge of the stairs on your way up.

It wasn’t nothing, it was so much more than your brain can handle. The overwhelming feeling of panic and excitement make you fall onto your bed, shivers running down your spine and settling deep between your hips.

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