#lmk if you don't wanna be tagged but i wanted to give credit where credit is due | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years

Text

the one where Trucy accidentally finds out

a fic I wrote start to finish today, based on this conversation yesterday and two very great comments from @anza-redstar and @runningwolf62

It’s ten years, to the day, April 19, when Daddy and Uncle Miles come into the office with a box so big that Trucy has no idea how it fit into Uncle Miles’ sports car. “What is that?” she asks, tucking the book she was reading back onto the shelf so it doesn’t get lost in the mess, and scampering over to look at the box. “A new microwave?”

“No such luck, kiddo,” Daddy says. “We’re using this one until it explodes.”

Uncle Miles glowers, like he expects that the office microwave will indeed someday explode. (It’s not as old as Trucy, but it’s older than her time with Daddy. It’s older than his friendship with Aunt Maya. So is Charley. So are most of the things in the office that aren’t related to magic.) Then he fidgets, awkwardly -- Uncle Miles is a very awkward man, and when he isn’t in a courtroom or on a crime scene, most of his movements are awkward -- and holds his arm like it hurts, because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable enough to realize that he is being awkward. “These are items that the police held onto related to… to the case ten years ago. Your grandfather’s death.”

“Oh.”

“It’s mostly papers,” Uncle Miles continues, still awkward, and Trucy does him the favor of looking away from him and prying open the box. Whoever taped the top wasn’t trying very hard. “Anything the police hoped could help enlighten them on the case. Personally, I think it was unnecessary for them to seize all of this, but I was not on the case. I saw your parents’ wedding certificate, in there, for instance.”

“I wonder if this is where your birth certificate went,” Daddy says. “I had to pay a lot for a copy.”

Uncle Miles rolls his eyes. He almost smiles. Then the moment is gone and he is frowning. “Usually this wouldn’t be released for another five years -- the statute of limitations is fifteen years -- but considering that this case is… sort of solved, as best as it will ever be, I pulled a few strings.”

“Thanks for that, Edgeworth.”

There are two more smaller boxes inside the large box. Other papers are piled up haphazardly. It would give Uncle Miles a headache if he tried to sort through it for very long. At the top of the piles there is a small book that Trucy picks up and flips through. It’s handwritten -- a diary -- her grandfather’s handwriting, she recognizes from his book of tricks, the one that he left her father and he left her. She reads a page. Mundane, daily things. She’s glad for that. Life with the whole Troupe is fading from her memory, no matter how she tries to hold onto it. Maybe this will help refresh her memory. She flips through the pages and watches the words go by, until abruptly, the pages are blank. She runs her finger down the torn margin of a page. Something was ripped out, what might have been the last page.

She sets it aside. Daddy looks at it and his eyes widen. He looks a little sick.

“I don’t envy you having to decide what to keep,” Uncle Miles says. “Especially since you’re almost well-known enough to have cases, now.”

“Oh, come on.” Daddy shoves Uncle Miles in the shoulder. “One of these days, you’ve got to stop heckling me like I’m a newbie.”

“Hardly,” Uncle Miles says.

“Once I’ve had my badge again for as long as I did the first time, then you’ll be sorry.”

Trucy leaves them to argue and starts to shove the box out of the way. There’s almost a path clear enough on the floor for her to follow, and there’s space behind Polly’s desk for the box to sit. She picks up a stack of papers at random and plops them on the desk. There’s enough space on his desk and his chair for her to remove most of the loose papers from the box and get down to the other two, and a few folders. The first folder looks like insurance stuff. She gets up and walks over to Daddy’s desk and sets it down there. Hopefully it won’t disappear forever.

The smaller boxes look like they hold loose, non-paper memorabilia. Those will probably be the most fun to look through and so Trucy closes them and grabs some papers. She will save those as a treat for the end.

“Is that for a case?” Athena asks, absolute horror frozen on her face, stopped dead on the threshold. She would probably turn and sprint back through the office and out if Daddy weren’t standing right behind her.

He puts a hand on her shoulder to move her forward and aside. “Yep!” he says, cheerily.

Athena’s eyes are wide and she does not blink. She has not blinked for fifteen seconds. “You… you can take this one, Boss,” she says. “I’ve got, uh, another client, definitely -- Trucy looks like she’s got that covered as your co-counsel--”

“Athena. I’m kidding.”

The look she gives him, and then Trucy, is one of pure betrayal.

“It was from a case, a long time ago.” Daddy glances at Trucy, trying to gauge how much she’s okay with Athena knowing. Trucy shrugs. She likes Athena. She doesn’t care if Athena knows. She knows everything about Athena anyway. “When Trucy’s grandfather died, and when I adopted her.”

Died, not was killed, and while the latter is implied by it becoming a trial and a spectacle, Trucy always said died too because she never believed that either her father or Uncle Valant could ever have killed Grandfather. In her heart she knew that. And Daddy told her that was true, that Uncle Valant told him that was true.

Athena tilts her head. She must hear something. Trucy always knows if Daddy is lying but beyond that he is hard to read and that’s why he’s so good at poker. Athena has a better time figuring out what he is feeling. Sometimes Trucy asks her. “You had me scared for a minute there, Boss,” Athena says.

Trucy turns back to her papers, Athena sits down at her desk, and they both work in silence for a little while. Athena isn’t good at sitting still and eventually she is up on her feet, bouncing around the room to burn off some extra energy. “Anything interesting?” she asks.

“I’m looking at the boring stuff first,” Trucy replies. It isn’t boring, actually, not in her opinion. She’s a magician and a businesswoman and she knows now where she got it, her grandfather’s meticulous financial record-keeping. Maybe the police kept it because they thought he owed money to someone and that was why he was shot. There could be lots of reasons.

“Huh.” Athena stoops to examine the inside of the box and reaches in to poke at something. “Oh, boxes within boxes. Fun. That’s -- hey, who’s this?”

Trucy looks up. Athena is holding a small and rectangular page, a photo, examining it curiously. She must have pulled it out of one of the other boxes; Trucy doesn’t remember anything left lying in the bottom. “Let me see,” she says, extending a hand.

She knows the woman in the picture not by memory, but by the old Troupe memorabilia that she keeps carefully framed up on her walls, because she didn’t have photos her family together -- maybe this is where they all went -- and that was the best thing she had to remember all of them at once, Grandfather and Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Valant, because one was gone and then the other three were in quick succession. Athena should probably recognize her as well. She’s seen the old posters. “That’s my mom,” Trucy says.

Thalassa looks young, really young. How old was she when she had Trucy? How old was she when she disappeared? (Not died, because Trucy knows that disappeared can be a euphemism to shelter a little girl, but she also knows otherwise in her heart the way she knew that neither her father nor Uncle Valant killer her grandfather, and the way she knew that her father was only disappeared, not dead, until he was.) In the photo, she is more relaxed, posed naturally, than the posters, without any of the magician’s trappings. She has a smile like the sun, as bright as the bangle bracelets she has.

“Oh,” Athena says. Moms are a fraught subject for so many of them, Trucy (disappeared), Athena (dead), Apollo (gone), Pearl (jailed), Maya (dead).

“I don’t really remember her,” Trucy says. She turns the photo over in her hands looking for a date and finds the back is blank. “She’s been gone most of my life.” She avoids dead again, the way Daddy avoided was killed about her grandfather. “She was a magician. The brooch I have was hers. Blue was her color, too.”

“Oh, really?” Athena sits on the floor. She probably wanted an excuse not to do work and now she has one. “I thought it was blue like Mr Wright.”

“It’s blue for both of them,” Trucy says, because she can’t parse out what came first, looking again at the promotional material with her mother’s face or at the dusty suits in her new daddy’s closet. “You know, it’s funny, now. I’ve lived with Daddy longer than I ever did with my other daddy and the Troupe.”

She’s eighteen. It’s been a full decade. She grew up without any of the Gramaryes. It was why she was so excited to welcome Mr Reus to her performance, because she had dreamed of performing on stage with her family, and he was the closest thing left around. And then that went south, and she got Polly instead.

“Yeah,” Athena says softly, touching her earring. “It’ll be -- another year, year and a half, and then I’ll have lived half my life without my mother.” Her hand remains on her earring. “What was her name?”

“Thalassa.”

After a few days, bleary-eyed sorting through pages, more finances and ancient stage diagrams and bookings for performance venues that have been renamed and renovated, she sets the remaining stacks of papers aside and cracks open the box that Athena found the photo in. There are dozens of newspaper clippings of reviews of performances, some old TV Guides that mention the Troupe, and some more photos. There’s a few of the four of them, a few of five of them with Reus, and she quickly sets those aside beneath some papers to figure out what to do with. They’re valuable, important, but she can’t stand to look at his face, can’t stand to see him with them after what he did. She wonders why the police kept these, either -- maybe looking for other suspects. Maybe they just boxed up Magnifi’s life and didn’t bother to think about what might be important for his granddaughter to have.

She and Athena go out and buy frames for every picture of her family, her mother and her parents together and them and Uncle Valant and all of them, happy, smiling, and all of them and little baby Trucy. At the bottom there’s a photo of her mother and baby Trucy, but there’s a date written on the bottom and it’s years before Trucy was born. How did someone get the date so wrong? Was it thoughtlessly added later? There’s another picture of her mother, so young, so young, laughing with a man with brown hair and a guitar. Who is he? Another reject of the Troupe? Some friend outside of it? The Troupe was pretty insular, Trucy knows that much -- they had a lot of practice and performing to do. Of course it was always just them.

The two mysteries go in one of Apollo’s desk drawers.

The other box, at the top, has a certificate of marriage for Thalassa Gramarye and Shadi Enigmar. Trucy stares at it for a long, long time.

Beneath that, her birth certificate. She goes to wave it in her daddy’s face. “Look what was in there!” she announces.

He doesn’t look up. “A magic dove.”

“Daddy!”

He grins and takes the paper from her. “Now we’ve got an extra copy of it. Good to know.” His eyes travel over the mess on his desk. “As long as I don’t lose it here.”

Her grandfather has another diary, even older, some of the pen and pencil scratches starting to fade. She shelves that with the other one, intending to read them but not sure what she’ll find, almost afraid after Reus that there might be something dark in them. Or maybe she’ll learn for sure why he was kicked from the Troupe. What if it isn’t what she’s sure it was, that he didn’t have the attitude for it? What if it is like he thought? She doesn’t have the certainty that she does for other things.

When she comes back to the box, after standing in front of the shelves for a long time and then running off to Eldoon’s with Athena, she thinks for a moment that she for some reason put her parents’ marriage certificate back in. Why would she do that? She can’t afford to be absent-minded. She has a business to run. She has almost tossed it aside in annoyance when the name catches her eye.

It isn’t her father’s.

Her heart sits in her throat. Her mother was married before? No one ever said that. Is there anyone alive who knew that until Trucy found this? The name is Jove Justice. JJ. It’s a name Trucy has never heard before. There’s a wedding photo beneath it that looks like it was taken at a courthouse. The man in the photo is the brown-haired man. Her mother looks still so young. How young was she when she was married the first time? Would it be like if Athena got married now? If Trucy did? She hasn’t removed the photo from the box, just stared at it and stared, and beneath it she sees hints of another certificate, another birth certificate, probably, certainly, and she is ready to yell over to the next room where her daddy and Athena are working on a case, but first, she looks at it. She looks at the names.

That isn’t her father’s name either.

A sibling? An older sibling, going by the date on the marriage certificate, and she is afraid of what she will find next. A death certificate? That would explain why no one ever spoke of this, why she grew up with no one her age around her, why when all the adults were gone she was alone --

She looks at the names again, not just Thalassa Gramarye and Jove Justice, but the baby. Baby boy. Her brother. Baby, her older brother. Her brother --

She’s losing her mind. No, she lost it, completely, finally, and it’s been six months since she’s seen Apollo, she’s only seen him once since May when she was sure he would be a fixture in her life for the rest of it, when she was sure she would always have him around to tease and annoy, and it’s because she misses him that her mind is doing this, is putting that name there, and she touches the words printed on the certificate and wonders when her eyes will refocus and she will actually learn the name of the brother she lost, her half-brother, son of Thalassa Gramarye and Jove --

Jove --

Justice.

Not sure what else to do, not sure how to react -- how did Pearl react when she learned about Iris? She was young then and maybe it made more sense then, maybe this would have made more sense to Trucy when she was little -- she screams.

This is, to put it mildly, not the best idea when the two people she shares the office with are two twitchy people who have had loved ones murdered and are still paranoid or traumatized from it, two people who go together to crime scenes and see bodies and piece together murders and are doing that right now and are in the worst mind frame to hear screaming.

Her daddy’s face is bloodless, and Athena has her fists up, and they barrel into the room together and find Trucy sitting on the floor surrounded by loose papers and photos and boxes and holding one in her hands and screaming.

Athena does not have the time to parse out what exactly the emotions of the scream are, because that can wait until they are out of danger, so when she finds the danger is apparently the written word, she stops and listens. It isn’t pain, or fear -- there is no fear in Trucy’s scream. If she had Widget analyze this, they would be spinning out of control with shock, not fear. And no anger. Sadness, blue cold sorrow, and joy, too, something red and warm, butting up against each other and drowning together in shock.

“Trucy, what’s wrong?” Mr Wright asks, crouching down to her level. His voice holds pain, of a sympathetic sort, pain and sadness. It’s written on his face, too, plain enough that Athena doesn’t need Apollo to see it. (Mr Wright sort of can notice things like Apollo did, and Trucy a little better, but neither of them are like Apollo.)

“My -- my mom -- my brother my brother -- he’s my half-brother – he’s my brother!”

Mr Wright doesn’t ask. She can’t hear anything when he’s silent. Something Athena can’t name flits across his face.

“Trucy, you don’t have a brother,” Athena says gently, sitting down next to her, moving to put an arm around her shoulders, wondering what words written on a paper could turn bright, composed Trucy into a gibbering mess. Trucy pushes her away and shoves the paper she is holding at her instead.

“My brother!”

It’s a birth certificate, dated twenty-four years ago. Athena starts to read it off. “Born to Thalassa Gramarye” – that’s Trucy’s mother’s name, but this can’t be Trucy – “and Jove…”

Oh, god, she’s heard the name Jove before, and it was in Khura’in, and it was the story of a dead father and a lost child who was never returned to his mother–

“Jove Justice,” she says, her voice finally unsticking, and it trembles, and anyone without her ears could hear her shock. “And – Apollo Justice.”

That’s Apollo, that’s their Apollo, twenty-four years old and a father named Jove but that’s Trucy’s mother, their Trucy, Gramarye, and her mother, Thalassa.

“He’s my brother,” Trucy says softly. “Polly’s my brother – Polly’s my brother and that’s – that’s why – that’s--” She springs up, runs out of the room, comes back a moment later with a photo of her mother. “Bracelets!” she shouts. “Look, look, it’s like – like his!”

Golden bangle bracelets with a thin lined pattern encircling them. Athena’s head is spinning. She looks at Mr Wright, waiting for shock. Surprise. Anything. He has a good poker face but big surprises, he doesn’t quite hide. This, he’s hiding, and he’s still not saying anything, not moving, not reacting, and Athena can’t hear anything. Maybe Apollo could. Maybe Trucy could if she weren’t too torn up by her own shock to concentrate. Hers hasn’t faded; it still permeates her voice, entirely.

“Apollo’s your brother,” Athena says. “Apollo is – Mein Gott, Apollo’s your brother.” She laughs. She doesn’t know what to do but laugh. She looks back down at the names on the paper. They haven’t changed. “He’s not going to believe you when you tell him!”

“Can I see that?” Mr Wright asks, quietly, gesturing at the certificate. Athena hands it to him. “Thanks.” There’s only the barest amount of shock in his voice, buried deep, and there’s some other things, more complicated, a little too complicated for Widget. Some sadness that isn’t quite sad, not sorrow or grief, but something like regret. “Huh.”

He hands it back to her, and she runs for the scanner – it was a gift from Prosecutor Edgeworth that Mr Wright doesn’t know how to or want to use – so she can email proof to Apollo, while Trucy runs for a phone.

Apollo wakes to the buzzing of his cell phone beneath his head. It’s dark when he opens his eyes. What time is it, he wonders, knocking his phone to the floor with a thunk before he can manage to pick it up. Three am. Three am, and Trucy is calling. He fell asleep still fully dressed on top of the covers because he and Nahyuta were compiling their evidence for an overly complicated case until midnight, and when he went upstairs to the living quarters – after nearly a year, he still thinks of it as Dhurke’s, not his – and now, for whatever reason, he is being awoken by Trucy, who really should know what a time zone is at this point. “Hello? Trucy, what the hell--”

“Apollo you’re my brother!”

“Trucy, it’s three am.” Apollo sits up and regrets it. “I don’t know what conversations you’re having over there that – adopting people into your family -- but--”

“Apollo! I’m serious! Your mom is my mom! We’re half-siblings, Apollo!”

“What.” Maybe he’s still asleep. Does it really work to pinch yourself? Is that really a thing? “My – my mom--”

He doesn’t actually know what happened to his mother, just that Dhurke never found her. There are a thousand things that could mean in a country in turmoil.

“She’s my mom! Thalassa Gramarye! We’re siblings, Apollo!”

“Check your email!” That’s Athena’s voice, and some squeaks of a squabble. She probably ripped the phone from Trucy’s hands. “We sent you a copy of your birth certificate!”

“My – my birth certificate?” Apollo rolls onto his feet. There’s a little bit of moonlight spilling in through the windows. It had only recently, last year, occurred to him, after seeing Nahyuta again, that his birth certificate, all of his documentation, was forged. Dhurke didn’t even know his father’s first name. None of it could be real. He’s tried not to think about it since he came to Khura’in, about how he’s basically going to be immigrating back to his home country, the country of his birth, because his passport is built on a forged document, because all of it is, and he can’t in good conscience keep using it. He has a Khura’inese passport now. The birth date listed in it is still made up. “You’ve got to be kidding me with all of this -- if this is a joke -- it’s three am-- where’s my laptop?"

It’s downstairs. He isn’t good at taking these stairs in the dark. They’re slightly different heights halfway down.

“Apollo, we would not do this to you,” Athena says. He believes her. She was in the gallery last May as his family history was laid bare for everyone. She should know well what this means to him.

But then that means – and that’s stupid. Right?

He realizes too late that Nahyuta did not return to the palace and instead passed out at his kitchen table, and no matter how low Apollo keeps his voice, he has already woken his brother up. He remembers Nahyuta sleeping like a log when they were children, but there is so much about Nahyuta he remembers from when they were children that no longer applies, because even free of Ga’ran’s chains, the years apart, with the revolution, gave time for his brother to become someone else, someone who can personally help update prison security because he knows the best ways to break out of them, someone who can throw a knife almost as well as Datz. Someone who awakes at the slightest sound, because that might be the regime’s forces come to arrest them all.

Even if he lives in a palace now. Even if he rules the country now.

Apollo grabs his laptop off the couch. Nahyuta’s pale eyes are open. “What is going on?” he asks.

He lowers the phone from his mouth. “I have a sister.”

He says it automatically, even though he has no confirmation; he has only Trucy and Athena’s words at three am.

Nahyuta does not lift his head off his arms. Apollo can’t see his mouth but the skin around his eyes looks like he might be smiling. He definitely sounds like it. “I am glad you have finally accepted that you may call Rayfa such, but why at this time--”

“No, I mean, blood-related.” It can’t be -- she can’t be. But -- but this would be the cruelest joke to play -- and they wouldn’t. They aren’t like that. “A half-sister. My mother.”

Nahyuta raises his head.

“Apollo? You still there?”

He brings his laptop to the table, where Nahyuta has shifted aside crime scene photographs and copies of testimony to clear a space. He gestures at the lamp, giving Apollo enough time to brace himself for the light. “Okay, I’m checking my email now.” Sure enough, there is one from the main office email, with an attachment, and the subject line a keysmash. Either Athena or Trucy could have written that. “It’s loading… slowly…”

He helps Nahyuta reorganize their evidence while he waits. He wonders how long his brother was awake after Apollo went up at midnight. Maybe he wasn’t ever actually asleep. After about a minute, he returns, scanning what does indeed appear to be a birth certificate. And the names – Thalassa Gramarye, yes, Trucy’s mother – and – Jove Justice –

Apollo slumps down in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “There’s no way – there’s no fucking way--”

“We found it in a box of my grandfather’s things,” Trucy says, breathlessly, but she isn’t shouting like she was. “With my birth certificate, and my parents’ marriage documentation, and yours – it’s got to be real, Polly, it’s got to be! Your bracelet! Your power! Mine’s like it – like how I taught you what to do – it’s a Gramarye thing – the bracelet is our mother’s! There’s a picture of her – I’ll send that – Athena--”

There are more sounds of distant scrambling. Apollo stares at the screen. Apollo Justice. His name is there, Apollo, and Jove, and Thalassa Gramarye –

Nahyuta leans over his shoulder. “Your birth certificate?” he asks. Apollo pushes him away until his hair isn’t falling in his face. “Yes, your father, Jove Justice” – he’s reading it the other way, right to left, because that is how Khura’inese is written – “and Thalassa…”

“Yeah.” Apollo says. He doesn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone now. They probably dropped it.

“Gramarye,” Nahyuta says. “Gramarye, as in…” He presses his hands over his eyes.

Gramarye, as in the trial where they met for the first time in fifteen years. Gramarye, the trial where Nahyuta tried to get Trucy – Apollo’s sister, his sister – convicted of murder.

“Yeah,” Apollo says.

It’s quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind and the creak of the house settling. Or maybe a rat. Probably a rat.

“Now we know your real birthday,” Nahyuta says quietly. He sits on the table, still leaning over the screen to look at it, like he still can’t believe it either. “We’ll have to tell Datz.”

“Now we have proof that I’m an American citizen,” Apollo says. Now he has a sister. That’s hardest to believe. He said it earlier just fine, but now, with proof, with something real, something with those names, Gramarye and Justice, side by side, his tongue freezes. “And my mother’s name -- I have names for both of them. I have…”

A sister. A sister. He had his sister for two years and then he left to help his brother. When Phoenix told him about Magnifi’s death, that was the death of Apollo’s grandfather. And when he told him about Trucy’s mother being shot -- that was Apollo’s mother’s death, too.

His heart sinks. She’s dead. He can’t meet either of them. He saw the last moments of life of his father by blood; he reunited with his father who raised him in time for him to die; he found his mother to know that she already died without having to look for that information.

A faint noise arises from somewhere to his right and a few seconds later he realizes it’s voices through the phone. “Polly! Polly! Did you just abandon us? Apollo!”

“Sorry,” he says. “I was talking to Nahyuta.”

“Oooh, three am, you sounded so mad like I woke you up, and now you’re like, nah, I was hanging out with my brother instead.”

“We were working on a case, and you did wake me up--”

“Oh! If he’s your brother then is he also my brother?”

“Maybe? You’d have to ask him. He says that his sister is my sister, so I guess it would work backwards…”

Nahyuta is frowning. He probably can piece together what Trucy’s question was by Apollo’s answer, and his expression might either mean that he doesn’t want Trucy as his sister (unlikely) or that he is once again remembering how harsh he was in her trial and grappling with the fact that she is not only his brother’s dear friend, but now his own sister (much more likely).

“Does Mr Wright know this?”

“Yeah, he was around when I found the stuff. He hasn’t really said much. Maybe he’s trying to figure out whether he’s your dad or not, since he’s my dad and I’m your sister so you’re sort of, like -- maybe?”

Apollo wants to say that historically, being his father is something like a curse, but he wouldn’t say it to Trucy, who also has a dead father, or in front of Nahyuta, when that shared wound has not yet closed. (Apollo got the closest thing to closure. Nahyuta’s last conversation with him was while they stood as enemies in the detention center. Rayfa never knew him.) “Maybe,” Apollo says, and his mouth is dry.

A second email pops up, again from the office address. “Just sent you a picture!” Athena chimes in. Apollo can picture her leaning over Trucy’s shoulder to shout into the phone, the same way that Nahyuta is leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

“It’s our mom!” Trucy adds. Our. Our mother. Apollo doesn’t know what to do with that phrase.

The picture that loads is of a woman with braided light brown hair, wearing a white dress. Her hands are visible in the image, and around her wrists, two golden bangle bracelets. Two bracelets just like one that sits on Apollo’s wrist. He tears his eyes from his mother’s face -- his mother, his mother -- and looks at Nahyuta, whose eyes are on Apollo’s bracelet as well. “Oh,” Apollo says. He tabs over to google for an old Troupe Gramarye poster, to compare the face of Magnifi’s daughter there, to the photo with the bracelets. Like he expects to see it’s a different person. Like he expects somewhere, this will fall apart, and it hasn’t. It doesn’t. Trucy is saying something and the words don’t make it from his ears to his brain.

“Trucy,” he says, and she falls silent. “Can you give me… like, an hour to process this, and then I’ll call you back?”

“O-okay.” She doesn’t sound happy. Apollo’s heart sinks further. He hopes she’ll understand that this isn’t anything against her.

“You know we have a trial in the morning,” Nahyuta says.

“Yeah, and our strategy from the start was already just ‘fuck it’.” Apollo uncovers the phone. Trucy and Athena both know that’s always their court strategy, but he doesn’t want them to rag on him some more. “All right. Talk to you in a bit, Trucy.”

“See ya, Polly.”

Apollo pushes the laptop away and rests his forehead on the table. “How can one family have so many secrets?”

“The Gramaryes?” Nahyuta asks. He knows the tangled web woven beneath the surface. He saw it in the trial. Apollo doesn’t know what additional else he knows, how much he researched -- knowing Nahyuta, back when Trucy was on trial, he looked up the transcript of the trial that’s ten years ago now, and the ones three years ago.

“The Gramaryes, and -- our family -- every family I’m a part of, murder and -- secret siblings and -- long-lost siblings, and -- more murder.” Even if Nahyuta read everything on-record, he wouldn’t know how Thalassa died. “I just wanted a normal life, I -- god, I couldn’t have been normal even if my father wasn’t killed, or even if Dhurke found my mother, if I grew up with her family I--”

“Would have been a magician, or a singer, perhaps,” Nahyuta said. “Could, perhaps, have grown up with your younger sister.”

Athena would be able to figure out what he is feeling when he says it, but Apollo doesn’t have much to go on. Nahyuta can keep his voice level too easily. Apollo can guess, though: sorrow, longing, regret.

“I wouldn’t be here now, though,” Apollo says. “Wouldn’t have known you, and Dhurke, and--”

Couldn’t have helped you. Couldn’t have saved you. Nahyuta glances away. He must be thinking the same.

“I wish Dhurke could’ve seen this, at least,” Apollo adds. “That sending me back would, eventually, let me find my family. And that--” He stops. Something has crawled its way back to the front of his memory, something that he blocked out that then disappeared behind more important things. “Oh, god.”

“What?”

He must sound horrified, because Nahyuta looks incredibly concerned. “Dhurke met Trucy, when he -- when he came over with Maya” -- if he phrases it like that it’s easier to not have to relive the moment the truth hit him -- “to get the Founder’s Orb, and -- god, he was like, ‘hey, son, nudge nudge, this girl would be good bride material’ -- eurgh.”

“Ugh.” Nahyuta puts his face in his hands. “Why did he have to be like--”

“Dhurke, why?”

It’s a question Apollo asked a lot -- it’s a question he still asks -- but it usually hurts more than this. Even if he does still sort of want to die.

“By the Holy Mother, there had better be an earthquake at the palace,” Nahyuta says, “from Father deservedly turning over in his tomb.” Nahyuta pauses. “Isn’t she seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

Nahyuta sighs. “Too young for that. And too young to be framed for murder.” He doesn’t say much about that trial, always gets a sick guilty look on his face whenever they skirt close to the topic. “Perhaps he meant she seemed a good kid and would be a welcome addition to our family, which is in itself a new sort of irony, that she already is, no marrying her off to one of us necessary.” He isn’t looking at Apollo, clearly pondering something else too. “You know,” he adds after a minute, “Mother was only nineteen when she had me. Ga’ran… used that against Dhurke, at the trial. She could claim that she was still young and naive and easily-duped, even though Dhurke was only twenty then. And twenty-two at the trial.” His eyes are vacant. “They were too young.”

Apollo hadn’t done the math on that. “She was only twenty-one when her sister tried to kill her.” When he was twenty-one, he was studying for the bar. When Nahyuta was twenty-one, he was already under Ga’ran’s thumb trying to protect his little sister. “I wonder how old my mother was. When she had me, and when -- when she lost her husband.” Too young to have lost so much, without question. “And when she died.”

Nahyuta doesn’t ask how Apollo knows that she’s dead. They sit in silence, looking at her picture. His mother. His half-sister. Sister.

“Apollo Gramarye,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

Nahyuta doesn’t respond, but after about a minute, he starts laughing. “What?” Apollo asks. Is he finally having the breakdown that probably, honestly, he probably needs to have? Is Apollo the one losing his mind? Did they both lose it?

“That damned murderer -- the magician, Retinz, Reus -- what karmic justice he faced.” Nahyuta shakes his head, still chuckling. “He was convinced that, though his plots were exposed, he had won against the Gramaryes, because he fooled Trucy and she needed you to save her. But you are a Gramarye by blood just as well as she. So he did, ultimately, lose to the Gramaryes.”

“Huh.” Apollo only vaguely remembers Reus saying that. He just remembers how relieved he was that Trucy was safe. He just remembers the sick feeling in his stomach listening to Nahyuta. His sister, and his brother. What a shitshow: the Gramaryes, the Khura’inese royals, and the two families together. “Man, what were the odds? That my law career would start like that, that I’d end up at the right place--”

“The Wright place.”

“It wasn’t a pun, Nahyuta, shut up. -- The place where I just… my sister’s there. I end up working for the man who adopted my sister. What are the odds?”

“I think the Holy Mother puts people where they need to be,” Nahyuta says. “You, to find them -- you, to find us again.”

“She was definitely putting me through some trials, there, at the start.”

“Perhaps this is another sign from Her.” Apollo shrugs when Nahyuta does not immediately elaborate on the thought. “That your sister has discovered this, now. It’s been nearly a year you have been in Khura’in, helping me, has it not? Perhaps this is a sign that you are due to return and spend time again with your other family.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is.

His sister.

“Once you finish your current docket of cases,” Nahyuta adds.

Apollo punches him in the shin.

Please leave your message after the tone, and I will return your call.

“Hey, Thalassa, it’s Phoenix. So, funny story about the kids…”

#lmk if you don't wanna be tagged but i wanted to give credit where credit is due #for a great concept and a few lines of dialogue that i've borrowed for this #ace attorney #anyway i have a reading to do for class tomorrow now i think #i started this at 9:30 this morning and then had class and lunch and then started writing again #and basically haven't stopped writing since #ace attorney bullshit tag #roddy fanfics #this was meant to be funny but also became partially a character study on trucy and apollo's fucked-up family lives

23 notes · View notes

unprofessional-bard · 3 years

Text

Chapter 13 - The Climax

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: angst and smut – jealous/angry sex, joel getting the ride of his life?

Summary: "Are you accusing me of something?" // "Should I?"

Word Count: 5.868

Author's Note: I suck at tagging so bad I keep forgetting 😭 I'm sorry people if you wanna get removed I understand djsnjdndjd (or if you wanna get tagged lmk!) + please check out the previous chapter if y'all haven't it flopped 💔

Enjoy!

gif credits: gwynbleidd

"Good morning," You walked into the kitchen quietly, the presence of Ellie putting a smile to your face. She hadn't been stopping by as often as she used to – it didn't take you too long to figure out something was wrong.

"Hey Dolly," She smiled back where she sat, a tense expression on her face.

"Mornin'," Joel smiled briefly from where he was cooking scrambled eggs. "D'you sleep well?"

After the bath, you two were quick to move to the bed. Joel had immediately turned you to your side and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck and peppering small kisses along your soft spots and shoulder. After what had happened a few hours prior, you neither wanted to leave his arms nor stop feeling his warm lips on your skin. That encounter was too close and it had you winded– trembling softly in his arms. The both of you were too worn out to make love, to feel one another and make sure you were still there.

"Yeah," You walked over to where you normally put your coffee, only to remember you didn't have any left. "Ah, dammit."

"Those traders haven't passed by in so long, hope they're doin' okay," Joel commented as you silently agreed and dragged your feet to where Ellie was.

"How're you holdin' up? Heard you got some action last night," Ellie eyed you curiously as you sat down across her.

"A bit shaken, but I've been worse," You replied as you rubbed your eyes sleepily. After briefly telling Ellie about the details from last night, Joel served you and himself scrambled eggs: "You're not eating?"

"I had some breakfast at Jesse's," She shrugged and got up, offering Joel her seat silently. "Anyways, I gotta run. Just wanted to check up on you."

"Thanks, Els," You beamed at her. Then, there were a couple knocks at the front door.

You tried to get up, but Joel was quicker: "I got it, don't tire yourself."

Tsk, you rolled your eyes with a small smirk: "It's not like I haven't broken my ribs before."

————

"Just rest up for me," Joel replied and opened the door to an unpleasant sight.

"Hey Joel," It was Kiki. She had a bag hanging from her arm, and she was also wearing a pink and white floral dress that went down to her knees and covered her shoulders. She also had a big floppy hat that covered most of her face. Without waiting for him to react, she began talking: "I just wanted to say thank you– for last night. To (Y/N), too, but I imagine she's resting. Here..."

She proceeded to pull out a jar of coffee beans from the bag: "I had this for awhile but couldn't adjust to the taste, so I figured I should give 'em to someone who lives off'a these..."

Joel carefully studied the jar in his hand after taking it from her: "Well, uh. That's very kind of you."

"Don't mention it," Her smile spread innocently. "As I said, take this as a thank you for saving Ward's life. I know you like your coffee."

Joel gave her an odd look: "I didn't save his life. (Y/N) did. You should be thanking her."

"That's what I said! She must be resting, so tell her I gave this would you?" And with that, plus an enthusiastic wave of her hand, she said Bye! and skipped down the porch and left, leaving Joel dumbfounded.

————

"Who is that?" You asked Ellie when you couldn't hear what was going on.

"I can't tell," She said nervously, which let you know she was lying.

You wanted to reply, or to get up to make your point, but you just kept quiet and stared at the side of her face for a while instead. She kept looking around and at her feet, anywhere but your face, the muffled conversation dying out in the background for you: "What's bothering you sweetheart?"

That came to the teen as a shock, which made her look at you: "Nothing. I just– I have a lot on my mind."

"Okay, you know I'm always here if you ever wanna talk," You immediately decided not to press her and leave it at that.

"Yup," She gave a brief nod and started playing with her fingers – the nervous Ellie gesture.

You really worried for her, stuck between changing the subject or asking once more, hoping she'd tell you what wad wrong; ultimately you decided to change the subject: "How's Jesse? Haven't seen him around in awhile."

"He's fine." A brief answer, which didn't make her stop playing with her fingers. She still wasn't looking at you.

"Ellie..." You spoke softly but also with a little seriousness to draw her attention, and you did. You gave her a stern but worried look: "Talk to me?"

She turned to you as she chewed on her bottom lip, eyes wide. Just when she opened her mouth, you heard the door close. Joel walked in with a jar in hand, a displeased look spread across his face. Ellie took the interruption as her chance to leave: "Well, I'll see you later."

You nodded, Joel murmuring his own goodbye at her. He put the jar on the counter island– it was coffee, but he didn't seem happy: "Today is our lucky day, huh?"

Your attempt at making him say what was bothering him (without directly asking so he'd open up a little more easily) wasn't entirely fruitless. He placed his hands on the counter, leaned forward silently with a leg in front of the other.

"Kiki gave this as thanks for saving Ward. I'm guessin' you'll skip coffee?" He sounded more harsh than he intended to, but even though you had gotten used to it, it still stung. You didn't reply, instead turned and started eating your eggs with a sour expression. Joel stood like that for awhile, staring at you, then pushed himself off: "Yeah, I'm skipping too."

This made you stop chewing and give him a look that said what did you just say? He ignored it and sat across you, grabbing his fork to start nibbling at his food. This time it was you who stared: "What are you doing?"

"Having breakfast with my wife?"

"Joel." You spoke sternly, warning him. "You haven't had coffee in days, go drink some."

"I don't want to drink that coffee."

You slowly got up: "Don't be like that, I know you want to. I'll make some if–"

"No, (Y/N), I don't want to drink that coffee." He insisted a little harshly.

"What's wrong with you?" You replied coolly, giving him a confused and slightly angry glare where you stood.

"That's how you sound like when you don't want to get involved with Kiki." He spoke calmly, going back to his normal self.

You stared at him, the stern look making the lines of your face deeper and your features sharper. He had a point, several, even; and you felt embarrassed like a 5 year-old.

"Now I'm going to drink that coffee and enjoy it like I usually do, not because it's from Kiki but because it's coffee." He got up and took slow steps towards you, he also had a stern look on his face. "After last night, I'm thankful for Ward, but that didn't make me like 'im more. Same for Kiki. You may not like them– I don't like 'em, but they're of Jackson now. We gotta find a way to get along when it's necessary."

I don't like 'em.

Something had to have happened for him to say that, because Joel wasn't a person to openly dislike people unless he had a solid reason. Not anymore.

You remained silent as he brushed past you, grabbed the jar and began making his coffee. He was right, and the expression on your face was more than enough to let him know that you knew that.

You didn't talk to each other until you left for patrol. Brief goodbye's were exchanged as you made your way to the eastern gate. Maria changed you and Ward with Astrid and Cedric's watchtower shift: she had offered to put you both off schedule, but you said you could handle lighter duty.

What you liked about Ward was that he didn't talk too much. At first, it was worse– too quiet that you worried if it was because of you. He started opening up bit by bit, feeling more comfortable each week. It was casual conversation between you both now, but still he was mostly quiet which you appreciated.

After talking briefly about last night, thanking each other a few rounds, you spent the patrol thinking about everything: Ellie, Joel, Kiki...

Before you knew it, the sun was gone. A gorgeous mix of dark purple, orange and everything in between coloured the sky and reflected down onto the streets. Tonight was an adults only event Maria had been arranging for the past few weeks, and you weren't planning on going– neither was Joel, which made you feel slightly bad about what you were about to do next.

After handing your rifles to the usual keeper, Paul, you walked with Ward and once you neared the split on the road, you grabbed his shoulder briefly: "Let me get you a drink."

Ward, with bewildered eyes, blinked: "What?"

"Come on– look," You put your hands on your hips awkwardly. "I feel like I've been a complete dick towards you, so I just want to make up for that and find a way to, y'know, get along better." Ward looked around, still shocked, then back at you after a moment but remained quiet. You tried one last time: "You know Maria's got that event going on, but if you don't want to, I can't make you, I'll be out of your hair–"

"No," He blurted out. "I'd– I'd like that. I... I haven't exactly been the nicest either, so. You're right, let's go."

"Alright," You offered a small smile and started walking towards the bar.

The bar was more spacious than the Tipsy Bison, with two wide counters across each other and more tables where twice as many people can be fit inside. The wooden walls and the Wyoming-esque interior with a hint of Texas created a cozy atmosphere. It was one of those days when Tommy was available and serving the drinks personally, which added to the place's aesthetic.

What you didn't expect to see when you set foot inside however, was Joel's back to you at the counter to the right, with a woman sitting in front of him. Scanning the room you were going to walk into was second nature to you, so the sight was quick to stun you in place.

A couple of people greeted you as they passed by, and you waved back while trying to make out who was sitting across him... but you already knew.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" Eugene put a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, Ward. How y'all doin'? Come on, let me get you both a drink..."

There was rush in his movements as he walked you to the counter to the left by your arm, claiming your attention for a brief moment as your mind raced.

Kiki was sat across Joel, and their body language was more than enough to erupt jealousy and anger from deep within you, your breath hitching. Eugene pressed down on your shoulders to sit you on the stool as he whispered: "Relax."

He pushed a glass of what you assumed to be whisky in front of you across the wooden counter and you immediately downed it at one go, the liquid burning down your throat and fueling the fire beginning to light alive inside you.

Ward, noticing the change in your behaviour, eyed the people around you but also met the same fate as you: The sight of his wife with your husband immediately sending jolts of rage through his veins.

Tommy approached the three of you then, with his usual grin: "Dolly, Ward, what a nice surprise."

"Yeah," Keeping a calm posture, you offered a fake smile, while Ward was obviously fuming.

Your in-law's confused, blue eyes shifted towards where Joel and Kiki were for a second. He sighed in a defeated manner, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly unaware of his brother's presence in the crowded space. He leaned in so Ward didn't hear: "Is that what you two've come to? Makin' the other jealous?"

"What? No!" You hissed. "Wait, why did you say that?" Tommy suddenly looked like he realised he made a mistake, exhaling deeply. You bit the inside of your bottom lip and nodded ironically. Seems there was still a long way to go to make Joel open up to you a bit more easily.

————

Joel walked into the bar in hopes of finding his younger brother, trying not to attract too much attention to himself as he made his way to the counter on the right.

"Hey Joel," Mike was behind the bar serving drinks. "Surprised to see you here. Where's (Y/N)?"

"Hey," He tilted his head at the slightly younger man. "She's at the walls. I'm just lookin' for Tommy, heard he was here."

"Oh, he just left, but he'll be back in a few. Why don't you sit, let me fix you something?"

"Eh, fine," Joel debated for a brief moment but ultimately placed himself on the empty stool he was leaning over. Mike pushed a glass of whiskey in front of him and they chatted briefly, before a hand gently wrapped itself around his arm. A small hand which made him tense up.

"Hey, Joel– Mike," Kiki greeted the men with a smirk. She looked a lot more different than she did that morning: She was wearing low-waist jeans which hugged her frame tightly, on top of that she was wearing a light gray, deep V neck t-shirt – In the morning, she looked like she was on her way to church, now she looked like a woman who worked for a fashion magazine.

Don't get him wrong, Joel didn't find her attractive– or anyone for that matter ever since he had laid eyes on you years ago in that house with water. He just took your and Eugene's words into consideration then, and prepared himself accordingly.

"Hey," Mike greeted the woman louder than Joel did. She proceeded to make herself comfortable on the stool to the left of Joel.

"What're you fellas up to?" There was something different about her face, on her eyes... had she made her own eyeshadow?

She and Mike chatted briefly while he fixed up a drink for her, then left the two by themselves when more townsfolk came in. Joel was deep in thought and uncomfortable– where the hell is Tommy?

"So," Kiki gave her best charming smile as she leaned her arm on the counter with a relaxed posture. "How'd you like the coffee?"

Joel felt a characteristic urge to be left alone: her body language and tone was more than enough to prove you right. Dolly was right: "I didn't drink it, we already had coffee."

"Oh," The disappointment was unfortunately not enough to make her back off. "You know what occurred to me later on? I should'a kept the coffee and invited you over for some–"

"Kiki," Joel faked a smile and turned his body towards her on his seat. "I said I 'preciate the coffee... I know what you're doing."

"Oh? What am I doing, Joel?"

There it was– the attempt at being seductive. Joel couldn't even begin to try to imagine how things would've played out if you weren't in the picture, and with her advances, the eldest Miller felt his blood beginning to boil with protective, cool anger: "You know exactly what, and it ain't workin'. Never did."

"Not even a little?" She made those stupid doe eyes at him that she's been making.

Joel, despite the anger in his tone, kept his bitter smile and relaxed posture to not attract any attention on them: "I am a married man. Happily at that, and I have no intentions of breaking that bond over the likes o' you."

His words seemed to have stung her, and he actually saw her grow a little pale. Good. He felt his pissy behaviour settle in, the one he tried to suppress after settling in Jackson– his life wasn't as cruel as it was back in Boston, so he had to be kinder and a little less brutally honest about what he had in mind.

"Likes of me, huh?" She kept her composure, her eyes now cold as ice.

"Yeah, seem to forget you're married yourself. Makes a feller worry..." A cruel, bitter grin on Joel's face made Kiki appear like a hissing cat. "You're makin' my wife uneasy– you're makin' me uneasy, so I'll give you a warning: Keep ya distance. Next time I won't be as polite."

Just then, Mike appeared with a new glass of whisky for Joel. The ex-smuggler thanks him with a straight face and downs his drink at one go, the booze beginning to make him tipsy and bolder by the minute.

"I'm making her uneasy?" Kiki suddenly replied with confidence, shooting a pointed look across the bar. Joel turned his head to find you and your hand on Ward's shoulder, his heart dropping to his stomach. "See, Joel," He turned his head back to face her. "I wouldn't exactly do you like tha–"

Without a warning, a hand he immediately recognised grabbed his jaw, twisted his head to the left, and his lips were suddenly occupied by the unmistakable pair of yours.

You went as far as to indicate that you were about to shove your tongue down his throat, something warmer than the skin of your hand burning into the skin of his jaw as you took his breath away with your kiss.

"I'm going home." You stated simply, looking into his eyes with an expression which sent a shiver down Joel's spine, then giving an even worse look at Kiki. You were pissed.

He watched, completely forgetting about Kiki and everyone else's presence as you stormed off to the exit. By the time he snapped out of his shock, Tommy had walked up to him, whispering: "You're in deep."

Joel gave his brother a confused look, immediately got up, while Tommy glanced at Kiki with his brows knitted: "Some'n funny?"

Joel looked back to find the woman in question smirking in a satisfied manner. The older Miller felt his fists ball up into fists, but he made the right choice of going after you instead of making a scene.

————

"I found what you were askin' for, by the way." Tommy suddenly changed the subject. "When I went out the other day."

Your face was quick to soften at his words: "What?"

Tommy proceeded to pull out a small, black box from his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal two wedding rings in perfect condition. He had asked you a few weeks ago about whether you two were gonna put a ring on the other, that he had seen a jewelry store some miles outside of Jackson and that he could look around for a pair of whatever he could find.

"I don't mind, honestly, but that would make Joel really happy... and that makes me real happy." You had smiled.

"Ever the romantic, my brother. A'right, I'll keep an eye out next time I go."

You took one out of the box carefully, your eyes going a little shiny and soft as Tommy added: "Came back from there a few hours ago, found these rings but they may not match your size, they're a li'l big."

"Tommy," You gave him a soft, quite gasp as you studied the ring between your tumb and index finger. "Thank you, I–"

"Of course," He smiled sincerely and placed the box in front of you carefully.

You held the ring in your hand for awhile, brows slowly drawing back together as you felt tenderness turn into hurt, and hurt turn into anger. You were not going to let another woman get her hands anywhere near Joel, and you were determined. It was now or never, the consequences be damned.

You glanced at Ward to see him still fuming, nothing like how he was this morning. You put a hand on his shoulder: "I'll handle this."

"Don't make a scene!" Eugene hissed as you jumped down the stool, put the ring on as best as it fit, and started stomping your way towards Joel.

Once you reached home, you were breathing heavily through your nose. Hands on your hips, you whispered to yourself: "What the hell am I doing?"

Unsure of what to do, standing across the windows, the sofa and bookshelf to your left in the living room, you suddenly heard the door open and slam back shut: "What was that?"

You turned around with a half angry, half something else Joel couldn't quite put his finger on expression spread on your face. He was quick to walk into the living room as he spoke, keeping a healthy distance from you while crossing his arms.

"Go ahead," Joel challenged as you eyed him even angrier. "You did that for a reason, you're pissed. Wanna tell me why?"

"I was making a point," You shrugged.

"Yeah, you made a point alright," Joel nodded. "Gave her the satisfaction of knowing that she's poisoned us."

"Poisoned?" You raised your brows, mocking.

"Don't you start," Joel warned. "You know damn well what she's been doin' and has done so far."

"You're angry at me 'cause I was right all along?" You made a face, tone harsh and matching his, arms spread.

"I ain't angry!" He groaned, proving himself wrong. "Just 'cause you were right and I took some time seein' that don't mean you get to piss me off with your new drinkin' buddy." He spoke loudly, clearly and with that look he used to have more often before Jackson.

This time your eyebrows rose with a what did you just say to me? and an oh is that so? air to them, the look in your eyes saying it all. You remained silent, hands settling on your hips slowly, as you gave him some time to realise the words he's said.

"And just what were you doing with your little drinkin' buddy?" You mimicked his accent in the last two words.

"This ain't about–"

"Like shit it isn't," You huffed sharply. "You told me to get along, since I'm the one who's poisoned–"

"Do not twist my words, (Y/N)," Joel warned, he took a small step towards you.

"Only when you stop misplacing excuses," You gave him a bitter, not at all sincere smile, then turned around to face the windows again.

"(Y/N)." He said and took another step forward, while you stood your ground. They weren't threatening, they were instinctive, almost childishly curious like a little boy wanting to stick a branch into the hornet's nest.

"What? What do you want me to say?" You sighed, exasperated. "You want me to apologise for telling a woman who's hitting on my husband to fuck off? 'Cause I won't."

"I don't!" He groaned. "I was telling her to back off before you pulled your little stunt!"

"What?" Your voice was quick to go back to normal.

"She was hittin' on me, y'know what I did? Gave her a damn warning." He leaned in a little, keeping himself at arms length. "Then she makes me look over, what do I see? My wife with the bastard who probably wants her all to himself since his own wife won't look him in the eye."

You were a little stunned, the series of emotions coursing through your body pinning you in place. Then, the jealous and bitter side came on top.

"Are you accusing me of something, Joel?"

"Should I?"

"Oh fuck you," You spat before you thought.

You pushed him, not with too much force but just enough to make your frustration clear, making him fall onto the couch. You went to take off your pants as he tried to wrap his head around what was going on, but then you remembered the ring on your finger and the other in your pocket. You pulled it out and threw the box into his lap: "Guess you don't want this."

He quickly opened the box to find a gold wedding ring, then his eyes went to your hand to find the same one on your finger, which was now closed into a fist. Guilt washed over his face, but before he could react, you started taking your pants off: "We're not getting anywhere with this pointless banter."

You didn't give him a chance to reply and quickly straddled his hips, making him groan when you grinded on his cock. You then proceeded to undo his belt as his hands grabbed at your thighs, but you growled: "No touching."

"What–?"

"If you touch me, Joel," You looked straight into his eyes with a terrifying glare. "I'll leave."

His hands dropped too quickly to the sides of his legs, his cock hardening at your change of behaviour. His anger now accompanied confusion as the tip of your noses brushed while you looked down and got rid of his belt, throwing it somewhere behind you with a loud clink.

He wanted to speak, but the logical part of him knew that you both were in it too deep to resolve matters simply by talking. You were angry, he was angry and now you both shared a possessiveness with it, which made both of your bloods boil with a new sense of anger.

Christ, he thought. Fuckin' rings... It was the moment Joel knew he'd choke on his guilt for awhile, but also knew that things were probably going to be better between you two.

You unzipped his pants, and grabbed him through his briefs, making him choke back a moan. He threw his head back and made to speak, but you firmly grabbed his jaw in your hand, hushing him: "Yes, I am jealous, there you have it."

You spoke with so much irritation, Joel didn't dare tease to ease the tension. This had never occurred between you two, so instead of trying to interfere, he let you have your way almost instinctively: "I'm gonna make it your problem, since I can't make it hers."

Joel's anger dissipated a bit at your words, went as far as to bring the edges of his lips upwards, but never got the chance to actually do something when you suddenly pulled him out of his restraints, pumped him several times and sunk down on his length after moving your panties to the side. Loud groans left both of your lips simultaneously, Joel throwing his head back when you grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the side of his abdomen with the other, bunching his t-shirt in your palms.

You started riding him, rocking your hips back and forth with an urgency and roughness Joel had neither felt nor seen before, and he was having an incredibly hard time keeping his hands to himself. Once he let a groan slip at the way your walls hugged his cock greedily, Joel couldn't stop himself from groaning and moaning some more.

You on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with romance or love-making. This was fucking — wild, ruthless and animalistic, a primal side to both of you unleashed because some woman hit on Joel. Plus, his moans didn't help your case, it truly was the most wonderful sound in the world.

He didn't dare admit it, fearing that you might stop by some chance –even for a second– but he enjoyed every single second of you fucking him. A pleasure that could've been explored with less fury, probably; but the said fury just made Joel harder, if that was even possible.

You grunted when you repositioned yourself on his lap and started slamming down on his length, grabbing onto his chest and shoulders just the way he liked it.

"(Y/N)," Joel reached out for your waist, hips– anywhere that was you, but you grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the sofa: "Fuck–"

You moaned at the way he looked, which was absolutely wrecked. You started grinding your hips faster, fucking him into the couch. His cock poked deliciously through you each time you rocked down, which made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You then put your arms around his neck for support, the wet sounds making the both of you feverish.

"You're killing me, (Y/N), please–" He pleaded. You both knew that he could've easily gotten what he wanted, but the way he was willingly doing what you told him– the way he didn't want you to leave didn't escape you, the grip of your pussy driving him absolutely wild.

"What?" You moaned and proceeded to take off your shirt along with your bra. Not slowing down and leaning forward, Joel felt himself go weak at the sight of your breasts and hardened nipples, feeling his patience shatter.

"Let me touch you–" He spoke so quickly that you almost missed it. You leaned into the crook of his neck then, breasts brushing against his hairy chest and breath blowing down hot on his ear.

It was then, when you shamelessly moaned into his ear and kissed his neck, the band finally snapped and his hands wrapped around you. One arm went around your waist, while the other went to your back, hand holding you down by your shoulder. You let out a louder moan when he grabbed you like that, then bit the skin over your collarbone and started slamming into you.

"Fuck!" It was your turn into an absolute mess, the way his hips smacked against your ass echoing in the room driving you mad. He kissed the places he bit expertly, and you pushed yourself impossibly closer, wanting more, more, more of him.

"I should make you jealous more often– shit," Joel growled into your hair as he kept fucking up into you.

"Don't you fucking dare," You growled in return, and tugged at his hair, which suddenly made him stop.

He got up slightly, turned you to the side and pushed you down on the couch, then pushed his pants down a little more. He looked into your eyes all the while, then began pistoning his hips again. He held onto your shoulder and waist as he leaned down to kiss you, but a slight tilt of your head you made him go for your neck. This made him pull your legs up higher and wrap them around his waist, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips while you raked your nails down his shoulders, back and ass. He somehow seemed to go deeper and deeper with each thrust, which made the pitch of your voice rise.

"Fuuck," You mewled when he bit your neck, losing your mind over how rough he was fucking you.

"Yeah? This what you wanted doll?" He grunted into the crook of your neck and grabbed your ass with one hand, while the other remained on your shoulder. You didn't answer, already too lost in the pleasure to utter a word, the tension in your body ready to snap. You felt sore, too – you hadn't felt this sore in a long time.

He fucked you until a sudden wave of anger washed over you, which made you push him off onto his back and get on top of him again, throwing the cushions onto the floor to make more space for your bodies.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but you settled for grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head against the armrest as you, once more, started riding him.

"Shit," He groaned, eyes closed. You felt him struggle in your grasp as you rode him with a fast and brutal pace, moaning or whimpering as you also closed your eyes and focused entirely on how his cock felt like he was going to split you in half.

"I'm gonna– Fuck, (Y/N), I'm gonna cu–"

You let out a loud moan and let go of his wrists: "Come– come inside–"

"What–?" Joel's eyes shot open as he pinned you down by your hips as soon as his wrists were free.

"Fuck, Joel, come inside me," You repeated urgently, which made him jerk his hips up. You threw your head back and groped at your breasts, making Joel sit up.

"You sure?" He wrapped his arms around you tightly and slammed you down while thrusting up. His tone had a different type of possessiveness to it, accent thick and voice deep with lust.

"Yes!" You cried out and craned your neck back, allowing him to suck and bite there.

"Fuck–" He growled against your skin and went to play with your clit, rubbing and drawing circles on it, panting like a wild animal – very much like you. "Say it."

"Joel–" You mewled as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and leaned into his ear. "Come inside me, please."

Finally and for the first time, Joel came inside you, letting out a broken moan when your cunt clenched down on him, milking the length of his cock as he emptied his load into your depths.

Three, four and five more thrusts along with delicate but firm strokes on your clit later, you also came undone and hard. Your whole body shattered into pieces above him, making you grab onto the armrest and lean down slowly.

Both of you panted, voices pitched a little. The both of you couldn't stop the small moans even after you began calming down, the sensitivity and stimulation nailing both of you in place. Joel managed to put an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders, while you rested your head against his chest, his heart beat loud and clear.

"Goddamn," He let out something between a chuckle, huff and a wheeze after a few minutes. When you didn't respond, he tilted his head to see your face, only to find you fast asleep on his body, his cock still inside you.

Your face looked so relaxed and peaceful, Joel didn't dare move for a time, carefully pulling out his cock and hissing quietly when his cum dripped down from your entrance to his shaft. He wanted to keep going, only if you weren't tired...

He carefully got up with you in his arms, felt you wake briefly as he carried you upstairs and laid you down on the bed; after debating a long time about whether he should eat you up where you slept or not, he ultimately decided to clean you up and lay down next to you...

...Unaware of the catastrophic event that was going to take place tomorrow.

————

tagging: @assinteractions @sherry-212 @joelsgeetar @spideysimpossiblegirl @peachymelon69

317 notes · View notes