#more like thought process and clumps

[simpjaes]

take the back-seat. (p.js & s.jy)

What’s the point in being a third wheel if Jake can’t watch anyway? or the one where jay lets jake watch him get his dick wet.

minors do not interact, otherwise― pls reblog my works

PARING ―  jay x afab reader | jake sim x afab reader

WC ―  8.5k

TAGS ―  exhibitionist jay, voyeur jake, dangerous driving (do not do this), jealousy, mentions of cleaning up clumped cum in a gas station bathroom lmao

A/N ― what’s that? you’ve read this before??? yeah that’s bc i wrote it on my other blog and now i want to shamelessly read it as jay and jake thanks!!!! (i am the original author: ncteez, this work is not stolen)

– read part two here! 

smut tags under cut::​​​

SMUT TAGS ― THICK DICK JAY, daddy long dick jake, exhibitionism, voyeurism  car sex, dangerous driving, unprotected sex, voyeurism, jerking off lmao, jake being embarrassed and Jay enjoying it, jealous jay, jealous jake

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake was used to it at this point, walking in to see you being, quite literally, fucked senseless by his best friend. Each time he had managed to barge into the room when the two of you were going at it, he was lucky to slip away unnoticed and embarrassed for the both of you. He never brought it up, never really thought about it after the embarrassment died down, and never wondered when it would happen again. 

Still, though, it kept happening. 

What Jake didn’t know is that it was intentional. Both you and Jay were aware each time he would walk into a room, stop in shock, and then shuffle away. It was something Jay enjoyed much more than you did at first but, you’ve grown to love it as well, maybe even more than your boyfriend does.

Jay liked to be almost caught on some days, other days he wanted to be caught. What he wants most of all though? That’s to be watched. To have someone turned on by what he can do to you, to have them feel jealous of him or even stare in awe at how good he is when he fucks you. 

When Jake moved in, Jay hadn’t really thought about letting him watch or even catch the action in the process. Jay’s big thing was doing it at parties or clubs when everyone was too drunk to care if they were watching or not. However, the first time Jake saw them was a genuine accident on both sides.

It happened shortly after Jake moved in with the two of you (for financial purposes of course.) Neither of you had issues with having a roommate, considering the spare room and all. It was a small place but it easily managed the three of you.

Jay was so in his head that day when he had you against the kitchen counter, breakfast plans long forgotten when he noticed that your ass looked particularly good in the lighting. He was so in his head that, well, he might have forgotten that Jake could walk in at any moment.

A clatter of bowls full of ingredients hit the floor as soon as Jay made eye contact with his best friend coming through the doorway, your leg was wrapped around his waist as he was attempting a deep thrust into you. Unfortunately, instead of that deep thrust, he panicked and pulled out of you so quickly that you lost balance and sent the ingredients flying straight to spoilage. Jake just looked at him, then at you, and then at Jay’s very exposed cock that still managed to stay hard under the circumstances before he turned on his heel and paced back to his room.

That was the first and only time it was an accident on Jay’s part. Sure, he was into that kind of thing before Jake moved in, but it didn’t even cross his mind to include Jake in the fun until that day, at least. 

That night, Jay sat you down in the silence of your shared room and discussed that he will most definitely be fucking you in all areas of the apartment regardless of whether Jake was there or not and that he wouldn’t mind in the slightest if he wanted to watch.

You reluctantly agreed in the silence of your bedroom, only after mentioning that you didn’t want to make Jake feel weird about it, that you didn’t want him to act differently around the two of you. But Jay didn’t relent, assuring you that it would be fine.

It was fine for the most part, even you started to get a kick out of it from time to time when you pretended to not see Jake stare for a little longer on some days before leaving the room.

Jake just shakes it off each time though. Because of course, it’s hot. Multiple times a week it’s like he’s walking straight into a porn film before having to excuse himself, and it gets really frustrating sometimes, considering he isn’t the one getting laid. All he gets are glimpses of the two of you, the sounds he hears through the walls, and the utter joy the two of you seem to have despite his presence. 

He’s learned to accept that neither of you seems to care what he sees, so he decides he won’t either.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a warm day in July. All three of you are packing bags and blankets into the back of Jake’s car for the trip ahead, and all three of you are entirely too thankful to whatever god allowed your schedules to line up in order to have a five-day weekend at the beach. It’s a long drive, 12 to 13 hours at least, but Jake and Jay agreed to drive in shifts so that makes it a lot more bearable.

“Did we get everything?” Jay asks as he throws himself into the driver's seat of the car and pats the passenger seat as if it were an honor to be invited to ride shotgun by him.

           You nod to him, admiring his slender fingers against the steering wheel and realizing it has been a long while since he had driven you anywhere. In fact, the two of you mostly walked or got an uber for your outings simply because traffic is a nightmare in this city.

“Wait!” Jake shouts, throwing himself out of the open back door of the car. “I forgot my phone charger!” He exclaims as he runs back to the apartment building door.

And then it’s silent.

“He’s a really good actor.” Jay laughs, looking over at you and then steering his attention to the console buttons so that he can connect your phone for aux privileges. “A true sport, that guy.” He shakes his head this time, flicking his eyes up at you.

It’s pretty normal, actually, for Jay to find reasons to talk about it. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten used to the way he looks at you when he’s clearly thinking of something mischievous, but you always did love what his plans lead to—so you nod at him with a polite smile.

“What’re you getting at?” You say, reaching over to grab his hand in yours. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

           He smirks at you, quickly giving you a kiss on the lips before pulling back to adjust the mirror in front of him, mostly for the purpose of Jake getting a good view later. Jake is a bit shorter than him, so he adjusts the mirror in a way that it won't be dangerous when he starts his driving shift. Plus, this mirror is only half of the fun. Just wait until Jake gets to the beach rental. 

           At this point, Jake is already rushing back out of the door with his charger in hand, smiling at the two of you and mouthing a small ‘sorry’ before placing himself in the back seat. He is quick to make himself comfortable, leaving himself unbuckled as he lays his legs across the seat and sighs out.

“Any song requests?” You peek back at him when Jay reverses the car and carefully listens to the GPS that cuts through the speakers.

“Oh, yeah actually!” Jake claps with another one of his well-loved fond smiles.  

     From that point forward, the three of you take turns picking songs to listen to. The GPS would sometimes interrupt the best part of a song to alert Jay on where he needs to drive, but honestly, it was going quite well.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

           Hours go by when Jay finally pulls into a gas station for a break, the road trip vibes died about two hours after you left the house. Songs were being sung less, the windows were being rolled up so that the air conditioning could take over, and Jake had even fallen asleep with the warm sun hitting his face against the window.

            He was pulled out of his sleep when Jay opened the back door so that the man could quite literally fall out of it. Which is funny, you admit when you head over to slap Jay on the back of the head for it.

“Jake, it’s your turn to drive,” Jay says, already opening the gas tank and preparing to fill it up for him. “If you need a bathroom, I suggest you go now.”

           Jake nods his head and then rubs his eyes so that they can adjust to the bright lights of the gas station. The sun is going down and now he realizes why Jay preferred to drive during the daytime hours. It’s definitely going to be a rough next six hours but, he thinks the sandy beaches and colorful shaved ice will be worth it all in the end. 

He lets out a long and loud yawn before heading inside the gas station to relieve himself and find a couple of snacks. By the time he got to the snack aisle, he crowds up beside you and asks for help in debating on if he wanted salty or sweet.

“You can get both, y’know.” You say, looking up at him with your own handful of snacks for both you and your very hungry boyfriend.

           Jake looks down at you with sleepy eyes and then moves his gaze to the crinkled bags of candies and chips.

“Oh! Sick!” He yells, suddenly very awake. “They got frosted animal crackers! I haven’t had these since I was a kid!”

           You chuckle in endearment at him, nodding at his selection.

“Don’t forget to grab something to drink to wash all of that sugar down.” You clap with him because his joy always seems to seep into your own mood. Still, you were ready to free your hands up from these snacks so the small joyous moment doesn’t last for too long. 

You slink away from him with ease, leaving him to debate on if he wants one packet or two packets of frosted animal crackers as you make your way to the cash register. 

           After purchasing your snacks you’re quick to head back to the car where Jay raises a brow at you when you attempt to get back into the passenger seat.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” He asks, flicking his head to the back seat as if to tell you he wants shotgun. You shrug in response, piling into the back with ease and without question, feeling more comfortable with the space it has to offer anyway.

            But, when Jay finishes gassing up the car, he doesn’t get into the passenger’s seat. He, instead, scoots into the seat next to you and leans forward between the two front seats in order to adjust the mirror a little bit more.

“Fuck yeah.” He says with a snide voice, peeking over at you as he leans back to get himself comfortable. You look at him with curiosity, wondering why the fuck he keeps messing with the mirror.

“What are you scheming? For real this time, tell me.”

           Jay darts his eyes to the window of the gas station to look for Jake, and thankfully he’s still at the cash register paying for his stuff—probably because the dude likes to make conversation and refuses to read the signals of people just wanting to do their job and not hear about what his plans are for this trip. Then he leans in close to you, placing one hand on your thigh and the other against the nape of your neck.

           If anyone else were looking at the two of you, it would look as if he’s about to make out with you—which would be fine, but he isn’t.

“Jake’s not gonna be able to run away this time.” Jay whispers as if the man inside the gas station can hear him. You furrow your brows a bit at his words before smiling with the same evil grin he gives to you.

“And did you not think to ask me if I even wanted to?” You shrug him off, pressing him away from you and turning to face the window, still smiling.

           You’re definitely in on it but this isn’t exactly the safest way to do this. Still, your boyfriend has always been an adventurous one. Plus, you’re still gonna be a brat about it. Jay likes when you’re being difficult, and for the most part, knows you’d genuinely stop him if it were something you didn’t want to partake in.

“Of course you want to, I see the way you watch him when he sees us—” Jay gripes, glaring at you. “He can’t have you, but he can watch.”

           You shrug at him again, acting as if you could care much less about this plan of his, but he can see that glint in your eye and the smile on your face.

“This is why I love you.” He says in a simple voice at the obvious confirmation on your face, and then he looks back to see that Jake is making his way back to the car.

“Don’t you think we should ask him first though? What if he doesn’t want to watch?” You quickly let out, knowing you’re down for the plan but still wanting Jake to be comfortable. 

Jay is quick to shake his head at you. He knows his best friend is a fucking pervert. 

“Relax, he pops a boner every time he sees us.”

           You nod because he definitely does.

“If he says to stop, we can stop, okay?” Jay goes to reassure you again, but the conversation is cut short by Jake parking himself into the driver’s seat with a questionable look towards the two of you.

“No one is going to sit up front with me?”

           Honestly, the way he says it seems so sad that you almost wanna say fuck the plan just to keep him company.

“I want to sit with my girlfriend since I haven’t gotten to in the past six hours?” Jay argues, kicking the back of Jake’s seat playfully.

“Bullshit! You were sitting up here with her the whole time! Who is gonna sit up here and keep me awake?!”

           Jay is very well aware that Jake will definitely be able to stay awake. No question about it.

“I want to look at my girlfriend since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the road for the past six hours. Stop complaining.”

           Jake looks at Jay through the mirror, aware that it’s been positioned differently. Internally, he thanks his friend for not only adjusting the mirror for him, but the seat too. Less work on his part, honestly. 

“You guys are the worst.” He complains, starting up the car and connecting his own phone to the system in order to continue the navigation and music on his own accord.

           Then it’s silent. Jake starts to gently hum songs to himself as he gets into the groove of driving and you are in the back, with your boyfriend close by silently talking about god knows what. Jake feels comfortable despite the fact that he knew he would be the third wheel during this entire trip. Still, he really did think one of you would sit up front to keep him company.

            ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

           Several hours later, Jake begins to feel sleepy again just as Jay wakes up from his own nap. You managed to stay awake the entire time because honestly, it wasn’t exactly easy to fall asleep with Jake up there grabbing into his loud-ass bag of animal crackers.

           You just sat there in silence with your boyfriend using your legs as a pillow as he made his attempts at a comfortable nap, and you could tell he did manage that because of the way he fell asleep with his mouth open. You loved seeing him like this though, comfortable and warm against you. It’s really the only time it’s ever quiet when the two of you are together anyway, so you find the silence in this aspect quite enjoyable.

Typically, Jay is a quiet person. Not when he’s with you though, and certainly not when he’s with Jake. 

           Around you and Jake, he can typically be found forcing an argument about some bullshit he’s decided to be passionate about on that particular day, or perhaps talking shit about other people that, more than likely, didn’t mean to step on his toes. Other times, he’s dirty talking to you with such a booming and confident voice that Jake has no choice but to hear it through the walls.

           Jay isn’t a quiet person ever when he’s within his own friend group, save for when he is asleep and that’s why, when he peeks an eye open and stretches in the cramped space against you, you become hyper-aware of the plan the two of you spoke about earlier.

           You’ve been thinking about it the whole time since Jake started driving actually, realizing that the mirror is positioned in a way that would give him a perfect view of the backseat and the street behind him. All he has to do is adjust his eyes to where he wants the priority to be.

Surely, with Jay awake now, the priorities will change. 

           It’s dark now, rarely passing by another car every ten to twenty minutes you can guess. The music is still silently playing and the GPS is cutting in less and less with the long stretches of highways it has navigated the three of you to.

           The car is smooth, there are no bumps in the road, no clouds in the sky to keep the moonlight from coming in, and no cars to distract Jake from what’s surely going to happen next.

           And you were right. You knew you would be.

“Baby,” Jay lifts up and whispers in your ear, quiet enough to where Jake can’t hear him. “He looks a little tired—” 

           You look over at Jay with warm cheeks, already feeling the excitement and anticipation of what’s to come. He’s always so ready after a nap if you’re being honest.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You confirm to him, a little louder this time. Jake doesn’t falter or look back at the two of you through your hushed conversation though. Instead, he turns his music up a little more so that the two of you can discuss whatever it is you’re whispering about without him intruding.

“Should we wake him up a little bit?” Jay chuckles out through another whisper, already glancing down at your thighs. They’re bare in the loose pajama shorts you chose to wear for the car ride. 

“Yeah?” He asks again, this time reaching over and hooking two fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

           All you do is nod at him because any time he wants it, your body immediately reacts in the way it should. It’s almost like he’s managed to train your body to warm itself up the moment he even suggests sex.

           Jay is very quick to take that nod as the green light to get to work. He palms himself gently with one hand to work himself up and uses the other hand to pull you against him. He makes it obvious that it’s a show when he positions both of you in the middle of the back seat, but doesn’t care if it looks dumb considering Jake likely won't be paying attention to where you’re sitting but, more worried about what it is you’re doing.

           He palms at himself until his cock is restrained against his sweatpants, eyes concentrated on you where his fingers trace back and forth under your waist band. It really doesn’t take much for either of you, the small touch alone always gets you to start squeezing your thighs together.

“Yeah” He raises a brow at you, wanting that last little confirmation from you and glancing down at his bulge beneath his pants. 

You look back at him with an eager and small smile, replacing his hand with yours. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m ready when you are, baby—” He whispers out to you this time, more gently, and more for you than for Jake to eventually notice. Feeling the way your hands softly prod and press against his bulge with a sense of…nervousness.

           You look at him, and then down at his bulge—for some reason, it looks more delicious in a moving car being illuminated by moonlight than it does in your apartment. Jake is barely in your thoughts now when you reach a hand over to pull it out, stroking it little by little until you can hear him gasp quietly to himself at the friction.

           You jerk him off for a few minutes before he reaches over to touch you, only because he knows that you get wetter after you’ve been touching him for a while without any friction of your own—and he’s definitely right about that.

 Side by side, your hand is slowly picking up the pace, circling around his length and twisting your wrist at the head. Only then does he let his hand slide into your shorts, straight down to where you, by now, actually need his fingers. 

He can feel the slick almost instantly when he reaches your folds and firmly presses his palm against your clit. There’s somewhat of a groan that’s pulled out of his throat at that. The act alone is enough to get him hot and bothered, but knowing you’re already so fucking wet only amplifies the way his cock twitches in your hand. 

           Jake doesn’t notice a thing until he hears you breathe out loudly, mostly because Jay didn’t quite enjoy the fact that he hasn’t noticed yet. That sound you just made was solely to get Jake to look, and Jay pulled it out of you by plunging two fingers into you without warning, pressing his palm tight against your clit without warning.  

It sends shivers down your spine, momentarily forgetting the small space you’re restricted by when you kick your legs out only to be met with the resistance of the back of the seats. Jay loves it. The way you spread your legs out at the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching said fingers. 

He picks up the pace, feeling a dribble of his pre-cum spill against your stilled hand on his cock. And then? He glances up into the mirror to note that, yes, Jake is absolutely fucking watching. His sleepy eyes adjusting to the way your hand is wrapped around a cock a bit too thick to let you close your hand around it entirely, and, well, those spread legs, of course. 

And then? Jake shifts his eyes away the second he notes Jay glancing up. 

           Oh. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Jay internally hates the fact that the two of you can be so absolutely shameless like he isn’t even here. That he can and fucking will just have a go at you right in front of him like this when he has nowhere to run, yet, Jake still pretends it’s not happening, even with his eyes practically boring holes into the two of you. 

           Jake turns his music up more now, drowning out the small gasps the two of you are letting out and trying to keep his focus on the road. He can just pretend this isn’t happening, after all, it’s really not his place to like, watch what’s happening.

No matter how much he wants to.

           And when Jay hears the music turn up, he knows that Jake still hasn’t caught on and smirks over at you, plunging a third finger in and watching you gasp a little louder this time. He does it again, with more force, and then again, and again, until you’re almost whining and rolling your hips forward against his fingers so you can receive more pressure. So you, in your own little world, can force his fingers to reach ever deeper inside of you. 

Then, it stops. Your head spins at the emptiness within you when you snap your head to your boyfriend. 

           There’s a low chuckle from Jay’s throat when he pulls his fingers out of you and swipes your hand away from his cock—he leans forward quickly and kisses you. You already feel overheated in this small cramped space, but feeling Jay’s lips against yours right now only makes it feel hotter, especially when he licks against your tongue in a way that shows you how much he wants you.

           You kiss back with the same energy and he knows exactly what it means, just like you. The two of you know exactly what each other’s cues are. When the green lights go and the red lights flash—you’re both entirely in tune every fucking time.

           Jay is quick with his hands, keeping his lips connected with yours when he pulls at you, trying to drag you onto his lap where his cock stands tall and glistening from the precum. You squeak out a small sound at him, turning your back to the front seat and easily throwing your leg over Jay to sit exactly where he wants you.

“Should we let him see more?” He leans in to look at you, but honestly can’t really contain himself from doing it anyway. 

This is the first time he has ever done this sort of thing with you in a car, and it’s the first time Jake has nowhere to run so that he can act like he doesn’t like watching. Jake should be thanking him, honestly. There are no morals at this moment and Jay thinks it may be the hottest thing he’s ever done. 

“I don’t think I can wait—” Jay chokes out now, answering himself when he feels you lean down to kiss against his neck with a humming sound coming from your throat. He’s already grinding up against you and releasing his own groans at this point, unable to ignore the fact that he needs to be inside of you right now, simply because this is his fantasy. 

           He quickly hooks his fingers into the crotch of your loose shorts, pulling both the shorts and panties to the side with ease before pressing up, you match his actions and sink down, feeling his length stretch you open inch by inch. The girth of his cock is always a struggle to fit at such a quick pace, still, he fills you to the brim when you struggle to sit further down. Thrusting up while simultaneously pressing you down by the hips. 

           It feels more desperate this time. Usually, the touching can last for upwards of an hour —but your boyfriend is looking so desperate and so good right now that you can’t really bare to resist him or his harsh thrust into you. Mostly because he always manages to make you feel just as fucked up as he does in any given situation. Enough to forget where you are. Enough to forget anyone is watching at all. 

           And as Jay feels your cunt squeeze around him, slowly beginning to spill your own wet onto his balls, he glances up into the mirror again—lips slack as he gasps out for you, a small and wordless praise at how tight you are, and then he smirks because there is Jake’s eyes, looking directly back at him, struggling now to keep his gaze where it belongs: on the road. 

Right then and there, Jay makes a point to thrust into you for the first time with full force just so Jake knows that he’s aware that he’s watching, and he wants him to watch. For Jake, one could even say. 

           When he does it, you immediately gasp out at his cock tearing you open with that one tight thrust. You’ve barely managed to adjust fully, but goddamn is he deeper than usual at this angle. You can feel his length pulse inside of you which was enough already to have you panting against him, but now? As he slowly thrusts in and out, holding you up by your hips? 

“God, Jay.” You groan, dropping your head to his shoulder as you see stars just from the lack of adjusting. 

At those words, he’s only inclined to fuck a bit faster, sending a tingle of pain and pleasure straight through you as your jaw falls slack against him. 

           Jay hold your hips, helping you stay slightly elevated above him so that he can drive his cock into you, again and again, stretching you out and dragging against your walls at such a quick pace you literally can barely take in a breath—and when he moves a hand up to pull up to his lips by the back of the neck, his eyes are dark when you finally look at him.

           He lips are still parted, he is out of breath and his eyes are hooded, still fucking up and into you with so much stamina. Too much stamina, actually, after his six hour driving shift. 

“He’s watching,” He whispers against your lips, catching them just for a moment in a heated kiss before he continues. “Show him how much you love me.”

           That alone causes you to moan out, the very idea of Jake watching hitting you directly in your stomach more than it ever did before, back when he was so quick to leave the room.

“Jay—I wanna see,” You stammer out in a small hiccup as he continues to practically fuck himself as hard as he can into you. 

He only smirks with a breath at your request, gripping your hips even tighter before pressing you down, forcing his leaking cock into you ever deeper. He intentionally flexes it inside of you, smiling at the wince on your face at that constant stretch he always gives to you.

“You wanna see Jake watch you get fucked?” He asks in a smug and breathy voice, leaning to lick a stripe against your neck. “You’re so dirty—” He adds in a half-moan, releasing your hips and pulling back to look at you again when you immediately lift on your knees for relief. 

“Turn around then.”

           You do, carefully pulling him out of you with a wince of relief and shuffling your way around to sink back down on him again, this time with your back to his chest. Mostly so you can make direct eye contact with Jake this time, now that you know he’s watching.  

You’re a little nervous but your thoughts are spinning so quickly that you don’t really care about any of that right now. If things are awkward after the car ride, it’ll be because Jake won't admit to liking it.

           Which he clearly does, when you see his eyes flicking from the road back to the mirror with furrowed brows. You make a point to keep your eyes on him when you slide back down on Jay’s cock, leaning yourself against his chest and resting the back of your head on his shoulder. 

This time, Jay keeps his hands at your thighs, one spreading your legs and the other hooking your shorts and panties to the side—holding them in place so that Jake could get a full view of his cock stuffing you entirely. 

He can imagine how painful the stretch must look. Damn, your pussy always does grip when he’s burying himself into you. He’s almost jealous of the view. 

           That’s when you physically see Jake shiver as he darts his eyes down to what you presume to be the very spot Jay is displaying for him right now but, your attention is very quickly pulled away when Jay thrusts up, placing his chin on your shoulder and gripping your thigh even tighter to keep your legs open.

“Look at him—” Jay demands in a whisper when he bucks into you again, turning his head only slightly to whisper this time. “He’s loving this.”

           And he is, as unfortunate as it is.

 Jake is unable to drown out the sound of your moans with his music, he doesn’t even want to drown them out at this point. He could barely pull his attention from the mirror at first, but now? He definitely can’t now. Jake is keeping his eyes on the road only to glance back up and see a full view of your face staring back at him, your pussy pulsing around his own best’s friend’s cock—It’s a bit much, he will admit but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been when watching the two of you. 

Mostly because, this doesn’t feel accidental now.  With the way you’re either moaning and rolling your eyes back before looking dead at his eyes in the mirror, or you’re reaching down to spread your pussy out even more for him to see. Wiggling and wincing at the way Jay’s cock forever stretches you past your own limit. 

Jake feels like he’s going fucking insane watching this, unable to bring himself to outwardly groan at the image just yet.

           Unfortunately, that happens anyway. Against his will, even. His throat forces a groan out of him when he notices your blown pupils staring back at him as you gently bounce behind him. He can fucking hear how wet you are as you bounce, he can hear the desperate breaths and the pornographic moans—it’s taking everything in him not to pull this car over right now and take Jay’s place.

           But he can’t. You’re not his to share. And while he can’t pull over to take over—he can, at the very least, attempt to release his own tension.

           He is trying to be sly when he moves one hand from the steering wheel down to his own pining and jealous cock, palming himself through the soft fabric. He moans at the sensation without intention at the same time you do. Forcing his eyes to darken as you stare at him in the mirror. 

           You’re maintaining as much eye contact with him as you can, but it’s becoming difficult each time Jay whispers small praises in your ear.

“You must look so good from his angle, I’m so fucking jealous—” Jay grunts out against you, now holding you down again and taking over by thrusting into you with powerful, tight thrusts.  “Are you spreading it out for him?”

           You nod against Jay, finally allowing yourself to throw your head back against his shoulder again, this time swirling your own hips against him and using your fingers to spread your lips out impossibly wide for Jake. 

           Jay hums out at that, relaxing his body beneath you so that you could work your magic on him for his best friend. He holds onto your hips for a moment before glancing up again at the mirror. 

He can see that Jake is driving one-handed and smirks to himself about that.

“Is he getting off right now?” Jay chuckles quietly as he moves your hair from the side of his face and uses the other hand to grip your chin and forces your eyes back to the mirror to witness what he’s witnessing himself.

           You just moan at the sight, not only noticing that Jake is clearly still watching, but he’s moving too, his shoulder moving in a very obvious way in which would tell practically anyone that he’s fucking his fist as best he can right now.

“Talk to him.” Jay demands this time, wincing at the way immediately you pull yourself up and prop yourself on the center console, head peeking far enough past the seats to see exactly what Jake is doing and startling him enough that he swerves the car only a little bit in panic.

           Jay stays leaned back in his seat, staring down at your ass and the way you bounce, forcing his cock in and out at such a beautiful pace at this point, no more pain in regards to his thickness. Just full on stretched pussy gripping him with each slide. 

God, the view is always so fucking good. 

           You’re easily riding him now, perched up so that you can dirty talk his best friend just to get a rise out of him, Jay is loving it as he reaches a hand forward to spread your pussy out around his cock before pressing down on your back so that you sit against him harder.

           You moan out next to Jake, attempting to keep your composure when you look down at his length pressing heavily against his pants. “Are you watching us?” You ask, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue.

           Jake can see your body moving even though he can only see your face in his peripheral vision, unable to face you completely—it’s kind of killing him that you’re just talking to him while getting fucked. He’s embarrassed, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?!

“It’s okay, Jakey—” You coo out, the pet name coming out like honey against your tongue. “We want you to watch.” You urge him on, seeing him immediately move his hand back to his cock.

           You stare down at it, wondering how big it is and how good he is with his hands, but you know your boyfriend probably wouldn’t appreciate that much. 

So, you whisper very quietly, leaning a bit more towards Jake as you watch his fingers grip his cock tighter than they were gripping the steering wheel earlier. “Why don’t you pull it out?”

           Jay heard it, and honestly, he would normally be jealous because he will not share you with anyone under any circumstance, but the fact that he wants his own best friend to watch kind of calls for at least letting him cum right? By his own hand though, no more, no less.

           You feel Jay thrust a little harder into you this time, pushing and holding you down by your hips. Knowing he’s kind of become the third wheel himself, despite actively fucking into you. 

He fits himself into you with a force that tells you not to push it with Jake any further though, and you listen to his body language the same way you would with his words.

“Jay is okay with it, but you can only watch—okay?”

           Your sweet voice hits Jake's ears, slightly moaning with each word. He knows you’re feeling good right now and he can’t contain it anymore. He can no longer pretend like he doesn’t think about watching the two of you like he doesn’t go and rub one out in his room each time he sees it.

           That’s when he finally uses one hand to pull his sweats down with one tug, eyes fixated on the road as he listens to you. He knows you’re watching him, and doesn’t know what else to think about aside from the fact that his cock is springing out and leaking heavily against his t-shirt. Showing you how badly he fucking wants it.

“Oh—” You gasp, and Jake isn’t sure if it’s for him or for Jay.

 You would never admit that it’s because of how much bigger he is in length compared to Jay, and how perfectly it fits into his hand, with those long and pretty fingers. 

           Jay is becoming increasingly jealous though, especially with the way you begin to bounce against his cock as if Jake is doing something that really gets to you, but goddamn it feels so good that he can’t bear to stop you. Hoping to god that Jake doesn’t manage to steal his girl from him while he’s literally balls deep.

           He throws his head back this time and just lets you fuck yourself on him as you talk to Jake. You’re unable to stop yourself from riding Jay in a way that seems entirely too out of character for you. But when you look back, your boyfriend seems to really be enjoying himself.

           You turn your attention back to the front, seeing now that Jake is moving his hand much quicker, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he desperately attempts to drive the speed limit at the very least.

“I bet you wish it was you, don’t you?” You urge him on, watching his reaction each time you speak to him. “Bet you wish you could feel how wet I am, Jakey, right?”

           Jake can’t even contain his nod, moving his fist up his length at a quicker pace than before. 

“Show me how you’d d—” You’re cut off with a moan when Jay reaches forward and grips your hips again, taking over for you and aggressively fucking into you at a pace that shows you that he’s either pissed or about to cum.

“Show me how you’d do it, ” You repeat through the thumping of the thick cock inside of you, attempting to keep a level voice as Jay aggressively spreads and grips your ass, grunting through each thrust.

           Jake finally turns to look at you for a moment, a very short moment, and then intentionally fucks up into his hand once, twice, and then a third time before shooting his eyes back to the road in a panted groan. 

He wants to show you just how hard he would fuck you right now if he were given the chance.

           The way he moans throws you for a loop, much deeper sounding than your own boyfriend’s but the sound of it hits your core and spreads heat throughout your body. 

You instantly reach down with one hand to circle your clit, clenching around Jay as he attempts to pull you back to him—but you stay in place, eyes trained on Jake’s cock being pumped relentlessly. You know he’s showing you the way he would fuck you, and goddamn he would probably be so good at it.

“Shit—” Jay chokes out. “Baby—” He warns this time.

You’re not sure if your boyfriend is telling you to pull off to prevent orgasm, or simply warning you that he’s absolutely about to fucking obliterate your cunt as best he can, all for Jake to watch. 

Jay can tell you’re rubbing your clit, at least, but fuck you’re so goddamn wet. His cock slides in and out of you so much easier compared to some days and it feels so good to him. Warm and wet walls hugging him, pleading for his cock to keep going, and going, and fucking going. 

He feels so good inside of you right now, more than usual, in this tiny space that the car offers. With your pretty moans, and maybe even Jake’s moans on top of it all. It’s a bit overwhelming, Jay can admit, as he suddenly, and desperately wants all three of you to cum with him. 

Thankfully for Jay, you also desperately want to see Jake cum, and you hate to say that it’s kind of Jay’s fault for prompting all of this. Including the fact that you’re only pressed between these fucking seats watching him work himself because your boyfriend told you to talk him through it. 

“Are you going to make me cum?” You ask out to Jake suddenly, sighing between your words and wondering why the fuck you just said that but, it sets off a fire in the man with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his cock.

           It gives him the illusion that he is fucking you, and that he will make you cum.

“Come on, Jakey, Jay’s close too.“’

           And just like that Jake is squeezing himself so tightly, dragging his hand only once up his length before he’s nearly slamming his foot on the breaks.  He lets his foot off of the gas instead, thankful that there is not a single car on this street when he cums. Visibly shaking and attempting to hold in his moans as he hears you directly next to him being fucked senseless. 

“Oh my god–” Jake half-moans, unable to keep his eyes from rolling back as he stutters his body through the pulses of cum shooting out of him. 

You praise him for it, wanting nothing more than to reach over and kiss him for looking so fucking erotic doing what he just did, but you opt to just compliment him.

           The image of Jake breathing his way through his orgasm, keeping the three of you safe in this car throughout all of it, and obviously wanting to fuck you has you nearing your own climax as Jay’s hips stutter against you.

           Your fingers against your clit grow increasingly aggressive as you finally allow yourself to fall back against Jay, taking over for his tired hips as you attempt to work him up to his orgasm.

           Honestly, you feel like the sexiest person alive right now, two men unable to contain themselves over you—it feels so good.

           And when Jay growls against you with an audible ‘never talk to him like that again’, you release, surprisingly, before Jay does. Cumming around his thick cock and gripping against the seats in front of you as your ears ring and your eyes begin to see colors.

           Something about your boyfriend being jealous is just entirely too hot, you might just have to absolutely talk to Jake like that again. Only so you can feel the way he grips you possessively and mumbles strings of both praise and arguments against you when he finally hits his own orgasm.

Words like “what the fuck was he doing up there for you to get so wet, huh?” and “don’t ever use that voice on him again–”

           When it’s all said and done, the car is a mess and Jake is immediately taking the next exit to the closest gas station. Partially so he can hide in the bathroom and cry before shamefully cleaning his juices off of the damn windshield (this is an exaggeration), but mostly so you could get cleaned up.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

           Jake is standing in the bathroom staring at himself, opting to give up on cleaning the cum off of his shirt because this gas station appears to have the hottest water known to man and it only clumped up against the fabric.

           He’s sighing to himself, realizing how much of an absolute freak he must seem to you and Jay when, speak of the  fucking devil, the man himself walks into the bathroom and crosses his arms at Jake.

“Yknow—” Jay starts with a glare. “I could have sworn for a full ten minutes you were going to take my girlfriend away from me.”

           Jake’s eyes widen in embarrassment, because in all honestly, he would have fucking tried if you’d have let him.

“It’s not like that.” Jake stutters, backing away from the mirror and forgetting that Jay is actually right behind him, so he ends up bumping into him. He very quickly twists around and properly backs away from him this time.

“Oh my god, relax.” Jay steps forwards and claps him on the shoulder. “I was the one who suggested we even do this, just like—watch what you’re doing.”

           Jake nods, looking down.

“What do you mean?” Jake questions, still looking at the floor.

“What? You thought we could do all of this and expect you not to stay the next time you walk in on us?”

       ��   Jake blushes, fixing his eyes on the soiled spot of his shirt.

“I’m embarrassed—I didn’t know what I was supposed to do so I just, did what she suggested?”

“That’s good.” Jay pats him on the shoulder again and forces him to look at him. “Jake, if you don’t touch her, you can do whatever you want with your cock—just know that I don’t share.”

           Something inside of Jake both shatters and swells up. Yeah, part of him wondered if all of this would lead to a beach vacation threesome, but it doesn’t appear that way. Nevertheless, Jay is still offering up a pretty sweet deal.

“Is she okay with that?” Jake asks.

“More than okay. I couldn’t tell if she came for me or for you, which pisses me off, not gonna lie.” Jay pulls away from Jake and pulls his length out casually, dabbing it with a napkin before attempting to wet the paper towel.

“Fuck! Why is the water so hot!?” He exclaims, jumping back and looking over at Jake.

“This is too weird—” Jake says to himself with heated cheeks, and then turns his back to Jay. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, it won't happen again, honestly,”

           Jay just shrugs, allowing his paper towel to cool down like an actual smart person before dabbing away the dried cum. It’s not like he didn’t rent out a single-roomed beach house in order to prompt Jake to watch during this vacation. 

“She’s the one in trouble for that one. But we already talked. So we’re cool, just letting you know the boundaries, that’s all.”

           Jay had specifically asked you not to dirty talk Jake the way you did or to call him by any sort of nickname. But you had urged that it was honestly the hottest thing Jay has ever done for you, though it was supposed to be for Jake. 

He guessed you might be more into the whole being watched thing than he is, and that’s fair considering you never so much as tried anything kinky before meeting him. The two of you compromised. You’re only allowed to praise and talk to Jake that way if Jay is allowed to absolutely humiliate him at the same time. They’re not even sure if Jake is into that sort of thing, but you’d both stop the moment he felt uncomfortable.

“Okay, so… “ Jake says, waiting for Jay to finish his cleanup. “Is this gonna be a normal thing then?”

“Maybe, if you keep wanting to catch us, that is.”

“I swear, I never did that intentionally!” Jake defends himself but finally looks over at Jay who has his pants pulled up now.

“Oh, I know. It was also my idea to have you catch us all the time. You definitely liked watching though.” Jay winks at Jake knowingly, but before he could even attempt to respond there’s a toilet flushing and a burly man walking out of the furthest stall in the back.

           Both men stare at each other, too stunned to move based on the fact that this man had been sitting on the toilet listening to the entire conversation and hearing them clean cum off of themselves. Honestly. If there was a hole nearby, Jake would probably bury himself in it (no pun intended).

“Gentlemen.” The burly man says with a solemn tone, and all Jake can do is turn around and walk the fuck out of there as quickly as he can.

“Uh—” Jay says to the man, pointing behind him with his thumb and an awkward smile before turning on his heel and pacing out directly after Jake.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

– read part two here! 

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

 “Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters.  “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.  

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

 “I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

 Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

 “Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.  

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a…  like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

[kraeted]

CONTAINS: sawamura daichi x curly haired fem reader, fluff

PART OF THE FIRSTS SERIES | daichi learns something new about you when he watches you do your hair for the first time

"What are you doing?" Daichi asked with a curious smile. He put his rinsed toothbrush back in the cup sat between the two faucets of your bathroom.

You just sectioned your hair, a crooked part running from ear to ear while the rest of your wet curly hair rested on top of your head in a bun. The ends off your hair sporadically dripped, soaking the top of your black shirt.

"My hair?" You met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror with scrunched eyebrows. You raked your leave-in conditioner through your hair, making sure not to miss a single strand.

"Of course," he chuckled and turned to you, leaning his hip against the counter, "I just mean does it always take all of this," he grabbed your small container of gel and read the label, "to do your hair?"

In the years you were long distance, it was no secret how much time you spent on your hair, especially on wash days. You always sent him a message on those days, giving him a heads up to let him know you were going to be radio silent for a couple of hours. Daichi assumed it was the washing that took the most effort, considering the length and different texture of your hair. But now he got to witness the whole process, it was clear he was mistaken.

"Not always." Daichi watched closely as you singled out a curl, twirled it around your finger until it reached your scalp and let it go. It fell into a perfect ringlet. "The first day I use all of my products and the rest of the week I only use water and mousse-- oh and sometimes gel, depending on the hair style I wanna wear."

He nodded and absentmindedly chewed on his bottom lip as his softened gaze stayed with you. It had been a little over a week since you moved in and again he realized how much he had been deprived of with the thousands of kilometers between you. It was a bittersweet feeling, constantly being reminded of what he missed, but also of how many things there were still left to be discovered.

After a moment of silence you let your arms fall at your side and you glanced at him. "Are you just going to stare at me until I'm done?"

"Would that be a problem?"

"That would be creepy."

You laughed together and you continued, your wrinkled fingers making ringlet after ringlet, finishing the bottom row.

"And what is this. . . technique called?"

"This technique," you playfully mocked his formal choice of words, "is called finger coiling."

Daichi observed your hair. The finger coiled curls looked closer to what your every day hair looked like compared to your freshly washed hair. "Do you need to do that to make your curls?"

"Oh, no," you took down your bun to section off another row, "water just weighs down my hair, but when it dries, even without products, my hair looks like what you're used to-- well, a frizzy version of what you're used to."

"Do you have any pictures of your hair like that?"

If anyone else had asked you that question, you would have thought it was to laugh at you, but Daichi's innocent curiosity was strangely heartwarming. "I would have to look in my phone, but probably yeah."

You wetted your, now, damp hair and raked your products through it until it looked more defined. When you started finger coiling each individual curl, Daichi leaned closer to you. "Can I try coiling one?"

Your eyes slightly widened and your hands came to a halt. "Really?"

"If you're okay with it."

An uncontrollable smile spread across your face. "Yeah."

You turned your back to him and he pushed himself off the counter. You looked at both of your reflections in the mirror and picked out a curl for him to practice on. "Do you need any help or have you watched closely enough?"

He took the curl from your hand and narrowed his eyes in concentration. "I should be fine. . . I think."

Daichi started off the right way, his finger holding on to the end of your clumped strands, only to twirl them the opposite direction of your curl pattern. Your shoulders shuddered as you horribly failed at suppressing your chuckles, the curl unraveling in his motion.

"Okay maybe this isn't as easy as it looks." Amusement laced his voice as he inspected his work and compared it to yours.

"You'll get it next time." You took the frizzy curl back and kissed him with a smile, adoring his willingness to try.

NOTE: i decided to make a series out of this, because it's so easy to think of cute (and angsty) scenarios for this. who knows how long i'll keep this up, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. if anyone has any suggestions for scenarios i would love to hear them :)

[falling-star-cygnus]

Heard you’re suffering artblock and want requests so uhhhh—

Alastor helping Lucifer with molting season?

i love you for this, dewflake :0

uhhh, i wrote this and then reread your ask and only just now realized it says art block and not writers block... hope you don't mind?

your pfp tho oml <3

{Alastor sneezes.}

{The feather that had drifted past his nose, tauntingly red, marks for the third occasion he's had to bat one of those blasted things away. Once he could dismiss as an accident, two an unfortunate coincidence, but three?}

{Why, it was practically a challenge!}

{Though... admittedly a messy one. Not to mention sloppy. You didn't see Alastor leaving the velvet from his antlers everywhere, now did you?}

{...that wasn't a bad idea actually. Not everywhere, of course, the Radio Demon had class. But maybe a hearty covering over a certain king of hell's pillow would be enough of a deterrent.}

{Why was Lucifer leaving his feathers everywhere? It was hardly his usual go-to for irritating the deer demon. Before he could dwell too long, however, a familiar chipper voice breaks into his thought process.}

"Oh! Alastor!"

{Charlie, he notes. She's carrying a stack of boxes that's leaning just a little too far forward for comfort and Alastor can't help but use his microphone to tilt them back into her hands properly.}

{Purely so it wouldn't fall on him, of course. Not because he didn't want the princess to hurt herself. That would've made excellent entertainment if he was standing maybe a foot to the left. That's what he'll tell anyone that asks. Until it's true}

"Ack- thanks, Al!" "No problem at all, my dear Charlie. May I ask why you're carrying such a heavy load? With no help for that matter."

{Alastor would've thought her little girlfriend would've leapt at the chance to help. Especially considering he could tell she still carried the guilt of keeping what she truly was a secret.}

"It's no worries! Juuust busy somethings around in storage. Oh, oh! Actually- do you mind checking on my dad?"

{The Radio Demon tilts his head to the side, wondering why in high hell the darling princess thought that that was a good idea. He goes to say as much when-}

"Please, Al? For me?"

{He chokes on static. Somehow, Charlie had managed to peek over her stack of luggage and flash the most horrendous pair of puppy dog- ugh dogs- pair of doe eyes at him}

{It's shameful how fast it works.}

"...obey the five-foot rule." "Yay! Oh, I could hug you right now!" "Do not."

{Charlie giggles, hefting her haul back into the crook of her arm with a nod}

"I would go myself, but this could be a good bonding opportunity for you two! He always gets like this this time of year..." "Oh? And here I thought he was a hermit year round, hahah!"

{Alastor doesn't stick around to see her expression.}

{Unsurprisingly, the feathers become a more and more common occurrence the closer he gets to Lucifer's gaudy apple tower. He'll have to loose Niffty in here sometime soon...}

{The deer half-debates just leaving, the king of hell is more then old enough to take care of himself. But- no, he gave Charlie his word. Not directly, there was nothing making him do this actually. So why does he want to...?}

{Alastor knocks}

"Huh- Uh.. who is it?"

{The door is opening before he can answer.}

"Now, now, your highness, you didn't even let me introduce myself!" "Ughh, what do you want, Alastor?"

{There's something itching at the back of his brain at the sight of Lucifer's unkempt wings. The way the feathers puffed and clumped up in some places, the ceiling high piles of red and white... hm.}

{He invites himself in}

"Wh- hey!" "Our dear Charlie sent me over, of course! Something about your current issue being a yearly problem?"

{It's highly amusing to watch Lucifer waffle around for an answer, starting one sentence just to abandon it for an accusation. It almost makes him laugh as he watches over his shoulder. It's only after a minute of watching that he realizes the king is shirtless.}

{The final piece clicks into place.}

"Oh, I see. You're molting, aren't you?" "How did you-" "I suppose this goes to show even the most powerful of beings have their troubles, hm?" "So you admit I'm stronger then you!"

{Alastor's eye twitches}

"You mean you were doubting it?"

{Lucifer scowls}

{The micro king of hell manages to keep the staring contest going for about 10 seconds before throwing his hands up to viciously scratch at one of wings. The rough movement has the deer cringing and smoothing himself out before Lucifer rounds on him again.}

"Can I help you?" "On the contrary, maybe I can help you."

{His royal shortness barely has time to blink before Alastor is shadow slinking behind him.}

{The Radio Demon shoves at his shoulder until the little king is face down on his bed and ignores whatever noises of protest he manages to make at the sudden treatment.}

"What are you doing- oh. Oh, that feels nice."

{Alastor had sunk his nails into the clump of loose feathers closest to the middle of Lucifer's back and begun to gently scritch at the muscle underneath it; effectively, the feathers ready to fall were taken care of.}

{It feels like hours later of this rinse and dry process before the purring King speaks up}

"You're good at this... you done this for that bartender of yours or something?" "HAH- no."

{The deer contemplates leaving it at that, keeping whatever this calm air is between them going and stable and safe. He's not sure why he doesn't.}

"My ma- my mother used to look after the ducks that came by the pond."

{If Lucifer notices the correction, he doesn't say anything. No, he stays quiet as Alastor dusts his loose feathers into an idle pile.}

"She taught me how to do it." "...she sounds nice."

{The Radio Demon hums, a familiar song drifting through his microphone. He vaguely remembers it as something that would play in the kitchen all those years ago. Hm... didn't his maman say that molting fowl needed more protein? Perhaps then he'll make jambalaya for dinner tonight. Just in case.}

"...she was."

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Cry for the Moon

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Pairing: Zuko x firebender!reader

Warnings: some strong language here and there

A/N: I am sorry for the long wait, the inspiration was failing and I didn't want to write something half-heartedly just for the sake of posting something. This is a long chapter and I loved writing it! Hope you enjoy this one as well, let me know what you think about it in the comments!

Taglist: @annonymatic @yoongiesstar @lost-inthe-v0id @lokigodofmyheart @4l3x1s @potato87123 @asciendo @angelruinz @unamused-boss @junieshohoho @yourlivewire @itszzmoon @coolgirl458 @vyliie @6000-fandoms @aerikim246 @feitansrisingsun @xenop0p @saikikusouswife @marsbars09

Using a tank train to chase the Avatar and his friends could have been the best idea you had come up with so far.

With the giant flying bison shedding its white fur all over the place while it flew, it had been quite easy to keep track of them – actually, it had been rather too easy. The whole night, the tank train didn’t let the Avatar and his friends get the slightest bit of sleep.

You had been on their necks all the time, just like a shadow following.

Azula put her hand into the water to grab a hold of some patches of fur, she lifted to examine them. They had chased the Avatar and his friends to a river side surrounded by a forest. Given that they were sleep deprived and too tired, they weren’t going to last longer.

“Wads of wet fur.” Mai spoke dryly. “How delightful.”

Some birds were singing under the warm sun – it was a nice, warm sunny day which reminded you of the upcoming summer.

“They are not wads, they are more like bundles, or bunches?” Ty Lee seemed thoughtful as she tried to find the right word to describe the fur swimming in the river. She scratched her head. “It’s got an ‘uh’ sound.”

You giggled. “I know this feeling – you will keep think about that word until you finally find it.” You grimaced. “It is super annoying.”

“I know!” Ty Lee agreed with you as she swung her arms in an exaggerated manner, her long braid swinging in the process.

“Clumps?” Mai suggested with the same, dry tone.

Ty Lee’s grey eyes shone with happiness as she clasped her hands together. “Clumps! They are clumps!” She hugged Mai, who didn’t even bother returning the embrace. You rolled your eyes at her dullness – it drove you insane sometimes, which made you wonder how you had managed to be best friends with her for all those years in the first place.

You were a passionate individual and you expected your friends, or the important people in your life in general, to share your passion and enthusiasm from time to time. However, you didn’t recall experiencing such an occasion with Mai.

Turning your attention to Azula, who was standing by the river, you raised an eyebrow at her. “All the fur in the river makes you wonder whether that thing simply flew over or instead dived into the water.”

Mai pointed in the direction of the trail, which lead into the forest. “The trail goes this way.”

For a moment, Azula looked in the direction of the trail as she carefully considered her options, then she looked upwards. Following her gaze, you too spotted the broken treetops. A frown appeared on your face. “Well, I don’t know many creatures that can cause something like this.”

Upon hearing your remark, Mai and Ty Lee looked into the direction you were pointing at. Perhaps they finally realised that the bison was causing them all the trouble by shedding its fur, you thought as you crossed your hands over your chest. They could have washed it, which would explain all the fur in the river.

“The Avatar is trying to give us the slip.” Azula said, you felt like you two had the same or at least similar chain of thoughts. The Princess pointed to the broken treetops. “You three head in that direction and keep your eye out for the bison.” Then, she turned her gaze to the fur trail. “I will follow this trail.”

You placed your right hand on her shoulder. “Do you believe that the Avatar awaits you alone, on his own?”

Azula nodded. “It would make sense for the other three to take the bison, the Avatar can move more easily when he is alone.”

“Oh, yeah – flying, you are right.” You said, you tended the forget the fact that he was the last airbender. “In that case, you will be perfectly fine on your own. I would rather accompany you; however, with the new earthbender girl in their group, I believe the girls need a firebender on their side.”

After a while you all mounted your mongoose lizards and started riding towards the different paths, a specific pair of traces caught your attention. They were the traces of an ostrich horse. You raised an eyebrow as you turned back to look at the trace. I though he had lost us along the way some time.

During the early hours of the morning, you had noticed someone following the tank train from afar. Even though the distance was simply too much for you to make out who the person was, there had been one very prominent feature on their face that gave out their identity almost immediately.

The scar.

However, after a few hours, you had lost sight of him; hence, you didn’t bother letting Azula know that Zuko had been using your trail to hunt down the Avatar. As it turned out, he wasn’t really gone – he had probably taken a short cut. And considering the traces, he was headed the same way as Azula.

You stopped your mongoose lizard abruptly, causing Mai and Ty Lee to stop as well. Mai sent you an annoyed look. “What is it?”

“I think I saw some earthbending traces back there, inside the forest.” You lied without even thinking twice. “The earthbender girl must have taken a separate way – you two go after the bison and the Watertribe people, I will hunt down the earthbender.”

Mai shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Ty Lee waved at you before going back on track. “Good luck – be careful with the flying rocks!”

You smiled softly at her words. “And you watch out for the waterbender!”

After making sure the girls were both out of sight, you turned your mongoose lizard back and started following the track Zuko’s ostrich horse left. This time, I am going to face you instead of going back home in tears. You thought with a determined expression on your face, your amber eyes lacked the slightest bit of warmth inside them. And you are going to answer for what you have done to me.

[Time Skip]

Zuko shouted in a mixture of surprise and fear as you jumped in front of his ostrich horse with your mongoose lizard.

He was wearing a brown, sleeveless robe with a dark green, long-sleeved shirt and dark green pants underneath. You couldn’t help yourself but raise an eyebrow upon seeing how different his hair looked – it wasn’t in a top not anymore. Apparently, after your last encounter with him, he had cut off his hair and let it grow longer.

Bringing yourself back to the present moment and to the task at hand, you got off the mongoose lizard and crossed your hands over your chest. The long sleeves of your crimson, wrap shirt dangled with the wind. “Wipe that shocked expression off from your face, Zuko – we both knew this day would come.”

Your words had been enough to push the shock away from his features, which left its place to something that resembled mostly fury. The Banished Prince dismounted his ostrich horse with a frown. “What do you want?”

“Answers,” you spoke with a voice as cold as ice, your amber eyes were dark. “You are going to answer for what you have done to me that very day.”

At first, Zuko’s eyes widened with you mentioning the day he left the Fire Nation; however, he quickly gained control over his emotions and put back the frown. “I don’t have any time to waste,” he muttered with an annoyed tone as he tried to walk past you. Without even thinking, you punched forward, sending a wave of flames towards him.

Once again, Zuko was taken aback by your cold-heartedness. When he came back to his senses, it was almost too late – the Banished Prince rolled backwards to escape the flames in time.

“I didn’t ask whether you wanted to go through with this or not,” you said coolly as you broke your stance to stand straight. “After all, why should I show the slightest bit of concern to someone who didn’t even flinch while shattering my whole soul to a million pieces?!”

Towards the end, your voice became louder and louder, until the point you ended up screaming at his face.

Zuko spoke your name softly, which had your heart melting almost immediately as if he hadn’t been the cause of all that had hurt you over the last years. “Let this go, please – it has been three years and…”

Not even letting him finish, you interrupted him – the fury was raising within you, blinding your sight, and blurring your mind. At that moment, all you wanted to do was to scream out every buried thought, every silenced cry at him until you couldn’t speak anymore.

“So, is time supposed to magically make me forget everything you did, everything you said?” You asked scornfully as you pointed at him with your index finger in an accusing manner. “You… You said I was a burden, a baggage, a fucking deadweight!”

Zuko said your name once again. “Please… I am…”

You were shaking your head almost hysterically, you could feel the tears running down your cheeks. This was the mental breakdown you had been trying to avoid having for weeks now. “How can you expect me to forget that?!”

[Flashback]

“Please, let me come with you.” You whispered as you tried to turn your face away – you kind of felt ashamed for you were crying in front of Zuko’s whole crew. He cupped your face and made you look at him as he gently wiped away the tears leaving you amber eyes. “Zuko, I… I don’t know how to live here without you. I have… I have had you with me ever since I could remember…”

Even though his left eye was bandaged as a result of his father’s unthinkable cruelty, you could still see the tears forming in his right eye. But he managed to control his emotions not to show any weaknesses in front of his crew. “Love, we have talked about this,” he whispered towards your lips before leaving a small kiss. “I will be back before you know it. I promise.”

You shook your head – you didn’t want to stay in the Fire Nation while he went on this impossible journey to find the Avatar, who had been presumably already dead for centuries! A part of you knew that his journey was probably never going to end.

The simplest thought of not getting to see Zuko ever again made you want to throw out. You couldn’t imagine your life without him for you hadn’t known it otherwise. He had always been there, with you, and all your life, you grew up with the belief that you were going to become his wife someday.

The arranged marriage, which had been decided when you were born, was the main reason for you to grow up with Zuko – yes, but it also allowed this purest love of all to bloom between you two. From childhood best friends to childhood crushes and to young lovers.

He carried a piece of your heart and whether he wanted it or not, a part of you was going with him.

“Why?” You asked with a low voice. “Why won’t you take me with you?”

Zuko placed his lips on your forehead to leave a small kiss before speaking. “Your place is here, in the Fire Nation, where you can continue your studies and your training to pursue your dreams.” Slowly, he turned his look away from your eyes. “I would never forgive myself if I took that away from you.”

You pressed your lips against each other to silence a sob that dared to escape. “My place is with you…”

“My decision is final,” Zuko spoke with a soft voice, which carried still enough authority to put an end to your continuous attempts to change his mind. “But I am going to miss you more than anything...”

It felt impossible to form words, let alone talk. Hence, you placed your lips on top of Zuko’s instead of wasting time talking.

After the long farewell, you went home quickly to get the small gift you wanted to give to Zuko before he set sail in a few hours. You wanted to give him something that would bring him good luck on his mission and also make him remember you every time he looked at it.

It was the small replica of a red dragon made of metal, which hung at the end of a black chain. You thought Zuko could hang it by his desk or by his bed, keeping it in his personal space where he didn’t need to wear his façade anymore.

As you approached the ship, you could hear some voices coming from up on board. Upon hearing someone from the crew mentioning your name, you stopped in your tracks to listen to what was being said. You could already see Zuko standing with his back facing you, talking to that crewmate.

“My Prince, please forgive me for asking but,” the crewmate spoke with a respectful tone. “Why didn’t you allow her to join us?”

You heard Zuko heave a sigh before speaking. “I am afraid she would only be a burden to us – like baggage, she would just slow us down.” The gift of good luck you held slowly slipped between your fingers and fell onto the ground. Zuko shook his head. “I cannot allow any deadweight on board – and if any of you should become one, I will not hesitate to send them back!”

Biting your lower lip to silence your sobs, you turned back and ran away without even saying anything to Zuko, without facing him and without wishing him one last goodbye. You wanted to believe he was lying but the way he talked as he uttered those venomous words had been just too real, too true.

After that day, nothing was going to be the same for you.

[Flashback ends]

Wiping the tears away, you asked with a weak voice. “Why?”

Zuko turned his eyes away, his shame radiated off his body. “Does it matter?” He muttered. “After what I made you go through, does it really matter why I said what I said?”

You shook your head as a hysterical laughter left your lips. “Still, you are incapable of looking me in the eye and say it – say that you thought I was weak.” You didn’t realise it as the flames started to form around your clenched fists. “Say that you have lied to me every single day!” Control slowly slipped away from your fingertips. “You have never even loved me!”

What came next had been a shock to both of you.

As you screamed your sorrows away, you shot the flames – which had been growing around your fists – directly at Zuko. This was probably the very first time that you attacked him the same way you would attack any of your enemies. The reflection of the flames was visible in Zuko’s amber eyes and he seemed to be paralyzed – he had never met this side of you, he had never really been on the other side.

If he had dodged the flames with his firebending a second too late… Well, let’s say it would have been really unpleasant.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Zuko screamed at you, still not returning your attack as you circled each other. “Why would you attack me like that? And… and why would you say that I have never loved you?”

“If you had loved me, even just a little,” you told him as you stopped moving in a circle to point at him with an accusing manner. “You would have never hurt me the way you did.” Raising an eyebrow at his direction, you asked sarcastically. “Do you like the person you have turned me into?”

Zuko shook his head. “No, I didn’t do this to you,” he said with a low voice. “This is you under Azula’s influence.”

His words made you throw your head back and let out a laughter that had the hints of condescending, amusement, and little bit… craziness?

“Oh, you do believe that Azula is manipulating me into being one of her puppets?” You asked with genuine curiosity in your voice as you realised the seriousness surrounding Zuko’s features. “My dear Zuko, you have never been more wrong in your life – I am with Azula because I want to, because I deeply care about her. And no, this,” you pointed at yourself, “is not her doing. I should thank you for giving me the push to become more invincible than ever.”

It was hard to understand what was going on inside Zuko’s mind for his amber eyes didn’t give it all away; however, you could feel the hints of longing, disappointment, and jealousy circling around him all at once. It felt like an emotional turmoil.

His voice almost cracked when he spoke. “So, you… replaced me with her?”

At first, you wanted to say that you had replaced him with Shuzi, but you quickly realised that it wasn’t true. Shuzi had a different spot, and it was under no circumstances close to that of Zuko – his place wasn’t completely occupied. However, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that Azula was the only person closest to that very place in your heart.

You pursed your lips. “Well, you can say that – to a certain extent. Speaking of Azula,” you moved away from Zuko’s way as you walked towards your mongoose lizard. “Despite how much I do want to fight you, it is Azula’s destiny to be the one who faces you. Thus, I am going to let you be on your way.” Upon seeing the shocked expression on Zuko’s face, you shrugged. “I have already given her a head start.”

Remembering what his main goal was – he had completely forgot about the Avatar – Zuko quickly mounted his ostrich horse. “You were wrong though,” he said as he rode past you, his voice was low but still, you could hear him. “I did love you. Every single day.”

With that, Zuko disappeared from your sight, leaving you with more questions than you initially had before finally facing him.

[Time Skip]

After Zuko was gone, you returned to join Mai and Ty Lee, only to find both of them soaking wet, sitting by the river. Using your firebending to dry them both, you told that the earthbender girl had escaped from you by going underground like a badgermole. Not long after, Azula joined you three as well, she seemed quite tired.

As you all rode back to the tank train on your mongoose lizards, the Princess told you what had happened: how the enemies and the traitors had worked together to corner her and how she had shot Uncle Iroh with fire to create enough diversion to escape. You couldn’t help yourself but feel terrible for Iroh – you didn’t think he deserved to be Azula’s victim – but you kept your thoughts to yourself.

“Mai told me you didn’t go with her and Ty Lee,” Azula said as you two walked towards the tank train. Mai and Ty Lee were already inside. “Did you really chase the eartbender girl?”

You shook your head, you weren’t going to lie to Azula. “I actually chased Zuko, I just needed a valid excuse to go on my own way without… you know, letting Mai involve herself as well.”

A small frown formed on Azula’s face as she stopped walking. “Zuko? How did you know he was following us?”

“I saw him earlier today from a distance, then he disappeared so I didn’t really think he could keep up with our pace.” You explained as you crossed your arms over your chest. After everything you had gone through, you felt exhausted – not physically, but rather emotionally. “But I saw him in the woods once again after you went your own way. I wanted to finally face him and be free of everything weighing me down.”

Azula nodded at your words, the firm expression slowly disappeared, leaving itself to curiosity. “I understand – in that case, I forgive you for not following my orders.” The edge of your lips curled upwards. “Did it work? Are you finally free of all that weight now?”

You nodded with a big smile forming on your face, almost reaching your amber eyes. Almost.

“I screamed at him everything I have been wanting to say to him ever since… you know, that day.” You spoke with a lower voice, not wanting to be heard by anyone. Shaking your head, you continued. “He is not even capable of owning up to his actions – he couldn’t tell me why he had… said all those things about me.”

Azula shrugged with an unamazed manner. “Well, what did you expect from Zuzu in the first place?” She said as she rested her left hand on the small of your back, leading you two into the tank train. “Still, I am glad that you are now lighter than ever.”

You forced the fake smile back onto your lips.

The problem was that you felt you carried more weight now that you had faced Zuko.

Over the years, you had made yourself deeply believe that he had never really loved you – this had been the only explanation you could find for his actions, your coping mechanism. However, now that you knew he had loved you all along, you felt more lost than ever.

More lost, more confused, more vulnerable.

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-three

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

jackson holds more than a few familiar faces.

a/n: these few chapters are so satisfying to me cuz it’s more my own creation that straight outta the show and i hope y’all enjoy 🫶🏻

word count: 7.4k

warnings: nothing crazy, y’all know the drill by now

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

The last time you saw Nick Cowan, Joel had just put a bullet in his shoulder, and he’d nearly put a bullet in Joel’s head. Then you’d picked up the gun Joel had dropped and pointed it right back at the then-FEDRA soldier, your…whatever he once was.

The last thing you said to him rings clear as day in your mind: “Guess I’m just as terrible as you thought.”

He looks…old. It suits him. It’s the eyes that give him away, that signature stare you had once grown so used to. Now, they pin you in place, and you have no choice but to stare right back, taking in the thick beard along his jaw, the scar across his nose, his hair greying and pushed back over his head. He’s bigger than you remember, all broad shoulders towering over you as he gets closer to you, closing the distance, making your brain run a marathon trying to make sense of it.

He’s here. He’s alive.

“Liv?” he croaks out, his voice snapping on your name. His eyes are glassy, those stupidly long lashes you were always silently envious of clumping together. “Is it really…is it really you?”

Nick Cowan opens his arms to you, his boots crunching in the snow beneath your feet. He goes to hug you, saying your name again, shock and happiness on his face.

And you fucking deck him.

You’re pure adrenaline, and you hear the crunch of your knuckles hitting his face more than you feel it. It’s like every eye in the street turns to you as it happens, and Cowan reels backward, spitting blood into the snow and cupping his face. Your hand explodes with pain as you fall back a step, cradling your hand against your chest, and Joel materializes at your side, curling a hand around your elbow.

“Okay,” Cowan grunts, spitting again. “I probably deserved that.”

“Probably?” you nearly shout, stepping forward, but Joel tightens his hold and hauls you back. “It’s okay.”

You wrestle yourself out of Joel’s grip and close the distance between you and Nick. But this time, you hug him. You grab his forearm and throw your arms around him, squeezing him tight. It’s a moment before he returns it, a low chuckle reaching your ears. There are more tears on your face, and god fucking damn it, your hand hurts something fierce, but then you feel something connect with your shin and a tiny voice shouts, “Get your hands off my daddy!”

Nick steps back, releasing you, and you look down to see a little girl, no older than five or six, pulling back to kick you in the shin again. She’s cute, all bright blue eyes and blonde braids and her cheeks flushed with cold. “Deanna, stop it,” Nick chides, reaching down to scoop her into his arms. She goes willingly, giving you the best evil eye you’ve received from someone so young, and it makes you laugh.

You’re still reeling, your aching heart barely able to process. Tommy? Cowan? Alive and well, all this time. It’s almost too much, and then—

“Deanna, come back here!” an unfamiliar voice calls, and you look in its direction to see a young man making his way through the crowd to where you’re stood. 

And your heart sinks into your toes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to Cowan, reaching into his pocket and producing an inhaler. “She just ran off before I could…” He trails off, and his eyes move to you. “Liv?”

The image of the little boy in your mind is instantly replaced with the older version standing before you. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Cowan, the mop of dark curls now cropped closer to his head, short enough that you can see the scar on his forehead. The memory jars you. He was so little, chasing Emily around the food court, and you’d heard him yelp as he fell. A few minutes later, his dad was carrying him into the medic area where you were working with Deanna. Poor kid cracked his head open and was sniffling around the wad of napkins his dad had pressed to his bleeding forehead.

You’d taken over, carried him over to one of the cots and found a wad of gauze that would soak up the blood a bit better. Henry was all sniffles and big round eyes, staring up at you as you dabbed at his wound. You distracted him, talking about anything and everything while you cleaned it and found him a bandage and told him he was brave. It wasn’t terribly deep, but it had left a thin line above his eyebrow, one you could only really see when the light caught the right way.

“Henry,” you breathe out, and a moment later, he’s in your arms. Despite the height he now has on you, he’s that ten-year-old kid again, hugging you tightly. The kid that groaned about math but still did every piece of homework, that sat vigil at your bedside after you got the shit kicked out of you in lockup, that sweet-talked Joel into a game of Monopoly the first time they met. 

Maybe not your son by blood, but the closest thing you know you’ll ever come to one.

And he’s alive.

But then the mood sours, all in an instant.

“You told us she was dead!” Henry shouts, still clinging to you, but pulling away to spit the words at Cowan. There are tears on his face, making his cheeks ruddy, and you can hear the way his chest wheezes. “All these years, you told us she was gone! You fucking liar!”

You can see the hurt on Nick’s face, the way he flinches back. The little girl — Deanna — hides her face in Nick’s neck, putting her arms around him. A blonde woman appears at his side, puts a hand on Deanna’s back and murmurs something to Nick that you don’t hear over Henry shouting.

“I fucking hate you! You’re a goddamn liar! She was our family!”

“Henry, stop,” you say softly, trying to placate him. “It’s okay, it’s not—”

He wrenches out of your arms and disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Nick to watch him go. Nick hands Deanna off to the blonde and she gives you what you think is a sympathetic smile before also walking away.

“I never meant for it to work out this way,” Nick says, and part of you feels bad for him, but another part wants to deck him again. “They were just kids when we…” He shakes his head. “Deanna and I agreed, it was better that way. That maybe it would stop them from wanting to go back to Boston if they didn’t think you were still there.”

You feel a presence behind you — Joel. His hand rests at the small of your back and you swipe tears from your cheeks. “Well, I was still there, Nick. Wondering this entire time if you were all alive or not. You couldn’t have had the decency to at least let us know you were okay?” Your voice cracks on the question and Joel puts his arm around your waist now, tugging you against him. You’re grateful; it’s the only thing stopping you from punching Nick again.

“Everything I did was to protect them,” Nick says, staring down at his boots. You got him good; his jaw is an angry shade of red, and there’s a spot of red on his bottom lip. “You know exactly why I did what I did.”

Joel bristles, angling himself in front of you, raising a hand. “Can we not do that right now?” he grits out. “There’s a lot going on right this second; we all need to calm the fuck down and you need to watch your mouth.”

Nick doesn’t say anything at first, just nods, but then his eyes flick back to you. “I’m sorry, really, I am. Tommy knows which house is ours, if you want to talk more.”

He turns on his heel, but you stop him. “Nick.” He swivels back to you slowly, his hands dug in his pockets. “I’m assuming the little Deanna is named after the one that took care of us back in Boston.”

“She is,” he nods. “Dee passed five years ago.” But then he stops, and you know the next thing out of his mouth might crush you. “The same flu that took Emily. They’re buried together; I can show you where, if you like. That’s probably where Henry took off to.”

You inhale sharply, stumbling back a step, but Joel doesn’t let you go far. Tommy’s on your other side now, Ellie a half-step behind him, and the woman who had told you to come to Jackson breaks the silence that settles as you watch Nick walk away.

“Why don’t we get you all something to eat?”

 +

You’re all quiet, the only sound at the table is the clatter of cutlery hitting plates. Joel can barely remember the last time he ate off a real plate, let alone sat at a table while he had a meal. It must have been back in Boston, he thinks, back before…

He glances at you between bites. You’re picking at your food, your shoulders hunched around your ears, eyes downcast. Worry knots Joel’s stomach, but goddamn it, he’s hungry. “Liv, honey, eat,” he says, nodding across the table where you’re sat beside Tommy. “Please.”

You just nod, lifting your glass of water and taking a sip.

Beside him, Ellie is wolfing down her food, scraping the plate, eyes glued to the meal like someone might try and take it away from her. “There’s more if you need it,” Maria — the woman who’d brought you here — says from her seat at the head of the table.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Joel says with a slight nod, pausing his own eating. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper meal.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper meal,” Ellie quips, taking another bite. “This is fuckin’ amazing.”

“Ellie,” you chide, your eyes widening for a second and Joel’s eyes dart between you.

“Sorry,” he says to Tommy and Maria. “Ellie, let’s mind our manners.”

Tommy gives Joel a small smile and lifts his hand, giving your shoulder a squeeze. You offer a half-smile in return, reaching up and squeezing his fingers.

Ellie’s attention is dragged across the large room, and her almost menacing, “What?” makes you both flinch.

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” you groan, rubbing your hand across your forehead.

“What’s wrong with you?” Joel asks, his eyes darting to the girl who’d been hiding behind a pillar, watching your table.

“What about her manners?” Ellie calls, loud enough for the girl to hear, and you sigh heavily.

“She was just curious,” Maria supplies, her tone placating. “Kids around here don’t usually look or talk like you.”

“Right,” Ellie says with a tight nod. “Well, maybe I’ll teach them.” She glances at Tommy, at you beside him, and then her eyes move back to Maria. “And I want my gun back.”

They’d taken your weapons before you got on the horses, and the other riders had whistled at your barb-wired bat. Joel didn’t doubt you’d get them back, but now isn’t the time or place.

“They also aren’t armed,” Maria replies.

“We don’t need to be,” you add, earning an open-mouthed look from Ellie. “Not in here.”

An awkward silence settles for a moment while Ellie cleans her plate, and Joel’s worry subsides some when he sees you take a few more bites.

“Y’know what,” Tommy starts, glancing between you all, “I think maybe y’all got a little off on the wrong foot.”

“She was gonna have her guys kill us,” Ellie almost sneers, and your eyes dart to Joel before you reach across the table, just laying your fist on the tabletop.

“Well, we gotta be real careful about who we let in this place. It’s all bark, we’re just tryna scare off those who might wanna try us is all.”

“Well, you got a couple of ninety-year-olds shitting themselves out there.”

“Ellie!” Joel grits, and you put your face in your hands.

“They say that you leave dead bodies around?” she continues, ignoring both of you.

“Those are the people who tried us,” Maria responds easily, barely fazed. 

“A bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad,” Tommy says, and Joel sees the recognition on your face as you drop your hands, squaring your shoulders slightly.

“Not always, at least,” Maria says. Her eyes linger on Joel as she says it, and it makes him bristle. He sees your face pinch from the corner of his eye and you lean up, straightening, laying both elbows on the table.

He can see you holding yourself back, wanting to jump on the defence. So he tries to change the subject. “Ma’am, we’re grateful for your hospitality and all,” he lays down his fork and looks to his brother, “but it’d be nice to have a moment here, maybe just for family.”

You inhale sharply, reaching for your water glass again. 

Tommy pauses, balks, before, “Well, um.” He reaches a hand out and Maria takes it, a small smile on her face. “Maria is family, actually.”

Your water glass rattles as you set it back down. “Oh shit!” Ellie says, her tone suddenly lighter. “Congrats.”

Joel doesn’t have words, barely registering you putting your hand on Tommy’s arm and murmuring, “That’s great.”

“Joel,” Ellie calls softly, snapping him out of it, “say congrats.”

“Congrats,” he repeats drily.

The silence that settles after is so awkward Joel wants to crawl out of his own skin, but his brother breaks it. “How about a tour?”

You nearly jump into action, collecting the dishes and cutlery and stacking them together, waving Maria off when she tells you to leave them. Joel makes his way around the table to your side, helps you into your coat. You mumble a thank you, give him a tight smile when he finds your hand and gives it a squeeze.

Maria leads you out of the mess hall and back onto the street. The air is so bitingly cold, such a stark difference from the warmth inside, that Joel flinches, and you tuck yourself against his side, ducking under his arm.

“We settled here about seven years ago,” Maria tells you as you start walking, her voice loud over the noise of the street. “Just a handful of us back then.” She points to one part of the wall. “That section was already a gated community so we built the rest of the wall out from there. Stopped most of the raiding parties, but we still find pockets of them.”

“And you said Infected?” Joel asks, rubbing his hand over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tommy answers, “but usually smaller colonies, wandered off from the cities. All this open country out here, it’s a turkey shoot. I still got my 700, but I found a variable power scope, sub-MOA. Can headshot those fuckers from a half mile out.” Joel smirks; his brother, forever the gun nerd.

It gets Ellie’s attention. “Can you teach me how?”

“No, he can’t,” Joel says immediately. He’s half-expecting you to interject, but you don’t say a word. “How do you keep this place quiet?”

“Carefully,” Maria responds. “Being in the middle of nowhere helps, not advertising what we have, staying off the radio.”

That makes Joel stop, and you do too, your hand curling into a fist at his hip as Tommy shoots him a look.

“House of worship,” Maria continues, either unfazed or unaware of the silent exchange as she points out buildings, “multi-faith. School. Laundry. Old bank works as the jail, not that we’ve needed it.”

Joel’s gaze drifts up, to the power lines linked along the street. “And you draw power from the dam?”

“Got that working a couple of years ago,” she says with a nod. “After that, sewage, plumbing, water heaters, lights.”

Ellie shakes her head, glancing around. “This place actually fuckin’ works.”

You keep walking, eventually coming to an area that looks like a makeshift farm. A herd of sheep runs past as you all step through the fence, bleating as they go.

“Hey, Joel,” Ellie calls, beaming, “check it! Baa!”

You both laugh, and Joel squeezes your shoulder.

“So, are you like, in charge?” Ellie asks Maria, clearly starting to get over her earlier…ferocity.

“No one person’s in charge,” Maria answers. “I’m on the council. Democratically elected, serving three hundred people, including children. Everyone pitches in. We rotate patrols, food prep, repair, hunting, harvesting.”

“Everything you see in our town,” Tommy chimes in, “greenhouses, livestock, all shared. Collective ownership.”

“So, communism,” you pipe up, leaning around Joel to look at Tommy.

Tommy’s expression is pure confusion as he shakes his head. “Nah. Nah, it ain’t like that.”

“It is that,” Marie corrects him. “Literally. This is a commune. We’re communists.”

Tommy stops in his tracks, clearly shocked at this revelation, and Joel has to stifle his laugh as he walks past his brother. The conversation trails off as you come up to a row of stables, and Ellie is instantly taken by a young foal poking its head out of the half door.

“Well, I’m sure they’d all like a shower, some new clothes,” Maria says, looking at Tommy. “We can put them in the empty house across the street from us.”

“Yeah,” Tommy nods. “It’s a decent place. Pretty much untouched since ‘03, but it’s got the heat goin’ in it. Could do worse.”

You blow out a breath, turning to steam in the cold air. Joel can hear the words on the tip of your tongue before Ellie interjects, “Oh, trust me, we have been.”

It bothers him more than it should. She looks back at the two of you with a grin on her face that quickly disappears. “We’ve been doin’ fine.”

“Joel,” you say quietly, turning your body against his.

Marie doesn’t miss the exchange and looks at you. “Well, I can take Liv and Ellie over there if you two wanna catch up?” She pauses. “Unless, you—”

“No, let the brothers do their thing,” you say with a nod, peeling away from Joel’s side. He wants to pull you back the second you’re gone, but he stops himself. “I have a few…unfinished conversations of my own to take care of.”

Maria nods. “I can show you where the Cowans live; it’s not far from our place.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, watching as you walk over to where Ellie’s standing, reaching up and petting the foal’s nose. Ellie seems to relax further when you touch her shoulder. “Okay.”

“We’ll be fine,” you tell Joel, and he’s not quite sure who you’re trying to convince, you or him.

Tommy starts to lead him away, and Joel gives you one last glance before following his brother away from the stables.

+

Standing on the front porch of what Maria has told you is the Cowans’ home, you feel nervous, of all things. Your fury has subsided some, turned instead to a quiet ache that lingers in your chest, makes your heart rate rise when you let your mind wander. You feed yourself the facts instead, still trying to make sense of it all.

Nick is alive. Tommy is alive. Henry is alive.

Deanna is dead. Emily is dead.

Somehow, the confirmation makes it easier. You can’t even begin to add up all the time you’ve spent wondering over the years, when Nick first took them away, when Tommy left with the Fireflies. The wondering always made it worse. It was the same when the outbreak first hit, stuck in Boston, not knowing who lived or died. It was Nick that gave you the closure that your parents were gone. Then Joel’s panicked admission that Anna had lived through being bitten, but then FEDRA carted her off, never to be seen again. 

That’s one bit of closure you still don’t have.

My parents are dead. Bill and Frank are dead. Sarah is dead. Anna is…dead.

You suck in a shaky breath, the iciness of it chilling you from the inside out as you lift your hand and knock twice.

It’s a few moments before the door swings inward, revealing the blonde woman who had stood beside Nick earlier in the street. “Oh,” she says, her voice bordering between overly bright and cautious, “it’s you.”

“Olivia,” you offer, extending your hand, “but call me Liv.”

“Sloane,” she responds, taking it. “Nick’s upstairs. D’you wanna come in?”

You stall, thrown off by her invitation. “Oh, uh, sure.”

Sloane steps aside to let you in and you step over the threshold, immediately soaking in the warmth that greets you. “This must all be very…strange for you.”

You lift your brows, glancing around the house as she shuts the door behind her. It’s quaint, with a Christmas tree in one corner of the living room that you can see, a kitchen to the other side. You can see little Deanna perched at the table, crayons in hand, and it’s so reminiscent of Emily, of your life back in Boston, that you nearly turn on your heel and dart back into the cold. 

Your face must give you away, and Sloane seems to think she caused it. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you cut her off, waving a hand. “Strange is probably the nicest way to put it.” You try to laugh, try to make the atmosphere a little lighter, but the sound twists in your throat. “I’m the one who should be sorry; I didn’t mean to barge in here like this.”

She gives you a small smile. “I invited you in, Liv. It’s okay, really. Nick told me a lot about you.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope,” you say, returning the grin while inwardly praying he left out some of your…finer details. “Although, there’s not a lot of good stuff, which I’m sure you know.”

“We do what we have to,” she replies, lifting her shoulder, and you balk. “It all happens the way it does for a reason. If you’d stayed together, he wouldn’t be here.” She pauses, looks over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “And I wouldn’t have that beautiful little girl.”

Tears spring in your eyes and you blink furiously while she’s not looking, willing them away.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” she says, turning back to you. “Nick said she kicked you in the shins after…”

“…after you clocked me in the jaw,” Nick finishes, coming down the stairs, sporting the starting of a bruise along his beard. “Glad I only ever taught you to shoot. If I’d taught you how to punch, I’d probably still be unconscious in the street.” You open your mouth to say something, but you’re caught off guard as Nick leans over the stair rail to kiss Sloane hello, which she returns with a grin.

He looks so…at ease. Jealousy sparks in your gut something fierce. Not that he’s kissing her and not you — that ship sailed many moons ago. But seeing them here, in their home, with their daughter. It’s a postcard reminder of all the things you and Joel don’t have. Have never had. May not ever have.

“Nick, can we talk?” you ask, shoving your hands in the pockets of your coat. “Please? I promise not to clock you again.”

He barks a laugh, reaching for his coat on a hook near the door. “Let’s go.”

Sloane kisses him again before he leaves, leading you out the door and back into the cold. You fall into step easily, heading deeper into Jackson, past more houses and people. It looks almost like a real neighbourhood, kids building snowmen in their front yards, Christmas trees glittering in windows. You’re both quiet, but Nick’s the one that breaks the silence.

“Go ahead and ask, Liv,” he says, digging his hands in his pockets while you toy with your own. “I can hear the wheels in your head going from here.”

“Maria said this settlement has been here seven years,” you start, his words all the confirmation you need to start asking for the answers you need, “but you left Boston what, fourteen years ago? What did you do between Boston and here?”

He sighs, his breath turning to a cloud of steam in the air. “Whatever I had to. I only got us out of the QZ by asking for a transfer, and we barely survived the trek to Chicago with FEDRA on our side. But we were there almost five years.” He gestures to the left when the sidewalk splits, and you follow his direction. “After Chicago went to shit, we did whatever we could. Lots of sleeping on the road, hiding in abandoned buildings. The kids hated it, Deanna even more so, but there were more of us then, some people she’d befriended in Chicago, a few other soldiers who’d grown tired of the bullshit, like me. Sloane was one of them.”

“She was FEDRA?” you ask, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “I think she’s the only person who’s given me more of a run for my money than you did.”

“Nick—”

“I don’t blame you for doing what you did,” he says, staring at his boots as you keep walking. The sidewalk splits again and this time, you go right. The houses are further apart here, a small copse of trees coming into view at the end of the street. “Or Joel. He was just trying to protect you, and I’m sorry for what I—”

“You shot him in the head, Nick,” you say, bristling. “You can’t just apologize for that and make it all go away. You could have killed him. His hearing hasn’t been the same since it happened.”

He stops in his tracks, staring at you, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You heard me,” you tell him, defiant only to cover up the way your bottom lip is wobbling. “And then you tell Henry and Emily that I’m dead?”

“Well, I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?” he shoots back and starts walking again. You inhale sharply and follow. “Henry was so mad when we left. He kept asking where you were, if you were gonna meet us in Chicago, over and over. It just seemed…easier. And how in the hell was I supposed to know that you’d show up here one day and prove me wrong?”

“You could have sent a message,” you say, your chest growing tight, “when you got to Chicago. Or when you got here. Never mind, I should give Tommy a fucking earful for not telling me you’ve been here this whole time.”

“I asked him not to,” he admits, and your brows shoot up. “Yes, I lied, okay, Liv? I’m a terrible fucking person. But you were just as bad as I was. You put that entire QZ at risk coming back when you did, and I—”

“Stop it,” you grit, lifting a hand, shocked when he cuts himself short. “Never in a million years would I have come back if I wasn’t sure. I made Joel promise to put me down if I so much as twitched. I made him swear to put a bullet in my head and leave me there, then go back to the QZ and tell everyone how fucking sorry I was.”

You’ve reached the end of the street, the edge of the small forest, and Nick keeps moving forward, stepping onto the snow. You follow, grinding your teeth together as you go.

You walk in silence for some time, Nick stepping quickly, a few feet in front of you, and you keep your distance, unsure if you can handle the rest of this conversation.

The clearing comes into view after a bit of walking, and Nick moves to the side, revealing a graveyard of sorts, a few rows of grave markers dusted with snow. They’re simple markers, wooden crosses driven into the earth, names scrawled across them, painted on a few. One of the graves is fresh.

Seeing Deanna’s name feels like a punch to the gut, but Emily’s hits twice as hard. You drop to your knees in the snow, reaching out and brushing your hand over the cross, the wreath of flowers that sits atop it. “Sloane does that,” Nick tells you, his voice hushed. “She’s got a whole garden in our backyard just to bring the flowers here. Grows them inside in the winter. She loved Emily.”

Your tears flow freely, dripping off your chin and hitting the snow. “It was a flu?”

“Yes,” he answers, crouching down beside you. “Five years ago, now. We’d been here six months, and things felt good, but then the kids started getting sick, a lot of them. Henry got it too, and I thought he’d go before Emily, with his lungs being so awful, but he didn’t. A few other kids passed, and Deanna was so hellbent on helping as many as she could, swearing up and down that she wouldn’t catch it.” His voice snaps and he clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

Despite it all, you reach out and put your hand on his arm. “You and I both know that’s not a battle you would have won, Nick.”

“I know,” he answers, his eyes glassy as he covers your hand with his. “And I know that I can’t just apologize and make it all go away, Liv, but for whatever it is worth to you, I am sorry.”

“I am, too,” you reply, squeezing his arm, “for whatever it’s worth.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “This is all so fucked up, but it is good to see you.”

Slowly, you both get to your feet. Your knees are shaky and you can’t bring yourself to pull your gaze away from Deanna and Emily’s grave. After a moment, Nick loops his arm around your shoulders and tugs you against him. You let it happen, glad for his warmth, and lean your head against him.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

+

Nick walks you back to town, points you in the direction of what you learn is Tommy’s bar. The snow crunches under your feet, and as you cross the road, you feel lighter than you have in a long time. Your heart aches, but you can make peace with the loss of Deanna, and to a lesser extent, Emily. There’s no denying the grief that has you by the collar, but knowing they didn’t turn, that they weren’t torn to shreds, that they didn’t die like…that. It brings you some strange sense of peace.

You catch sight of Joel walking out of the bar as you get close, and you can tell he doesn’t notice you standing there. There’s a faraway look on his face that makes your gut twist with unease, the Christmassy atmosphere around you doing little to distract you.

He pulls his coat on and you watch him step down onto the sidewalk, feet carrying him towards the nearest lamppost. He leans heavily against it, one hand lifting to press against his chest, the other curling around the post, and you surge forward, calling his name.

“I’m fine,” he spits at you when you get close, his head lifting, waving you off. “I’m—”

The words choke off in his throat, his eyes caught on something over your shoulder, and before you can ask, he steps away from the post, moves past you, and you can see what he’s looking at.

If you didn’t know she was gone, you’d think you were looking at the back of Sarah Miller. An older version, taller, her hair a bit longer than your memory serves, but the similarities are uncanny. Your heart crawls into your throat as a young girl bounds toward Sarah’s doppelgänger, falling into her open arms with a giggle.

More tears springing into your eyes, you step closer to Joel, putting a hand on his arm. “Baby,” you murmur, letting your hand drop, reaching for his, “let’s go get cleaned up, yeah?”

He doesn’t move. You both stay where you are, Joel’s eyes tracking the girls as they disappear, but you can almost hear the wheels churning in his mind. You say his name again, but he ignores you, and as you watch, that hard mask — one you haven’t seen for a while now — forms on his face, effectively pushing you away.

“I’m goin’ for a walk,” he bites out, and before you can reply, he’s gone, tugging his coat closer, stalking off through the crowds.

You have half a mind to follow him, but something tells you you shouldn’t, and you stay put, wipe the tears from your lashes, looking around at the town. There are just so many…people. Happy people, healthy people. 

Part of you wants to deck Tommy for not telling you to come sooner, but then you remember Maria’s pointed look in the mess hall, when he’d said that having a bad reputation doesn’t always make you bad. What stories has he told his wife? How much does she know? She’d kept him off the radio, after all, leaving you and Joel to spiral back in Boston.

You blow out a breath, refusing to dwell on the past, on all the things you don’t have the power to change now. You made it here, found much more than you bargained for, and hopefully, Joel got some information from Tommy about where you go next. Peering around, you realize you’re not totally sure where you’ve ended up, making your plan to head to the house Maria had briefly shown you before taking you to Cowan’s a moot point. You turn on your heel, contemplating going into the bar to talk to Tommy, when you barrel straight into someone. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say immediately, your boots sliding against the snow. The other person grabs your arm, keeping you upright, and your eyes flick up, widening. “Henry!”

It’s obvious he’s been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed, his nose bright, and he sniffles as he nods at you. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t be,” you assure him, reaching up and cupping his cold cheek in your palm. “Honey, you’re freezing.”

“I was at the graves,” he tells you, and you nod, “but when I heard you and Nick coming, I ran. I didn’t know what to—”

You shake your head. “Henry, it’s okay, really. I promise. This day has been…intense. I was just about to go back to the house Maria put us up in, but I realized I don’t really know where I’m going. Why don’t you show me the way, and I’m sure we can scrounge up something warm to drink inside?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, a tiny smile, but a smile all the same. “That sounds good.”

“Good,” you agree, and he offers you his elbow, turning you in the opposite direction you’d about to start walking. “God, you’re so tall.”

“Giving Nick a run for his money,” he says, and you can hear the smile still in your voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, honey,” you tell him, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow as you start walking. “Anything.”

“Do you remember my parents?”

Oof. “A little. I never really got the chance to know them well; I wasn’t at the mall very long before they died, but I remember them being very nice, very kind. Your dad was very funny, he was always trying his hardest to make you kids laugh.”

“And my mother?”

You swallow hard, ignoring the scene that flashes in your mind. The last time you’d seen Tim and Marcy, FEDRA soldiers had been carrying their bodies out of the mall where you’d all been staying. Tim had blood on his mouth and a bullet in his brain, and Marcy’s throat had been ripped out.

“She was beautiful,” is what comes out of your mouth, and it’s not a lie. She was a beautiful woman, and part of you aches at the realization that you and Deanna never really talked to the kids about their parents much, at least not while they were in Boston. “She chased the two of you around a lot, but I remember she’d tell you bedtime stories every night.”

“I remember that, I think,” Henry says, and you squeeze his arm. “I remember her telling me she’d always chase the bad dreams away.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s all worked out this way. It’s not fair.”

He falls silent, and you walk quietly until the house comes into view. You head inside, finding a note from Ellie that she’s across the street at Maria and Tommy’s house. The house is warm, and sure enough, it’s easy to find a few stray tea bags, some mugs, water and a kettle.

Henry takes a seat at the kitchen island as you make the tea, arms propped on the counter, shoulders hunched. Part of you wants to ask him about Emily, but you hold your tongue, searching the kitchen cabinets and eventually finding a few sugar packets.

“Deanna still talked about you a lot,” Henry says suddenly, and his voice almost makes you jump. “After we left Boston. I think she was mad at Nick, for taking us away, and I don’t know if they ever made up, really and truly.”

“She was mad?” you repeat, dropping the tea bags into mugs and filling them with hot water. “At Nick?”

He nods. “I don’t think she really believed him, when he told us you were dead. Em and I were just kids, but Deanna…she’d give him shit all the time, anytime he made a decision on the road, she’d always counter him and say something like, if Liv were here, she’d do this.”

It makes your throat tight. Sounds like the Deanna you remember.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and your brow lifts, “for believing him.”

You shake your head, setting one of the mugs in front of him and taking the seat beside his. “Henry, honey, you were just a kid. You couldn’t have known; you don’t need to apologize.”

He taps his fingers against the side of his mug. “You were always there for us, Liv. I remember that.” His forehead furrows. “I remember…you getting hurt? You slept on the couch in our apartment for a few days and…” He trails off, shaking his head, but you remember.

“I fell down the stairs,” you say, recounting the lie you’d offered to cover up the beating you’d received in FEDRA lockup, your penance for Joel and Tess coming into the QZ. “That was just after Joel showed up.”

He nods. “I remember being really, really worried when I saw all the bruises, and Deanna told me not to worry, that you were tough and you’d be fine, but I snuck out of bed that night anyway and just sat by the couch, made sure you were still breathing.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “I remember. You scared the shit out of me, honestly.” That earns you a laugh, and you put your hand on his knee. “But then you started crying, and so I hugged you and told you I wasn’t going anywhere, that there was nothing that could take me away from you kids.”

“But then Nick did.”

You inhale sharply. You’re entering dangerous territory. “He did. I don’t agree with him telling you that I was dead, but he had his reasons, Henry. And he did his best to protect all of you.”

“Do you know the reason?” he asks, and your heart sinks. “Because even if you were dead, it doesn’t make sense why he dragged us out of Boston like that.”

“I don’t understand FEDRA anymore than you do, honey. He told me you stayed in Chicago for a while; if they sent him there, he probably didn’t have much of a choice.”

“But why did he want to take us away from you? And why didn’t you come looking for us?”

Fuck.

You shove a hand through your hair with a sigh. “I didn’t know where he’d taken you. I was the last person FEDRA was going to divulge information to, and without knowing even which direction he’d taken you, there was nothing for me to go on.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not entirely a lie either. You had no idea where Nick had taken them when he did, leaving behind only the note he’d written, telling you not to come after them, that you should stay in Boston and that he’d keep your secret. A secret you don’t think you can bring yourself to tell Henry. Not yet, anyway.

Henry sips his tea and you stare down into your mug. Silence settles, but it’s only a few moments before Henry breaks it. “I miss her every single day,” he says, and your eyes lift. “Emily.”

It feels like a punch in the chest. Your eyes are sore from crying already, and yet tears spring anew. “I do too,” you tell him, “and I don’t have the same version you did. She’s still a little kid in my mind, drawing butterflies everywhere.”

“She got really good at it,” he continues, a sad smile pulling at his mouth. “Drawing, I mean. It was all she ever wanted to do, and Nick always made sure she had something to draw with. Good of him, I guess, despite it all.”

“Henry, honey, you can’t hate him forever,” you say, veering for a subject change, if only to beat down the grief rising in your chest. “You’re allowed to be mad; I’m mad as all hell. But Nick Cowan is the closest thing you’ve had to a father in this world, and you know that as well as I do. He did what he had to, and he did it to protect you.” You inhale sharply. “If the roles were reversed, I’d have done the same thing.”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, eyes meeting yours. “What?”

You sigh. You can’t tell him, you know you can’t. But despite all of it, Nick lied to protect them because of you, and you can’t let Henry hate him because of what you did.

“It was my fault,” you say finally, and the grief feels like it might spill over anyway, but you can’t keep up the facade, can’t let Nick take all the blame for this. “I messed up, and it put everyone in danger, and that’s why Nick took you away. I never came after you because I didn’t know where you went, and Nick told me to keep my distance. It was never anything you did, or your sister, or Deanna. It was me, Henry. I caused this. So if you’re going to hate anyone, it should be me. Nick did what he had to.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You wish the floor would split open and swallow you whole, but it doesn’t. You brace your hands on the countertop, waiting for the shouting, the same words he’d hurled at Nick in the street.

But instead, you get, “Are you staying? In Jackson?”

Not what you were expecting, but you’ll take it. “Not for long. We came looking for Tommy, hoping he might know where to take Ellie.”

“That’s the girl that’s with you?” You nod. “You’re taking her to the Fireflies?”

Your brows shoot up. “How do you—”

He waves you off. “Tommy likes to talk when he’s drunk.”

“You—” You cut yourself off, unable to lie any further. “Yes.”

“And after? When she’s where she needs to be?”

Your brow furrows and you shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. Joel and I haven’t decided. We’ve never had a decision like this available to us, and we’d have to talk to Maria more first, I think.” You stare down into your mug again. “I don’t think she likes us much.”

“Aren’t you supposed to hate your in-laws?” he jokes, the mood instantly lightening, and you bark a laugh.

“How would you know?” When his cheeks go red, you smile. “Someone special?”

Henry nods. “Very special.” He swallows, setting his mug on the counter. “His name is Cal.”

The spark in his eyes makes your gut twist with happiness. Despite it all, Henry’s managed to find something that makes his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, something that brings him joy you can feel.

You throw your arms around his neck. “I’m glad, Henry. I’m so, so glad.”

And you are.

PREV | NEXT

[isaut]

rex tries, he really does.

it’s easier to form commentary about things he’s seen in real life— landscapes come easy. the sunlight and nightbreak are always accompanied by animals he’s never had the pleasure of seeing (animals flee during war).

his comments are filled with “really pretty” and “good lighting” and you hum and giggle and hold his hand.

it’s enough.

the hardest thing is abstract art. he’ll stand by your side in front of these pieces for hours, looking at shapes and canvases of only one color. he supposes it’s a feat that the brushstrokes are invisible (“remember how defined they were when we were looking at the impressionist paintings?”). he guesses it’s something like picasso even though you’ve told him time and again it’s not.

he doesn’t understand how you can spend so much time in front of a plain, red canvas. even after he’s read the little plaque to the side.

surely there are more landscapes to look at.

but rex is quiet. he stands next to you.

“mosset thought life had no meaning after he watched his planet fall into a war,” you say. you sound almost like you’re giving a tour, but softer. “he was a refugee to naboo— and ended up working for a painter stretching canvas. he didn’t understand why he had survived. art had no meaning to him anymore.”

rex doesn’t chime in that he doesn’t think this counts as art.

“anyways, when he set out to paint this it was as a meditative process. the paint is actually layers thick in different colors, and the canvas has been restretched multiple times. it’s rewoven in certain places to make it longer.”

rex supposes that’s interesting.

“either way. the end goal of the painting was to do what mosset thought he couldn’t do anymore: take up space.”

rex mulls over your explanation. he looks over the red canvas again, and can’t see any imperfections. there’s no clump of dried paint, no sew of canvas.

“what happened to mosset?” rex asks.

“he killed himself shortly after finishing the piece.”

“do you tell the patrons that?”

“absolutely. the painting carries on and takes up space for him even though he left this world believing he couldn’t. most patrons don’t care about this painting, though.”

“did you know him?”

you pause. “yeah. i met him once.”

rex nods. he does what you often do: tilt his head to side as he reexamines the painting. the context tugs on something deeper than his heartstrings.

“i think i get it,” rex murmurs.

you squeeze his hand and rest your head on his shoulder. “i thought you might.”

[munsonify]

christmas decorations

pairing. eddie munson x gn!reader

summary. you insist on helping eddie decorate his trailer for christmas!

content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, baby), slight swearing, cookies, established relationships.

a/n. the end feels supppper rushed so sorry lol

word count. 913

12 days of christmas - day 1/12

Wayne and Eddie were never ones to decorate for the holidays. They could barely find the time to see each other properly with Wayne working nights, let alone decorate their trailer for each holiday. Besides, they deemed it wasn’t too important to them. They two much preferred the trailer as it was.

You, however, were not having that.

Yes, the trailer was fine just how it was. It was small, but homely. Nevertheless, you decided some holiday cheer was needed inside. At first, Eddie pretended he hated the idea. He grunted and groaned over the thought of moving the already perfectly placed decor for more. You still weren’t having it. With as much insistence as you could give, you finally convinced Eddie that just a little decorations wouldn’t hurt.

So, with the help of Joyce, who had a ton of leftover lights, and the clearance Christmas sections in several stores, you were able to scrounge up enough decorations to put around the trailer. You found a small artificial tree that would fit perfectly in the trailer. Wayne made you promise it wouldn’t shed like a real pine tree. You also found a few small, ceramic reindeer to place neatly on surfaces. You even bought a bag of tinsel you knew would end up braided into Eddie’s hair rather than on the tree.

You proudly lugged everything over to Eddie and Wayne’s trailer once everything was gathered. Your boyfriend could tell you were stumbling with everything in your arms, and made sure he helped bring everything in. His eyes, however, wandered to the plate full of chocolate chip cookies you managed to bring with you too.

“Eyes off the cookies, Munson,” you warned teasingly. “You can have as many as you want after we decorate.”

“You’re so cute when you’re demanding,” is all Eddie said after that, a cheeky grin playing on his face. He helped sit everything down, taking the plate of cookies to the kitchen. As if thinking he was sneaky, his hand reached to grab one right off the top, earning a glare from you.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie grumbled. “No cookies until we decorate! Bossy ass.”

You started with the tree, setting it up neatly in the corner. It was around shoulder length with Eddie’s body, more thin than it was tall. He insisted on letting him hang the ornaments, though you swatted him away when he only put the silver and gold ornaments in clumps.

“I thought you wanted me to help!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air as you took over.

“Yeah, before you decided to be shit at tree decorating,” you fired back, fixing his clumps and spreading them out properly. After you fixed it, you stood back, and showed him. “Now doesn’t that look better?”

Eddie only rolled his eyes. He began unraveling all of the lights while you were finishing the tree, which he found to be more irritating than fun. He did it anyways, his mind set on those cookies in the kitchen. Noticing his irritation, you kissed his forehead gently, smoothing back his hair in the process.

You noticed how quickly Eddie relaxed. Despite still slightly irritated with the knotted lights, he always relaxed around you. Especially when you show him affection. You caved when you saw his brown doe eyes looking up at you from the lights.

“Okay baby, you can have a cookie,” you giggled, watching him jump up eagerly from his spot. He ran straight to the cookies like a child, grabbing the very top one again like before. And, as if starved, Eddie shoved half of it in his mouth. He knew immediately that they were your homemade ones that you make him all the time.

“God, you’re the best, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbled through a mouthful of cookies. “I promise I’ll help when I’m done.”

That, he did. Cheerfully, too! He grabbed you a chair to stand on as you strung lights up along the walls, holding the wad of extra lights in his hands so they didn’t get tangled with anything else.

You were nearly done with the lights when Wayne woke up for his nap. He usually slept a lot of the day in attempts to catch up from the sleep he loses during the night. With a soft smile at you and his nephew, he decided he’d help, also. He set the ceramic decorations around the house. Some were reindeer, others were nutcrackers. There was even an elf that resembled Dustin just a little too much for Eddie’s liking.

As if the finishing touch, you hung up the wreath on their front door. The red ribbon on the wreath was bigger than the actual wreath itself.

You looked around the trailer after you were done to take in the finished product. There was a pit on your stomach that you couldn’t quite shake. You were forgetting something, you were sure of it. You just weren’t sure what it was! With one glance at the tree, you knew you’d forgotten the star.

“C’mon sweetheart, a frown?” Eddie asked, eyes immediately catching on to your sunken expression. He brought a gentle hand up to your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot the star,” you whispered, a pout on your lips. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re worried about forgetting a star? Baby, you brought more than you had to! It’s okay that you forgot a star!” His reassurance eased you quickly, just as your touch eased him. You gave him a nod and a smile, which in turn made him smile. You could tell he was happy with what you’d gotten him.

As long as he was happy, you were happy.

[gilly-moon]

For the angst list! #1 with either pairing or both of you wanna! OwO

ooooo this one was extra spicy drama. still need to edit it but here you go:

-

1 : “Don’t touch me, you lost that privilege when you let her into our bed.”

When he saw the spirit leaving Pitch’s cave, Jack’s mind went blank. His eyes darted, analyzing, processing the image of Pitch leaning over to place a kiss on the other being’s hand.

Her, Jack thought as the spirit turned.  Unbidden arose the memory of Pitch having a child. A marriage. A wife.

The spirit was draped in black like Pitch, dark hair flowing in three thick braids over her back. She smiled, and Pitch smiled back. With a sharp, agonizing pain to his chest, Jack had the thought that they looked good together.

He waited until the spirit left, and Pitch had returned inside. And then he waited a while longer, to calm his breathing and formulate what he was going to say. Snow fell in thick clumps, despite the early warmth of spring pervading the air.

By the time he was floating down into the dark cavern, he still had no plan. He couldn’t even pin down exactly what was getting him so worked up over this.

Pitch greeted him as he always did - his smile softening, his eyes gleaming with a little more gold. Jack tried to respond with a similar air of normalcy, but he was distracted wondering if Pitch’s expression had softened for her, too.

He visited twice more before Jack decided he couldn’t take not knowing anymore. But on his third arrival to Pitch’s lair, he found it eerie and empty.

So of course, he began searching. Rifling through books. Scouring over and under every walkway and bridge. Finding nothing, until he came upon Pitch’s bedroom.

It was sparse, filled with more shadows than furniture or decor. Jack’s staff glowed to illuminate a small portion of the space as he peered around. His stomach did a somersault as he approached the bed, remembering the handful of times Pitch had gathered him close on those dark sheets, showering him with affection.

When he reached out to drag his fingers over the bed, he realized the fabric on top wasn’t just sheets. As he lifted it up, he thought it might be one of Pitch’s robes, but this one was a different material. It was lighter, with sheer layers. It was familiar.

The garment slipped through his fingers. It was hers.

A noise echoed down the corridor behind him.

Jack snatched up his staff. The winds whisked him from the room, carrying him out of the nearest opening to the outside world and far, far away.

.

“Where are you, Jack?”

“Huh?”

Jack focused himself, looking up at Pitch. They were sat across from each other on one of the walkways, perched on opposite railings. Pitch had crossed his arms and his brow was furrowed. Two weeks had passed since Jack found the robe on his bed.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, and you’re turning my cave into an ice sculpture.” Pitch gestured to Jack’s feet, where frost was spreading rapidly over the stone. “Not to mention the palpable fear I can feel all around you. So, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Jack insisted, gaze dropping to his feet where they were crossed beneath him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And yet whatever it is worries you a great deal.”

Pitch stood, stepping closer. Jack’s throat constricted.

“If my fear is such a bother to you, I should just go.”

There was a noise of amusement from above him, his only warning before grey fingers were reaching for his chin.

“Really, Jack, you know how delicious your fear is to -”

The fingers brushed Jack’s skin, and he lurched away. Spirals of ice shot out from the tip of his staff.

“Don’t touch me!” Jack shouted. His voice filled the cavern all the way to its darkest depths. Pitch’s eyes went wide, but Jack’s fury hadn’t finished boiling over. “You lost that privilege when you let her into our bed!”

The words were already out there by the time Jack realized what he’d said. Pitch gasped in a soft breath, hands going limp at his sides.

“Jack -”

“Why don’t you shut up, too,” Jack snapped, “just for good measure.”

Our bed. He’d never called it that before.

It wasn’t. It was Pitch’s. This was his cave, his bedroom, his bed. Jack was just a visitor. That much was obvious now.

“You’re drawing ridiculous conclusions from nothing,” Pitch snapped, hands curling at his sides.

“What I saw wasn’t nothing,” Jack shot back. He floated beside the walkway, ice crystals forming in the air all around him.

“I know exactly what you saw.”

Shadows lurched up the walls, writhing over stone as they swallowed up several shafts of light.

“Did you think you were being discreet when you ransacked my home? Because whatever effort you took to hide it was adorably pathetic.”

“Shut up.”

“I was planning to let it slide. But now you come here to yell at me like a child, and accuse me of - what, exactly? Tell me, Jack. I’m so eager to know what kind of relationship you think we have, that makes you feel you have the right to act this way.”

Jack’s heart dropped to his stomach, cold and cracked. Winds swirled around him, fast enough to rip at his hoodie and Pitch’s robe. Everything was wrong. But there was no taking back what either of them had said.

“Fuck you, Pitch.”

The winds gathered under him and shot him towards the only skylight not yet covered in darkness. Shadows raced over the ceiling, but he was faster. He burst out into the daylight and didn’t stop until he was in the clouds.

Snow filled each cloud that he passed through, droplets of ice scraping down his cheeks. As he flew, his mind grew empty until all that remained was the sickening image of grey lips pressed to a hand that wasn’t his own.

[mirohtron]

The supervillain dug their talons deep into the hyperventilating villain's neck. This was unbelievable—the villain was nothing, nothing, how did they sneak in?

"I should kill you," they said coldly.

The villain made a noise wholly born of fright. "Please, please, don't, I want to make a deal—hah!" They choked down a sob, bit down on their lip to do it, when one of the supervillain's sharp talons scraped down their skin. "They wouldn't let me in, you have to believe me. You can't possibly think I was trying to sneak in to, like, steal—"

The supervillain yanked them up, so they were sitting on their desk. A bottle of ink had spilled and matted part of their brown hair black. The villain didn't dare move, tensing up every muscle in their body.

The supervillain clenched their jaw and squeezed the villain's neck, making them whimper in fright. "Tell me how you broke in," they said lowly and through their teeth, "from where you broke in, and why you thought sneaking up behind me was worth a deal I could reject."

"Let me tell you about the deal first!" the villain said, and then screamed when the supervillain raked sharp talons down their skin. "Flowers! Flowers. I brought sleepy poppies to the back guards and acted smitten and said I wanted to give it to you. They sniffed it and were out like a light in minutes. And then—I used their fingerprints and keycards and stuff to get in."

"Sleepy poppies?"

The villain sniffled. "I grew them experimentally. They're mine."

The supervillain rolled their tongue, beyond furious that a stupid thing like them could trick their guards. Somebody was going to die tonight.

"There's people constantly on watch," they said. "Constantly at work. You will tell me exactly how you got inside my office."

The villain pointed up, to the open vent. They dug in their pocket and took out a pen. "Heated the grates off. I didn't wanna make noise."

The supervillain yanked the pen out of their grip. They took the cap off and found a piece of metal that was in a similar shape as the cigarette lighters in cars inside.

The villain sobbed in panic when they glared. "Why are you mad? I was—I wasn't going to do anything bad—" they shut up when the vampire sneered.

"You're not even in gear."

The villain's voice came out in a loud, panicked shout. "Because I wasn't going to fight you!"

"Shut up!" The supervillain yanked them close. The villain's eyes were wide, their chest rising up and down unsteadily, their knuckles white as their hands turned to fists. "You come into my lair, my office, with nothing but a piece of metal that can get hot and flowers, and you think I should appreciate your brain because you got past a couple useless guards?"

Blood was already dripping from the shallow wounds the supervillain had given them on their neck, scented sweet. It would be so, so easy to just squeeze and stop their whining. The villain's face twisted. "I didn't come here to make a useless deal!"

"Then why, pray tell, did you come here? To join me?"

"I came here because superhero's gonna kill you!"

The supervillain froze. For a moment all the anger and arrogance left them as they stood there to process. The villain was red-cheeked and panting, and the part of their hair matted with ink was drying into a solid clump.

Slowly, the supervillain turned their talons back to their cold fingers. "Nobody can kill me."

The villain half-scoffed half-laughed, and it came out halfway broken. "You're a vampire."

The su—the vampire froze, once more. The villain was clutching the edge of their expensive desk now. The ink bottle had a dark pool around its mouth, staining the mahogany.

"I'm no vampire."

"Silver hurts you! And—" the villain took a breath too big and coughed. "And your hands are cold," they said miserably, as though temperature was their biggest worry right now.

"Silver doesn't hurt me, I wear silver jewellery. What are you—"

The villain slipped their hand under the vampire's sleeve and held their wrist, and immediately the vampire's skin burned. And it wasn't like their skin heated up, no. It was like blue fire had touched their skin, like their nerve endings were sizzling.

The vampire screamed. The villain went pale and started to snatch their hand back, but the vampire took it and slammed them back down on the table.

In rage the vampire caught their face in their fingers, digging their human nails into the hollows of their cheek. The villain took their turn to scream in fear. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, my ring is silver and—I'd been careful not to—"

"Fine," the vampire gritted out. "Fine. I'm a god damn vampire. How did you find out?"

The villain took a remarkably steady breath, visibly swallowing down all of their sobs and hiccups and the rest of their pathetic crying. "You don't appear on camera. Your body is cold. I came here before, way back before I became a villain, as some else's arm candy. I noticed you didn't have a single thing that was real silver. Gold, brass, steel, bronze, diamond—you had everything except silver. I..." The villain's breath hitched.

"Go on."

The villain took a breath halfway through their nose before they realised it came as an annoying sniffle, and took in the rest through their mouth. "I kept notes. I theorised that your weakness was silver. You kept it hidden well but..."

"And the superhero now knows?" The vampire squeezed the villain's jaw. "She knows because you told her, didn't you? And she's going to kill both of us now because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut?"

The villain frantically shook their head. The spilled bottle of ink was right by their head. "They broke into my place and went through my stuff." They lifted the arm of theirs that wasn't pinned down to the table and shook it to shimmy down the sleeve. The vampire turned their head and saw the beginning of what looked like a deep cut that just missed their vein. "I've got these all over me. They found out my theories on you and kept me alive just because they thought I had something that could kill you. I lied and said I did."

"How did you escape?"

The villain's face twisted in anxious frustration. "Why does it matter? Why does it matter at all—I ran when they weren't looking!" They curled away from the villain's sharp talons. "Please, please, I promise I only came here to warn you."

"And?"

The villain looked at them tearily. "And for protection from heroes."

The vampire gritted their teeth. They'd kept the silver thing hidden well, and for so long. If the villain had figured it out just because they happened to connect a few dots...

Well, it seemed like they were slacking off. And as cowardly and weak as the villain was, they'd clearly been silently observing a lot of people, and they were also resourceful and intelligent.

The vampire brought them up again. "I don't care about you, let's make that clear."

"Well, I don't care about you either." The villain frowned childishly, sniffling. The vampire laughed in amusement.

"Good, so this relationship is purely professional. You must know what the superhero's weakness are."

"Some," the villain said. "She's good at hiding it if something hurts her, but she's always shocked first." The vampire caught them flexing their ringed hand. "As strong people always are."

The vampire looked back at the villain. The villain quickly realised that the vampire had clocked that movement and paled, and then quickly flushed and opened their mouth to no doubt apologise, but the vampire ignored them.

"Work with my men," they said. They let go of the villain's neck, which was now red and bleeding, and placed a finger over their chest. "Co-operate. They will send me periodic reports on you."

The villain's features lifted in shock, and then they took in a relieved breath. "So you'll offer me protection?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, oh my God, thank you. I was so scared you wouldn't, I'm so grateful and I...I..." They trailed off as the vampire began to make their way to their office doors.

"Be gone from my office by the time I come back," the vampire said, hand on the door handle. "I need to sort things out and fire a couple guards."

The vampire left.

The villain wiped off all traces of their act from their face, and twisted their silver ring around their finger.

They took that stupid bottle of ink and threw it to the ground, and then put their head in their hands and groaned.

God, if they were busted, they'd so dead.

[sebstan2020]

Repaying the Debt

Chapter 6

Violet Williams, a typical rich daddy's girl who did nothing but spend his money and hang our with her girlfriends. Her life couldn't be better. But that all changes when her father gets in trouble with New Yorks biggest and most ruthless mob boss, James Barnes and she finds herself repaying the debt of her father.

Violet gasped as she stared up at James underneath her golden bangs, heroes blinking in both horror and fear. Was he being serious, or was he just saying that to scare her, to throw the fear into her to make her behave? Surely he wasn’t. But his tone sounded so serious that she shuddered, and his dark eyes gazing at her intensely made the notion even more believable. But was this her doing? She had only meant it as a joke—to rile him up, annoy him, and get on her nerves—to frustrate him so that he would just throw her back into that small prison room and leave her be. But her thought process for that was clearly wrong, and she wished she hadn’t said anything. She wished she had kept her big mouth shut. She had quite clearly given him even more of a reason to spank her, to punish her, and to teach her a lesson. It had slipped from her mouth, and James was going to take that opportunity.

He was quick with his movements, yanking her from the floor by the scruff of her neck with a ball of frazzled hair, wrapped around his long, slender fingers, and forcing her over to the large couch placed to the side of his office. It was smooth leather, dark, and rich, with gold legs. She managed to get a good look at him, dressed in a suit of all black, finely tailored to his body and size, tightly fitting, and of expensive taste. His rich cologne flooded her senses, almost drugging her, and a few strands of his dark locks had fallen in front of his forehead, adding that little extra spice to him. She screamed as he overpowered her so easily, barely even having to lift his arm to drag her across, forcing her into the desired position for her punishment. He seated himself down on the couch, legs spread, to place her between them. her chest laying flat across his thigh, with her legs dangling underneath. She scrambled for freedom, clawing at his leg, the carpet, and the couch, but she was weak, like a feather. Her life of shopping and manicures was no use for her now. She should have spent more time at the gym bulking up in case handsome mafia men kidnapped her for a debt owed.

She was in the perfect position for James. completely exposed, her ass slightly turned up to give him a full view of it, a hand gripping the clump of hair to keep her still. His power loomed over her; his simple position sat on the couch while she was kneeling before him, able to grab and restrain her at anytime while she wiggled and squirmed with no ounce of release.

Violet was unaccustomed to disciplining. She had gone her whole life doing whatever she wanted without a care, without someone to give her any direction or guidance. Growing up, she had always been a good girl until she reached her teens, where she acquired a taste for fashion, beauty, and money. Her bratty attidude was born at the age of fifteen, sassing at her father for suggesting that she do her homework instead of talk to her friends all night long. Over the years, her father had given up with her, trying to enforce some structure and rules around the house but realising nothing would work on her. It was best to let the monster live rather than fight it every day. never had he gotten physical with her or even touched the idea of punishments.

But James was not her father. He was not going to tolerate this kind of behaviour. He was not going to allow her to behave this way without learning from her actions and facing the consequences. She was in dire need of some discipline, and he was more than happy to administer it. It had only been two days, and she was already trying to escape, disobeying his warning that if she did, he would punish her. Bad girls need to be punished, and he was already enjoying the sight of her draped over his thigh.

She squirmed with heavy breaths until she realised that his grip was too strong and she wasn't going anywhere. For a while, James just sat and watched her, tugging her ever so slightly back into position without a word until she huffed and calmed down. His smirk grew evil, and his voice spoke softly.

"Good girl," he murmured, and Violet swallowed, her eyes wide with curiosity. Suddenly, his large hand pushed itself inside the grey joggers, sliding them down her smooth, buttery skin. The touch of his hand set off electric shocks, and she squirmed even more as she felt exposed and vulnerable, her ass completely on show except for her thong panties that she was still wearing from a couple days ago, a reminder of the night she was taken.

This was truly happening. She had hoped he was just going to scare her with the thought, threaten her that if she didn't do as she was told, the next time he really would punish her, and then send her back off to her room. but she was wrong again. In a split second, her thong was yanked down, and she truly was exposed, the cold air hitting her sensitive mound and her thighs pressing together as if to conceal herself somehow, but nothing could be hidden from him.

A firm tug on her hair kept her in place, and she yelped a little, swallowing a lump of saliva at the back of her throat as she felt his fingers trail up her leg across her smooth ass, laying there for what felt like minutes.

"Now you're going to tell me why I'm punishing you," he said smoothly, his voice low and dominant and serious, and Violet scoffed under her breath, trying to hide her face from her cheeks heating up. Was he still being serious? He was treating her like a child.

"Fuck you," she whispered, trying to keep her voice quiet so he wouldn't hear her, but the sharp tug on her hair yanked her head up in full view, her mouth opening wide with a wince indicating otherwise.

"I suggest you answer me, or this is going to be worse for you," he scolded, and she took a deep breath. She hadn't realised she was gripping onto her leg for support, and when he didn't drop her head from his craned position, she gave into his demand.

"Because I tried to run away," she squeaked, and James softly chuckled, the vibrations in his throat sounding close to her ear.

"That's right, you disobeyed me trying to escape like that, and now you need to be punished. Bad girls are punished and good girls are rewarded, and right now you need some serious discipline." His voice was husky and intimidating, and Violet was clinging to his every word.

"I'm going to spank you, and after each one, I want you to say thank you, sir," he ordered, and Violet snorted, shaking her head. She wasn't going to be defeated in this and subjected to this submissive behaviour.

"Yeah righ-Ahhh!" His hand came down in a loud smack, flesh on flesh, a burning sensation tingling straight away as his hand made contact with her bare ass, fingers gripping into the skin, and Violet jolted from the impact. The cold of the ring on his thumb dug into her flesh and left a distinctive mark. It was harsh and painful, like nothing she had ever felt before in her life. Her eyes immediately began to water, and she fought with every ounce of strength left in her body. but she should have learned from the first time James was too strong and had the upper hand here. With a swift motion, his foot pressed on her flattening hands on the carpet, a perfect polished dress shoe pressing into them to keep them still and out of his way. How he managed to so easily get her in this position, she didn't know, but she was stuck now. The thick soles dug into the backs of her hands, crushing every finger and bone.

Another smack came, and she winced, trying to lean forward away from his dangerous palm, and another tug on her hair meant he was waiting for something.

"I'm waiitng Violet," he warned, and she huffed. There was no way out of this except through it. With a quiet, grumpy voice, she said the words he was aching to hear.

"Thank you, sir." Another smack came immediately as her words were spoken and his lips pressed to her ear.

"I can't hear you," he teased. another smack, and Violet groaned, gritting her teeth together.

"Thank you, sir.".

James smirked, raising his hand and smacking it back down on her now-red ass. It didn't take long for it to heat up, with her skin warm and tender and the flesh turning bright red. It was tingling as if she had been burned with a hot pan, her flesh sensitive and fragile. After every spank, she spoke the words he wanted to hear, humiliation settling in early on in her punishment.

James was enjoying it too much, his cock turning hard beneath the tightness of his pants and his body heating up under his suit. The pain in her hands was nowhere near the same as her swollen ass, and the spanks just kept coming. She eventually settled into his leg, allowing her discipline to be administered thoroughly and consistently. There was a lone tear in the corner of her eye, and she sniffled it away, wincing as the last few spanks were the most painful. Her ass felt like it had been set on fire, the feeling almost turning numb to the point where even a gentle touch was too harsh for her.

She thought it was over when Unitl James proceeded to end with a nonstop string of spanks, one after another, as he scolded her further. 

"So when I tell you, Violet, that you're not to escape and that if you do, I will punish you again, even more than this, are you going to do as you told me?" He asked, staring down at her, and she whimpered, pulling at his grip for release.

"Yes," she cried out, but he wasn't satisfied, and he kept on spanking her.

"Yes, what?" he gritted.

"Yes, sir," she assumed, was the phrase he wanted to hear, and she was finally right about something. He grinned heavily, fighting the urge to slip his hand further down. He'd love to feel her sensitive mound, dip his fingers into her slick pussy, and tease her some more, but this was a punishment, not a reward.

"Are you going to be a good girl and obey me?" He raised a brow, tilting his head slightly even though she couldn't see him, but she nodded her head fast. In the time it took him to get her into position and administer the spanking, she was like putty in his hands. Her fighting spirit had run off and left behind a submissive brat in need of discipline and order. She was broken, and he was pleased.

Violet had never thought she'd let a man break her down like this and succumb her to this whimpering, obedient girl, letting him take order and control over her. She was a strong woman in her day-to-day life, always getting what she wanted. but in minutes she was forced down and made to surrender, and James found every second of it thrilling and arousing.

"Good girl" He placed his hand on her ass, his now gentle touch giving her ass a sting even as he barely touched her. He stayed still for a moment, watching as she caught her breath, brought herself back to reality as she clawed her way out of subspace, and wiggled under him. He finally released the pressure of his foot from her hands, bringing back the blood and feeling to her fingers. She flexed them, although the pain was worse when she did that, and James shuffled to pull up her pants and joggers, covering up her disciplined ass. 

With a tug, he yanked her head back, forcing her to arch her back as she stared into his dark oceaon eyes, a gasp escaping with a stutter as she looked up.

"Now let's get you back where you belong.".

Chapter 7

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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[probssomethingorother]

🚨 NEW CHAPTER! 🚨

I said I was going to turn this out and I did! Whoop whoop. Unfortunately, I have done barely any review on it so good luck folks. Will go back and make fixes soon. Feel free to call out anything glaring/jarring. @eedsknees gave me the idea to include (SPOILER) some nightmare content, so they are lowkey responsible for jump starting the writing process on this one.

Back & Forth: a the last of us fic

post-episode 8 Silver Lake hurt/comfort

Ellie & Joel, both riding the struggle bus, canon compliant

Rating: Mature for dark themes, nothing more than the show

It was Joel who stumbled first. He had felt the strength seeping out of him with every step so viscerally it was like his body was a container with a slow leak. His gate would falter and his hand would slip further down her shoulder, power waning. He would cough in his throat and blink forcefully trying to reignite the spark of energy that had carried him to Ellie just hours ago, but it was all a losing battle. And eventually, he lost it. It was Ellie who moved first after that.

chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4 | chp 5 | chp 6 | chp 7 | chp 8 / chp 8 |

chp 9 !!! YAY !!

read on Ao3 with the link above or below the cut, and remember comment where you can! <3

Chapter 9: (warning not proof read, will do that in the AM)

A lifetime ago, he was warned that raising a teenager - a teen girl at that - was going to be one of the hardest things he was going to live through. Joel had just started into the moody teenage years with Sarah before he lost her, they had their small arguments here and there, but really hadn’t quite hit that point where she was talking back, slamming doors, walking away, or giving him the silent treatment. Still, he had done all the mental preparation for the day his teenage girl would suddenly start putting him to the test, but he never thought in a million years that the teenage girl doing it was not going to be his Sarah. No, it was Ellie. 

Ellie, who had gone from pouting in silence on the couch to fitfully falling back asleep. From his spot a few feet away, Joel had first thought she was muttering under her breath, talking through something and trying to vent her frustrations, but then he noticed the way her body rose and sank rhythmically.  Still turned away from him, he couldn’t see her face to confirm, but after countless nights of looking over her while he took watch, he knew her breathing patterns like a parent knowing their child’s distinct cries. 

She was asleep, and deeply; unfortunately, it just wasn’t peacefully. 

For a long few minutes, Joel waited in the wingback chair, knee bouncing as he debated how long to let the restlessness go on before intervening. Hunched over with his arms on his knees, he wrung out his hands as he watched each one of her breaths and acutely listened in for what was slipping from her mouth, even turning his head so his good ear pointed more in her direction. 

Over the months together he had seen her have a few occasionally, but he had never woken her, and eventually, she did always settle. But now, this just felt different. She had been struggling in her waking hours, it seemed cruel to also let her suffer in her sleep.

“I’m not…don’t,” she softly muttered. The words were more distinct than much of the rest that had been coming from her, and the sense of desperation behind them was painfully evident.

Sighing, Joel stood up with a groan and silently moved closer to her. The blankets were still tightly wrapped around her, constricting her movements to small twitches of her body, clearly unable to manage anything more against the weighty fabric. Her hair splayed across the cushion and fell down her back, which just made Joel realize it now was fully out of its normal ponytail, elastic lost somewhere - maybe forever. In the soft light of the fire, her hair looked almost golden. However, it also meant its tangles and mats were highlighted, strands clumped and bunched in weird spots. 

“No….stop…no,” Ellie cried out again, still a soft and breathy slew of words, her body twitching again before settling. 

For a moment, it actually looked like she might be calming for good, heavy breaths petering out for a second; so Joel hesitated before making any further moves, hand lingering just above her shoulder. From above, he could now see more of her face. It was contorted with a tightness, brows pushed together and jaw clenched. It looked like she was trying to turn it more into the cushion, hide it away from something, but she could only push in so much into the fabric without smothering herself - even her unconscious body seemed to know that. 

Wherever she was, or whatever she was seeing, in her head, couldn’t be anything good. 

Suddenly, Ellie’s breathing hitched, a whimper escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering beneath her lids as she relived whatever terror she was experiencing. “Please…,” she whispered. 

The sounds tore at Joel's heart. 

Enough was enough. 

Taking a deep breath, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her awake, “Hey…hey, Ellie. Wake up,” he murmured, voice thick with concern.

But his soft murmurs only seemed to increase her unease. Her breathing grew more rapid, each exhale punctuated by a soft whimper of distress. 

"Ellie.." Joel tried again, placing more pressure on her shoulder to tip her onto her back. Her body complied, and she was now supine, but that also only seemed to make things worse for her.  The whimpers started to get caught in her throat, her face screwing up like she was about to cry. 

"Kiddo, time to wake up," Joel said, a little more sternly as he brought a gentle hand to the top of her head in a small gesture of comfort. It was an old instinct, something he used to do for Sarah when she was too afraid to sleep- gently caressing the top of her head, brushing back her beautiful curls to lull her down. (He later learned she should be in a bonnet when she slept, hair tucked away, but oh well). 

He brushed back some of Ellie’s hair too, trying not to get distracted by how utterly dirty it was,  bits sticking together by something, making it feel almost crunchy. 

“Ple….don’t….that’s…you’re hurting mmm….” 

She sounded like she was talking to someone now, and just being in proximity to it made Joel riddled with guilt as if he was the one it was directed at. With another soft sigh, Joel’s hand trailed down her head, past her shoulder, and onto her arm, giving it a squeeze. The move was a bad choice. 

Ellie's body immediately jerked away from him, eyes shooting open in terror, as her arm flung out in a wild, blind attempt to get the touch off her. 

Her hand connected solidly with the most vulnerable part of Joel- her loose fist hitting his barely stitched-together stab wound, dead center.

Ellie’s hand was tiny, but even so, it fucking hurt so bad. Time seemed to freeze, the sheer intensity of the pain anchoring Joel in agonizing stillness before the sensation hit him in full, like a tidal wave. He saw stars, the bright flecks dancing in front of his eyes as every nerve in his body screamed in agony. It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into his side, radiating outwards in a hot, searing wave of pinpricks that washed through his body from head to toe. 

He stumbled back with an unstable step, knocking into the edge of the coffee table before trying to catch himself, only for his legs to do the opposite and give out beneath him. He crumpled to the floor with a deep pained groan, voice ragged and raw, landing with a thump. 

For a very long moment, the world seemed distant, muffled, as if he was underwater as he sat still on the floor, hands not even able to clutch at the spot, just ghosting above it. For that same very long moment, Ellie’s eyes stayed fixed wide, now with a different form of terror as she came to terms with what she had just done. Both rattled by the sudden change of events, everything became eerily still between them as the room turned scarily quiet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, played on repeat in Ellie’s head, until finally she was was scrambling to sit up, blankets tangling around her, restricting her movements. With a frustrated groan, she yanked and kicked them away, tossing them angrily aside as she popped off the couch, desperate to check on Joel. 

She almost tripped and fell down too, feet getting caught up in the pile of discarded fabric on the floor. The stumble became a somewhat coordinated descent, and she dropped to her knees at his side. 

”Oh God, Fuck, fuck, Joel?,” Ellie stammered, her voice laden with guilt. She knelt anxiously beside him, hands hovering, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. His eyes were squinted, brow furrowed, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. He looked as he did when she first put him on that dingy mattress in the basement, just constipated with pain. It made her want to vomit knowing she was now the one to cause it this time. 

Still filled with lingering anxiety from her nightmares, Ellie’s body was cracking under all the emotion, tears pricking at her waterline. She fluttered her eyes quickly, trying to get it to stop, but the longer she stared down at Joel the more she felt the tears threaten to spill over. 

“Joel? Dude..what- tell me what I can do,” she stumbled out desperately. 

Joel could barely register her voice much less what she was saying. A ringing in his ears was now taking over making everything just seem a bit staticky. His eyes wandered around the ceiling for a second before screwing shut, trying to stave off an incoming wave of dizziness. 

He couldn’t understand why it hurt so bad, why a hit less than a punch had literally knocked him on his ass. 

God fuck if she was able to do this, how was he going to defend them against anything if something did happen?

He groaned then, but from the thought of his inability not the pain. The pain was on a level that far surpassed groans. 

“Okay..okay just,” Ellie began, taking his shaky hovering hands and moving them away, “let me look. I’m sorry.. sorry.. sorry,” she finished, biting at her lip as she slowly tried to raise his shirt to see the damage she had caused. 

But Joel wasn’t going to let her feel bad for this. Certainly wasn’t going to allow her to make it her responsibility to fix him again. Absolutely not.  

Despite the waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him, Joel managed to open his eyes. Through the haze, he saw Ellie's panicked face, her deep brown eyes wide with fear. 

She had barely gotten his shirt up, it sticking to him with dried blood. "S'okay," he rasped, bringing a hand up to push down the fabric and stop her before she could get much further. "Don’t," slipped out, although he had been going for “don’t worry.” 

Ellie stopped moving, but didn’t release the grip on his shirt, worried now that anything she would do would just make it worse. “I- okay - just what - how? What do you need?” 

Realizing his poor attempt at speaking before had only made her more anxious, Joel didn’t rush into replying this time. He took a long breath in and out, controlled through his mouth. It made his stomach produce a deep pain when his diaphragm filled and released the air, chest cavity rising and deflating. He pushed his head further back into the cold ground, trying to focus on a different sort of feeling than something beside his side.

“Just gimme…a second.” He pushed out, words complete and mostly steady this time. 

Ellie bit her lip, regret evident in her eyes. Releasing his shirt, and with a deep exhale she sat back on her heels, giving Joel space but still close enough to assist him if he needed. 

She couldn’t believe she had fucking hurt him. He was still fucking fragile and she really could have done some damage - she knew it. It wasn’t like she had given him world-class first aid in the first place. 

“Did I get your stitches?” She asked with apprehension. They were probably so fucked.

“Ellie.” Her name reverberated through the sparsely furnished room, the sound trailing out shakily from a  Joel. He might as well have just said, “shut up,” because somehow that’s what it sounded like to Ellie’s ears.  

Silence started and dragged on then for several moments as they both waited for Joel’s pain began to recede, neither moving much at all. Every so often there was a small sniffle as Ellie tried to bite back tears. 

Joel's voice, rough and filled with exhaustion, broke the monotony. 

“Already feeling better,” he offered, after the third sniffle. Ellie had been trying to hide being on the brink of crying, but there wasn’t much space between them for things to be going unheard. 

With a roll of her eyes and a huff, she wiped at them with the back of her hands.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying…I’m not a fricken crybaby,” she mumbled, clearly frustrated with herself. Joel hummed in agreement as he began to reposition himself, more focused on not causing himself any more pain than producing a reply to her. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Cause you don’t look okay…” Ellie pushed anxiously, trying to get the focus back on him. 

“I’m fine. Just caught me off guard is all.”

They both knew that was a bit of an oversimplification and by the look on Ellie’s face, she wasn’t too happy with his attempt to brush this under the carpet.

"It wasn't your fault," Joel murmured, pushing himself to a sitting position with a wince. Every movement he made seemed to be a battle, a very annoying struggle against the pain that radiated from his side. "You were just reacting... to something else…. probably my fault anyhow.” 

Joel's eyes inadvertently flicked down to Ellie's bare thighs, the blue-black hues of bruises evident even in the dim light, as she knelt next to him. He had noticed them earlier, but the immediate crisis then had pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now, they came flooding back, mind zoning out as his gaze lingered on the red flags that marred her body.

She had been reacting to something else. 

“I said don’t touch me motherfucker!”

Broken pants. 

“Don’t do it, please don’t do it.”

Scratches on her waistline. 

“you’re hurting-”

Begging, even in her sleep.

“Please don’t.”

"Quit staring," Ellie muttered with a hint of bitterness. Drawn from spiraling thoughts, Joel’s eye flicked back up to hers, filled with a genuine concern, and a bit of remorse. 

"I wasn’t—“ 

“You were," she cut him off, her voice filled turning to something else, a mix of exhaustion and defiance as she pulled down her sweatshirt the best she could to cover her thighs. It barely did a thing.  

”Let me see your side," she said, moving toward his shirt once more. He held out a hand, stopping her.

He wasn’t going to let her keep avoiding this. 

“Tit for tat - you wanna check on me, I wanna check on you,” Joel rasped, his voice carrying an edge of firmness, making it clear that this was really non-negotiable even if presenting it as such. 

Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine,” she said sternly. 

“You ain’t,” he countered, eyes again flicking down to her legs, purposefully this time, brows raised before he came back to meet her eyes. They were as terse as he’d ever seen. 

They darted away from his view as she muttered, "It's nothing,” her voice low, but Joel caught the slight tremor in it. 

“It ain’t 'nothing'," he pressed firmly. 

With an irritated exhale, Ellie rose as her eyes rolled. She stared down at him for a long moment before shooting her hand out for him to grab. 

Joel looked at it, and then at her, and then back to it. He hadn’t really anticipated getting up this soon, but he wasn’t going to deny the hand she was extending, metaphorical or physical. He hoped that despite the anger her face showed, the gesture was as much about reconciliation as it was assistance. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be so lucky. 

With more force than he thought she capable, Ellie helped him move to stand, pulling him vertically and giving him a tight grip to sink into it. She didn’t say a word about the heavy groan that ripped through his body during it all or the way his strong grasp made the cut on the side of her hand burn. She turned away her head from his as he made his way up, not wanting to meet his gaze, and not wanting him to see the way she was making her own body ache with the effort of supporting him. Head drooping toward the floor, she stayed by his side for a moment as he panted through the residual pain, bent at the waist just slightly his free hand on his hip. When he seemed steady enough, Ellie slipped her hand from his, giving it a little shake to rid the irritation in her fingers from his clenched hold. 

Marching back to the couch, she aggressively snatched the blankets off the ground and plopped herself onto the worn cushions with a glare and a huff, deliberately positioning the university quilts over her legs to hide it all away.  

“Fuck you,” she spat stoically as her body hunched down, arms crossing over her chest. 

It had flipped so easily inside her, the switch back to anger and frustration, that it was almost catching her own self off guard. Her stomach felt like it was hanging low, her muscles were all tense, her throat was aching to scream, and her body desperately just felt like picking up the closest thing and heaving it across the room. 

She bit the impulse back, stifled down the brewing aggression and frustration - but just barely. 

The last time she let herself get swept up in the same feelings a man’s head became sludge on the carpet. Ellie knew she wouldn’t do that to Joel - ever - but she also didn’t want to go anywhere near the emotions that she knew could fuel that sort of thing.

But, that was much harder said than done. And right now, her mind and heart were at odds, unsure of which was actually in control, but either way, one was telling her to make Joel hurt. To make him sad and angry. To make him feel the way she was suddenly starting to again. 

“You took off my pants.” 

The regret was immediate as she spat the words out with venom, but there was also a sweet satisfaction that came afterward, when the words hung heavy in the air, when the look on his face told her she had it - that soft spot inside of him, that protector persona - easily crushed. 

“Ellie..” 

She shouldn’t be doing this, not to him, none of this was his fault, but for some reason, she couldn’t make herself stop. 

“You wouldn’t’ve even known… I never said you could do that, ” she muttered, eyes narrowing.

The color drained from Joel’s face, and for a moment he looked as if he was about to topple over again.  He sucked in a long breath, a deep feeling of culpability settling in his heart. It was almost more painful than Ellie’s hand connecting with his wound just moments before - actually, he might prefer round two of that now, then this, or whatever this was shaping up to be. 

He knew what he did, knew it had been necessary, but it made him feel dirty all the same. She didn’t have to do much to bring out the guilt when he already felt ashamed. 

Slowly, Joel turned and eased himself into the wingback, taking up refuge in the same spot he had watched her battle through the nightmare earlier - a nightmare he was suddenly worried was somehow about him. 

Head low, forearms resting on his thighs, palms, and hands anxiously rubbing together, he ground his teeth back and forth, her screams echoing in his ears once again. 

A blip of his large hands encircling her tiny bruised wrists as he moved them away, came to mind, coming back to haunt him like he knew it would when had done it. He hummed at the thought, wondering for a second if perhaps he had done something wrong. 

Rushed through it, overstepped, and caused more harm than good. 

But then thought of how she was fading in and out, how she shaking - so badly - how her skin was like ice - might as well have been a dead body, cold like a corpse. 

Joel nodded his head up and down, convincing himself of what he already knew.

There were lots to feel guilty over, but this couldn’t be one of them. 

Anxiously, he raised his head and met hers, trying to read her face and not her words. Ellie’s expression was one filled with contempt, but her eyes held a completely different story - a kid broken and scared. 

She was hurting, and if the look in her eyes wasn’t enough, the bruises on her face and the blood splatter still staining her complexion were more than enough of a pointed reminder that Joel needed to tread lightly even if she was marching full steam ahead, raging at the world - at him.

She was doing this on purpose, pushing him, but he wouldn’t push her - couldn’t. 

He thought back to before, when he came rushing back into the living room fearing she had slipped away in the few moments he had taken to get the blankets. He remembered the small smile on her face when he made his way into her sights, and how she cracked open his heart with her candid confession:

“I’m always gonna come back.” 

“I like when you do.” 

Centering himself on that memory, and not her screams, Joel ran a hand down the length of his face before brushing it back and forth against the scruff of his beard. He let out a long sigh, a little worried he was about to say the wrong thing. 

 "I had to..." he began, his voice coming out more as a gravelly murmur than anything else. He stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. "You were freezin’..." he said remorsefully, but pointedly, a statement of fact and an apology, side by side. 

Ellie nodded with a blank expression, purposefully trying to keep her face deadpan. She didn’t remember all that much, but she wasn’t stupid - logically, she knew that’s what happened. 

That hadn’t been the point of bringing it up. 

“You couldn’t do it yourself, so I had’ta.”

“I told you to stop,” she countered.

Truthfully, she still didn’t remember much of the whole ordeal, but bits were coming back slowly. There were some moments, vague, but there, she could use against him if she wanted - paint a certain image, true or not. All she could see was her arms and hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, yelling at him. 

Her gaze found the fire for a moment, landing on the red and orange licks of flames, just past his shoulder. 

Hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, red carpet, flames.  

“…I was yelling and you kept going…” she said, almost absently, head somewhere else for a twinkle of a second. 

She gulped down a growing lump in her throat as her eyes quickly flicked back to Joel, and with a few blinks cleared the images of him away. 

Joel opened his mouth to reply but shut it quickly, giving her a nod instead. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. 

In the very back of Ellie’s head, a small voice was screaming at her to not be an idiot. To stop whatever this was, now, before she took it too far. That he wasn’t him. That this is leftover aggression stuck inside, threatening to ruin something good. 

But she couldn’t. 

Her jaw clenched tighter as her eyes went hard and steely. Her head was really starting to throb again, and the hot feeling that had been in her gut was now starting to travel up her body, making her throat tight as it also ushered in a bit of nausea. 

She was seething so much that she was making herself sick from the intensity of it all. And for what?

She wiggled in her seat, hands going to grip the sides of the couch, knuckles going white, as she lowered her head to stare at the floor, wondering why he wasn’t getting mad like she thought he would.

“I know, you were..” Joel confirmed, hoping that not denying, or trying to belittle it would somehow make this better for her. 

He was able to see her demeanor going colder and colder with every moment she sat on the couch, coming to slow a boil like a pot on a stove.  Part of him did want to defend himself and go toe to toe with her - it was only natural - but a bigger part of him just wanted to gather her up in another hug and just never let go. Make her emotions quell, stop the roiling. 

"I know what your doin'..." he said, shaking his head, "I know you don't mean what you're sayin’."

"I - ah ..," Ellie stuttered, not expecting to be called out. ”Asshole," she said, trying to recover, albeit not strongly, before tumbling along, words spilling from her mouth.  “You’re an asshole, and you - if you gave a shit about me then, you wouldn’t have -“

“- Hey now…“ Joel interjected quickly, a grovel in his voice clearly revealing that his calm exterior was cracking away, her words now hitting him with a certain potency.  Ellie’s voice trailed off at the sound of his, focus going to watching the change in his body language, his shoulders tensing, eyes moving away, hand rubbing at his thigh. 

Of course, he gave a shit about her. After everything? 

She really wasn’t making this easy, and now the underlying guilt that still coursed in his veins - that was practically a part of him now - even though he knew it was misplaced - was turning to frustration, and frustration into precarious anger. 

And Ellie knew it too, and now she couldn’t hold back. She wanted to pry that spark of anger from behind his eyes and ignite it. Light it on fire like that fucking restaurant. 

“Would you have done that to Sa-“

“Enough.” Joel spat, jaw tight, eyes hard. 

Sarah. 

It was a low blow, even for Ellie.  

His heart was thumping in his chest, whooshing in his ears. He knew where the sentence was going the minute, it was coming out of her, and he couldn’t let it stand. He had sidestepped what she had been insulting the entire time - the dark impropriety of it all - because it was just so far from the truth that it wasn’t even worth playing into. But now, bring up something like that, almost accusing him, with his daughter…no. It crossed a line. 

With a deep inhale, Joel pushed himself off the chair the pain of it all buried monetarily under his own indignation, only a small wince escaping. The old wood creaked under him, the sound echoing the tension in the room. With a slow-paced stride, his leather boots thudded against the floor, the rhythmic sound resonating through the still air, each deliberate step echoing ominously. His fists were balled tightly as he sad and his face stern. 

Ellie watched as he got closer, content that she had finally pushed him over the edge. 

She hated herself, but not just for this. 

Coming to a still directly in front of her, he lowly began, “You don’t-,” he dragged in a long breath, “you don’t bring her anywhere in this….that ain’t right, and you know it.” 

His intention wasn’t to be intimidating - just firm, but standing above her as he was, was a little bit menacing.  Ellie gave him a slow nod, eyes looking forward, not up towards him. Her quickening pulse was echoing in her ears, mouth getting a little watery with apprehension.

Joel looked anywhere but down towards her, not wanting to show her any more anger than he already had let slip out. His fingers ran against his palms, still tightly screwed together, as his eyes wandered around the area behind the couch, scanning the kitchen, hoping to use it mundanity as a means to steady himself. 

Exhaling through his nose, Joel took a long step back, and then another away, turning his back toward Ellie. 

God, bringing his Sarah up like that, now. What was she thinkin’?

Drawing his head up to the ceiling, he called back to that feeling in his gut when he woke up alone in the basement. That feeling in his chest, when he thought he was about to find her body a the end of a trail of blood. That feeling in his heart, when she fell into his arm, scared as all hell. 

He shook his head. Ellie was his too. 

An oppressive silence stretched between them, the weight of unsaid words becoming almost palpable as Joel swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, debating what to say, how to carry on. It was clear she was just lashing out, generally, but he couldn't let it all slide. Not that easily.

"Trauma ain't a hall pass" - Tommy told him that once. 

Sucking in a final long breath, hands going to his hips, Joel turned to face Ellie. 

“I know I wasn’t there. But I got to eyes. And I know somethin’ happened to you. And if this is  - was? - you tryin’ to make sense about that then, fine. Spit whatever you want at me, okay? Hit me, yell at me, I don’t care…I’ll take it.. I deserve that…cause that’s on me for leaving you alone.”  His voice was eerily steady, low, and coarse like how Ellie knew it when he was barking orders at her, way back at the beginning of their journey together. The tenderness that he had exhibited since coming back together seemed to be gone, even though his words painted a different picture. For better of worse, this was the Joel she knew. 

“But listen to me. I’m serious Ellie - Listen here.” Joel waited for Ellie to look up and meet his eyes. When she did so, he continued.  “Sarah stays far out of it.” 

Ellie didn’t make a move, a little stunned by the way he seemed to have his emotions under control, especially after she had expected so much more.  

He was going to end it at that, but a nagging voice in the back of his head told him he might as well dot all his ‘I’s and cross his ’T’s too. 

“And to be clear, I didn’t do anythin’, would never, do anythin’ to you- like what you were getting at.. makes me sick just thinking about it,” his tone was serious, yet his words danced around the hard topic like he wasn’t confident using the real words for it. His mouth turned down as the thought of it stayed in his brain, festering for a moment before fading out. 

The look in his eyes had Ellie swallowing back some guilt, tears even beginning to prick at her waterline again. 

Joel's hand came to his neck, rubbing away the much-accumulated tension, while looking around the room to search for something else to focus on. His eyes landed on her again - how could they not - and he paused. Blood, bruises, brewing with anger. He could fix some of that.

His eyes went to the pot of water still resting on the coffee table after all this time and then over toward the hallway.

He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m gonna go see if there ain’t something around here to clean you up with.”

It’s said with genuine care, but it's not hard to read that perhaps it’s also a distraction - a misdirection- to take away from the fraught way the conversation had come to a close.

Joel scooted past the couch with a slight limp, heading toward the hallway and out the room, leaving Ellie sitting alone.

[tinycoded360]

Sterling Household : Wax

Milton Borrowfield stood poised on the edge of the family's secret entrance. Beside him stood his eldest daughter, Agnes, her eyes wide with determination, eager to prove herself. She was getting close to the age and skill where he would trust her to borrow alone.

"Alright, Agnes," Milton whispered, his voice barely audible against the quiet backdrop of the giant's dwelling. "Remember the plan: we move silently and swiftly, keeping to the shadows. Our goal is the candle wax; it will be useful as a fire starter in our kitchen.”

Agnes nodded. "I understand, Papa.” Her fourteen-year-old mind quickly processed the importance of their task. "But what if we encounter the giant?"

"Stick close to me, and I'll protect you," Milton assured her, his eyes filled with love and concern. "While I don’t think he’d hurt us, given his past actions, it’s safer not to interact with him."

As they approached their destination, Milton couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his daughter. Agnes was a natural, her curiosity and bravery shining through even in this tense situation. He knew she had the potential to become a great borrower, just like him.

"Papa," Agnes whispered urgently, pulling Milton from his thoughts. "The candles are just up ahead. We're almost there."

"Stay focused, my dear," he reminded her as their objective came into view. The used candles were clustered on the counter, their lower halves coated in precious wax - the very substance that would bring warmth and start their stoves in the Borrowfields' home. Milton knows that Sterling usually melts all the leftover wax down into one. The human seems to hate waste, which Milton can appreciate. But Milton suspects Sterling has purposefully left these out, postponing his task. It’s become more of a pattern, the human leaving things out. Which has further confirmed to Milton that the human is aware of them. This knowledge drives Milton crazy with worry. He doesn’t understand why the human hasn’t tried to capture or trap them. The human had even kept his cat confined in his bedroom, making borrowing missions much easier. 

He squeezed Agnes' hand, then began scaling the cabinets leading up to the kitchen counter. His tiny hands found grooves to grip as he climbed. Agnes watched anxiously from below.

Once he was up on the counter, he gave his daughter the all-clear to throw her grappling hook up. He helped secure it. And he watched with pride as his eldest scaled up the string.

Milton and Agnes worked quickly, using their small chisels to chip away at the wax. They filled their packs,

At last, their packs were full. Milton scanned the tabletop. No trace remained of their presence.

"Let's go," he whispered.

Agnes nodded determination in her young eyes. They scurried to the edge and peered over. Milton slid down first, catching Agnes as she followed.

Milton and Agnes moved swiftly and silently through the walls, retracing their steps back home.

Agnes let out a small sigh of relief as the entrance to their home came into view. The familiar warmth and light felt especially comforting after the tense journey through the giant's domain.

As they slipped inside, Agnes' mother, Cassia, hurried over, concern etched on her face.

"Thank goodness you're back safely," she said, embracing them both. Then, spying the clumps of wax, her eyes lit up.

Milton put an arm around Agnes' shoulders. "Our girl is growing up. She'll be leading these missions herself before long."

Agnes beamed with pride.

****

"Are you worried about Sterling? Cassia asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned over her husband’s shoulder.

Milton sighed, his expression pensive.

"Of course I am," he said. "It worries me, he knows, but our best option is to wait and see if he is a threat. And if he if……Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Chapter 5:

[catboybiologist]

Random question: do you have a favorite theory as to how multicellular organisms formed? Mine is the Cell Symbiosis theory

Do you mean endosymbiosis for the formation of Eukaryotic life?

Endosymbiosis is basically as "proved" as anything can be without a time machine. For those that don't know- mitochondria and chloroplasts have a lot of features of independent bacterial cells, including their own genome, and processes that occur along their membranes that also occur along bacterial membranes (like the ETC itself), and much, much more. So the reasoning goes that these more complex organelles evolved as independent organisms that were then engulfed by larger prokaryotic cells, which then become the Eukaryotes we know today over time. But there are still single celled Eukaryotes around that have these organelles, so this is orthogonal to multicellularity.

As for the rise of multicellular life, this is really cool because we actually have multiple independent examples of multicellularity arising from symbiosis, and there are extremely simple examples of bacteria being multicellular- and yeah, it was essentially starts as independent cells becoming symbiotic to each other. My favorite is cyanobacteria:

The basic idea is that cyanobacteria are nitrogen fixers, meaning that they can take atmospheric nitrogen and turn it into ammonia or other nitrates that are bioavailable to other organisms. It's a crucial choke point in the nitrogen cycle, and somewhat rare- The family of enzymes that do this, however, are extremely sensitive to oxygen and can't function in its presence. Most organisms don't bother, and just eat something else to get their fixed nitrogen. But what's the solution if you do want to fix nitrogen?

Some cyanobacteria only exist in small "chains" of cells- no more than a dozen, attached together in a line, with some permeability to their membranes. Then, the roles are divided. Most of the cells function as normal, photosynthesizing and producing oxygen as usual. But a single cell in that chain is designated as the nitrogen fixing one- it shuts down photosynthesis, makes itself impermeable to oxygen, and starts expressing nitrogen fixing genes. Essential energy carrying molecules and other important stuff gets shuttled in from neighboring cells, and fixed nitrogen compounds get shuttled out.

This is so fucking cool to me. It's an extremely simplistic, stripped down version of multicellularity and tissue specialization. It's impossible to know what exactly happened to make the majority of Eukaryotes multicellular- and it probably arose multiple times within Eukaryotes themselves as well, and there are some funky examples of simple multicellularity in protists (the shadowy grab bag taxonomic classification that contains horrors most biologists dread to touch). But it was probably something like this- a small clump of cells started adhering together, and slowly became more specialized to increase energy efficiency.

Similar bacteria also exist in the roots of some plants (which is one reason crop rotation is important), but the cyanobacteria in the ocean do the overwhelming majority of nitrogen fixation on this planet.

Fun fact, this is why the Great Oxygenation was so devastating-it's thought that when some bacteria had the bright idea start spitting out oxygen and the atmosphere became filled with it, nitrogen fixing bacteria populations plummeted. And at that time, it's thought that these bacteria constituted the majority of life on earth. Woopsie. A small fraction of them, however, developed systems like this, and they've kept the entire food web going ever since.

This spun off on a tangent, but I hope it's the kind of thing you wanted when you dropped this ask!!

[colourstreakgryffin]

Bartender! Iguro Obanai

A new bartender? You internally asked yourself as you elegantly walked up to all-so-familiar bar-counter and sat down on the nearby clean cushioned barstool, flipping a leg over the other whilst your heel tapped against the base of your tall stilettos, waiting for this unrecognisable employee to serve you

Single and lonely is something you have become use to. So to try satisfy your infernal boredom, you begun spending weekend nights at the nearby bar to try have a better time as recovery from finishing your stale teaching job. You’ve never found drinking all that enjoyable, but ever since you decided to be more adventurous, you became a frequent customer of the bar and ordering as many drinks as you wish, not caring about the alcohol in them

Your eyes locked curiously on the new bartender, back faced to you. You were beyond use to Dale, a older sweet soul who stirred up random conversations with you after he served each new customer, alongside you. You saw him like a second father in no time and you wouldn’t deny that you miss him, the second you realise he didn’t work at the street bar anymore. When he finally turned around, your body felt like it was boiling like a kettle

The new bartender, replacing your old dear friend, was actually quite attractive so you were definitely not complaining as much as you suspected; turquoise and yellow heterochromia, black straight-edged hair tied up in a small low ponytail, a strange white bandage mask over his mouth and a real snowy white serpent wrapped around his collarbones, almost near his neck. You sat quietly, jolting up in surprise when the bartender’s beautiful mismatched eyes scanned over you, it felt different as opposed to catching Dale’s attention

Your sexy sleek favourite colour party dress caught his attention, a glittery silky dress that hugged your curves and left a small window over your breasts. The only thing keeping warm or covered was a clean white denim jacket whilst the strap of your fluffy pink handbag snuggled inbetween the crack of your perky breasts. The bartender smirked from underneath the mask at the sight before him, picking out a nearby champagne glass off the long stash, and flipping it over his palmer so it slides into his hand like a snake slithering into it’s burrow

“What would you like, Ma’am?” He asked smoothly, his voice as enticing as your dress and matched his looks very well. You giggled gently, shuffling forward so your arm would lay on the solid wood counter and your twinkling eyes gazed at his uniform, simple but gorgeous. “A Cosmopolitan, please” You chirp in response without a mere thought, your cheek resting on your fist as your eyes returned to experience him get to work

He was definitely a lot faster than Dale. In a blink, he had the needed four bottles in front of him, pouring millilitres of both lemon vodka and cranberry juice into a opened cocktail mixer, with the bottle of lime juice and bottle of triple sec right besides him. He lidded both bottles being used to put down, picking up the last two in one smooth sweep to repeat the process with those bottles, bottling all four and pushing them to the side to give himself more room

Closing the strangely-shaped container itself, he begun shaking it himself manually to better mix the liquids. None of this was surprising to you, it became a routine to see how bartenders created drinks with how much time you spend at the bar. You were beyond familiar with the process of making a Cosmopolitan but Dale was more careful, slower. Obanai was faster and almost made it into a glamorous show

Obanai couldn’t help but smirk, underneath those bandages whilst his pretty eyes gazed up and down your sat frame, as he slid the mixer across the smooth wood, crouching down to pluck out a whole lime slice and a clump of citrus orange skin from a mini-fridge hidden from behind the counter. Standing back up, his snake reached out and grabbed the top of the mixer to pop off the lid with it’s fangs

Your eyes sparkled in admiration, quietly watching Obanai catch the container when the reptile dropped it, the same serpent reached over to hold the lime slice and orange skin inbetween the fangs. It carefully stabbed the lime onto the rim of the champagne glass and dropped the skin in whilst Obanai poured the scarlet red concoction until it filled up the glass at the exact same time

“Your name?” You asked, your glittery eyeshadow-decorated eyelids fluttered with a cheeky smile growing on your face. “Iguro Obanai. Snake is Kaburamaru” Obanai answered calmly, precisely pushing the filled glass towards you with his free hand gesturing in the direction of Kaburamaru, propped up casually as he always did. The bartender may have only met you a few minutes ago but he already found himself loving your overall image; polite, sexy, interesting

A elegant, appealing wine red beverage sat in front of you, touched up by the thin lime slice and the strip of citrus orange laid on the round of the glass. It was your favourite drink to order from this bar as it was rather sweet and dulled the burn of strong liquor like Triple Sec much better than all the other options you’ve tried

“Anything else?” Obanai asked again, crossing his arms and leaning up against the clean counter as he watched you raise the glass up to your lipstick-painted lips. Kaburamaru, the snake wrapped around his shoulders slithered forward to better watch your actions, his eyes were as red as roses and his tongue flicked in sync of Obanai’s blinking

“N-no, thank you” You manage to muscle out after a few seconds of hesitation, taking another deep sip as to try hide your vigorously blushing. Obanai grinned pleased, pushing himself back up with a single arm whilst one of his eyes closed in a sly wink. Your lips quivered once the cool glass touch your soft warm skin as you felt intense warmth rush around your bloodstream at his subtle flirting

Obanai still had a cocky smirk, leaning forward with that devious glare too as you were certain his eyes were glowing over the shining golden lights blaring from above. “Would you enlighten me for a bit?” He asked smoothly, seemingly materialising a tall bottle of Mojito Rum from literally nowhere in which he placed on the counter. Your cheeks growing nearly as red as your half-finished cocktail that you left sitting before you

You knew you had a hefty bill to pay when you saw the glint of eagerness in his eyes but you couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying the excitement and potential fun behind the idea. You could pay the tab later, you wanted to see what he had planned first. “Tell me” You bit your tongue to try avoid gasping all inappropriately like some sexual fiend as his overall presence made you shiver, you’re like the prey being glared down by the predator and the predator was Obanai

“How well can you hold your liquor~”

[josephquinnswhore]

Girl Dad

Pairing: Ex Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: Joel makes a series of mistakes that cause you to leave the QZ with Tommy, finding a community to settle down with. Joel reunites with you to find he had daughters he never knew about.

Word Count: 2.8k

Content Warning: pregnancy, failed abortion, birth, failed abortion, death of a twin, typical tlou violence.

18 years, you and Joel had been together, never married but you both decided early on; it was something that could wait until you were ready, you were convinced you really would last forever, regardless of marriage. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where things went wrong, when Sarah died Joel didn’t shut you out, he leaned into you more, depended on you as if you were his lifeline. You felt the loss as hard as Joel did, you officially adopted Sarah the day she died, your heart felt so bitter to this day at the way she was taken from you, it would be your first loss as a mother, the first daughter you would lose. The loss had you both closer than you ever had been, a trio travelling across the country accompanied by Tommy, the three of you stuck together like superglue.

At the time, finding the Boston QZ felt like a blessing, paradise within the giant walls and safety of order and authority. It felt like things were almost normal, everyone worked and earned credits, currency used like money to buy everything you needed to survive. 

The closest instance you could pinpoint the beginning of Joel’s hostility was when you had worked 10 hours a day, teaching children basic education, because was still important, even at the end of the world. A sickness had been bothering you for days-okay, a week, you’d experienced nausea and stomach cramps, with no blood to indicate it was your period behind the symptoms. You used 4 credits on an out of date pregnancy strip that showed a positive result. Turns out even out of date pregnancy strips can detect pregnancy, you were hesitant to tell Joel, he was a fantastic dad to Sarah, but he wasn’t the same, he was a broken man and you didn’t know how he would react to you having a baby.

You decided impulsively to drop the bomb over dinner, a half warm-can of pasta, interrupting Joel in the process, “got some extra credits today for those pills-” “I’m pregnant.” Your brain was running a million miles a minute, eyes scanning Joels face for a reaction when he started to frown. oh no. The lines in his forehead deepening, probably causing more stress lines. “I’ll see if I can find some pills that will get rid of it next time me and Tess go out, it’ll be fine we just need to get rid of it. Darlin’?” Joels eyes are watching you as he leans forward in his seat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, “Joel maybe we don’t need to get rid of the baby.” Joel scoffs and stands up, the chair squealing as it scoots across the floor, “this is no world for any goddamn baby to be raised in y/n. Don’t be stupid.” You bit your lip as you stood, stepping toward Joel your hands in defense, “this could be a good thing Joel, we could even name her Sar-” Joel snaps at you loudly, “don’t finish that sentence, you’re really pushing it.” His body stiffened at the thought of you naming that clump of cells after his deceased real daughter. 

“We’re not doing this, you’re getting rid of it and that final.” Joel tells you sternly, leaving the apartment, slamming the door on the way out. You slump back into the uncomfortable embrace of the steel chair, accepting that Joel wouldn’t accept this baby as his own, it was a hard thought to swallow. You lean forward to rest your head on the dining table, eyes fluttering as you fall asleep in a position that your back would complain about in the morning.

A clink noise woke you up in front of you, the sunshine filtering through the square window by the bed, you had slept through the night on the damn dining room table, your back aching and cracking as you sat up made you groan, eyes met with Joel, who had placed a half a glass of water in front of you and two small pills rolled onto the large side as he threw them in front of you, standing over you as you take them into your hands and rub your eyes. Your eyes can’t meet Joels as he watches you, you drink the water in the glass, relieving some dryness in your throat as you swallowed the pills. You slam the cup on the table standing to turn away from Joel, his hand grabbed your wrist, “open your mouth.” You turn to him with a frown, “are you fucking serious right now Joel?” He didn’t answer just starred at you blankly, you open your mouth and lift your tongue, “Happy asshole?” You spat and walked into the bathroom where you turned on the cold water and held your arms around yourself protectively, “sorry baby i’m so sorry. Mama wanted you so badly.” Joel stood on the other side of the door, forehead pressed against the chipping paint, his heart filled with regret, he just couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t lose Sarah all over again.

Months went by and Joel had never been so distant with you, you had taken a few weeks of grieving to yourself, then slowly started to come back to Joel, the hugs, kisses, but no sex. His rejection weighing deep on your heart and the insecurity eating you alive, he thought you were disgusting, why else wouldn’t he have sex with you? For weeks the question ate you alive. 

The question was answered a few nights later when Joel stumbled in, drunk at 3:30am, you kept your eyes closed as he fell onto the bed next to you, the smell of Lavender and whisky was a scent you would never forget, you started to put the pieces together.

The extra smuggle runs with Tess. Coming home late. Not being intimate with you. Joel wanting you to abort your baby, all because of Tess. Your heart broke, you sobbed silently next to Joel as you mourned 18 years of your love, the loss of your daughter, the man you were meant to spent forever with. You started to emotionally detach yourself, Joel didn’t notice how you pulled away, never noticed how you wouldn’t touch him, would scoot further away when he lie down in the bed, would skip meals with him.

Joel only noticed something was wrong with you when it was too late, weeks too late. Tommy was going on a run far North; he was determined to find humanity outside of the worsening violence that happened daily in the Boston QZ, he always spoke and hoped of a nicer place, somewhere more communal. You begged Tommy to tag along, you would make yourself useful, you wouldn’t be a liability; “please.” You beg Tommy, he sighs deeply, “what about Joel?” You shake your head, “he’s with Tess now.” All Tommy hears is a mumble from you, “oh sweetheart.” He pulled you in for a hug and checked your bag for supplies, making sure you have a suffienct amount of equiptment. 

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joels booming voice watched you, stopping right in front of Tommy. “She wants to come Joel, that’s her choice.” Joel grabs your wrist, and you shake him off, “isn’t Tess expecting you?” Joels face drops and his eyes soften, “darlin’ no, no. Come inside we can talk about this, okay?” You shake your head, “sorry Joel, it was over the day you made me swallow those pills.” Tommy looks between the two of you, confused. “I regret it, everyday.” You offer him a small smile, not wanting your goodbye to be hostile, “me too Joel. Goodbye.” You leave Joel standing there, heartbroken and truly alone for the first time since Sarah had been born. The ache in his heart begged for you to mend it, for him to chase after you and beg, grovel if he needed to, but his legs were frozen in place and all he could do was watch you leave.

 “Mama, my arm.” You’re met with your daughter sobbing, tears stained her red chubby cheeks as saliva slobbered down her lips as she wailed, pointing to her arm. “Oh Elliarna, let mama kiss it better baby.” You soothed as you cuddled her, the small scrape was red and barely peeled back a layer of skin. “Which bandaid do you want baby, Princess or Horses?” The tears stop momentarily, “hmmm, horsies please mama, can we ride the horsies and go and see sissy Sar?” Tears gathered in your lashline as you applied the bandaid carefully, “sure baby, go and ask Tommy to help get your boots on.” Her footsteps thundered down the hall to meet Tommy, the sore on her arm completely forgotten about. 

She came back speed walking down the hall to you where you wait by the front door, pulling one of Tommy’s warmer jackets over your shoulders, covering the vunerable exposed bump of your pregnant stomach. “Tommy told me stop running in the house mama, so I did.” You smile at Tommy walking towards you, his shy smile making him look so handsome, “good listening Elliarna, let’s go and feed the horses.” She skipped ahead of you out the front door in joy, Tommy holding your hand in his, “she’s going to be a great sister.” You smile at Tommy in agreement, a protective hand over your bump, “I have no doubts Tommy, you’re going to be a great dad, you have been a great dad.” Redness spreads from Tommys cheeks to his ears, you had been together for three years, shortly before you gave birth you found yourselves romantically involved. Tommy was there when you found this community in Wyoming, when you had pregnancy complications and went into pre-mature labour at 36 weeks because you were having twins, Elliarna survived, the smaller baby didn’t. You never thought you would lose two daughters in a lifetime. You had suffered enough. Tommy shared the same anxiety as you carried his own child, 8 months into your pregnancy you were as far along as you were when you gave birth three years ago. Praying to whoever was listening this baby was born alive, healthy.

“Hey, it’ll be okay sweetheart.” Tommys fingers squeezed your own and offered a sweet smile. You bring his hand up to your lips and kiss lovingly, finding the same appraise in your eyes. “Mama, Tommy look, there is new people on the horsies.” 

You look up, a familiar face looking back at you and Tommy, a young girl clinging to him on the back of the horse they shared. Your mind had to be playing tricks on you, a delusion. Joel fucking Miller was jumping off the horse, you pickup Elliarna and rush to your house, tears gathering in your eyes, “what’s wrong mama are you hurt?” You sniffle and nod your head, “yeah baby mama’s hurt.” She rubs your pregnant stomach which makes you weep more, “is the baby ok?” You place your hand over her small one, “the baby is okay Elli.” Your daughter frowns, “then what’s wrong mama.” She reaches up to wipe your tears away and you chuckle, “let’s go outside and see sissy? Mama can explain it better okay?” 

She smiles at you and pulls on your hand leading you outside, “okay mama.” 

“Tommy.” Joel yells rushing to his younger brother, “Joel.” Tommy breathes, embracing each other, seeing each other for the first time in 3 years. “Was that..?” Tommy nods, “yeah, we made it here together.” Joel looks to Tommy, “and the kid?” Tommy huffs, a cloud exiting his lips, “your daughter, Joel.” Joel frowns and shakes his head, “no, that not possible, she took the-” Tommy placed his hand on Joels shoulder, “they didn’t work.” Joel’s breath stutters, choking back a sob, falling into Tommys arms. “There’s something you should see before you meet her, follow me.” Joel follows Tommy towards the house you retreated to, walking to the back of the house to a small garden shed, your body crouched down with you-his daughter. In front of you was a small wooden cross painted white, with black letters Melody Sarah Miller, small pink flowers painted around the name with a date. 07/15/2020. 

You put the small butterfly antique back with the other decorations that the town had donated for your daughter. You wipe your tears as you turn around with your daughter, Joel standing beside Tommy you immediately start shaking your head no, “sweetheart he deserves to know.” Your teary eyes met Tommy’s and your hand instinctively cradled your pump to protect it. Joel watches the interaction between the two of you, sweet, affirmative, loving, you’re pregnant. Joel’s heart sinks, regretting every choice he made to push you into his brother’s arms. 

You turn to Joel with sad eyes, he feels his demeanor crumbling at the sight of you, teary eyed and vunerable, your daughter shying away from him. “The pills didn’t terminate the pregnancy, I was pregnant with twins, I had alot of complications and went into early labour, Elliarna was the larger twin so she survived, Melody didn’t, I had to bury our daughter Joel and you weren’t here.” Your eyes began weeping as your body shook as you sobbed, reliving the feeling of despair, hopelessness and loss as you look at him. “I’m so sor-” You shake your head, “don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare Joel.” Joel’s body slumps in defeat, you were right, he doesn’t get to cop out and apologise now once all the hardship had been done, alone. He didn’t feel the grief, the void and emptiness losing this baby condemned you with. “You’re right.” Joels admission confuses you, him owning his actions calmed you a fraction, enough for you to take a breath. “Come here Elliarna sweetie, meet your daddy, remember how mama and Tommy told stories of your daddy Joel?” Elliarna steps out front behind you and in front of Joel. Joel’s eyes water, she looked exactly like him, her deep brown eyes mirrored his, her dark brown hair was sat in messy waves, the curve in her nose was a definite trait she inherited from him, the freckles on her cheeks softened the chubby-ness of her face. “Hi daddy.” Joel drops to his knees and holds his daughter, the weight of not missing 3 years of his daughter life weighing heavily on him, “hi baby girl.” Joel sniffles into his daughter shoulder, finding solace in the way she looks so familiar to Sarah. He pulls back and studies her face, afraid she will disappear from his arms. 

“She looks like her.” Joel whimpers, looking up at you, the statement overwhelming you and your lip wobbled. “Yeah, she does.” Elliarna insepcts Joel’s face and giggles, scratching his patchy salt and pepper beard, “you must be old daddy, you are all grey.” Joel chuckles and his chest feels a load of weight lifted off him, “yeah baby, i am getting old, aren’t I?” Elliarna giggles, “how old?” You scold her gently, “that rude Elliarna.” Joel dismisses it, “I’m 56, and you, you’re 3, right?” Joel looks to you for conformation, standing up his knees crack as he lifts up his daughter in his arms, “yeah, she’s 3.” Joel looks between you and Tommy, not displaying any affection in front of him, “and you two are? You’re..” Joel trails off noticing your pregnant belly. “Uh, yeah. We’re 8 months along now.” Tommy replies, testing the water. Joel nods, accepting the fact that you looked happier with Tommy than you ever did with him. “Now,” you start, looking at Joel, “who’s the girl”? Joel walks with his daughter in his arms, you and Tommy following beside him hand in hand, back towards the young girl that was left behind with the horses, standing awkwardly. 

You rush to her and pull her into a bone crushing hug, your swollen bump pressing into her, she hugged you back, welcoming the affection. “Ellie, meet my daughter, Elliarna.” Ellie laughed, “no way, that’s so frigging cool,” she turns towards your daughter, “we have the same name! sort of.” Your daughter giggles at Ellie and you smile between the bond that Joel and Ellie have. “Didn’t know you were such a pimp Joel.” You all laughed; she was going to fit in well with you. “This is y/n, the woman that gave me this beautiful girl, and my brother, Tommy.” Ellie looked between the three of you and you laughed. “Welcome to the family Ellie.” Tommy gives you a sweet smile, “let’s go and have dinner, we can talk more over a hot meal and a warm house to sit in.” Everyone agrees, “thank you for givin’ me a chance, I know I ain’t deserve it.” Joel thanks you sincerely and you smile, “you’re a dad of four Joel, it’s who you were meant to be, who am I to keep you from that?” 

Tommy kisses you sweetly, admiring your strength and kindness, the love of his life, no one in the world would ever compare to you, silently thanking his older brother for his mistakes. Your family was almost complete, waiting on the arrival of your baby, with two watching over you.