#not to mention the similarities they have | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pearlessance · 2 days

Text

Lust Among Thieves [part two]

[part one]

Summary: Fifteen years after escaping your captors, leaving them and the cabin in the woods behind, you end up in a community named Jackson and find yourself repeating the same old habits. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, angst galore, mild infidelity (Tommy is with Maria but he and reader share one [1] kiss), canon typical violence, mention of kidnapping, mention of blood, angssssttt but with a happy ending. NOTE: this is a cowrite i've done with my BFF joelmillersgirlfriend!! make sure to go and read her other stuff on A03! thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback on this one, I'm glad you guys are liking it! let us know what you think about the ending <3 [MASTERLIST]

The sun is so warm that it’s beginning to melt the snow, turning it from soft and fluffy to a wet sort of slush. A comforting relief, because the winter holds memories you’re better off leaving behind. Memories of scowls and whittling knives, of the taste of whiskey and lighthearted laughter.

After fifteen years, you thought you’d grow out of the feeling, that you’d grieve the loss and go on instead to appreciate the recovery of your autonomy. But every winter, without fail, you remember your time in that cabin. You remember them.

You’d never grown out of the feeling and you’d never grown into the now tattered canvas coat. If you closed your eyes and imagined the burn of the winter snow grazing your skin, you could remember how Joel smelled. You could remember how Tommy’s lips tasted.

But years had passed. The memory was now a faint one and one that you tried not to dwell on for too long. You have met a lot of people over the years and had dangerous encounters daily. Why was this one different?

Joel and Tommy had turned you into a new person within the four walls of that cabin. You weren’t the same afterward, now you were sculpted into a being with a sharp tongue and a toughed exterior yet… the core of you was soft. If you dug deep enough, the creature that Joel and Tommy had created was still inside of you, tender and vulnerable.

For a while, you considered what you would do if you ever encountered them again. You were so far away from the outskirts of the Boston QZ, the death of your father and the weight of the situation turning into a calloused scar instead of a leaking wound over time. Over the past fifteen years, you had made your way across the country, searching for something. Whatever that something was, you weren’t sure of yet.

If you saw the brothers, would you be angry? Would they? They were heavy on your mind that morning as you made your way through the abandoned, ice-covered streets of Jackson Hole Wyoming.

You had left a compound back in Nebraska weeks ago. The people there weren’t bad, but it felt like another washed-down version of living under FEDRA. Constant patrolling, ridiculous rules. It was no surprise that you felt trapped because you had always felt trapped. It was only a matter of time before you ran away. It was the only thing that you were good at.

You jumped from house to house in Wyoming, occasionally spending a couple of days if you were tired of the constant headache of moving every day. Most of your days consisted of you laying on an old, lifeless mattress, staring up at the ceiling and asking yourself ‘What if I never left?’ Would you have more of a purpose now? Would you not be alone?

You practiced your regular routine of bouncing through dilapidated houses, grabbing what supplies were still left, which was practically nothing. For an area where you had encountered absolutely no one, the houses were surprisingly scarce.

It was getting late in the evening, and you had picked a house to settle down in for the night. The house had a rough exterior, similar to yours, but the inside was surprisingly still in good condition. You crept through the house, picking through each drawer and cabinet to once again, find nothing.

Truly, the master bedroom should have been an indicator to leave, but you were always a sucker for taking things that did not belong to you.

Just when you were about to call searching the house quits and crack open a book from your bag, you noticed a shifted floorboard in the bedroom. You hummed to yourself in curiosity, reaching down to investigate the suspicious piece of wood. It came out of the floor easily, revealing the contents buried inside.

Ammo, water, packaged food, medicine.

But most importantly, a bottle of Jack. Jesus, how long had it been since you had seen one of these? You laughed to yourself when you pulled it out of its hiding spot, half empty but still the perfect amount for a lone wanderer.

You grabbed your pack, slipping all of the things you had found into it before you heard the voices.

Fuck.

Moving swiftly, you grabbed everything you could before glancing around the bedroom. Footsteps and conversations were coming up the stairs, and you couldn’t believe how stupid you were for not checking the perimeter of the neighborhood before poking through the houses.

“Jesse, go get the stuff from the master. Maria is gonna be pissed that we weren’t able to find more. Might as well bring back what we can,” you vaguely heard a gruff voice say.

Into the closet you went, quietly tiptoeing across the room. Your hands were shaking as you grasped the straps of your bag, praying that luck would be on your side, just this once.

The second you faded into the darkness of the shadows in the closet, a man stepped into the bedroom. You could see him through the panels of the closet door, especially if you squinted in just the right way.

He appeared young, with long dark hair that fell into his eyes when he glanced around the room. You held your breath when his sharp, determined eyes shifted to look over at the closet momentarily. It didn’t last long, which you were grateful for. You could feel your pulse ticking in your neck as he moved away to check the floorboards, knowing that he wasn’t going to be pleased with what he found.

He was turned away from you so you couldn’t physically gauge his reaction, but his voice told you all you needed to know.

“Uh, we have a problem here. Stuff’s gone!” he shouted, standing back up quickly to unholster his gun. He glanced around the room once more, waiting for his partner to shout something back.

The voice was distant when it spoke, most likely still downstairs, waiting. “What do you mean, gone?”

The man who was only a few meters from you sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s gone, someone must’ve taken it!”

You could hear heavy footsteps, every movement clearly laced with annoyance as he climbed the stairs. And then they stop a short distance away, and you hear the familiar click of his gun.

In the holster strapped around your thigh sits your pistol. You have only two bullets—enough to kill a clicker in a pinch, but not enough to fend off two grown men who are also armed. You tighten your fingers around the handle of the old knife, leather now cracked with age, formed perfectly to the hills and valleys of your fingers.

Heart hammering, you know and accept the fact that you’re going to have to take your chances and run. You could already see the shadow of the man entering the room, grumbling at having to come up the stairs. His back was to the closet, approaching his partner.

“It was here two days ago,” he began before quickly stopping. His hand reached out, gesturing towards the ground. Your eyes squinted, following the gesture down until you saw what he found. Wet footprints.

You lunged out of the closet before anyone could even move, and latched onto the man's back like a starfish. You looked at the first man, Jesse, before pressing your knife against the second man's throat.

“Just let me leave. Let me leave and I won’t kill him,” you said coldly, the tip of the blade pushing into your prisoner.

Jesse’s eyes widened, his hands spread in an attempt to calm you. “Hey, wait a second. We’re not looking for a fight. It doesn’t have to be like this,” he spoke, loosely holding his gun in his hand. You glanced at it with hesitation, which was enough time for your prisoner to grab your wrist and whip you around.

He was much larger than you, probably almost three times your size. There was no way in hell you would’ve been able to keep him restrained for long.

You whimpered in pain at the feeling of your wrist being twisted, the knife dropping out of your hand and clattering to the ground below.

“Stupid girl,” the man said, turning slowly to face you. There’s something about the way the words sound in his mouth that twists up your insides, a timbre that makes your hands tremble and shake. “Shouldn’t make threats when you’re outnum—” He stops.

And your heart does, too. “Joel?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just narrows his eyes and clenches his teeth, jaw feathering. His hair has gone a little gray and there are defined wrinkles around his mouth and a scar across his nose that didn’t exist the last time you’d seen him, but you’re sure of it. As sure as you are of the ground beneath your feet, you’re sure that a ghost stands before you.

His eyes soften as the realization hits. You know you’ve aged, too—though perhaps not as drastically.

Jesse is the one who speaks. “Do you know each other or something?”

“Yes,” Joel says, in perfect time as you answer, “No.”

“O…kay.” Jesse shifts uncomfortably on his feet before he closes the space between himself and the place you and Joel stand in what seems to be an eternal face-off. He plucks your knife up from the ground and hands it to you, hilt first. “Here. We don’t want any trouble.”

The shine of the blade catches Joel’s eye, and he scoffs as he processes what he sees. He takes the knife from Jesse’s hand before you get a chance to do so. He raises it in front of his face, no doubt inspecting the two letters etched into the metal.

“T.M? Tommy?” Jesse’s brows furrow as he turns his attention to you. “Is this Tommy’s knife?”

Neither of you answer him. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and sweat beads your hairline. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and every cell in your body urges you to run as far and as fast as you can.

“Joel,” Jesse says, voice a little more firm.

“Just let me go,” you plead, staring Joel in the eye, trying to hide your fear. Not of him, but of the feeling that rises in you upon seeing him. The yearning, the desire, the familiarity. You’d convinced yourself it’d be gone by now, eviscerated. But feeling the warmth of his skin, smelling the pine scent of him—it all comes flooding back with a vengeance. “Please. Just give me the knife and I’ll walk away and we can pretend—”

“She’s coming back with us,” he tells Jesse. “Feed her. Get her some new clothes. If she wants to stay, there’s that empty house over by the cemetery. Fixed it up last week.”

“Stay? Where?”

“A town,” Jesse answers. He smiles at you and it’s warm and inviting, something you haven’t seen in some time. “A community.”

Your stomach growls at the thought of a decent meal, but your fear has you shaking your head. “No, I can’t. I’m—”

“You what?” Joel’s voice cuts through you. “Don’t got anywhere else to go. God knows how long it’s been since you last ate.”

You want to protest, to argue with him, to prove him wrong. But you can’t, because he’s right, and that fact enrages you more than anything else.

Still, you agree. One night, you tell yourself. A good meal and a good night’s sleep and then you’d leave, never to be seen again.

Jesse helped you onto the back of his horse, leading the way back to the settlement while Joel followed. Every time you glanced back, unable to prevent yourself from looking at Joel, you saw his icy gaze watching your own. You swallowed nervously, pulling back into Jesse. You wondered what Joel was thinking. If he remember everything, if it meant anything to him.

Jackson was huge. There was food and people and walls. It wasn’t like the QZ. People lived like a family, working together for the better of humanity. It brought tears to your eyes to see.

You felt overwhelmed as you trailed through the streets of Jackson, still mounted upon Jesse’s horse. Random strangers on the street greeted Joel as he led the way like he was some sort of beloved member of the community. All you could do was force a smile and nod during the random greetings, wondering if they knew who Joel really was.

“That jacket looks real familiar,” Joel spoke, gesturing at the worn coat swallowing your shoulders. It was large and had outlived its life, but you couldn’t let it go. It had been with you during some of the coldest winters, keeping you warm.

“Looks a lot like the one my daddy gave me before he passed. I went crazy, thinkin’ I misplaced it. All this time, it was just you stealin’ shit that don’t belong to you,” Joel scoffed, but without malice. You stuttered, closing it around your body to cover your chest, a habit stemming from pure nerves.

It had been your jacket for years, your only source of comfort during cruel winters. It belonged to you just as much as it belonged to him. You were the one who had taken care of it all of the time.

Joel chuckled at your reaction, grinning down at you. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask for it back. I’m happy that you’ve gotten some use outta it.”

It was bewildering, how one sentence he spoke could come across filled with resentment, with ire, and the next be filled with something that felt sort of like relief.

But even back then, even fifteen years ago, you’d never been able to quite understand him. And though his anger was a kindred spirit to yours, Joel was so confusing.

Once in the stables, Jesse helps you dismount. Before you even swing your leg over the horse, Joel’s handing his reins off to the stable hand and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

Jesse sees your attention follow him, no doubt reading the expression of confusion on your face. “Don’t worry about him,” he says. “Joel can be a bit of an ass sometimes.”

You think that might be the understatement of the decade, but you keep that to yourself.

“C’mon. Let’s go meet Maria to see where we should place you for housing and then I’ll let you get settled in.”

As Jesse leads you through the streets of Jackson, you can’t help but feel a bit of shock at the way things operate here. There are so many people you can’t keep their faces straight. Children of all ages, people your age, and elders. A rare occurrence these days.

There’s electricity powering lights strewn between the buildings. A carpenter and a grocer and a bar. It feels like something out of a dream.

Jesse leads you into what looks like a cafeteria. There are a handful of tables with hundreds of mismatched chairs around them, and a low chatter that greets you the moment you step through the doors.

You notice him in a second.

Tommy’s laughing. His hair has grown out long enough that he can tuck the dark blonde strands behind his ear now, curling just slightly at the ends.

He’s got a couple more freckles and wrinkles around his soft eyes. And seeing Joel was jarring, but it’s Tommy and his boisterous laughter and that wide grin on his face that makes your chest crack wide open.

You love him, and you’ve always known it. You love them both, but it’s the loss of Tommy’s warmth you’ve felt the deepest since escaping from that cabin. It’s taken you a long time to accept it, but you have—and seeing him brought back a burning feeling that you thought was long gone.

Tommy notices Jesse, waving at him wildly, looking past you as if you were transparent. He didn’t recognize you yet, which wasn’t surprising. You were standing a handful of meters away, and from what it appeared, you seemed to be a ghost from a past life. One that he never anticipated seeing again, with how settled down he appeared to be now.

“Jesse! You have to hear this shit, man! Get over here,” Tommy gestured, a shit-eating smile still filling his face. You noticed the way Jesse looked at you first, evaluating your reaction, which was little to none. You’d grown good at hiding your emotions over the years, a calloused exterior being your own personal form of protection. A shell.

Your brain felt like it was pounding against the walls of your skull when you followed Jesse over to Tommy’s table. You kept your eyes glued down at your feet and prayed, that maybe, he wouldn’t notice you. But, of course…

“Hey, Tommy. I think I found an old friend of yours,” Jesse starts off with, the bastard. Tommy’s soft eyes move over to you, staring blankly for a couple of beats. The noise from the cafeteria droned out as you looked into his eyes, locked on those deep irises that you had dreamt about for years.

The sound of Tommy’s metal chair scraping against the floor pulled you out of your haze. His arms wrapped around you, engulfing your frame - swallowing you in his own body. He was so warm and firm. You hadn’t touched another person for so long, not like this.

But you still were so uncertain. Your hands wavered, shaking nervously as you considered hugging him back. Things were so complicated, incredibly taboo, and filthy. You shouldn’t want to hug him back. You opt on loosely hugging his waist, too nervous to match the pressure of his embrace.

He pulls back, his large palms coming up to cradle the sides of your face. It reminded you of that night all those years ago when you first kissed him. You could still taste the bottle of Jack on his lips, warm and heavy against your tongue.

Tommy was contemplating kissing you, you had seen the look before. It was all too familiar.

His eyes were heavy, but the look left almost as quickly as it had appeared. He awkwardly shifted back, pulling out of your incredibly loose embrace. Jesus, Tommy was just as conflicted with you. His remorse for what had happened was clear on his face, those heavy puppy dog eyes searching your face desperately, praying that you would forgive him. Forgive Joel.

It was all too much - your head was spinning and your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth. Tommy glanced over at the table he had jumped up from, directly at a woman who was sitting next to his seat. Her freckled face was etched with a frown, one that was full of confusion about the situation.

“Christ, you’re alive?” Tommy whispered, wavering away from you. His disbelief wasn’t one that you had expected, nor had Jesse. The young man was still standing beside you, watching the events unfold with wide eyes.

“I’m not really hungry, Jesse,” you turned and said, needing to get out of there immediately. Something was unraveling deep inside, what that something was, you didn’t know. Your palms felt slick with sweat, your legs unintentionally pulling you back, protecting you from the conversation.

“Please,” Tommy begged, “Let’s talk. Settle in, get used to everything, but don’t leave town without comin’ to talk. And for the love of God, eat .”

You nodded, backing away from Tommy like a scared puppy. The sound of your heart beating filled your brain as you turned and walked away, Jesse hot on your heels. You heard Tommy’s voice speak, “Maria, come on, we gotta go over some things.”

The air is cool against your heated skin, and you greedily swallow the icy air. You press your palm against your sternum, trying to will your heart to slow and your blood to settle in your veins.

“Hey,” Jesse says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder that makes you jump out of your skin.

When you turn to face him, you don’t even remember unsheathing your knife from the holster strapped to your belt. He has his hands held up in surrender, that friendly smile on his face, and guilt begins to trickle down your spine.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You lower the knife quickly, returning it to its rightful place at your hips. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry, too. Uhm…instinct, I guess.”

“I get it,” he says, and for some reason, you believe him. There’s such understanding in his voice that it’s hard not to. “Jackson is a lot to adjust to. Doesn’t happen overnight.”

You nod slowly in response.

“There’s an empty house over by the cemetery. I can show you, and you can rest or look around or…you know, do whatever you need to. There’s hot water, you can shower, and some staples in the pantry if you feel like cooking. I can run to the community hall and get you some new clothes and drop them off if you want some space.”

The words sound foreign in your ears as if he’s speaking a different language. Cooking, showering, hot water …the thought crosses your mind that you’ve somehow died and this is all some kind of strange hallucination.

But a moment along sounds like bliss, and a shower sounds like heaven, so you find yourself nodding and following him through the streets of Jackson. Jesse tries to make small talk, but you’re not in much of a talking mood and he seems to pick up on it and doesn’t press for much more information.

He tells you there are towels in the linen closet in the hall upstairs and promises to return in less than ten minutes with a basket of clean clothes. “I’ll set them just inside the door,” he said. ”Take what you want. If there’s anything that doesn’t fit, I’ll bring it back to the hall later.”

The house is nice, bigger than any of the places you’ve ever holed up in for a few days, and more secure, too. Upstairs there’s a massive bathroom and before you do anything else, you turn the handle to the hottest setting. The water spits and spudders and is freezing at first, but the second it begins to warm you’re stripping off your clothes and stepping beneath the stream.

And you’re not quite sure why, but the sensation of it brings moisture to your eyes, salty tears mixing with the warm spray from the showerhead. The water that pools at your feet is dark and grimy, ridding you of the dirt that clings to your skin.

You scrub your skin raw and still don’t feel clean enough. But when the water runs cold, you leave wet footprints on the wood flooring of the stairs and find that Jesse stayed true to his word.

Just inside the front door is a laundry basket full of clothes; denim and fleece, cotton t-shirts and undergarments, socks, and even a half-decent bra. You settle on jeans and a hoodie that’s just a little too big, but still hold tight to the old coat you’d stolen.

He also left a plate of food, which you assumed was from the cafeteria. Even though you didn’t think you could’ve eaten earlier, not after seeing Tommy, you were suddenly famished. The food was gone in under a minute. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had something fresh, rice, green beans, onions. It was life-altering.

There’s a big bed in the center of one of the bedrooms upstairs, and you tell yourself you’ll rest just for a few seconds. A few minutes. But the moment your head hits the pillow, you know it isn’t true and you don’t have the energy to convince yourself otherwise.

When you finally wake, the room is dark, and the rays from the rising moon are silhouetting the bedroom in a blue haze. You sigh, relaxing into the bed sheets. It was crazy to reflect on your current circumstances. Just a day ago, you were starving, sleeping on an old rotted mattress with a gun held tightly in your hand. Now, you could hear the laughter and shouts of children from the street outside your window.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you stood up, deciding to leave the house and explore. It would be beneficial to know where everything is, you think. If for nothing else than to know the best escape routes, to become familiar with the routine of the watchers on the walls.

You brush your teeth before heading out, the night air rushing against your face when you step onto the front porch. Even though it’s late in the evening, the streets are still filled with people; families walking back home together, couples holding hands. It almost feels unreal.

Walking past the cemetery, you notice some people crouched at the gravestones, crying. Even when you were somewhere safe, you could never escape the horrors of loss.

It felt like you were floating through the streets of Jackson, an outsider peering in. The closer you got to the center of town, the more people you stumbled upon. Icicle lights were strung across the powerlines and street before you, random strangers greeting you in passing.

You finally grew tired of the attention, the stares, the forced conversations. You ended up pulling up the hood of your jacket over your head, shielding yourself from gazing eyes.

A small church was planted near the center of town, and the doors cracked, allowing you to glance in. Though it wasn’t entirely full, many people filled the pews and watched the priest give his sermon. You could pick up a few words from where you were standing, but you didn’t really care to hear. You gave up on a religion a long time ago.

A couple of meters away was an open space that had a bonfire square in the middle, with a handful of picnic tables spread across the space. The hum of the people talking drew you in, despite not knowing anyone, or so you thought.

“Settlin’ in good?” you heard from behind you, the voice making you jump in surprise. You turned back to see Joel, his dark eyes watching you from a couple of feet away. Those dark eyes still made your palm sweat and your cheeks burn bright. He had always held something in him that made you docile.

You cleared your throat, subconsciously pulling at the strings of your hoodie. “It’s surreal here. Not like the QZ.”

Joel huffs, nodding in agreement. “Thank God it ain’t.“

There is an awkward pause where you stand shyly in front of Joel, uncertain of what to say next. Making small talk with him was never your forte, because typically he never even wanted to speak with you. Now, here he is, actively trying to pull a conversation out of you. He had changed.

“You’re not like how I remember,” you say, your lips moving quicker than your brain was able to think. Joel stiffened, rubbing the scruff of his beard.

“Yeah? And how do you remember me?”

It’s a test, one to see how you would describe your relationship with both him and Tommy. A mutual romantic bond? Or something much more sinister, much more taboo? You don’t fall for the trap because you aren’t even sure how you want to interpret everything. Not entirely.

“Quieter. Less gray hairs too,” you said, not expecting the warm sound of Joel’s laughter to hit your ears. He smiled down at you, the grin boyish and full of hidden memories. It made you ache for something you never even had.

“It’s been a long time. When you left…” Joel trailed off, his expression morphing into a dark cloud. You knew that leaving would hurt both of the brothers, and it felt shameful to admit that sometimes you regretted your escape. Yes, you were free, but what difference did it make? You had lost companionship. Love?

“We both hated to see you leave, but we understood.” Joel was no longer looking you in the eye but was instead staring down at his feet. “What happened there? It wasn’t right, the things we did with you. I can be the first to admit. It was the actions of two desperate, lonely men. But I’m not here to make excuses.”

His eyes moved back to look at your face, to gauge your reaction.

“I’m sorry. Tommy sure as hell is, he beat himself to death over all of it. You don’t have to forgive me or forgive either of us. But, please, just hear him out. He wants you to come over to dinner tomorrow so you can meet everyone. Then maybe we could all talk?”

You stepped back, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you tried to explain. The idea of being trapped in a house with people you didn’t know didn’t exactly sound appealing. Joel had apologized for both him and Tommy, truthfully, there wasn’t much of a point to even go now. What more was there to talk about?

“Joel!” shouted a voice from where the bonfire was taking place. Both you and Joel turned to watch a young girl run over to where you were standing. When she arrives you’re able to get a good look at her - pretty blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose that reminds you of the constellations.

For a moment you considered that maybe he had a kid. She looked no older than sixteen - it could be possible. But she didn’t look like Joel, much too soft in the cheeks. Joel had strong features while this girl was the epitome of a cherub, her rounded lips turned up into a smile as she grinned at you.

“Joel. Is it alright if I spend the night at Cat’s? I don’t have garden duty until the afternoon so I’d have plenty of time to get back,” she explained. Well, if she wasn’t Joel’s daughter then she was certainly Joel’s something. The sick thought crossed your mind that maybe something was wrong here, but the moment Joel reached over to tousle her hair, you knew that you were wrong.

“Of course not, El. Be back by dinner tomorrow,” he said, shooting her away, back towards the crowd at the fire. She gave you a farewell wave, one that you returned, as she ran off to find her friend.

Your face was warm when you thought about how you had considered that Joel might’ve been in a relationship with her. Joel noticed your embarrassment, watched the way you huffed into your palm, and shook your head.

“What?” Joel questioned, the distant fire casting a fire over his face. It reminded you of the cabin, of the fireplace. Of his warmth.

“You kidnap her too?”

The small grin that he had on his face disappeared in an instant, replaced with rage and disappointment.

“Of course not,” Joel sputtered, scoffing at the accusation. “I would’ve never- I mean, she is just a child,” he hissed.

“And I wasn’t?” you whispered back just as angrily, pulling your hood off of your head. You wanted him to look at you, to see you.

“I told you, I’m sorry. I’ve had fifteen years to reflect and I can admit that I was,” Joel pauses before snarling, “a goddamn monster back then. But, Ellie, she’s like a daughter to me. She gave me a purpose. With her, things were different,” he sighed, shaking his head in frustration.

Tears were burning the back of your eyes, but you forced yourself to keep it together. You weren’t going to show Joel that he had hurt you. That you had missed him.

“And why wasn’t it different with me?” you questioned, a genuine curiosity behind the words.

Joel only stood, looking down at you with his lips pressed into a frown. This girl, Ellie, had broken Joel, but you hadn’t. What was so special about her that she was able to receive his empathy?

The answer to that question was easy. You knew that deep down, it was never about you. It was about Sarah.

You hated that you weren’t able to watch him grow and change, to help him change. He never gave you the chance.

“I’m going to go,” you said, turning to leave both Joel and the conversation behind. Before you could walk off the sidewalk, you felt a familiar hand wrapped around your arm. A heat rose in your chest and settled in between your thighs just by being touched by Joel.

His dark eyes softened as he took you in, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, your body, your palms. His large hands dwarfed yours when he pulled you towards him, wrapping you in a hug. It was different from Tommy’s, one that was full of surprise and longing.

Joel’s was tender and soft, his large palms moving in small, gentle circles as if he was afraid he’d break you.

“Is this okay?” Joel questioned, one that took you by surprise. He had changed, that’s for sure. You nodded, melting into his touch, practically cemented between the pressure of his arms. It had been so long since you had been touched, focused purely on survival. It felt good, to feel wanted.

“When you left we searched for you,” he spoke into your hair. “With the raiders and all, we thought that maybe more had come and taken you. Took us a little while to realize that wasn’t the case. We understood why you left, why you felt like you had to leave, but… fuck .”

He had pulled back now, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to be by your side until it was too late. I fucked up. We both did. But it was me who treated you badly, who excused it. So, I’m sorry.”

It was Joel’s third and final apology of the night. You had decided that you did forgive him, for all of it. There was no point in wallowing in anger forever. You had to let it go.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching to hold his palm in your hand. He wasn’t a bad man. He had never been, and it hits you only now that maybe you’ve always known from the very first moment that he’s not bad …he’s just like you.

Quick to anger, quicker to self-preservation. Neither of you has ever seen the best in others before the bad, your psyche molded always to expect the worst, tragedy burned in like a bad memory.

“I know,” you say again. “And I forgive you.”

His shoulders deflate as if setting down something so heavy he’d become accustomed to the weight of it after all these years. He gives you this smile, but it’s sort of sad and the sight of it quietly breaks your heart.

But Joel regains his composure quickly, casting his eyes away from you and clearing emotion from his throat. Your hand still sits in his, a firm, warm hold on you, full of surety, devoid of hesitation. You try not to think about how much it feels like home.

“So, would you think about dinner then?”

You don’t know these people. You know Joel and Tommy but everyone else remains a mystery, and though nothing about Jackson raises any immediate red flags, there’s still a nagging warning that rings in the back of your mind. Don’t get close. This is only temporary. You don’t belong here. Yet still, you find yourself nodding, pleased with the look of further satisfaction that finds its way onto Joel’s face. “Okay. Dinner.”

When he releases your hand, it feels like a loss all over again. You swallow it down, bury it deep, pretend it’s not there like you’ve always done. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” he says. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. Been a long day.”

You nod and force the words out of your mouth even though all you want is to beg him to stay, to wrap his big hand back around yours and pull you into his side. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Even though it makes you feel a little pathetic, you watch him walk away. But he’s turning back to face you, slowly walking backward as he quickly says, “You’re free to take any leftovers, by the way. No, uh…no thievery needed.”

It makes you laugh, the joy of the tender moment seeping deep between your bones. “Good to know,” you say. “I’ll keep it in mind, but don’t be surprised if I pocket a silver spoon or two.”

You hardly sleep the entire night. All you can think about it the weight of his calloused palm, of the timbre of his voice as he told you they looked for you.

No one’s ever looked for you before.

Just before sunrise, you allow yourself a moment to regret running. It’s the first time in all your life that you think maybe flight was the wrong response.

Tommy knocks on your door early. He’s got on a pair of Levi’s and a black and red flannel, and there’s a long-barrel rifle slung over his shoulder with a scope attached to it. “Morning, sweetheart,” he says. The familiar sobriquet sends a warmth slithering down your spine. “Thought we could go out today. Just the two of us. That sound okay?”

Before you have the chance to think better of it, you're stepping outside and closing the door behind you. Tommy chuckles softly at your lack of hesitation and throws an affectionate arm around your shoulders. You can’t resist leaning into him, can’t think of another place you’ve ever felt safer.

But then you think of that day so long ago, with Joel wrapped around you, his strong arms encircling your waist, and you think tucked into Tommy’s side might be the second safest place in the world.

The streets of Jackson are relatively empty compared to yesterday. The sun is up, casting orange shadows over the puddles of melting snow, and the lack of prying eyes makes you curious. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s Sunday,” he says simply. “For one day of the week, no one’s got any jobs to do.”

Truthfully, the concept of a weekday or a weekend has been foreign to you for so long you’d nearly forgotten its existence. “Oh,” is all you can rebuttal. And then a few moments later, “Where are we going?”

“Hunting trip,” Tommy explains. “Just like old times. Joel says you still got my skinnin’ knife.”

The words hold some accusation, making you flush, but there’s a proud smile on his face and you know he’s not angry for your stealing. You can feel the weight of it at your hip, and pull it from the sheath attached to your leather belt. Slowly, you turn it in your hand, polished silver glinting.

“Figured you’d taken it when I couldn’t find it. Looked everywhere for that thing. Looked everywhere for you, too. But…I just hoped it kept you safe. Wherever you were, I kinda liked the thought of, ya know…just being able to protect you somehow. I’m glad you had it.”

His confession cracks your chest wide open and leaves you bleeding. You think of all the times his knife had done just that; protected you, fed you, saved you.

“S’alright,” he says. “Go on an’ keep it. S’yours now, sweetheart.”

You slide the blade back into its home on your hip and follow Tommy as he feeds and speaks softly to an all-black horse in the stables. He saddles it quickly and with precision before pulling you up onto the horse behind him.

Instinctually, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and rest your cheek against his spine, inhaling the familiar but long-forgotten scent of him. The watchers on the walls let the two of you pass with only a nod to Tommy, and you ride slowly through the wet grass until you come to a clearing in the woods.

There’s a tree blind, hidden at the edge of the brush. Tommy ties the horse’s reins to the post and he lets you climb up the ladder first.

Once you’re both safely inside, the horse grazing on the grass below, Tommy sits the end of his rifle on the edge of the window before settling into one of the rickety wooden chairs that have been hauled into the blind.

You take the one beside him. Even though you know a big part of hunting is the silence, a million questions press against the back of your teeth. After a few minutes pass by, you can take the pressure no longer and ask, “Who’s Maria?”

A smile climbs onto his face. Unsure of what to expect, it surprises you as he answers simply, saying, “My wife.”

“ Wife ?” It raises a plethora of new questions. How long have they known each other? Did Tommy ever tell Maria about their time in the cabin? Did the two of them build Jackson together? Why does his answer sting?

He seems to sense the confusion and reaches across the open space to squeeze your hand in his. “After you left. Jesus, I think both Joel and I had a moment of realization. I missed you like hell, the feelin’ of you, the warmth. To think that you had gone back out there, with raiders and God knows what else, because of me and Joel? Christ.”

Tommy sighs, pausing before staring out into the wooded distance. You could see how much he had on his mind, an unbearable weight that he had been holding for years. It was wearing him down, weakening his bones.

“I know Joel talked to you, but I really can’t explain to you how sorry I am,” Tommy began. You glanced down at his palm which was still holding your own, large and heavy against your skin.

“There’s no excusin’ it. You were so young, and innocent. Something that we hadn’t been around for so long. We had seen horrible things, had done awful things. We took advantage of you. I took advantage of you.” He turned to look at you, a deep sincerity held in his eyes. “Please, forgive me. I don't know how I’d be able to keep livin’ with myself if you don’t.”

There wasn’t anything to forgive. You had wanted everything that happened, at the end of the day. You had missed both him and Joel.

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for stealing from you,” you said in an attempt to break the ice. You knew it worked from the way Tommy’s face broke out into a toothy grin.

“You’re forgiven.”

Tommy explained to you what had happened after you ran away from the cabin. How he had gone back to the Boston QZ in search of you, eventually abandoning Joel there to join the Fireflies. From there he had ditched the Fireflies, deciding that their methods were too extreme, and then, he met Maria. She had saved him, washed him of all of his sins, and gave him a purpose again.

“She’s a good woman. An amazing woman, Jackson wouldn’t even exist without her,” he said, but it felt like he was convincing himself and not you. Tommy looked over at you, a dark lust behind his eyes that you hadn’t seen since the last night you shared in that faraway cabin.

“She is,” he breathed. “But… sometimes I think about how different things would’ve been if I made better choices back then. I’m happy here in Jackson, beyond happy, but-“

You closed the distance quickly, knocking your wooden chair into his own. His lips were warm and soft, just like you had remembered them. It was easy kissing Tommy, like second nature. He hummed into your mouth and didn’t push you away. There was no huge rush of passion behind it, but something much more important. Catharsis. A conclusion.

“For closure,” you whispered into his lips. Tommy nodded, kissing you once more before leaning back in his seat, his hand still holding yours.

“For closure.”

On the way back, Tommy fills you in on Joel’s relationship with Ellie. They met in the QZ, where he agreed to take her across the country to Salt Lake City. When you ask why, Tommy insists it isn’t important, that if it was he would tell you. “It’s Ellie’s secret to tell, anyway,” he says.

You let it go, far more interested in something else entirely. Your arms are wrapped around his waist on the back of the horse and you’re breathing a little easier now as you ask, “Does she make you happy? Maria?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Or rather contemplation, perhaps. But then he nods slowly and says, “Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

You’re glad to hear it. Truthfully. Even with all that’s transpired, you’re thankful Tommy was able to find this slice of bliss in the hellish affairs of the world.

“Does she know? About what happened?” you asked shyly. Tommy sighed, nodding.

“She knew bits and pieces but not at all of it. After Joel and Jesse found you, I told her everything. It wasn’t fair for her not to know.”

You would’ve guessed that he told her. He seemed to really love her, to trust her. If Joel even trusted her, then that showed the strength in the relationship. It didn’t bother you that she knew. It was for the best.

“And…Joel? Do you think he’s happy?”

This time it’s definitely hesitation. Tommy’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. He lets out a long breath, misting in the cool air. “He hasn’t been the same since…”

“Since Sarah, right?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes, but…”

There’s something he’s holding onto, and you’re not sure if it’s for your sake or for Joel’s. Either way, this is the secret you decide you need to uncover. “Tell me.”

“When you left…I mean, I know I already said it was hard but it was different for Joel. I had the Fireflies and then I had Maria and Jackson, all things that filled the emptiness but Joel…I don’t know. S’like he never came back from it. From losin’ you.”

You can see Jackson in the distance now. A silhouette of a town, of a home. Your stomach turns, thinking that all this time you’ve both been suffering from the same plight and the cure has simply been forgiveness.

But can you live with entirely forgiving Joel? Completely? He advocated for your death, held you hostage, and shot you in cold blood. You can acknowledge and accept the fact that he’s changed, that you all have, that you’ve grown and matured and established a firm line between what’s right and what’s wrong, something the three of you once lacked.

You’ve finally found closure enough to move on from this, but if you let go of your anger, let it dissolve into nothing, what would be left of what you feel for him but longing?

If you let it all go…there would be nothing left inside you for Joel Miller but love, and you’re fairly certain that that would be even more difficult to navigate than your anger.

Once back in Jackson with nothing to show for your hunting trip but ease in your shoulders, Tommy secures the horse back into the stables and offers to walk you home. You laugh and joke the whole way and it feels natural, just like old times but perhaps even better now that you’re here of your own volition.

Once in front of your house, Tommy takes your hand in his and kisses your palm. “I’ll always care for you,” he whispers, dancing around a word far more intense. Once again, you’re not sure if it’s for your benefit or for his, or if it’s for Joel’s.

You lift his hand to your face and lean into his caress, feeling the warmth on your cheek, the roughness of his skin brought on by age and hard labor. “Me too,” you admit. And then quieter, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I know it was…”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, sweetheart—don’t you ever apologize for that.” He used his free hand to thread his fingers through your hair, not dissimilar to the way you’d first touched him all those years ago. “You needed it. I needed it.”

He wraps his arms around you and you lean in close, soaking up his warmth, his safety.

You share so much in one embrace—longing, lust, regret, forgiveness. And when he pulls away, it all fades into the ether, leaving nothing behind but this deeply rooted fondness for him, a desire for him to be happy above all else.

“If you need anything, and I mean anything, come and find me. We live next to the daycare. Maria said to be there after nightfall tonight,” Tommy spoke, knocking his shoulder across your own playfully. “I hope you’re ready for a home-cooked meal. How long has it been?”

You stand, truly considering his question. Eating in the QZ wasn’t exactly pleasant. Typical meals consisted of stale bread and watered-down soup. You couldn’t even remember your last fresh meal.

“Too long,” you sighed. Tommy smirked, his warm smile making the skin of your cheeks burn.

“Soon enough. See you tonight.”

The day goes by quickly. You fill the empty space with exploration, walking through the greenhouses, around the buildings, and through the one currently being constructed in the northwest corner within the walls.

The people begin to emerge a little after midday, socializing with one another, smiles on their faces and ease in their shoulders. You see Jesse at one point while you’re walking the perimeter, checking for weak spots, and he waves at you and it feels so strangely normal that it startles you.

When the sun begins to set behind the heavy clouds, you find the house beside the daycare and stand a few feet away. You can see through the open windows that you’re likely the last to arrive—and for a second, you consider turning back and running as far away as you can.

Because beneath the yellow light, they all look so happy. Maria, Ellie, and someone else you can’t put a name to, all work together setting the table, six place settings with mismatched cutlery.

Joel and Tommy can be seen in the kitchen, sharing a few concerned looks between warm smiles, once in a while knocking the neck of their glass bottles together. They’re all at home here and have all curated a routine, a familiarity.

And you know without a shadow of a doubt that if you walk in there, you’re going to disturb it. You’re going to break the tranquility they’ve worked towards, you’re going to be the odd one out, the sore thumb in their causal, familiar cacophony. No matter what, you’re not going to belong.

The only hope you have is trudging through the unfamiliarity until it becomes familiar, hoping to integrate yourself into their already established lives.

But after all you’ve done since leaving that cabin, after all the blood on your hands, is that the sort of thing you’ve earned?

It’s not. You know it. You turn to leave.

The front door swings open, yellow lighting silhouetting his familiar frame.

He must see the terror in your eyes, must see the flight response kicking in because he’s off the porch in a second and taking your hand in his.

You’re shaking your head and your breath feels stuck in your throat, amassing into a stone of instinct that sits heavy on your chest.

“Tell me,” is all Joel says.

The words come spilling out, mechanical, one after another. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve this. I don’t belong here. I’ve killed people. I’ve lied and stolen and—”

He takes your face in his strong grip and forces you to look at him, the sight of adoration in his eyes like a balm to your heart. “It doesn’t matter if we deserve it,” he says. “Do you want it?”

More than anything.

Tommy’s voice cuts through the intensity between you and Joel. “Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Come eat, sweetheart.”

You do. Maria’s made a whole platter; roast and vegetables and some sort of broth soup with rosemary. There’s red wine and whiskey and sweet tea. Joel sits beside you at the table. Ellie sits across from you, beside her girlfriend who you learn is named Dina.

They’re all incredibly nice, asking you questions about your life before Jackson, never pressing too much, sensing when a topic is brought up that you don’t particularly want to recall and quickly changing the conversation.

The chemistry flows far easier than you’d imagined it would. You find you even like Maria, and you especially like that fond look in her every time she glances over at Tommy.

The food is delicious and you’re bringing a forkful of roast to your mouth when Dina asks, “So, how did you meet Joel and Tommy?”

The table goes quiet then, and Dina and Ellie share a confused glance. You chew slowly, hoping someone else will answer the question or, better yet, ask something else entirely.

But then Ellie jokingly says, “What? Did guys kidnap her or something?”

You nearly choke, Tommy lets out a long breath, and Joel is stone still apart from the feathering of his jaw. Even Maria looks uncomfortable.

Ellie sees the unsaid words and quietly mutters, “Oh shit.” She turns to Joel then, eyes narrowed into slits. “You kidnapped her?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you supply. “Not exactly. I stole from them first. Back when food was a lot more scarce.”

“So you held her captive,” Ellie corrects, unrelenting.

“A story for another day, maybe?” Maria suggests. “How’s the soup, El?”

You can tell she’ll circle back to the conversation the moment she can, but for now, Ellie lets it rest. And you’re thankful for it, because you’re not sure how to explain a moment of your time spent in that cabin even to yourself, let alone someone else.

After dinner, you help Maria clean while the brothers drink beer out on the back porch and watch Ellie play guitar. From the kitchen you can see Dina stretched across the wooden floor, propped up against the rails of the porch. The sound of Ellie missing a couple of strings makes Maria hum in amusement.

“Joel’s been teaching her for a couple of weeks now. She picks up quickly,” Maria informs you, taking a now cleaned dish from your hand to dry it. It didn’t feel weird, being around her, despite the fact that you had kissed her husband just a couple of hours ago.

“Yeah. She seems like a good kid.”

Maria places the plate into the cabinet before turning to you. She leans against the counter, taking a moment to look you over.

“You weren’t how I imagined you when Tommy told me about everything.”

Her words didn’t feel rude or passive-aggressive. They were more so honest, and revealing.

“How did you imagine me?” you asked, continuing to wash the dirty dishes in the sink. Focusing on the soapy suds melting off the plate the more you scrubbed it distracted you from the conversation. You knew that Maria was trying to understand you, but it made you feel anxious either way.

Maria sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not so quiet. Fiery, like Ellie. I suppose you are, deep down, especially if both the Miller brothers like you.”

You used to have more of a spark inside of you, but over time, it had slowly fizzled out. You had killed too many people, done too many awful things. After your father was murdered, you lost the majority of the fire that was meant to burn in your chest. You learned how to be a drifter and not get attached, because getting attached meant losing them someday.

The only exception were the brothers who you could hear laughing loudly from the back porch. Even after all this time, after leaving them, they had found a place to call home where they could love freely.

“They both care a lot about you. You had Joel pacing back and forth, wondering if you’d actually show up.”

A warm blush washed across your face and didn’t stop until it reached the bottom of your spine. Joel was waiting for you? How was it that he had shut you off, practically hated you all those years ago, but now, suddenly was worried about you? What had changed?

As if she could read your mind, Maria spoke. “Ellie helped him open up a lot. According to Tommy, she’s got that same spitfire energy as Sarah. Maybe back then, it wasn’t the right time. Joel was too far gone. But now, it could be different. You could take advantage of his weaknesses this go around if you think it would make you happy.”

You understood why Tommy loved Maria. She had created this town, a haven, and even cares about people she doesn’t know. She allowed her husband’s people to be her own.

“Maybe,” you agreed, focusing your attention back on washing the dishes. Maria didn’t pry and instead moved back into the pattern of taking clean dishes from your hands.

Once you finished, you followed Maria onto the back porch, trailing through the sliding doors. Ellie and Dina were so focused on singing a Foo Fighters song that you hadn’t heard for years (that you were sure Joel introduced them to) that they didn’t notice your approach. Tommy and Joel did, Tommy smiling at Maria before extending his arms. She walked to where he was sitting and joined him, sitting on the edge of his lap.

You were glad that you didn’t feel anything but happiness to watch the intimacy of the couple.

Joel’s eyes were watching you, dark and full of thoughts you wished you could understand. You wondered how he would react if you closed the space and sat on his lap - not that you had nearly enough courage.

“I think I’m gonna get ready to head home. I gotta organize the pantry in the morning,” you said, glancing over at the two girls who had moved on to singing some song you didn’t recognize.

All three of the Millers looked disappointed in your confession. “At least let me walk you back,” Joel begged, but you shook your head.

“No, stay. Don’t wanna miss out on this,” you said, glancing back over at Ellie and Dina singing.

There was something like hurt that flashed across his face, but it didn’t linger long.

“Feel free to come back any time,” Maria said.

“For anything,” Tommy adds.

Joel says nothing, even though you linger there on the porch for several seconds, secretly hoping he would. But you nod silently, thank them for all their hospitality, and compliment Maria on the food, before parting ways to the soft sound of Ellie’s strumming on the guitar.

For several days, you find yourself grappling with a decision. Should you stay, or should you do what feels most natural and flee?

Fleeing would be what you’re used to. A rehearsed, calculated event. Premeditated. You’d been thinking about it from the moment you set foot in this place. Take a backpack full of supplies; food, medicine, water. You’d probably even get away with taking a horse and a couple of guns from the armory.

You’d do it first thing before the sun rises on a Sunday morning when the whole of Jackson is sleeping apart from the watchers on the walls. You wouldn’t say goodbye because you know Joel and Tommy both would convince you to stay.

Instead, you’d leave a note on the table in your kitchen. One Saturday night you even sit there with a pen in your hand, but all you can manage to scribble down are the words I’m sorry.

You trash it before sunrise. And that morning, Ellie stopped by to ask if you’d help her tend to the greenhouse. “It’s an eight-hour shift,” she explained. “Four with an extra set of hands. They have that dance going on tonight, down at the community hall. Dina really wants to go.”

Of course, you agree. And as the hours tick by, you understand Joel’s attachment to her. Ellie is probably the funniest kid you’ve ever met. Intuitive too, and so smart it’s jarring. You like her, mostly because she reminds you a little of yourself when you were her age.

She talks briefly about her journey with Joel to Salt Lake City. Says he started out as this gruff, overbearing man, but towards the end, he was the only source of comfort remaining in her grasp. She says Joel saved her life but then gets really quiet for a while afterward.

You don’t pry. The silence is comfortable, the dirt between the creases of your palms and beneath your fingernails is warm, and you realize that fleeing is going to hurt an awful lot more than you thought.

After your shift in the greenhouse with Ellie, you begin to consider staying. Jackson is a good place, a safe place. One without the tyrannical rules of a standard QZ.

The following weekend, a fight breaks out between two men at the Tipsy Bison. One is drunk and sloppy and he has a knife strapped to his belt. You watch from a far distance as the drunken man stabs his opposition between the ribs, blood pooling in the mud beneath his feet.

You don’t see Joel right away, too focused on the commotion that breaks out over the event, but the moment he steps in he’s hard to miss. He has that strong, domineering energy about him. He breaks up the fight in a second and has the man with the knife unclenching his fist, silver glinting in the pool of blood as the weapon drops to the ground.

Maria and Tommy arrive a short moment later and the man with the stab wound gets carted off to the infirmary. Joel towers over the man with blood on his hands but says not a single word.

You’re not sure why, and you’re too exhausted to attempt unpacking it, but the way he just… controls the situation so easily has your thighs pressing together.

Joel and Tommy take the man someplace, but you don't stay around long enough to find out where. You half expect them to make some scene of it; whippings in the center of the town, a public execution as a display of power. You’ve seen such things before in the QZs you’ve drifted through.

But nothing like that happens, and all anyone can talk about is Rick’s miraculous recovery and what they plan to bring to him in the infirmary.

You ask Jesse what happened to the drunken man who stabbed him, wondering if they killed him someplace away from prying eyes.

Jesse laughs and shakes his head. “No, we didn’t kill him. He was exiled.”

You’re not sure why it surprises you, but it does.

The next time you see Joel, he’s in the stables. The first taste of summer has presented itself, spring slowly giving way, the earth thawing further each day. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt that stretches tight across his biceps and a good-fitting pair of blue jeans, and you watch from a safe, non-conversational distance as he moves haybales from one end of the stables to another, making room for the new ones loaded into the back of Tommy’s truck.

A light sheen of sweat coats his sun-kissed skin, and it makes your mouth water. All you can think about is that first time with him, how he’d gripped your hips with calloused fingertips, how he’d kissed your lips until they were swollen, how he’d pressed himself between your spread thighs.

You run home so fast you’re out of breath when you close the door, and the moment you make it up the stairs and to your room, you're slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your jeans to alleviate the ache that has settled and made a home between you legs.

Telling yourself it was a fluke, you don’t think of it again. In fact, you try very hard not to think about that day in the cabin, you try not to think about the way he looked at you before leaving you and Tommy in the bed on that last day, you try not to think about the way his muscles flexed in the stables.

You fill your time with chores. The greenhouse, watch, patrol, shifts at the Tipsy Bison. Anything that keeps your mind from Joel you greet with ready and willing hands.

But it happens again. Of fucking course it does.

It’s raining hard and has been for several days. The western wall begins to flood, and it’s an all-hands-on-deck situation, moving sandbags from one end of Jackson to the other. Everyone is running around, moving as fast as they can, piling them into the back of one person’s truck and then someone else’s the moment one pulls away.

Maria woke you up in the middle of the night with a yellow raincoat in her hands, and of course, you didn’t waste a moment before you put on your sneakers and ran out the door with her.

She stations you at the western wall with a handful of others, unloading the sandbags and stacking them as high as possible to detour the pooling water.

Joel stands two feet away from you, yelling orders over the sound of the rain, commanding the situation in that way of his. You’re shivering, even with your raincoat, and as Joel’s hand brushes yours when he helps you lift a sandbag onto the pile, it sends an electric jolt down your spine. “Jesus,” he huffs. “Here. Take off your jacket real quick.”

You do, in time with him as he removes his canvas coat, soaked through with water. He pulls his flannel off and hands it to you, and normally you would argue he needs it more considering your dry t-shirt, except you’re freezing.

The soft fabric is warm and it’s a little too big but it’s the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn. It smells like him, like pine and rain and Joel. For a moment you consider not returning it back to him and adding it to your collection of clothes you’ve taken from him. But for now, you relish in its heat, in its softness.

He goes right back to instructing others after shrugging his coat back on, as if the act of kindness was nothing, as if he’d give just anyone the shirt off his back. And maybe he would, but you’ve never stuck around long enough to find out.

It’s still dark when you finish, sunrise still a while away. Maria and Tommy thank everyone for their help and send you home, telling everyone to try and get some extra sleep, that shifts will start an hour later than normal.

You do as she says, noting the way the muscles in your back ache from strain but finding it strangely satisfying, feeling less like you’d lost sleep and more like you’d protected something that was worth protecting.

Joel’s flannel remains on as you climb back into bed. And though you’re exhausted, all you can think about enveloped in his scent is how he would feel beside you, on top of you, between your legs. Heavy and warm, strong and so incredibly safe.

It doesn’t even feel like there’s a choice when you wiggle your fingers beneath the elastic of your panties. And even though it only takes a matter of minutes to make yourself reach the pinnacle of bliss, it feels unsatisfying. Like it’s not enough, like it’ll never be enough.

You still wear Joel’s flannel while on patrol with Jesse later in the day. You vow to return it, promising yourself this is your chance to change. To be a better person, to reinvent yourself here in Jackson, to stop running, to stop thieving.

But you don’t return it. Several days go by and you practically live in the goddamn thing.

You lost count of how many times you squirmed against your pillow with the flannel pressed against your lips, imagining that Joel was there.

“Just like that, baby girl,” Joel would say gruffly, his strong palms pressed against your thighs to make your hips rock. “Missed listenin’ to those little moans.”

If you squeezed your eyes closed just enough, you could feel him on you, guiding you. You prayed that he still thought about you, but you were scared to know what it meant if he did. It would mean that Joel reciprocated your lust, your feelings.

One evening you walked past Joel’s house after a long, tiring day of helping create concrete for the expansion of the South wall. The summer project was to create space for new houses. Jackson was growing day by day, getting stronger.

You stopped outside the concrete steps, looking at the path to the front door. Would you have the courage to walk up that intimidating trail and knock on Joel’s front door? Would you have the courage to ask him to kiss you, to show you how much he missed you?

Your question was answered once Joel’s front door opened, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. She was turned back, telling Joel something that you couldn’t quite make out. The steps of your sneakers crunched across the gravel of the road, your feet carrying you as far away from Joel’s house as possible.

One last glance back allowed you to witness the faraway silhouette of Joel passing something over to the woman, something that you were much too far away to see. You had done something stupid again - assumed that Joel was single. You weren’t trying to jump to conclusions but Tommy was married after all. It would make sense that Joel had found someone too, someone to settle down and raise Ellie with.

The happiness that you felt seeing Tommy and Maria together was not what you felt when watching Joel with another woman. A big, ugly, green monster bubbled inside of you and threatened to crawl out of your throat.

You hated this feeling. You hated it so much that you’d ended up going to Joel’s house later that, shortly after his bedroom light had turned off. The streets were completely empty except for the night shift patrollers walking towards their posts, the day saying its last goodbyes in the same way you meant to. A basket with Joel’s flannel and his original jacket from fifteen years ago was left on his porch. They were rejected and discarded, like how you felt.

The basket mocked you when you walked away from his porch, a visceral reminder of what you were actually returning. Your devotion.

It was impossible to sleep that night, too many rampant thoughts running wildly through your head. You stayed up the remainder of the night, a scratchy wool blanket tucked beneath your chin as you sat on the couch.

The moonlight streamed in through your living room window, painting colorful silvers and purples across the peeling walls. It was eerily peaceful to watch the earth sleep.

A stark opposite to the peaceful moonlight was the sudden rough knocks banging against your front door. You couldn’t help the way you jumped up, your bloodshot eyes glancing over to watch the wooden frame shake with each knock.

You move over the back of your couch to glance out the front window to see who is pounding at your door. The top of your head peeks over the blanket, your eyes straining to see. It’s Joel, of course, it’s Joel, and seeing him with that frantic look in his eye has your heart in your throat.

When you open the door to ask what he wants, you see both his flannel and his coat clutched in a knuckle-white grip. “Is this your way of saying goodbye?”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” You open your mouth to speak but he raises his free hand and stops you. “An’ don’t lie to my face, don’t…don’t look at me and tell me you’re staying just to disappear in the middle of the night.” There’s a kind of aggression in his voice you’ve never heard before, even when he shot you. “You’re leaving.”

It’s not a question this time. And you know he’s reliving it, remembering every moment in that cabin, the same way you’ve been since setting foot in Jackson.

The urge to comfort him rises in you, to promise to stay, but you can’t. Not when all you can see is that dark-haired woman on his doorstep. So, you swallow thickly and cast your eyes away, staring at the clothes you’d return instead. “It doesn't matter. Keep them, Joel.”

“It does matter,” he insists. “How can you say that?” He pushes into your house, this desolate place that suddenly comes to life with him in it. “After everything we’ve done, after everything we’ve seen… it matters. This place matters. You —”

Your breath catches at his near confession. It’s the first you’ve heard it from anyone, and the young girl you were fifteen years ago silently begs for him to finish it. She begs to be seen, cared for, and loved.

But you’ve spent so long shoving her into a box in your heart that it’s second nature when you do it this time. Joel shakes his head. He begins to speak, stops, and tries again. “I…you…”

“What, Joel?”

He runs an exasperated hand down his face. Whatever it is he’s trying to say is bothering him, an irritation dug in deep like a tick. “Don’t…”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s none of your business, yet you still find yourself crossing your arms over your chest and saying, “Should you even be here right now? Isn’t there someone else you should be giving the pleasure of your company to?”

Confusion sinks in quickly. “What are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, so I can’t lie to you but it’s fine if you lie to me? Typical, Joel. You’ve always been a hypocrite.”

"Hypocrite? What are you talking about? I’m here, trying to convince you to stay in Jackson because it’s safe. Even if you want nothing to do with me, if you want me to…to stay far away, that’s fine. But this place needs people like us and we need it.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel—I saw her. Don’t fucking play dumb.”

“Saw who? ”

You throw your hands up, anger rising to the surface of your skin. “I don’t know! And I don’t want to know! She was leaving your house with a really big smile yesterday so I guess I should say congrats, right? To you and Tommy both, for finding whatever it was you were looking for in me fifteen years ago.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, no—you’ve got this all wrong. It’s not like that.”

“Right,” you say indignantly. “Because that’s believable.”

He closes the space between you and wraps his hand around your elbow, holding tight enough to bruise. Joel stares at you with his eyes filled with intensity, so much of it that you actually start to believe him when he says so quietly, “There’s been no one. No one since you.”

“Oh, so it’s just the start I interrupted then? My bad, Joel, should I apologize?”

“Will you stop?” His jaw ticks, and you can see his irritation as it rises, a near palpable thing. His neck flushes, and his eyes narrow. “She’s Dina’s mom. She came over to meet me formally since Ellie’s been staying over there so often. She doesn’t mean anything. Not like…”

“Like what, Joel?”

“Not like you,” he finally says. It feels like a breath of fresh air, and you think he must feel that way, too. Because his grip on your elbow loosens, his shoulders drop, and his eyes soften instantly. “You…you mean something. To me. An’ I don’t…I want you to stay. I’m…I’m askin’ you to stay. Please.”

In all your life, in all the places you’ve passed through…not once has anyone ever asked you to stay. Not once has anyone seen you like this, seen and known you well enough to know when you’re tempted and have enough time to deter your decision.

Well, until now. Until Joel.

“Don’t do that,” you say, shaking your head, trying to clear the moisture that pools in the corner of your eyes.

He takes your face in his hands, calloused palms rough and warm against the tender skin of your jaw. “Stay,” he says. And again, softer this time, a plea. “ Stay.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, don’t give me false hope.”

Joel presses his forehead to yours. “I mean it,” he promises, and you want so badly to believe it, so you do. “Do you have any idea how long I looked for you? And even when I stopped lookin’ I saw you everywhere. Saw you in everything. That first winter without you…Christ, couldn’t think about anythin’ else.”

All you manage to say is his name like an escaped breath. Your skin prickles at his closeness, and you’ve never been good at resisting your impulses so you don’t even try to keep yourself from pressing your lips to his.

His hands slide into your hair, pulling you in closer, his tongue running across your bottom lip. You grant him access in the form of a moan that he echoes the moment he tastes the inside of your mouth.

You forget everything. Everything. All you know is the way this feels, and you suddenly think that maybe all this time you weren’t running from anything. Maybe you’ve been running to him.

“It’s always been you,” he says against your lips. His hands trail down your spine, gently caressing your soft curves.

The pad of his thumb brushes against the bare expanse of your spine where the smallest bit of your shirt has ridden up, but you feel the touch like lightning skittering across your skin. You wrap your hands around his neck, anchoring yourself against him, and it feels like second nature when he pulls you closer and lifts you off your feet.

In fifteen years nothing has changed—you still melt against him, defenses giving way, legs wrapping around his waist. You break the kiss long enough to whimper direction, saying, “The bedroom is upstairs, second door—”

“On the left, I know. Tommy and I fixed it up a couple months ago. Talked about you the whole time,” he says. And you’re not sure why but the knowledge has your heart flipping in your chest.

It’s almost like he knew, like they both did. Like they could feel you somehow, out there, wandering, finding your way back to them.

Joel lays you down and strips your clothes off slowly, fingers familiarizing themselves with every inch of your skin as if he’s learning it for the first time. He kisses your lips until they’re swollen, leaves marks in the shape of his mouth down your chest, and leaves moisture from his tongue over the hardened peaks of your nipples.

When he parts your thighs and tastes you, he’s still fully clothed. And you begin to feel exposed, like the two of you are standing on uneven terrain, but then he lets out a feral-sounding moan and you think maybe he’s suffered in your absence even more than you yourself have.

His tongue is soft and hot and makes your back bend off the mattress. Twice he makes you come undone with nothing but his mouth. And when he rises to his knees, peering over you, he looks sated. Relieved, somehow. As if being this close to you has healed him, stitched up some long-opened wound.

Unhurried, he begins to discard his clothes onto the floor beside yours. His flannel first, and then his t-shirt, and you let out a pathetic moan as you drink in the sight of him. His scarred, masculine hands working at the metal buckle of his black leather belt, his toned arms and his soft tummy, and that trail of thick, dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Everything about him ignites you, calling to you like some sort of beacon. Your skin prickles as he discards the remainder of his clothes.

And before you have a chance to speak aloud your fervent need, he’s settling between your thighs and pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. He cradles your face in his hands, gently smoothing your hair away from your face, and there’s so much devotion in his voice that it makes you tremble as he says, “You were made for me, little girl. Do you know that?”

You think you do. You think you’ve always known it, always known that whatever god-like, mystical being that resides in this world had crafted you with Joel in mind. All you can do is nod and bask in the moment, in the sanctity of your creation, in the wickedness of his. Carefully, he pushes his cock into you.

The stretch is painful at first, even with how wet he’s made you. But it’s a bearable pain, a sweet ache, especially with the way he whispers in your ear and presses soft kisses to your cheek with each breath. “S’okay, you can take it. I know you can. See? There you go. So fuckin’ proud of you, baby. You’re so perfect. Perfect for me.”

Joel rocks his hips against yours at a gradual pace. There’s nothing rushed about it, no aggression in his movements. It’s so different from the last time but the change in him just brings the two of you closer. Your orgasm builds like a fire in your belly, burning more and more with each thrust, heightened by the gruff moans that escape him, by the pressure of his body on top of yours.

He’s so warm and he feels like home. A sensation you’ve never felt since leaving that cabin, a safety like you’ve never known since. You love him. You forgive him. And so you tell him.

And as the words escape your lips, as you make that final confession that will alter the course of your life forever, his breath stutters in his chest, and that fire that’s been building in your belly reaches its full height, flames licking at your skin. He says, “I love you, too, little girl,” and it tips you over the precipice.

You reach the high of bliss together, at the same exact time, and everything but this feeling fades into nothing. All that remains is you and Joel and this otherworldly closeness. There’s nothing left to forgive, nothing left to navigate. As one, singular soul, you simply are.

He takes the time to clean you up afterward. You shower together, and he massages body wash into your skin, relieving the ache from your muscles. You don’t ask him to stay because you don’t need to; he just does. Because he knows you like no one else ever has.

You fall asleep quickly. It’s late and you’re exhausted, but for the first time in fifteen years, you feel stable. He holds you through the night.

But when he shifts just slightly, it wakes you a few hours before sunrise. His eyes are wide open and bloodshot, clearly straining to stay awake.

Shifting on your elbow to lean up, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

Joel just shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “Nothing,” he says. “Just go back to sleep. Get some rest.”

It’s clearly a lie. Something is tugging at him, and you’re determined to fix it. “Tell me,” you say.

He hesitates for a moment, working over his words in his head. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and tries again. And then he says quietly, unable to look you in the eye, “I wanted to be able to talk you out of leaving. If you changed your mind again.”

The words break your heart, cracking open your ribcage and allowing a trace of bitterness to settle there. It’s your fault, you know. Your fault he worries about you leaving so much, that he allots time to talk you down from a ledge you’re not quite sure even exists anymore. You swallow down the tears that threaten and crawl into his lap. You kiss his face a hundred times, leaving no space untouched until you’re both quietly laughing. “You can sleep easy tonight,” you say.

He nods as if he believes you, but you can tell there’s still anxiety lingering within him. It’s quiet for a long time. He just holds you tightly, arms wrapped around your middle. You think he may have fallen asleep, but then he whispers into your hair, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just don’t leave me behind again. Please.”

It’s a plea. He’s begging, in his own way. You kiss him hard, and in only moments he’s snoring with his arms locked around you.

You only wiggle out of his grip when the sun rises, yellow and orange hues cast across your bedroom through the glass pane of the window. You pull Joel’s t-shirt over your head and make your way down the stairs as quietly as you can.

This will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. You know it will be. You know Joel will pull things out of you you’ve been shoving down deep, know he’ll poke and prod in an attempt to heal all within you that’s been broken.

Because that’s the kind of man he is; one who takes care of those he loves, who sacrifices his own comfort for others. You don’t deserve someone like him and you know it. No matter how much you forgive, no matter how many times you try to wash your hands clean, you know it’ll never be enough for his devotion.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, eyes glued to the front door. It would be easy to leave, you know. Second nature. Instinctual. You wouldn’t have to face all you’ve done, wouldn’t have to unearth all you’ve buried, wouldn’t have to open that closet with all those skeletons.

Hands trembling, you try to catch your breath. Try to make that final decision, try to forgive a little more. Not to forgive Tommy or Joel, but to forgive yourself.

The longer you stand there in the kitchen, the less you believe you’ll ever possess that sort of absolution.

But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? To find mercy in a place it’s never existed.

You take a slow breath.

And then you put on a pot of coffee.

taglist; @arizonadreamingg @sirendyes @untamedheart81 @pinkiec6-rubi @galway-girlatwork

#joel miller #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 fanfic #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ao3 writer #joel miller fanfic #smut #tlou #tommy tlou #age difference #fanfic #joel miller fic #angst #angst with a happy ending #lust among thieves

184 notes · View notes

clonecaptains · 2 days

Text

Does He Know?

a jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader fic

warnings: giving this one an M rating for a very brief mention of masturbation; and some thematic elements like cheating (not jake or reader), some swearing, alcohol mentions; she/her pronouns used; no use of y/n

word count: 3.6k

summary: jake has been in love with you forever, but you belong to someone else. someone who doesn't treat you right. it all comes to a head when secrets are revealed at your friend's wedding.

a/n: this is a little different - it's from jake's pov! also credit goes to my bff @cowboytylerowens for naming reader's boyfriend!

--------------------------------------------

This isn’t easy for him. Not when you look the way you do. A flattering cocktail dress hugs your figure, it’s your favorite color. He knows it’s your favorite color, it’s the color you wear the most. The color you feel most confident in. He’s dying to tell you how beautiful you look because right now your body language reads that you are a little shy about the bold dress choice.

He could tell you, but it’s not the same. Not the same if you were his girl. And you’re not.

You’re not his girl.

There’s a party at the Hard Deck tonight. Bob is getting married, the rehearsal dinner finished an hour ago. The pilots are throwing him an additional party because he was apprehensive about a crazy bachelor party. The atmosphere here is loud, but it’s not anymore than normal. Maybe a little extra excitement and happiness for their friend.

You’re here because you work at the Hard Deck. Penny took you in several months back when you needed a fresh start. And after some time, you became friends with the pilots who frequent the place. Jake’s had a crush on you from the moment you walked in. He’ll never forget that moment, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He feels a similar feeling in his gut when he saw you in your dress tonight.

It kills him that you’re not his.

It’s worse because missed his chance.

You’re dating another pilot who got to you first. His name is Robbie, callsign Scythe. He’s been a rival of Jake’s since he got here, and taking you is another thing added to the list.

Scythe doesn’t know how Jake feels about you, but he has noticed he’s gotten in Jake’s head. During flight training and regular work things Jake has excelled at – Scythe is just that much better. And he makes sure to let Jake know he’s noticed.

Jake used to be this way, getting in the other pilots heads. He still does but only in fun and to get his fellow pilots to do better. It eats at him a little seeing Scythe act the way he does. Just knowing he’s one step ahead – in everything.

Jake beats himself up about it, about you. He had plenty of chances to ask you out. To make his move. He knows fire when he sees it, and he really thought he felt it with you. But when Scythe swooped in as usual, Jake’s chance was gone.

So, there you are, looking like something out of a dream. And he can’t do a thing about it. That’s why he’s sitting at the bar with his back to you. Scythe has his arms around you “teaching” you how to play pool. He can hear your giggle, and it stings. He has no right to feel this way he thinks. He has no ‘claim’ over you – but he doesn’t know how to just turn off how he feels. How the sound of your laugh is downright musical to him. How your eyes and your smile have his heart squeezing in his chest.

This beer can’t nurse his wounds fast enough.

“Oh, I love this song!” Jake hears your voice perk up when a song starts playing overhead. When he tunes in, he hears that it’s “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. A little on the nose. Too on the nose. He looks over to the jukebox to see Coyote with a smirk and a shrug. Jake huffs out his nose, rolls his eyes, and takes a long drink of his beer.

Coyote’s the only one who knows. And while he played that song in simple jest, he does feel for his friend. He’s seen the shift in Jake since you came along.

The night goes on and Jake has done what he could do to avoid seeing you. He spent most of it at the bar, but then he remembered why he was here. This isn’t about his love life.

He cracks a few jokes with Bob. He finds he enjoys this company of people, and he almost forgets he was feeling sour. Then he hears your voice over the music and the crowd. It’s hard not to zero in when he hears you.

“Robbie! Stop it.” He sees Robbie get a little handsy with you against the pool table. He’s clearly drunk now and you aren’t enjoying it.

“It’s Scythe,” he tells you, and Jake watches you frown.

“Hey!” Jake speaks up, he doesn’t want to see you upset. He knows you could do better than Scythe. Jake doesn’t know if he is the best for you but if given the chance, he’d do his best to try. “She said stop.”

You look embarrassed, and Scythe grumbles out something about not needing to be told. He looks like he’s going to be sick, and he runs off towards the bathroom, leaving you and Jake alone by the pool table.

“He’s such a dick,” Jake huffs out, he’s not trying to bash your boyfriend necessarily, but he aches for you and it’s coming out in ways he’s struggling to control. When he gets near you, he forgets how to speak, and almost always puts his foot in his mouth. “He’s not good for you.”

“And you know what’s good for me? I thought you only cared about yourself,” you reply, embarrassment taking over and Jake can tell he’s upset you, so he starts to back off. But not before he hears the telltale bell ring up at the bar. He doesn’t even have to look to know if it’s for him. He can only imagine how it looked from the bar having a heated discussion.

‘Don’t disrespect a lady.’ He knows the rules. He doesn’t feel like arguing.

The back of his neck feels hot walking towards the bar to pay for drinks. He knows everyone’s eyes are on him, and normally he’d like attention – but not this kind. He’s quick to make his exit after paying.

He barely remembers his drive home. All he can think about is you and how he didn’t mean to embarrass you. He needs to get over you, but he doesn’t want anyone else.

There’s about a million things swirling around in his head. He feels a headache coming on. A hot shower and bed are his plans for the rest of the night. And trying not to think about you.

But damn it if he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress. And how you’ll be in another one tomorrow. Fuck.

He doesn’t feel good about it, but he lets his mind wander. Thinking about your smile. Your eyes. The way the dress hugged your body. Your laugh. The soft swell of your boobs, the curve of your butt.

Fuck. He lets himself get caught up in the moment. He wishes he could take you home. Peel that dress off you and make you see stars. To make you laugh, to take care of you.

Still in the shower, he comes hard in his hand. He doesn’t feel good about it.

And once he’s gotten in bed, it takes him forever to get to sleep. He wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about you. He knows he’s in love with you. You haven’t left his head since you first walked in the Hard Deck.

Flying was just about the only thing that could distract him enough from you. Until recently.

He has to get over you. He debates telling you how he feels, but he’s sure he’d make a fool of himself. And he’s done that enough.

Jake wakes up and decides to focus on the wedding. That’s the goal for the day. He’s in it, and he has places to be. He can’t let the thought of you being there distract him.

He won’t lie that he is a little excited to see you even though nothing will happen.

He just doesn’t want to see you hurt when it all comes down to it. He doesn’t want you to break up because of him – he wants you to be happy. And if Scythe makes you happy? Then so be it.

But that’s easier said than done.

He wants to be the one to make you happy. To get you to smile. That cute shy one.

His mind is wandering again. And he needs to get ready for this wedding.

He loves getting the chance to wear his dress uniform. It’s crisp and clean when he pulls it out of the closet.

Like most things in his life, there’s order and neatness. Except how he feels about you. Maybe that’s why you’re under his skin. You’re the one thing he doesn’t know what to do with.

Flying is easy. Keeping a routine is easy. But you? You’re in his head and he doesn’t know which way is up.

Maybe having fun at this wedding will keep him busy. He knows he looks good in this uniform, maybe he can flirt a little bit, get his mind off you.

He hasn’t been to a wedding in a while, and he’s happy to be there with his friends. He’s in a good mood. He tells himself he’s fine, that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t seen you yet.

Until he does. It’s not until the ceremony has begun. He’s standing up in the line of groomsmen, and he sees you out in the audience. You look absolutely beautiful, and it’s a punch to his gut.

It’s hard not to watch your face during the ceremony. He wishes he could kiss you. The soft romantic look on your face while you watch two people pledge their love for each other. Scythe is barely paying attention to you. And Jake can’t decide if he really is just an asshole who doesn’t know what he has, or if he’s just so intensely jealous of him. Jake knows if it were him, he’d have kissed your cheek at the very least to make you smile and remind you of the love you have.

After the ceremony is over, and things get started at the reception following – Jake is glad for the break. He needs some air, so he heads for the bathroom to splash water on his face before mingling.

He shoves the bathroom door open with one hand and heads right for the sink. Grabbing a few paper towels, he wets them – then rubs his face and the back of his neck. He’s managed to calm down for a moment when he hears a couple giggling in one of the stalls. He smirks at first, someone’s getting lucky.

Then the couple comes out of the stall. Jake’s anger boils up in him again when he sees it’s Scythe and another woman.

“Bagman!” Scythe seems almost happy to see him.

“Scythe,” Jake replies, his head feels like it’s going to explode. “So did y’all break up then?” Jake asks, he mentions your name. There is no way he’s going to let this one go, not when he knows it’ll hurt you.

“No,” he scoffs. The damp paper towels in Jake’s hand are getting squished in his fist.

“You mean, she’s out there in that dress looking like that and you’re in here?” he motions to the woman he’s with.

“She wouldn’t put out. But this one here,” he lewdly kisses her, “will. Several times. And she’s not going to find out about this.”

Jake is fuming. Things like this always happen at weddings, he knows that. But he can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. He knows this will break your heart.

“Wait, are you sweet on my girl?”

Jake’s nostrils flare, his anger giving him away.

“You’re sweet on my girl,” Scythe continues, talking of course about you. Jake doesn’t like how he sounds with your name on his mouth.

“She’s hardly yours if you’re treating her like this,” Jake says and yanks the bathroom door open to get out.

Now he’s seeing red. His job is high intensity but it’s easy for him to shut off his emotions up in the air when it’s all business. He has to go out here now and eat a meal with his friends and pretend like you aren’t about to get your heart absolutely shattered.

He can barely stomach the food. From his table, he can see you and Scythe at yours among some other friends. You have no idea what’s just happened, and Jake can’t take it. Scythe makes eye contact with him and raises his glass in a mock cheer at Jake.

“What’s going on with you?” Coyote leans over to Jake, he can tell something is wrong. “You look pissed as hell. We’re at a wedding!”

Jake leans in to his best friend, “I caught Scythe and someone else in the bathroom.”

“Shit.”

Coyote knows as well as Jake. You need to know, you need to be told. But it’s going to hurt, and Jake doesn’t want to be the one to bring you that bad news. The rest of the meal he sits on it.

It’s when the bride and groom are doing things like cutting the cake, that Jake decides to go talk to you. He has no clue what he’s going to say. He goes up to the bar to get a drink to calm him down, when he sees you nearby.

“Hangman!” you call him, and his heart jumps in his chest. Excited to hear your voice, but guilt at knowing what he knows. It’s such a mixed bag of emotions he feels dizzy with it. Or maybe it’s just how beautiful you look. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks you, he’s been through so much in the last 24 hours he couldn’t pretend to know.

“For accidentally getting you in trouble and buying all those drinks. Let me get you one?”

“It’s an open bar,” he teases. He’s finding his rhythm.

“Still,” you reply with a laugh. There’s your smile he loves. He tells you his drink order, humoring you.

“Having a nice night?”

“Yeah!” You tell him sipping on your own drink while you wait for his. “I want to dance but I have no clue where Robbie, I mean Scythe is.”

“Want to dance with me in the meantime?” Jake offers you, his hand. He’s not sure if you’ll take it, but when you do, he gives you a big grin. He couldn’t hide it if he tried.

He leads you towards the dance floor, and you join other couples in a slow dance.

He finally has you in his arms and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Your hand on his chest is burning through his uniform.

“I really am sorry about last night,” you say again. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Well, I probably deserved it, I am cocky.”

You share a laugh, then there’s a few moments of quiet. Just enjoying the dance and the music and good company. But his brain won’t leave him alone. He won’t ruin this nice moment, but you need to know at some point.

“Does he really make you call him Scythe?”

“Well, he-“ you pause. “He likes it.”

“You’re too nice to him. And everyone. Except me apparently,” he teases.

“Well, you said it yourself- that you’re cocky-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because there’s a commotion happening nearby.

A couple stumbles out of a photobooth, and Jake sees it’s Scythe and that same woman from before. Jake calls your name, he doesn’t want you to see it but it’s too late.

“Robbie???” You leave Jake’s arms and head towards your boyfriend. He tries to give you the ‘it’s not what it looks like’ excuse but you don’t buy it for a second. Jake watches your heart break before his eyes, and he feels a little pride when you grab someone’s drink to splash it in Scythe’s face.

You take off, Jake can tell you’re crying. Everything in him tells him not to follow, to give you some space. But he doesn’t want you to be alone.

He follows you, he doesn’t see exactly where you went, but he hears a door close. You’ve stepped into a closet, and he can hear your sobs through the door.

His heart hurts, it’s killing him. You’re in so much pain – he can hear it in your cries. He waits for a moment, to let you cry – even though he wants to hold you now. He wants to give you a moment.

But when he hears you breathing heavier, he raps on the door with one knuckle. He gently calls your name and waits for you to answer.

“Hangman?” you sniffle.

“I’m here,” is all he can think to say right now, but it’s the truth.

The door opens and you look awful. Your eyes are puffy and snot all down your face. Jake spots a box of tissues behind you in the closet and grabs it. “C’mere,” he says reaching for you. He hands you the tissues and you wipe your eyes and nose.

You start to cry again, “how could I be so stupid.”

“You didn’t know.” Jake tries to comfort you as best he can. He’s wracking his brain.

“I did know. I knew. I didn’t want to accept it, but I knew.”

“I- saw him. With her tonight earlier and I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

“I should have ended it a long time ago,” you say with a heavy sigh and sit down on the floor.

“Why didn’t you?” Jake asks, sitting down next to you. He leans his head against the wall, listening.

“I was in over my head, he was fun at first.”

Jake thought that hearing you talk about him would make him jealous. It hurts him more to think about you going through something like this than his own pride. Maybe in a small way he feels better knowing it wasn’t just in his head about how Scythe was as a person.

“You wanna know something?” you look over at him. He leans forward to look at you. Damn, you’re pretty. “I only said yes to dating him to make you jealous. I wanted you to make your move.”

Jake’s heartrate starts to pick up. Is he hearing what he thinks he’s hearing?

“I was nervous, you made me so nervous. I didn’t know what to do and so I said yes to him and then I got in a messy situation. And I didn’t know how to climb out.”

“I made you nervous?” a slow smile forms on his face. Cheeky. You elbow his arm with a shy little laugh. He’d eat you up right now if he could, you’re adorable.

“You still do,” you bite your inner cheek.

Jake reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry all this happened, should have just asked you sooner.” He elbows you back playfully, “but you could have asked me out…”

“Hangman, honestly,” you laugh and shove his shoulder. “I could barely talk to you as it was! This is stroking your ego too much.”

“Damn straight,” he laughs back, cocking his head as he speaks.

You take a deep breath, the you tell him, “Help me up.”

You start to stand, and Jake is quick to jump to his feet to help you. You grab him by his jacket and pull him with you into the closet. Your lips on his in an instant. He’s quick to follow you, and he’s closing the door behind him and kissing all over your face and neck.

“Hangman!” you squeal between kisses.

He pulls back to look at you, “it’s Jake.”

Your eyes well up just a little bit and you exchange smiles before you kiss each other again. This time you bump teeth and are holding onto each other giggling in a supply closet.

His kisses get more heated. He shoves your dress strap down and plants open mouth kisses on your bare shoulder.

“You want to use a line so bad right now I know you do,” you giggle into his neck. “About how you’ll be better than him.”

“Well? If it’s the truth?” Jake gives you a little smirk. But then he watches your face fall.

“That’s one of the reasons I should have ended things,” you tell him. Your bodies are so close, you’re fully pressed up against him. The buttons on his dress uniform are digging into you. “He was moving too fast, and I wasn’t ready.” Your lip trembles and you start to cry again. “I really did like him and then he made me feel so bad about myself.”

“Listen,” Jake slowly puts the shoulder strap back up your arm and gives it a little kiss. “I just want you. Doesn’t matter how fast or slow. You’ve been in my head for months. Just being able to call you mine?” You slowly start to smile at him. “If that’s what you want of course.”

“Jake,” you squeeze his arm. Then reach to touch the hairs on the back of his neck. “Why do you think I pulled you into this closet to make-out a little bit?”

He grins and leans in to kiss you some more. His hand cradling your head, and your hands in his hair.

“We should probably get back to the wedding,” you gasp suddenly. “People might be wondering where we are.”

“Let ‘em wonder,” Jake kisses you again, hardly believing this right now.

“I want to dance with you again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins and opens the door. You both smile at each other adjusting your hair and rumbled clothes. Jake has lipstick all over his face, and he’s not sure if he wants to wipe it off.

“C’mon Lieutenant,” you smile tugging his arm.

“So, I really made you that nervous?”

“Shut up Seresin!”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick fic #my writing

180 notes · View notes

temiizpalace · 3 days

Note

helloo may I request a prompt for the love triangle event please?

I'd like to ask for Jade and Vil with prompt 3 where they both offer their shoulders to rest on! tysmm

☆┊PUT YOUR HEAR ON MY SHOULDER! NOT HIS! (👑 vs.🐬)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH OFFER HIS SHOULDER TO REST ON. WHO KNEW IT BECAME A FULL BLOWN WAR!

CHARACTERS: vil schoenheit vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, mentions of jade ssr vignette

NOTES: eel mafia vs a world star. sure why not!!! thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

vil did not mind helping you study.

actually, it was quite flattering. all these students around you with incredible grades, and you hand selected him as your tutor. i guess it was only natural. smart and goodlooking? you have good taste.

“and you have to carry the 7 or else it’ll throw off your entire answer. keep note of that.” he pointed at the equation on your worksheet. “ohhh.. that makes sense. thanks vil!” you smile, eagerly writing down the answer. your happy smile was so enthralling. a moment that cannot be captured elsewhere. a one of a kind sight. thank goodness he was an actor, hiding his emotions came like second nature.

if only you were alone together...

“well done, prefect. that was a difficult problem.” jade chuckles, nodding as you solved another equation. “at this rate, you’ll become quite the mathematician.” vil was less than pleased to be accompanied by jade.. especially considering what a manipulator that man could be. he’s already been played for a fool once, he doesn’t dare allow you to fall under similar influence.

“your steadily improving. i say finish a few more problems and you should have it memorized.” vil adds, pulling out a couple more pages. “oh! that’s.. uhm.. can we take a little break?” you ask hesitantly, fearing the tall stack of papers vil had seemingly grabbed out of thin air. almost offended by the thought, vil scoffs.

“this isn’t only about the material, it is also routine. perhaps not this entire stack, but we must do a few more to ensure you’ll continue to do well.” vil places a new worksheet in front of you, sounding like an enraged father when their child can’t memorize the multiplication table. “yes sir..” you mumble.

“oh come now, vil. the poor prefect looks positively exhausted. just look at their eyebags.” jade sighs, suddenly patting your shoulder. as much as he hates to admit, jade had a point. your eyebags stick out like a sore thumb. what an idiot he was to not notice sooner, a fault on his part. “tell me, [MC], when have you last slept?” jade asks, making you flinch.

“next question, please.” you reply, breaking into a cold sweat. the eel tuts in disapproval, shaking his head with a frown. “this simply cannot do. didn’t you know you need at least 8 hours of sleep?” it felt like a lecture. an incredibly boring and uninteresting one.

“agreed. beauty rest is important and staying up late is horrible for your skin,” vil adds, massaging is temples. “i’ll send you some of my own personal skincare for you to use and hide your eyebags, but you must get adequate amounts of sleep.” he huffs, crossing his arms. “okay, okay, i hear you both.” you yawn, stretching your arms out.

“please, rest now. we can always carry on another day.” jade smiles, patting his shoulder for you to rest on. “i can rest there?” you ask, a bit taken aback. “what’s the catch?” vil raises a brow, feeling uneasy with jade’s suggestion. it might be the jealousy, but something doesn’t sit right with him. “please, my intentions are entirely pure. i want nothing more than to see our beloved prefect resting well.”

jade put a hand over his heart, keeping his usual expression while hiding the beating of his heart. “mostro lounge might need their vice soon, no? the prefect may rest on my shoulder. i insist.” vil points to his shoulder, imploring you to place your head onto it. “huh?? guys it’s fine seriousl—“

“mostro lounge can handle itself, i assure you.” jade cuts you off, finding vil’s intense glare quite amusing. it was clear he was livid, and honestly that was the best source of entertainment jade could ask for. “i just wish to care for the prefect. your presence is excused.” vil waves jade off, signaling for him to get lost.

“oh? but wouldn’t having [MC] rest on your shoulder be harmful to your image and theirs? think of the scandals that might go around.. fufu, quite intriguing, hm?” jade hums, lifting a gloved hand to his chin. “i have a man taking care of any possible scandal that might go around, so that is truly the least of my concern.” vil smiles smugly, standing his ground.

as the argument, or rather, civil discussion, continued, the drowsiness began to capture your body. their murmuring began to sound like soft lullabies as you allowed the sleep to take you. your head rested against the hard wooden desk, staying unnoticed til both boys heard your snores.

“they look quite peaceful.” vil murmurs softly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “breathtaking.” jade coos, brushing stray hairs out of your face.

this rivalry wasn’t over, oh no, much farther from that. however, to keep you sleeping for as long as you could, they’ll hold off their insults and bite their tongue.

how could you turn him like this?

A/N: sbsbsbsb writing is feeling difficult lately

date published: 9/16/24

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #jade leech #twst event #twst wonderland #twst #what the balls #a #fight for the prefects love

235 notes · View notes

vrystalius · 2 days

Note

Hi, I’m not sure if this counts as NSFW but I was wondering if I could request how the Hashira would react to their wife asking them to check their breasts for lumps or something similar. Like their wife is paranoid and asks them for their opinion. Please and thank you. If you’re uncomfortable writing this then it’s okay to ignore this.

Check-Ups

(TW breast cancer/cancer)

You ask the hashira to check your breasts for any signs of cancer or any lumps. How will they react?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

(Mentioning of nsfw, non-sexual nudity)

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He’d eye you suspiciously at first. Are you kidding? Does Sanemi look like a qualified doctor to you? But then again, he’s quite familiar with your assets and how they feel. He’ll probably notice any changes and differences. So, he agreed to give you a small check-up.

Sanemi averted his eyes as you opened your robes up and removed your bra. He roughly palmed your breast and just stayed there for a couple seconds, staring at the wall next to him.

“Uhh, dear… you have to squeeze and move around a little.” “Hm? Oh. Yeah.”

He grumbled quietly while checking the one breast, then the other. Sanemi was awkwardly squeezing and feeling around, feeling nothing unusual. He was still not facing you, refusing to look either at your chest or your face to hide his flushed face. Sanemi knows that those kind of check-ups are important and that it’s not the first nor the last time he’ll be touching you like this (may it be inside or outside the bedroom), so he’ll have to get used to it. He’ll try to power through his without embarrassing himself…

“S’all good. Nothin’ weird, feels like usual. N-Normal, I mean. Y’know.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He’d comply no hesitation! This is definitely something important and Kyojuro wants to make sure that you are doing good! He’ll keep his usual smile and avert his eyes respectfully when you undress partly for him and try to continue being respectful as he leans in a little closer.

Kyojuro is used to seeing your chest exposed during showers or in bed, but they still make him blush everytime he sees them anew.

His hand is steady and feels pleasantly warm wrapped around your breast like this. He squeezes your flesh gently while his brows furrow in concentration. Kyojuro looks kind of adorable when he’s so focused… if only his gaze wasn’t glued to your exposed chest.

“Mhm! I don’t feel anything, my love!”

He has a bright smile after finishing his inspection. He wouldn’t mind doing future check-ups like this, but he would like it even more if you get professional check-ups by someone like Shinobu. She knows what she is doing, while Kyojuro just tries to feel out if there is anything different about his favourite pillows by gently groping them.

“How about I talk to Shinobu tomorrow? You two can schedule regular check-ups if you are worried!”

Gyomei Himejima

He will do it happily for you. Gyomei wants you to be healthy and happy at all times, meaning if this eases your mind, he’ll of course do it. He’ll pray under his breath while listening to your robes slip off your shoulders. Your hand wrapping around his wrist is signalling to him that you are ready and that he can go ahead with the check-up now.

Gyomei’s eyes will close while his hand managed to cup almost all of your breast at once. His hand was carefully squeezing and pressing down with his fingers, checking for anything unfamiliar to him. He continued his prayers during the inspection, silent tears running down his face.

“I do not feel anything, my love.”

Gyomei has explored your body with his hands many times before, meaning he will notice any changes almost instantly. But he wasn’t feeling anything abnormal, so his tears slowly dried up. A soft smile rested on his face as Gyomei nodded silently. He is glad you trust him with this thing and hopes that you will come to him in the future as well.

“You did well, my pearl. Thank you for trusting me.”

Giyu Tomioka

What? Why are you asking him to do this? Are you suspecting you might have cancer? Do you think Giyu should be the one to determine that? Why do you put so much trust in him anyway?

After reassuring him that he is going to notice if there is anything wrong, Giyu stood across you, his eyes fixated on your chest as you slipped your robes aside to expose your naked chest to him. He will never get used to the sight of your chest and the way it makes him blush in the brightest crimson colour.

Giyu’d cup your chest awkwardly and just remain like that, glancing at your face for reassurance and guidance. You need to hold his wrists and guide him through this check-up. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s supposed to be looking for.

“Isn’t Shinobu more qualified for this? Or Mitsuri? They have… breasts. They know more.”

He was very unsure about all of this. Giyu’d feel so much better if you just went to Shinobu’s clinic and get a check-up there, but if you feel more comforted by him, he gets that as well.

Luckily, he found nothing unusual or special. Just that he might do this outside of these… check-ups. You feel really warm, your chest might be really good handwarmers.

“Would you… let me put my hands beneath your chest? For when I’m cold.”

💠

A little shorter than usual, hope you don’t mind! Thank you for being so respectful, I really appreciate it <3 Hope you enjoyed reading this! I have a lot of requests in my ask-box right now so I’ll try to work through them during the week. Hope you look forward to it!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves! <3

207 notes · View notes

whimsyfinny · 1 day

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

——————————————————————

Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

——————————————————————

@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut

157 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 17 hours

Note

If there is a Nightmare before Christmas, then does Christmas exist in Twisted Wonderland?

Was there a Jesus???

[Referencing this post!]

Well, we don’t know if “Christmas” will be an actual term used in-universe yet. We in the real world know this event will be Nightmare Before Christmas themed, but there is no guarantee this is how it will be depicted in the game itself. In fact, the actual names of the properties the event stories are based on are never mentioned, with the sole exception of Lost in the Book with Stitch (since Stitch is technically a character we meet).

I think they can name “Christmas” something different to avoid the religious implication. This would be similar to how irl languages exist in TWST but are never referred to as such. For example, French words are used (most notably by Rook) but French is never called “French”. Edit: Either that, or maybe the religious elements are kept there but are made questionably vague, like how Rollo is never outright stated to be Catholic yet everything at Noble Bell College is very Catholic in design.

The devs could given a new history or in-universe explanation for the holiday that doesn’t involve religion at all. (Edit: For example, as some commenters have suggested, “Christmas” could become a more generalized winter holiday.) This would be similar to the explanation for Halloween provided in the first Halloween event; irl, Halloween has its roots in a pagan celebration of the harvest season. In TWST, Lilia explains Halloween as being a celebration of the dead/ghosts temporarily returning to the world of the living.

It’s also possible that they don’t mention “Christmas” at all and/or just focus on or mostly focus on the Halloween aspect. Basically a shift of the focus.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #nightmare before christmas #notes from the writing raven #question #jp spoilers #tw // religion #just in case!!#ik some people aren’t comfy with mentions of religion #Terror is Trending spoilers #Lilia Vanrouge #Rook Hunt #Stitch

115 notes · View notes

sinful-karateka · 3 days

Text

I'll bite and talk about something that doesn't get enough spotlight in general, which are Demetri's and Eli's family life. So obviously several fic authors have their own twists and flavors to this, but if I may sell you something for a sec.

So far into the series, what we've got are these facts:

Demetri's Mom is the only family member to be mentioned in the show.

Eli's parents were mentioned a couple of times.

That should be enough context to deduce two things:

Demetri could be an only child to a single mother, and;

Eli's parents involve themselves in the stuff that he does — including karate, who knows — though they tend to be tone deaf with his actual needs.

There's strong evidence to why the boys act the way they act (brain functions notwithstanding, but this isn't the post for that), which is why I think these deductions make sense. How their hypothetical upbringing is part and parcel to how characters behave in this series. Of course societal influence comes in second because obviously you've got a show that encourages learning karate as defense against bullies, but this show is also about generational chains and traumas! So why wouldn't their home life inform the way it informs the LaRusso's, Lawrence's, and Nichols'? But I digress.

In the span of the entire series, I've held onto this headcanon that Demetri's neuroticism and ability to anticipate his actions carefully stem from a household that needs these systems in place, much more for someone who likes to be on top of things. Since he's just a student, the only authoritative figure who can make executive decisions... is his mom. Add to the fact that she may be a working mom, so when Demetri tells Daniel about certain restrictions in learning karate, what could have made her decide to just write a letter instead vs. taking the time out to go with his son herself? I know I know it's narrative writing but like do you seeeee where I'm at here

Eli's family life is by far gave us early indications of his dynamic with his mother — but not so a father — in earlier seasons. It's possible that his mom is a stay-at-home one, but if I were to push the bounds of this box even further, I'd even speculate that she's retired early if it meant that Eli's dad is the one making most of the living. Like of course they'd get mad at Hawk for getting a tattoo at his age, I think any parent would! But the way he tells Aisha to exclude him from her stories tells us that there's not a lot that his parents know about the life he lives as Hawk. At this point we all know the kind of effort it takes to successfully carry it out because he has to go home every night. It's either he a) puts in a lot of effort into concealing this identity once he gets home, or b) his parents are rarely ever home, which again, feeds into another assumption that maybe Mrs. Moskowitz works certain hours.

All we know is they're never around a whole lot for these boys, which is sad! and also again, very Indicative of their classification as awkward nerds pre- and early karate. When I read along certain fics that consider and include how the rest of their characters besides the found families they've formed, it gives much more depth and potency to writing them, their flaws, and how they think.

For all we know, Mrs. Alexopoulos could be a lesbian making fun of her son for not slinging pussy like she does being rizzless unlike her, but don't let me explain that when we have @demetriandelibinaryboyfriends!

#binary boyfriends #demetri alexopoulos #eli moskowitz #cobra kai #this isn't so much an analysis as it is an obvious statement to include/consider when writing them with their home lives as factors #sure the writing in the show isn't top caliber #but to /some/ credit they've managed to give us literally bits and pieces of it before letting the boys set sail in a sea of violent waters #so let's just make do!#i need more character studies that deal with their folks. mentions of how their home life is. their dynamics.#bunny_bones_studio if you somehow happen to have a tumblr now and are reading this #this one also goes out to you because your fic about demetri's letters is so well-written (Just Wanted To Let You Know)#also highly recommend @baldwinboy5ive's fic Persistence of Vision #because the mention of either of their parents there is so well-utilized as a literary device for one Very Heartwarming segment to the fic #and again: different authors interpret this differently but i'm a bit tired of seeing similar patterns in establishing their home lives #when there's a lot we can make do with what we have and then spitball from there #i'm in the process of digging and spelunking through the archive these days! all the other great stuff is hidden in those pages!!!!

21 notes · View notes

elysiansparadise · 3 days

Note

I'm so exicited for everything you're doing, I love your blog! Any tips for my sun squaring his saturn?

Thank you love, that means a lot! 💞

How to deal with Sun-Saturn square in synastry?

This square is usually attributed to the feeling of not being able to express oneself with complete freedom in the relationship, feeling scared to open up either due to the fear of being judged or criticized [either due to internal or external situations in the relationship]. May feel this need not to disappoint the other and to constantly set high standards either to themselves or both.

As for practical approaches, I can mention the following:

🤍More acceptance and less criticism: This point applies both to how you treat the other and yourselves. It is important to keep in mind that you need to be yourself to be in a relationship, especially one in the long run. A relationship in which you constantly feel like you have to hide or limit yourself can become tiring for you, so if you have the fear of being judged or criticised, you need to communicate this with your partner. If this fear or insecurity comes from past experiences, share them.

🤍Show your support and encourage each other: Opening up to other people can be a difficult task for many, especially if they have had bad experiences in the past. As a couple, show the commitment and willingness you feel to be understanding and accepting with each other. Be patient, reassure the other that they can express themselves without fear of being judged, and make it clear that you can be vulnerable with the other. Verbal, physical reassurance or even through small actions such as putting aside the phone to pay attention when the other person is talking, asking questions to better understand can help improve trust. Don't rush each other and let things flow naturally.

🤍Do activities that the other likes: When you do this, you can see the other person in their element and appreciate how they act. In addition, you spend quality time together, which makes you get closer to the other emotionally. We express different sides of ourselves when we do something we are passionate about and we tend to be more uninhibited, so it can help a lot in dealing with this square. By showing interest in and in each other's interests, you can create feelings of gratefulness, appreciation, and affection.

Some aspects in astrology that can help with this are the following:

🩶Sun, Moon, Rising, Venus or a stellium falling in the other’s 5th house: When there is any of these, both can feel very drawn to the other, their individuality and simply the person they are. They can feel happy, delighted and intrigued by each other despite these differences that may exist. They may want to encourage the other person to be more genuine and confident, showing them that they don't have to be ashamed of the sides of their personality that cause them insecurity.

🩶Sun, Moon, Rising, Venus or a stellium falling in the other's 11th house: Similar to the previous point, they captivate each other, only being in this house both can be very different from the other. It will be precisely these differences that make them feel very attracted to the other person. They both encourage each other to be authentic and they freely teach each other what it is to be loved without conditions or expectations.

🩶Jupiter aspecting the Moon makes you both want to learn from each other on a deep level, ensuring you build a supportive and safe environment. Acceptance, affection, support and a lot of affection, they do not hesitate to reassure each other and they care a lot about intimacy as a couple to continue growing and having a positive and pleasant relationship for both. They are patient and understanding with each other which makes them feel that it is safe to open up.

🩶Neptune-Jupiter harmonious aspects make both natives awaken empathy, warmth and compassion in the other, making them feel that it is easier to be honest and emotional with the other. These aspects give a deep sense of strong and caring spiritual connection, which gives them comfort and even a sense of joy. There is that desire to know each other more on a deep level, from what makes them who they are to all the experiences that have impacted their lives, whether positive or negative. They will not make judgments or point fingers at the other, but rather they will prefer to put themselves in perspective to be able to understand better. Support, ability to connect positively with others and good wishes towards the other.

🩶When Venus is making aspects with Saturn, mutual attraction and the desire to care for each other are strengthened, making it easier to handle any type of challenges. Love and affection are present, and that makes both parties to solve problems with greater empathy and warmth. They both want to build a strong relationship which leads them to do everything necessary to make that possible, they strive to make the other feel loved and valued.

🩶North Node falling in the other's 1st, 5th or 11th house makes them a great support throughout the relationship for the other, especially in accepting themselves and motivating them to be more authentic and genuine. They can encourage others by appreciating them and helping them see the good sides of their personality. They teach the other to be themselves without fearing other people's opinions or criticism.

🩶Moon aspecting Sun or Rising makes you feel the trust of opening up to each other. They feel it is safe to talk about their emotions, express themselves and be vulnerable. These aspects speak to us of support, sympathy and a genuine desire to care for others, making them feel loved and taken into account, seen and heard. They are naturally delicate with each other and have the patience not to rush the other to open up. Receptive, supportive and very attentive.

🩶The harmonic aspects of either the Sun-Pluto or Moon-Pluto can be of great help in dealing with this square, because both can help each other break negative behaviour patterns and help the other when going through changes or while working. in themselves. They both give each other the strength and security to work on everything they need, help each other and guide each other towards a path of transformation and healing.

🩶Mercury aspecting Moon, Saturn or Pluto can help you have important, heavy or deep conversations more fluidly and easily. They awaken each other's trust and know that they can rely on the other, tell them about their most personal experiences, insecurities, issues or simply talk about their emotions. Sharing important things, looking for solutions and offering solutions is something that comes naturally to this couple.

🩶A trine, sextile or quintile/biquintile between Neptune-Venus not only make this relationship overflowing with love and romance, but there is also a supportive and adaptable quality to both. The other's flaws are not seen as something unattractive, nor do they place unattainable and demanding expectations on the other, rather they are able to love each other completely and show appreciation for each side of their partner.

#astrology #synastry #squares #squares in synastry #sun-saturn square #sun-saturn square in synsastry

77 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days

Text

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

---------------

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it. I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did.

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am.

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again.

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it!

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do.

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before, trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this.

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him.

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand.

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him.

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.”

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter.

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.”

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that.

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing.

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string. The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another.

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater.

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat.

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us.

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach.

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely.

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists.

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out.

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him.

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath.

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister.

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together.

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon.

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody.

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch. “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of.

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave.

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in.

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky.

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back.

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again.

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do!

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.”

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent.

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful.

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.”

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement.

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench.

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now.

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out.

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly.

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there.

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.”

That sounds exhausting!

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon.

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.”

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare.

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose.

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

-------------

Taglist:

@judig92 / @randomperson1234sblog /@nyxbranwenn /@lilah-asteria / @barb00235

@landofpetrichor / @hjgdhghoe / @buttermilktea11 / @yourforeveryoungblog / @sassyn

@zoeisdreaming6 / @minnieoo / @girl-math-aint-mathing / @raisam / @inloveallthetime

@blessthepizzaman / @bxtchopolis / @erencvlt / @mylittle-flower-loves

Thank you all for being so patient with this update! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #acotar smut #acotar x reader #pro rhysand #warlord!rhys #warlord!Rhys x reader #rhysand x you #acotar fic #my fanfic #my writing #in Love and war

60 notes · View notes