#terrified to properly tag this but if people end up seeing it then they see it and that's okay

[lumberwoof]

AU where Franka doesn't get approval for the transfer and instead has to cut and run to Rhodes Island alone. Liskarm just misses finding out and isn't able to follow. and then they reunite some years down the line for whatever reason, Franka happy at Rhodes Island but still a little lonely and Liskarm saying she's fine but being at Blacksteel for so long has made her colder and harsher and just plain miserable.

(it isn't all bad, she at least has Jessica and Vanilla, but they can't get under her skin the way Franka could. Liskarm swears that Franka would get under skin sometimes just to dig out the bad feelings.)

(and Franka has people. she's surrounded by people she cares about. operators cut from the same cloth as her, that will charge headlong into battle beside her. colleagues who will nag her about sleeping and eating and training and mission parameters. friends who will rag on her for her choice of reading material. but Liskarm was all of those things rolled into one. and she is not here)

[desertedhero]

An analytical look at the story for HDtF

Heads up: I’ll be discussing spoilers for Hunt Down the Freeman as well as some minor details from HL2 and HLA. Also, these are all just my own thoughts based on my experiences as a storyteller and player, so it's okay if you disagree with any of it.

Criticisms aside...I love this game. HDtF has delightful concepts at its core. Why, then, is it regarded as a terrible game? Are my standards simply that low to enjoy a bad story? That's up to interpretation. Instead of focusing on fixing the story, I'm focusing on why it feels like it needs fixing in the first place. This won't be about how I'd want the story to be, or what the creators may have intended. It’s about the story as it exists.

There’s a lot to say about gameplay, sound design, and everything else. That's also for another post, because this one is about story development and writing.

I want to talk about this because a lot of my own ideas use basic storytelling concepts about character and theme as a foundation. So, I’m laying that down to build from later. I hope anyone looking to write those fun fix-it fics and story rewrites gets some ideas from this. If you wonder why the plot might’ve disappointed you and you enjoy story analysis, artist or not, this is for you.

Whether the game sucks or not, it has a fun premise. The execution is where it gets messy. It’s because HDtF is plot-driven, rather than character-driven. Let's start with what that means and why it's important.

When I refer to something as plot-driven, I mean that characters follow beats rather than create them. They become passive by acting in whatever way the writer needs them to so they hit each plot point. In character-driven stories, they act on their own instead of how the writer needs them to. When characters don't act according to a core set of beliefs, they can feel inconsistent. They’re full of conflicting ideas.

A story might favor plot over character development if the creators think the plot is that cool. I can't speak for the HDtF creators, but it wouldn't surprise me if that was the case for them because their plot is cool. The premise is incredible!! Hunting down Gordon Freeman and playing an antagonistic character? Man, sign me up. It all just..fell flat. Why? One reason is because Mitchell, as a protagonist, is passive for most of the story. The plot requires him to be a vessel for it to occur. If he were an active protagonist, the story would look different even if the ending remained the same. If you feel like Mitchell isn't that relatable, or his behavior doesn't make sense, that's okay. His role in the story is to follow the plot regardless of his own personality, motives, and goals.

What are Mitchell’s goals? According to what we see at the start of the game, he's looking for vengeance on the guy who fucked up his face. Cool! That's a setup for a revenge story, and those can be a lot of fun. When the opportunity arrives in act three, thou, Mitchell is resistant. Why doesn't he want to kill Freeman, when at the beginning it's established that he's sworn to get his revenge? Mitchell does specify that he sees the power, authority, and time he’s been granted as a curse. He doesn’t want part of that. Despite this apparent change of heart, he surrenders to Gman without too much of a fight. The plot demands he hunt down Freeman, after all.

It’s possible the scenes with Captain Roosevelt are meant to alert players to this change. It’s fresh in our minds that he made a deal with the devil and soon Gman will come for him. When he does, Mitchell says “I just want it to end. Freeman can go to hell.” He sees the power, authority, and time he’s been given as a curse. His original desire, a whim, has become a burden. He's now being manipulated into doing something he doesn't want. But something about the build up to this scene still makes it feels like there’s an inconsistency. Do you agree? Throu act two, did we learn enough about Mitchell’s dilemma to make sense of his response to Gman?

Inconsistencies are also referred to as plot holes or continuity errors. These make up a majority of the problems in this story. You’ve surely already identified a lot of them if you’ve played the game or watched a playthrou. (Another example is Mitchell knowing what the Borealis is.) There's a few ways to resolve inconsistencies. The method I use to generate ideas is super simple. Just keep asking questions. Keep asking "why?" Here's a quick example of what it looks like for me:

Why does Mitchell want revenge on Freeman? Well, he believes it's Freeman who not only beat the shit out of him, but also killed his squad.

Why does it matter if he killed his squad? His military training might have taught him the value of teamwork and fellowship. Maybe he has friends in his squad. Or it's that he's alone now, and being alone means facing himself and his past. (This could make him emotionally dependent upon Nick and Adam later on…)

What would make him change his mind about revenge? Like he tells Gman, the life he's been given is cursed. It could also be that after 20 years it seems that Freeman's vanished off the face of the earth, so Mitchell might feel resigned to never finding him. Or, he started healing and doesn't feel the desire for revenge anymore. Or, he has too much to lose if he started hunting Freeman. It'd be a suicide mission that risks everything he's accomplished–even if he's questioning how much his life is worth. (He found something he cares about more than revenge and so he must choose between the two goals…)

These are just starting points. You could answer the same questions differently, then continue through train of thought. In general, I find asking questions and answering them a few layers deep is effective. Conducting a Q&A helps find what works and what doesn't, or what's interesting and what's not. Ask questions even if they seem obvious or silly.

Storytelling principles like cause-and-effect and Chekhov’s gun remind us that everything matters. One thing causes another. Things shown to the audience must have a payoff later. However, there is at least one big thing that might not meet these principles. The first sequence of the game is a montage of key moments in Mitchell's life. It's how we're intended to connect with him. Is there any point in the game that he references any of these events? If you can't think of anything, don't worry–I can't either. As it stands the backstory montage does nothing to let us know who Mitchell is as a person. Logically, it should, and it does tell us about him. It's an issue because it doesn't seem like these experiences are motivating his actions. The montage could be cut from the game and it wouldn't impact our understanding of who Mitchell is based on what he does any time after it.

How could it become important, then? Well, Mitchell is the brother of Adrian Shephard, and they're shown in the montage. The game brings Adrian in for a cameo at the end, but they're never referenced in any other way. Hell, no one even refers to Mitchell as Shephard, which would make sense to do. The most obvious answer is to make Adrian mean something to Mitchell. Whatever your interpretation of the montage is, ask how it affected Mitchell. What happened, and how did that shape who he is at the start of the game? Whether or not Adrian shows up in the story, there ought to be an emotional relevance on Mitchell's end. He could mention that he understands what it's like having a sibling. Maybe he relates to someone else because of his experiences as a soldier. Any relevant subtext acknowledging that those key backstory moments matter to him would make him more relatable. That would confirm that those moments should matter to us as the players. Everything serves a purpose.

Another concept the plot brings up that has no payoff is the Cremators (I believe that’s what Boris calls the entities that are tended to in the factory). It's another violation of the idea that everything in a story is meant to set something up to or resolve a setup. If the Cremators meant anything, they would have been brought back to perhaps make good on their purpose that Boris claims is to kill humans that the Combine view as trash. Instead the importance of the factory is introducing Boris and giving Mitchell the opportunity to rescue the kids. Mitchell sees this in a negative light, that he's only using them for his own benefit. If this is the only thing the factory scene was meant to accomplish, why do we even know about the Cremators? 

Like Mitchell, other characters also suffer from being puppets of the plot. Adam and Nick serve a purpose of delivering Mitchell to where he needs to be. Adam can even be interpreted as a scapegoat for the writers to get out of actually having Mitchell kill Freeman. I personally don't, but I could see an argument made for it. Meanwhile, Nick is introduced to give exposition, get Mitchell going on his first mission, and to bail him out at the end so he can accomplish his goal of revenge. I’ll discuss that last point more when we get to theme.

I've heard professional writers say that every character in a story needs a reason to be there. I like that idea a lot! The plot needs Adam, Nick, and the others to support Mitchell. A character-driven approach, thou, would ask why they need to be part of the plot. How do they benefit from being part of the story? For example, why does Nick help Mitchell out in the hospital? Why does Adam negotiate to join him? We learn in game that he’s also looking to get out of the city and that he knows something no one else seems to know about the Combine, but that’s the extent of our knowledge. (I’m still curious why exactly he didn’t follow up on his plan to go separate ways once they left the city. That’s an inconsistency created by the plot’s need to have him stick around for the end.) Support characters either help or hinder Mitchell along the way. They all have a reason to collide with his goals. Or, they should.

In some cases, support characters may only exist for one sequence, like say Boston Joe. Boston Joe should be important to Mitchell regardless of how long he’s on screen. Right? Theoretically, his contribution pushes Mitchell forward or changes him somehow. (What was the significance of the powerplant sequence, actually? I’ve watched three different playthrous and none of them have a conclusion to that subplot. Why was it important for Mitchell to do that? I’m assuming there's a missing sequence or cutscene that transitions us to the docks. If this is the case, that’s another inconsistency, another source of confusion or frustration. It’s a missed opportunity to tell us something about Mitchell depending on how it's resolved. It would, ideally, give us insight to how he's changing as a result of his experiences. He sees himself as a bad guy in act three, so the conclusion to the powerplant might be a step towards informing that mindset. Anyway...)

If you compare how engaged support characters are with Mitchell to how engaged they are with Gordon in HL2–or with Alyx in HLA–there’s a big difference. What did those games do right that HDtF did not?

In HL2 and HLA, other characters support the main plot while having their own goals. Alyx has her own agenda throughout the games because she has other priorities. She has a life outside being a companion for Gordon. She’s also given time to express what those goals are and pursue them. We know her goals involve saving Eli, and this runs alongside Gordon’s goals. This makes her feel more like a real person, right? In HLA we have Russell with his own thoughts and ideas. The Vortigaunt cut off from the Vortessence stood out to me, too. They had personality and a goal that clashed with Alyx’s. That goal connected to hers later on despite not seeming relevant to her at first. On the other hand, we don’t know what Nick wants, outside of helping Mitchell. We don’t know why Adam sticks around, after he initially planned to go separate ways when they left Albuquerque. We don't know what Adam's deal with Gman was about. They don’t have a life outside the main plot.

If you feel frustrated that we have these cool characters that we don't get to learn about, that’s understandable. One of the great delights of HL2 and HLA is interacting with the support characters, and HDtF doesn’t allow us to do that.

I will say thou, the way that Boris and Sasha connect to the story is interesting. This says nothing about the quality of the subplot, but Mitchell meeting Boris in act two did matter later on. The deaths of the support characters in act one also matter. Why? Gman promised Mitchell power and authority, so any events that lead to him obtaining those things fulfill that promise. Mitchell even expresses some disdain that they died for him like that. Support characters should always matter to a protagonist in some way, and most of them do matter to Mitchell’s journey.

The next big idea I want to delve into is about theme. Let’s transition from how characters and plot interact to what messages those interactions deliver.

Mitchell serves as a vessel for the plot and is passive, but there is one moment where he makes a choice for himself. When he refuses to die to the Combine, and in doing so gives Gman the biggest "fuck you," what he's doing is actively participating in creating story. This was the most compelling moment for me. It felt like Mitchell, at last, chose to do something the plot didn't force him to. Makes me wonder what consequences could have occurred if he made different decisions. Even if he ends up in the same situation at the end, how could the journey be more engaging?

HDtF establishes a premise for a revenge story, but thematically it appears to be more than that. Which is fine because many stories do explore more than one theme! It also reads as a story about someone who's manipulated into abandoning their own goals and self destructing. What message does it leave us with, then? When Adam is revealed to be a traitor and Mitchell responds to this betrayal, what is that meant to tell us?

Mitchell killing Adam is a cathartic scene (for me, anyway) because a promise has been fulfilled. He achieved the goal he set out for at the beginning. There's more happening in the story that leaves ambiguity about how we're meant to feel about it, thou. How are we meant to take it when Mitchell kills the man he's been on a ship with for 20 years in a moment of reckless rage? The fact is we don’t have any details about Adam to let us understand his own goals and motives, other than he had a deal with Gman. That deal implies he had no choice, much like how it was for both Mitchell and Boris. Is that enough of an explanation?

Typically, revenge stories make it clear who we're supposed to hate and who to support. We know the antagonist's death is justified because we usually see a) what they did and b) why they did it. The reasoning plays into why we’re meant to root for the protagonist instead of the antagonist, right? In some cases they might want the same thing but one is willing to cross lines the other won’t. We even see hints of this in the first time Mitchell and Adam meet. They have similar yet differing ideas about loyalty. HDtF, however, does not give us the full picture by the end. It doesn't tell us if Mitchell is justified or if Adam deserved to be killed based on both what he did and why he did it. It's completely up to interpretation.

Why is it important that there's no clear message? Is it not enough to hand players these ideas and end it by asking “hey how fucked up was that, right?” Based on general responses from players that I've seen so far, what makes this story laughable is likely because it feels like it takes itself seriously without having anything serious to say. It doesn’t carry an emotional truth but acts like it does. Whatever the creators wanted to say seems to have gotten lost somewhere along the way, because clearly at least most of us missed the message.

HDtF has fun and thought provoking concepts, but they haven’t been explored enough to create a story as compelling as the creators likely envisioned. Each character has the potential to be incredible. There is a lot of flexibility in the themes that the story presents. We're given many concepts in an almost frustratingly open-ended way, but the ambiguity leaves room for different yet equally interesting interpretations. Is it a story about getting justified revenge? Maybe it’s unjustified and becomes a tragedy. Is it about escaping the cycle of abuse? Exploring the similarities between heroes and villains? Perhaps it’s about forgiveness and the consequences of betrayal?

The story of Hunt Down the Freeman might look like a first draft, but the opportunities for interpretation and engagement are endless. It’s a fantastic sort of mystery story! There’s even more to say about the writing in terms of plot, pacing, dialogue and character voice, use of exposition..but I’m leaving it here. I hope this sparks some new thoughts! And if you love the story like I do, maybe even some creative connections. Or, maybe you hate the story and this validates your reasoning for it, and that’d be okay, too.

(Thank you so much for reading this far, hot damn!! I had so much fun writing it and it gave me a lot I want to expand upon later.)

[fairyhaos]

◈ adorable and insufferable // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: sick fic, fluff, crack, established relationship, joshua makes small snuffly bunny noises when he's sick

warnings: food mention at the end

notes: for his birthday present, i give him a cold. as you can see, i love him very much.

Your boyfriend is sick.

He is, also, an absolutely terrible liar.

That leads you to the situation right now, where you’ve cornered Joshua in the kitchen, hands on your hips, a bunny spa headband pushing your hair back, and it’s not the most intimidating sight but Joshua gulps all the same, eyes darting around the kitchen nervously.

He’s looking for an escape route. You can see it in his eyes, clear as day, so you step even closer, voice dangerously calm as you speak.

“No, keep your eyes on me,” you say, face set into an angry frown. “Shua.”

Joshua looks at you, and tries not to breathe too weirdly. “Um. Y/N?”

You look him up and down, and then slowly fold your arms. “Shua,” you say again. “Are you sick?”

He blinks rapidly, and then has to stop, because it makes his head feel all woozy. “No?” he tries, and then coughs a little. He’ll claim it was out of nervousness, because you look kind of terrifying right now, but your eyes immediately widen at the sound, and he knows he’s busted.

“You are!” Instantly, you lunge for him as he tries to dive past you and escape this interrogation. “Joshua, come back! You’re sick!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear I’m not,” he insists, trying to pull away from the iron grip you’ve clasped around his wrist. Resistance is futile, though. You’re not letting him go, now that him and his wellbeing are involved. “Y/N, baby, please, I’m totally fine.”

“No you’re not,” you say firmly, and then begin dragging your whining boyfriend out the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

“I—” He sneezes, then, a loud and wet sneeze that scrapes at his throat and makes his eyes water, and he pauses, shocked. He sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

You shake your head, partly exasperated, partly fond, and continue pulling Joshua up the stairs.

He’s been shuffling around the house looking mildly ill all day, and you’ve been waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and get him up to bed. Because Joshua, when he gets sick, utterly refuses to give in and accept that he’s coming down with something, always waiting until the last moment to finally admit defeat to whatever illness has plagued him this time.

By the time you’re opening the bedroom door and ushering Joshua inside, he’s looking considerably worse than before, face all flushed and eyes watering from the sudden coughing fit he had while coming up the stairs.

“Come on, baby,” you coax, tucking him into bed. You press a hand to his forehead, a little alarmed and a little amused by how quickly he managed to look severely ill during the short walk upstairs. “Sleep.”

“I can still function, you know,” he insists as you pull the covers over him. “I can—I can do things.”

“I’d rather you not,” you say, smoothing down his hair and tucking away a few stray strands. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “I knew you’d get sick from all those days where you went out wearing all those thin layers in winter. What were you thinking?”

Joshua huffs petulantly. “It’s called fashion.”

“It’s called making yourself sick,” you return, and then chuckle at his pout. Leaning down, you press a quick kiss to his forehead, brushing a finger over his cheek fondly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel way worse tomorrow if you don’t.”

He grumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he bids you goodbye and asks you to shut the door properly on the way out.

───────────── 💗

Your boyfriend is very, very self-sufficient. He tries not to bother other people with his struggles and his concerns, but he’s also very terrible at hiding it away when someone asks him directly if everything’s okay.

He’s also really weak in the face of attention.

Which means that while he’s very self-sufficient, the moment you notice he’s unwell and call him out on it, he melts instantly and gets taken over by his sickness so quickly that it surprises you every time.

Slowly, you creak open the bedroom door, peering inside to see Joshua staring blankly up at the ceiling. His head snaps towards you as you walk across the room, but his eyes are all glassy.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, and all he’s said is your name but it’s like he’s speaking through a ball of cotton. 

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, smiling a little, because his eyes positively shine when you confirm it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you place a damp towel over his forehead, feeling his cheek with the back of your hand, and wince a little at how warm he is. “Goodness me, Shua, you’re burning up.”

“No, I’m not,” he murmurs. “You’re burning up.”

You smile a little, pinching his cheek lightly. “If you were this sick, then why didn’t you say anything, hm? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“I’m not that sick. I can still do stuff,” he says, eyes falling shut just slightly as you begin stroking his hair, a relaxing movement. “Hey, hey, Y/N, watch this.”

“Hm?” You stop stroking his hair, sitting back and waiting patiently. 

There’s a long silence, and then Joshua cracks an eye open to look at you. He looks expectant—well, as expectant as a person with an extremely high fever can look—but when you don’t say anything, a small frown creases his brow.

“Didn’t you see it?”

“See what, baby?”

“The cartwheels. I did cartwheels.”

The statement is so absurd that you think he’s joking, but his face is set into such a serious pout that you can’t help but laugh a little, because there's something about fever-drowsed Joshua that is so adorable.

“You didn’t do any cartwheels, baby,” you say gently, and go back to stroking his hair. “You didn’t even get up.”

Joshua frowns, the pout deepening. “Oh.” His eyes close, and then open again. “I did them in my head, though. I’m sure I did.”

Cute, you think helplessly, unable to stop the smile spreading across the face. “Okay.” You kiss his nose. “I believe you. But I’m gonna go get you something to drink and eat, and then you’re gonna take some meds, okay?”

He makes a small noise of discontent when you get up, and then coughs, giving a pathetic sniffle like a sad little bunny, and you almost want to just stay next to him and never leave his side.

“You’re gonna need to take the meds to get better faster,” you say at the door. “I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait here.”

Joshua makes that sad noise again, but he watches you go. “Okay,” he says, all mumbly. “I promise not to cartwheel away.”

You laugh a little, because good lord, he’s so adorable. “Okay. I’m trusting you, alright?”

“Mhm.”

You close the door and walk down the stairs, shaking your head fondly.

───────────── 💗

It’s only several days later that his fever finally lets up, and he’s well enough to walk around the house once more. You wake up to Joshua in the kitchen, a blanket around his frame, making pancakes.

“Baby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”

Joshua turns to you, and then grins, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and deposits the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m making you breakfast, of course. Here. Eat up. Want some french toast too?”

“Wh—huh?” you say, incredibly intelligently, slowly sliding into the seat that, like the gentleman he is, Joshua had pulled out for you. “Why?”

“It’s a thank-you present, obviously,” Joshua says, as he busies himself making french toast. As if the pancakes and spread of fresh fruit and waffles (he cooked waffles too?) aren’t enough. “I’ve been insufferable over the past few days.”

You chuckle a little, thinking of Joshua insisting he can do cartwheels while you try to spoon feed him soup. “Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mind. You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m gonna put up with you.”

Joshua laughs. “Thank you, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be dead without me,” you say, incredibly seriously, and it makes Joshua laugh again. His eyes are still a little puffed up, but he beams at you, all full of life, and it makes you grin too.

“You’re totally right,” he says, and leans over to peck you on the cheek. “I love you.”

You smile, taking hold of his chin and bringing him down to press a longer kiss to his lips. “I love you more.”

Joshua quirks a grin at that, kissing your forehead for good measure before going back to the bread. “Let’s not start that argument again. Eat your pancakes, sweetheart, before they get cold.”

You look over at him as he busies himself making yet more food, and it makes you a little dizzy, really, just how much Joshua loves you. And how much you love him in return. Even when he’s doing cartwheels in his head and insisting he’s doing them in real life.

“Hey, now you’re all better, you can do those cartwheels you kept wanting to do.”

“Really? Should I?”

“Yeah! I bet I can do them better though.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l eight

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: Joel encourages you to leave Luke and live the life you deserve with him and Ellie; Luke confronts you about Joel; Ellie discovers your secret and tells Joel, leading you to make a heartbreaking decision for the good of everyone in Jackson.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. reader gets shoved and sustains an injury as a result (non life threatening). mentions of skin discoloration, the word bruise is used but no mentions of specific skin tone for reader, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. *other chapter warnings and tags include: soft Joel, domestic fluff between reader and Joel, Ellie is a little shit but we love her, death of two minor OCs, talk of grief, funeral and burial, confronation between Ellie and reader, confrontation between Joel and reader, ends with angst and a slight cliffhanger.

Word Count: 10k

News of the ambush attack spreads like a wildfire.

Jackson’s safety and security has been rattled.

One life lost and another life hangs in the balance.

People are anxious—and they’re terrified.

And who could blame anyone for feeling this way?

For the first time in a long time, their peace of mind had been completely shattered.

“Where the hell did the kid run off to?” Joel grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.

Now that the adrenaline is beginning to wear off, he’s really starting to feel the pain in his shoulder. It had started throbbing something awful not long after you’d finished stitching him up, and the expired oxycodone tablets you had given him had very little potency left—they hadn’t done a goddamn thing to help ease his discomfort. Not that it really came as a surprise to either one of you that the two decades old painkillers hadn’t worked, but it’d been worth a shot to at least try and see if they would do him any good.

“She’s with Rose in the supply closet,” you reply, taping a piece of gauze over his wound in an effort to keep it protected until you could take him home and get him cleaned up—then you would bandage up his shoulder properly. “They’re gathering some supplies you’ll need and looking for a sling.” It’s quite foolish to be this close to Joel with Luke just mere feet away in the exam room down the hallway, but you can’t seem to help yourself. Offering him a look of empathy, you lift your hand and cup the side of his face, delicately cradling it in your palm. You softly graze your thumb over the scruff of his beard. “I know, I know. You’re itching to get out of here. I promise, as soon as Ellie comes back with the supplies you need, we’ll get you home, okay?”

Joel raises a questioning eyebrow. “We?”

You nod. “I want to help Ellie get you settled in for the night and make sure you’re comfortable.”

He lowers his voice. “But what ‘bout Luke?”

“He’s going to be tied up here at the clinic tonight. It’ll be a while before he heads home,” you assure him. Dropping your hand away from his face, it falls back down against your side as you step back, putting some distance between the both of you. It probably isn’t the wisest idea to spend the night looking after Joel considering you’re already treading on thin ice with your husband for tending to his injury earlier, but your desire to take care of the man you love simply can’t be suppressed. Sensing his unease about it, you quickly add, “But if you don’t want me to, then I completely understand.”

Holding your breath, you anxiously wait for his response. 

Part of you almost hopes he’ll say that he doesn’t. 

One of you needs to be the voice of reason, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you.

“No, that ain’t it—that ain’t it at all, sweet girl,” Joel says, shooting you a stern glare for even suggesting such a thing. “‘Course I want you to come home with me and Ellie. Just don’t want you riskin’ your neck for us. I don’t want you gettin’ yourself in some kinda trouble with Luke, that’s all.”

You flash him a small, wry smile. “I’ll be fine, Joel.”

That can’t be further from the truth.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t have to know you’ll be in for it when you’re finally home alone with Luke.

“We hit the fucking jackpot,” Ellie announces, walking into the room. She has an old, brown canvas bag slung over her shoulder and in her hands she holds a sling for Joel’s arm. “Well, sorta. Rose said this is the only adult size the clinic has in stock, so it’s more of a loaner. She said we’ll have to bring it back as soon as his shoulder heals. It’s seen better days,” she remarks, holding it out to you. “But it should do the job.”

Taking the sling from her, you start helping Joel into it. “What about the list I gave you?” you ask her over your shoulder as you adjust the thicker strap around his neck. “Did she get you everything that I wrote down?”

Clicking her tongue, Ellie double checks the bag.

“Uh, let’s see—saline, clean bandages, and a vial of penicillin.”

“And what about the syringes?”

“She could only give me three of them since stock is too low,” she replies. “That okay?”

You shrug. “We’ll have to make it work. We can always clean and boil the needles if we have to.” You tug the strap around Joel’s neck lightly making sure you’d fastened it securely, but not too tightly, either. You touch his arm. “That feel okay, honey?” The pet name slips out, falling from your lips before you even have the chance to catch it. Blood rushes to your face and your cheeks start to burn—even with your back turned to Ellie, you can feel the smirk that’s now plastered on her face. 

“Aww,” she teases. “Honey. How fucking cute is that?”

“Ellie,” Joel says her name warningly as you pick up his bloodied denim shirt and drape it over him in an effort to cover him up. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t start.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Ellie pauses, her smirk widening as she slyly adds under her breath, “Honey.”

“Jesus, it’s like this place turned into a fucking ghost town or something,” Ellie observes, glancing around as the three of you make your way down Main Street and head towards the residential side of town. “Where the hell did everybody fucking go? Did we miss something?”

“Maria must have sent out a message to call off all of today’s evening work duties,” you tell her. Even though there isn’t anyone else outside, you keep a healthy distance in between you and Joel as you walk beside him. “The last time that something like this happened, she let everyone take the night off so they could be with their families and mourn. She might even cancel tomorrow’s duties too, if she hasn’t already.”

Ellie lets out a small, understanding hum. “I see.”

“So someone dies and everythin’ just stops?” Joel asks, lightly shaking his head at the thought. “Just like that?”

“Jackson isn’t like the zones,” you remind him. “We’re a community. We all love and care for one another, and when we have a loss, it hits people hard. Peter was a husband and a friend who everyone adored. It’s not like he was some faceless number working himself to the bone to earn just enough rations to survive.” You look around the empty streets, shrugging lightly as you shove both of your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “Here in Jackson, we don’t toss bodies carelessly into a big fire pit and walk away without giving it a second thought. We bury our dead together—we grieve together. We’re still human, Joel. We can’t let the world outside these walls make us forget our humanity.”

“S’ppose you’re right,” he agrees, quietly.

The sun’s just starting to set by the time the three of you make it to Joel and Ellie’s.

“Careful, Joel,” Ellie fusses, looping her arm through his as she guides him up the steps of their front porch. “Careful, careful, careful—”

“Ellie!” he snaps irritably. “I got shot in the shoulder, not in the fuckin’ kneecap. I can fuckin’ walk just fine.” 

Ellie glances over her shoulder at you, scoffing. “It honestly blows my fucking mind that you have the hots for this.” She jerks her chin towards him and rolls her eyes. “Seriously, how does someone like him even manage to pull someone like you? Pretty sure it wasn’t his incredible personality or dashing good looks that reeled you in, so what kind of voodoo spell did my old man put your ass under, princess?”

Joel glares at her. “Now you listen here y’little shit—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off. “Knock it off, both of you.” Putting a hand on his lower back, you request, “Ellie can you get the door, please?”

She nods. Letting go of Joel’s arm, she reaches into one of the back pockets of her blue jeans. She digs out her single house key and quickly unlocks the front door, ushering you both inside. “His room’s upstairs,” Ellie informs you as she flips on the lights in the foyer and leads the way up the staircase. She beckons with her hand for you to follow her down the hallway and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“For you two to stop makin’ a huge fuss over me so I can lay down and get some fuckin’ rest?” Joel hopes. “M’exhausted.”

“Soon enough,” you promise him. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“S’that door there on the left.” He pauses, shooting you a quizzical look. “Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Run a bath to get you all cleaned up, of course.”

“Gross.” Ellie makes a face at you. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to fly solo on that one, princess. I refuse to help you give the old man a sponge bath.”

You laugh lightly, not the slightest bit surprised by her reaction. “Fair enough. How about you go downstairs and fix him something to eat while I help him wash up?”

“Don’t have to fucking tell me twice!” Ellie whirls around on the heels of her sneakers, booking it for the door. She sings out over the shoulder, “Behave yourselves in there, you two! Don’t forget there’s an innocent child present under this roof and she doesn’t need to hear you guys bumping uglies!”

Flustered, you look down at your boots.

“Ellie!” Joel bellows her name, angrily. Before he has the chance to reprimand her, she scurries out of the room and flies down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Choking back a nervous chuckle, you pivot on your heel and walk into his bathroom. You make your way over to the porcelain tub and turn on the faucet. You kneel beside it as you wait for it to fill with water, occasionally dipping your hand into the water to check the temperature.

“M’real sorry ‘bout her,” Joel apologizes from the door. 

“It’s quite alright,” you assure him, despite the heat burning your face and neck from the teenager’s teasing. As soon as the tub is full, you shut off the faucet and stand up. You must have risen to your feet too quickly—a wave of dizziness sweeps over you and for a second, the room spins. Blinking furiously, you brush it off and beckon with a hand for Joel. “Bath’s ready. Come here.”

“Peach, you don’t gotta do this for me, y’know.”

“I know, Joel.”

“M’perfectly capable of cleanin’ myself up.”

“Yeah Joel, I know that too,” you say. “Now come here, please.”

Sighing, Joel slowly makes his way over towards you, taking your hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve done more than enough for me today, darlin’. I appreciate you for wantin’ to take care of me, but you don’t—”

You cut him off by tenderly pressing your mouth to his. “Then please, for the sake of what little sanity I have left tonight, just let me,” you murmur quietly against his lips. You reach up, pushing his soiled shirt off of his shoulders, letting the torn, bloodied denim fall to the floor behind him in a crumpled heap. You place your palm on his bare chest, right over his heart and feel it thrum strong and steady beneath your fingertips. Perring up at him, you ask, “Will you let me take care of you, Joel? Please?”

He sighs again, this time in defeat. “It really ain’t fair, y’know.”

“What’s not fair?”

Joel brushes a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“The fact that I can’t ever fuckin’ say no to you.”

With a satisfied smile, you start to help him out of the sling, setting it on the counter. You then take off his belt, unbutton his jeans, and pull down his zipper for him.

“Turn around,” he says, kicking off his boots. 

Amused, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Joel, are you kidding me?” He nods and you shake your head at him, reminding him, “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times before.”

“Never in the light,” he counters, sheepishly. “S’always in the dark.”

You lean forward and kiss his collarbone, eliciting a tiny groan from him. “Joel, please,” you mumble against his warm skin. “Don’t be silly. Now come on, let’s hurry before Ellie comes back upstairs with your dinner.” You take a step back and tug at his jeans, pulling them down his legs along with his boxer briefs. After dumping his dirty clothes into the woven laundry basket behind the door, you help him into the bathtub.

Joel hisses out in relief as he sinks into the water.

Once he’s settled in, you kneel beside it once again.

“How does it feel?”

“Feels good,” he remarks, the hot water easing the aches in his bones that have nothing to do with his injury and everything with his age. “Real fuckin’ good.”

Cupping your hands together, you dip them into the water and start wetting his hair. You can’t help but smile when you notice how it curls more so than usual when it’s wet. “Scoot forward and then lean back a little. I’m going to wash your hair—I don’t want to soak the gauze on your shoulder.” Reaching across him, you grab his bottle of shampoo, twisting the cap off. You pour some of the product into your palm and set the bottle back down. After lathering the shampoo between your hands, you start running the suds through his damp locks.

“Christ,” Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head as soon as you start massaging his scalp. “Fuck, sweetheart. Y’know, I think I could get used to this,” he admits with a sigh of content. “Feels fuckin’ incredible.”

You smile again, opening your mouth to speak, but then immediately clamp it shut.

Suddenly, you’re feeling a little off—something doesn’t feel right.

Brows knitting together in confusion, your smile falters. 

Normally, you love the scent of Joel’s shampoo.

You can’t even begin to count all the nights you’d hold him in your arms, breathing in the earthiness of jojoba oil combined with calming lavender from his hair as he rested his head on your chest. It’s usually fairly subtle, however now, as you wash his hair, the scent seems heavier and much more potent than usual—it makes your stomach churn violently and you can taste the bile as it slowly creeps its way up your throat. Pausing, you take a brief moment to breathe your way through the wave of nausea and swallow back the bitterness, willing yourself not to be sick right there in his bath. Worried you actually might, you drop your hands from his hair, close your eyes, and sit back on your heels as you wait for the feeling to subside.

“Baby.” You hear the water slosh around him. He tries reaching out for you with his injured arm, but grimaces, unable to make it very far before a sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

After a minute, it passes. You open your eyes only to meet Joel’s as he watches you with concern. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong, darlin’? You feelin’ alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Leaning forward, you lift your hands to continue washing his hair. Shrugging dismissively, you realize, “I think I just need to eat something. It’s been a while since my last meal.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast,” you reluctantly admit. “I had quite a bit of work to do at the stables, so I decided to skip lunch today, and before you scold me for it, I know I shouldn’t have worked through lunch.” You flash him a crooked little grin as he pins you with a disapproving frown. “I promise I’ll eat something as soon as I get home, Joel.”

“You’d better.”

After rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, you take his washcloth and lather it up using his bar of castile soap.

“How’s the water, honey? Does it still feel alright?” you ask him sweetly, running the wet, soapy washcloth over his chest and neck. You’re careful to keep it away from his injured shoulder. Leaning over the side of the bathtub, you start washing his side, being gentle as you sweep over the bruise he’d gotten from falling off of his horse during the attack. A lock of hair falls loose from your ponytail and into your face.

Joel lifts his hand out of the water, tucking it behind your ear. “S’perfect,” he murmurs, his hand grazing your cheek. Water drips off of his arm and lands on your camisole, soaking through the thin cotton. “Looks like you’re gonna have to take off your shirt, peach. Got’cha wet.” He chuckles at his own awful innuendo.

“You’re unbelievable, Joel! I just pulled a bullet out of your shoulder, and you’re already thinking of getting me naked,” you tease him with a giggle. “Oh, and by the way, I hope you know that there will be none of that for a while, not until you’re all healed up. Got it?”

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious.” His face falls when he realizes that you aren’t joking. “But you said it could be four to six weeks until I heal. How am I s’pposed to go that fuckin’ long without touchin’ you?”

Giggling again, you give his chest a gentle pat. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Rolling his eyes at you, Joel grumbles incoherently underneath his breath.

“Oh, come here, you big grump.” You lean forward and press a delicate kiss to his right temple. Your lips linger over the small, jagged scar near his hairline, causing him to shudder slightly.

Joel hasn’t vocalized it to you, but you know that of all the scars he possesses, the one on his temple is the scar he’s the most self-conscious about, especially now that you know how he’d gotten it.

“You know, you were right about Ellie,” you murmur softly against his skin. “About her knowing. You were right to warn me that night.”

He frowns. “She confronted you ‘bout us?”

Pulling away from him, you nod. “She sure did.”

“Well, I reckon that explains why she was givin’ us so much shit earlier,” he huffs, shaking his head. “When did this happen?”

“Earlier this afternoon, when we were alone at the stables,” you answer. “She offered to work through lunch with me and it was just the two of us. It happened just before Tommy showed up and told us you had been shot.”

Joel grimaces. “Might regret askin’ this, but what did she say?”

You chew nervously on your bottom lip.

“She said she wants me to leave Luke.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

He knew his kid was pretty bold, but to go as far as telling you to leave your husband was pretty ballsy, even for her. He should reprimand her for it, but he can’t fault her for being brave enough to do what he still hasn’t mustered up the courage to do himself. “She did? What else did she say to you?”

“That the three of us could be a family together. A real family.” You drop the washcloth into the water and rest both arms on the edge of the tub as you continue filling him in on the encounter between you and Ellie. “She said it wasn’t complicated—that all I had to do was take off the ring, pack up my things, and leave him. She also said that I could just move in here and live with you two.” Pausing, you let out a small, breathy laugh. “I told her I would love that more than anything, but I can’t. It just isn’t possible. I can’t leave my husband.”

His jaw clenches, teeth gritting together. “‘Cause he won’t fuckin’ let you.”

You can’t help yourself and you laugh again.

Now you’re absolutely sure of it. Joel and Ellie really are cut from the same cloth.

You breathe out a long, melancholic sigh. 

“Joel, I love you. And I’ve grown to love Ellie, too. You both make me happy,” you tell him, softly. “Ever since you two came into my life, something in me changed. It was almost like I’d forgotten what it felt like to love and to be loved in return. I thought I’d lost that part of me when I lost my father two years ago. I thought that part of me had died along with him. His loss left left me feeling so empty. It left a void inside of me—but you and Ellie have filled it. It’s kind of silly, but sometimes I honestly think he sent you two to me. It’s almost like he knew I needed you.”

His eyes soften. “Ain’t silly at all, darlin’.”

“You both mean so fucking much to me,” you confess. 

“And you mean so fuckin’ much to us—you belong with us, peach. Your place is with us. Your home, it ain’t with Luke. It’s here, with me and with Ellie.”

“I know, trust me, I know that Joel. But I can’t—”

Joel sits up straight in the tub, wincing slightly.

“Joel, stop. Come on, you need to take it easy.”

Placing both hands on his chest, you try to push him back against the tub, but Joel’s hand reaches up and catches one of your wrists. He lightly curls his fingers around it. “Don’t you think it’s what your dad would want?” he questions. “You think he’d want you to be livin’ a life of misery with Luke?”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But I can’t leave him, Joel.”

“Look, whatever it is that you’re afraid of—”

“Joel, please,” you whisper, thickly. “Don’t do this.”

“You ain’t gotta be afraid, baby. I can protect you. I can keep you safe.” His thumb lightly caresses the thin, delicate skin on the inside of your wrist as his eyes meet yours. “I mean it. I can keep you safe, my sweet girl. I would never let anythin’ bad happen. I swear it. I wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to you, and neither would the kid. She loves you too goddamn much.”

You swallow the emotional lump in your throat. 

Lifting your wrist, Joel feathers a gentle kiss on the inside of it. He feels your pulse racing against his lips. “You’d be alright with us, y’know.”

“I know I would.”

“Then what the hell’s stoppin’ you?” Joel challenges. “We’re your family, baby. We’ve got you. No matter what—me and Ellie, we’ve got you, peach.”

Joel makes it sound so simple, so fucking easy. 

But he doesn’t know Luke the way you know Luke.

He won’t let you go, not without some kind of fight.

And Joel Miller wouldn’t be afraid to fight back.

He would kill Luke, if it came down to it.

After a moment’s silence, you finally speak. 

“Just—just give me a little time so I can figure things out, okay?” you bargain with him. “I need some time to sort things out.” Before Joel can even ask you what you’re talking about, you cut him off and shoot him a pleading look. “Please, Joel. Please. I’m just asking for some time, that’s all. If I can have it my way, I’ll be living here with you and Ellie before winter comes around in a couple of months.”

Joel sighs heavily. “Fine. I’ll give you time, but only on one condition.”

Apprehensive, you question, “What condition is that?”

“He does anythin’ to you, you come and tell me so I can handle it. Alright?”

“Joel, he’s not going to do anything to me.” The lie rolls off of your tongue with such ease that it actually takes you by surprise. “He’s not going to—”

He stops you. “Just promise me, baby. Promise that you’ll come to me if you need me. Please. S’all I’m askin’ of you.”

Knowing there is no other choice but to agree, you nod. “Of course I will.”

It’s a promise you can’t and won’t keep.

“That’s my girl.” Joel places another soft kiss onto your wrist. “I love you. I love you more than fuckin’ life itself.” He glances down and brushes his thumb over your wedding band. “Y’know, someday you’re gonna take this goddamn thing off for good and you ain’t gonna have to put it back on. You’ll be mine.”

Frowning, you counter, “But I’m already yours, Joel.”

“All mine,” he rephrases himself. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll find a ring to put on your finger myself some day.”

Worried you’ll break down, you gently tug your wrist out of his hand. “We should finish up in here. Ellie’s going to come upstairs soon.”

After you finish rinsing off the suds of soap from his body, you drain the tub and help him out of it and into a clean towel, wrapping it around his waist. You hand him a second towel which he uses to haphazardly dry off his chest and hair before walking back out into his bedroom. With his permission, you start searching through his drawers for some comfortable clothes. You pluck a pair of clean boxer briefs from one drawer and faded, navy blue sweatpants from another. Once you help him dress, you instruct, “Sit down. I’m going to bandage your shoulder.”

Obediently, Joel perches himself on the foot of his bed. 

You stand in front of him, unrolling the bandage.

“C’mere.” He grabs your hip, pulling you between his thighs. “Y’know, you make a real cute nurse.” He slides his hand up your shirt, his fingers gliding up the soft, smooth skin of your stomach.

“Joel, stop. Cut it out,” you scold him, playfully. “I need to make sure I do this right. Don’t distract me.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” Joel gruffs. He withdraws his hand from under your shirt and keeps it to himself.

You wrap the elastic, flesh toned bandage over his injured shoulder, pulling it behind his back before bringing it around across the front of his chest—after wrapping the excess material snugly around Joel’s bicep, you secure it, fastening the plastic clips at the end of it. “How does that feel? It’s not too tight, is it?”

“S’fine,” he answers. After you help him back into the sling, he wraps his opposite arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “So do I get a kiss or somethin’ for bein’ such a good patient for you, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I suppose you earned it.” Grinning, you carefully wrap an arm around his neck and lean down, swelling his lips with your own in a deep kiss. He swallows the soft moans that find their way from the back of your throat and into his mouth as his hand once again snakes its way up your shirt, touching each and every last inch of skin he can possibly reach.

“Oh fuck, my eyes!” Ellie’s voice cries behind you.

Startled, you rip yourself out of Joel’s grasp.

She stands at the door holding a steaming bowl in her hands, a horrified look on her face.

“Ellie,” you say her name, breathlessly. “We didn’t hear you coming up the stairs—”

“Obviously fucking not,” she huffs, rolling her eyes at you as she makes her way into his bedroom. “Well, now that I’m fucking scarred for life—” She pauses and sets the bowl down on Joel’s nightstand. “Here you go, Romeo. I made you some soup. And by made I really mean, I opened a can of twenty one year old chicken noodle soup and warmed it up on the stove.” Smirking, she adds, “So chow down. Unless you’re way too busy sucking her face off to eat, of course.”

Joel narrows his eyes at her. “Y’know I only need one hand to wring that little neck of yours, right?”

Before she has the opportunity to fire back, you step in. “I have to get going. It’s getting late and I need to make it home before Luke does.” You turn to Ellie. “He’s going to need a penicillin injection every six hours, okay? He’s pretty vulnerable to infection right now so he has to be on antibiotics for the next week or so.”

She nods, giving you a thumbs up. “You got it, doc.”

“Normally, you inject penicillin into the buttock—” You pause, holding back a laugh as a look of pure disgust flashes across the young girl’s face. “But, it can also be injected right into the thigh muscle. I’ll show you.” Pointing to the exact spot on the outer portion of his thigh, you instruct, “Five hundred milligrams, no more and no less. Easy enough?”

“Oh, okay. So that’s how you inject penicillin,” Ellie muses with a hum. After a moment, she mutters under her breath, “That would have been fucking useful to know about eight months ago.”

Your lips purse together tightly as you recall her story about what happened in Colorado with David and his group. 

“What’d you say, kid?” Joel asks, confused. 

“Nothing,” she replies, innocently.

Clearing your throat, you reach up, smoothing a hand over his damp curls, slicking them back. “I’m going to head home. Get plenty of rest, alright? I’ll come over and check up on you as often as I can. I promise.” You lean down, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“Jesus, you two make me so fucking sick already,” Ellie remarks, making a loud gagging noise. However, when you look at her, she’s smiling.

You walk into the house, only to find it empty.

Luke must have still been caught up at the clinic.

It seems like a good sign that Carl might still be alive. 

After taking a quick, hot shower, you hastily put on some comfortable clothes and hurry downstairs to prepare a late dinner. You had just finished peeling some boiled russet potatoes you planned to mash up when the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut echoes throughout the house. You hear his footsteps approaching and a chill runs down the length of your spine just like back in the clinic—all you can think about is what he’d said to you as he was leaving the room. 

“We’ll talk about this at home.” 

Anxiously, you turn around just as Luke enters the kitchen. He’d changed his clothes at the clinic, trading his blood soaked scrubs for a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a plain black button up shirt. “Hey,” you greet him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. “How’s, um—how’s Carl doing?”

“He didn’t make it either,” he replies curtly. He sets his black leather satchel down onto the kitchen table. “He lost too much blood during surgery. And without a machine for a transfusion—” He stops short. He hangs his head and even from you’re standing at the stove, you can see the way his jaw clenches.

Luke takes it hard whenever he loses someone—and he always takes it out on you.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to tell him. Despite trying to remain calm and collected, you’d started wringing your hands together out of habit.

“Well, at least there was one hero in that clinic today,” he scoffs out bitterly with a shake of his head.

You frown. “Luke, please don't do that. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Peter and Carl’s injuries were too severe. And besides, you said it yourself. We don’t have the proper equipment here in the commune.” You know there is no consoling him, not a single word of comfort could ease the blow of his failure, and yet, you find yourself trying anyway. “You did all you could do for them with what little we have. There’s nothing you could have done differently to change the outcome. Their wounds were fatal. Their fate was sealed long before they made it back to Jackson.”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a long, exasperated breath through his lips. It’s like watching a ticking time bomb.

“Look, it’s been a long day for everyone. Why don’t you go upstairs to take a shower, relax a bit, and then come back down for dinner?” you offer. “I’ve got a chicken baking in the oven, it shouldn’t be all that much longer now—”

Luke glares at you. “I just lost two fucking people today. Do you really think I’m fucking hungry right now?”

“You still need to eat,” you say, your voice small. 

“Are you really that fucking stupid?” He starts to walk over towards you. “What?” He asks when he notices you flinch, your body shrinking away from him. “What’s the matter, darling? You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You answer him in the steadiest voice you can, but even you can hear the way it trembles with fear.

“Of course I’m not afraid of you, Luke.”

He lifts one of hands, prompting you to flinch again. “I’m not going to hit you,” he murmurs, touching your cheek before taking it in his palm. Knowing how uncomfortable he’s making you, his green eyes seek yours, only making it worse. “How is your boyfriend? Is he doing alright?”

The color drains from your face. “Excuse me?”

Luke cups your cheek harder. “Patching him up back at the clinic wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

You grab his wrist and try to tear his hand away from your face as you sputter, “What—what are you talking about, Luke?”

“Esther came into the clinic this evening with Martha and Lisa so they could say their goodbyes. While we were out in the hallway giving them a moment of privacy, Esther told me she saw you with Joel and Ellie. She said she watched you walk into their house with them—is that true?”

Left without another choice but to tell him the truth, you nod meekly. “It’s true,” you confess. “I walked them back to their place.” As soon as you see the anger flash in his eyes, you begin to ramble an explanation. “I went home with them so I could help Ellie get him settled. She’s fifteen years old, Luke. I needed to show her how to care for his wound and how to inject the penicillin he needs, that’s all—”

“Bullshit,” Luke seethes through his teeth. He grabs your shoulders, taking them harshly in his hands. “I’m going to ask you one more time—what the hell is going on between you and Joel Miller? And before you even think about giving me the same lie about his fucking brat of a kid, just know that I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Luke, let go of me—”

He starts shaking you as if it’ll somehow shake the answer out of you. “Fucking tell me the truth!”

You squirm in his grasp. “Luke, please! Let go of me!”

He shakes you harder, his violence escalating.

“Why were you at the fucking clinic in the first place, huh?”

“Luke, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” He repeats, shouting the question into your face. “What were you fucking doing there? You heard your boyfriend got shot while he was out on patrol? You needed to make sure that he was okay? That he was still alive? Is that it?”

“Ellie asked me to go to the clinic with her! She was with me at the stables when Tommy showed up and told her Joel had been shot,” you try telling him. “She didn’t want to go alone!”

Finally, Luke stops rattling you. “And I suppose she asked you to tend to his injury, too?” He sneers. “She asked you to patch up his wound?”

Dizzy, you take a second to catch a quick breath, then respond, “Actually, she did. She and Tommy both asked me to take care of his shoulder and if you don’t believe me, then you can go find him and ask him yourself!”

“How fucking convenient,” Luke snorts. “Do you honestly take me for a fucking fool?”

“Luke—”

He shoves you back roughly.

Your side meets the sharp edge of the countertop in a loud, painful thud. Clutching at your ribcage, you sink down to the kitchen floor, curling yourself up into the fetal position as you brace yourself and wait for what’s undoubtedly coming next.

Luke steps towards you, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. But before he has the chance to lay another finger on you, the doorbell rings. 

You breathe out a small sigh of relief.

“Get up,” he hisses. “Go answer it. Now.”

Your side is throbbing, but you scramble up to your feet quickly and hurry to do as you’re told. “I’ll be right there,” you call out, wincing. You briefly stop in front of a mirror hanging in the hallway and check your reflection to make sure that you look—well, that you look normal. You fix up your hair a little, smooth your shirt, and put on a brave face before opening the door. “Tommy,” you say his name in surprise. Your eyes then flicker to his wife. “Maria. What are you two doing here?”

“Sorry, little lady. We know that it’s kinda late,” he apologizes, holding Maria's hand gently in his. “But we’re wonderin’ if we could come in for a minute to talk to you and Luke?”

Without hesitating, you step aside to allow the couple into the foyer of your home. “Of course you can,” you say, closing the door behind them. “I’ve got a late dinner in the oven. If you guys are hungry, then you’re more than welcome to join us. I made plenty.”

“That’s awful kind of you,” Tommy says with a grateful nod. “But it might have to wait for another time. We’ve still got a few more people to see tonight.”

Luke steps out of the kitchen. “Tommy? Maria? Is everything alright? It’s not the baby, is it?”

Maria places a hand on her swollen midsection.

At about five months, her belly had finally popped.

“The baby’s just fine,” she assures him. “Been kicking a storm up all day long.”

“Good.” Luke stands beside you. “I know today has been very difficult, but remember to take it easy, alright? You can’t stress too much, or it can put the baby in distress. I don’t want you going into preterm labor, Maria.”

She cradles her belly. “I know, Luke. I promise, I’m being very careful,” she swears. “We’re just going out door to door and checking in on everyone, offering support where it’s needed.”

Tommy nods, his face looking worn and tired as he pulls Maria close and tucks her into his side. “What happened today was a real fuckin’ tragedy. Two people gone, just like that,” he shakes his head, sadly. “We just wanna make sure everyone’s doin’ okay.”

“How’s Martha?” you ask, tentatively. “Lisa and her daughters, how are they holding up?”

“They’re devastated,” Maria replies, sighing. “Lisa can keep it all together for the sake of her girls. It’s a whole different story for Martha, though. Peter was the only person she had, you know?”

“I can check in on her,” you offer, kindly. “I can stop by on the way to the stables in the morning to see her. Make sure that she’s taking care of herself.”

“We actually canceled tomorrow’s work duties, so if you two need to take the day off, you can,” Maria informs you, her eyes flicking from you to Luke. 

“We’re holdin’ a memorial service tomorrow in the old church house,” Tommy states. “And the burial will take place right before sunset.”

“We’ll be there,” Luke nods, taking your hand in his. He squeezes it tightly. Harshly. “Won’t we, sweetheart?”

You wince a little. “Yes, of course we will.”

Tommy notices the way you squirm. “You alright there, little lady?”

Luke squeezes your hand even tighter. It’s a warning.

“Yes,” you lie to him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The next morning, you stop by Martha’s place, just like you’d told Maria you would. While you had no words that could console the grieving widow or ease the pain of her loss, you sat with her for a good hour and simply let her cry into your shoulder. She tuckered herself out quickly, and just before she fell asleep on the couch in her living room, you made her a promise, telling her you would see her at the memorial later that evening.

“What do you even wear to a funeral?” Ellie asks, curiously. She sits comfortably in Shimmer’s black leather saddle, the mare’s reins clutched in one of her hands. Despite work duties being canceled for the entire day, the two of you met at the stables to tend to the horses—the animals had enough water and food to get by until the following day, but still needed to be exercised so you’d suggested a short ride in the field out behind the paddock.

“Well, people typically wear black to funerals,” you answer, leading the way across the vacant patch of land on Ranger’s back. “Ellie, how many times am I going to have to tell you to hold onto the reins with both hands?” you chastise her over your shoulder. “I’m serious. The last thing we need is for you to fall off and break a bone. Both hands, missy.”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh, mom.” You can’t see it, but you hear the joking grin in her tone. “Why do people wear black to funerals? Was that always a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s the traditional color of mourning.”

“Why black? Why not like, green or something?”

“I don’t know, go ask the Ancient Romans.”

“The who?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

Clicking your tongue, you start steering Ranger, signaling him to turn back towards the paddock.

“I don’t even think I own anything that’s black,” Ellie says behind you. She gently squeezes Shimmer’s sides with her calves and the horse breaks out into a trot, catching up with you and Ranger. “Green it’ll have to be, then. Oh, by the way, Joel told me to tell you that he’ll see you at midnight. Your usual place.”

You frown. “He’s one day into his recovery. He needs to rest.”

“That’s what I fucking told him. But I guess he just can’t stay away from you, princess,” she teases as the horses arrive back into the paddock.

“Alright, let me hop off Ranger and I’ll help you—”

You stop short, watching as Ellie swings her leg over the back of Shimmer’s saddle and jumps off.

She grins. “Please. I’m practically a professional at dismounting horses now. Call me Seabiscuit.”

You snort. “Ellie, Seabiscuit was the horse.”

“Oh.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Well, you know what I fucking mean.”

Laughing, you roll your eyes at her. You pull a foot free from one of the stirrups then swing your leg over and start dismounting Ranger—but the second you start going down, your opposite leg still in the stirrup supporting your weight wobbles and you lose your balance. You fall forward against the horse, accidentally sliding down his saddle.

To add insult to injury, the horn catches your sleeve and hikes up your blouse as soon as you land your feet on the ground.

“That was real fucking graceful,” Ellie cackles as she watches you try to unsnag your shirt from the saddle. Walking around Ranger to get a better view of the mishap, her grin suddenly vanishes. Her brown eyes widen when she catches a glimpse of the discoloration that starts near your hip and goes up your entire length of your side. “What the hell? Is that a fucking bruise?”

Finally, you free yourself from the saddle. Feeling your heart pound, you tug your shirt down into place, but it’s too late.“Ellie—”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me,” you fib. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” Ellie repeats, incredulously. “There’s a fucking bruise the size of the state of Wyoming on you and you’re fucking fine? Really?”

“I fell,” you tell her, giving her the first excuse that you could think of. “I’m really clumsy, Ellie. Clearly I am.” You gesture to the saddle. “You saw it, just now. I almost fell off a damn horse.”

“You fell.” Ellie raises her eyebrow at you. “Or were you pushed?”

Staring at her helplessly, you reassure her, “Ellie, it’s nothing. I fell and I hit myself. Alright?”

She steps towards you and grabs the hem of your blouse, yanking it up. “That,” she points her index finger at your side, “That is not fucking nothing! That is fucking something.”

“Ellie!” Gasping, you harshly slap her hand away.

“Luke did that you, didn’t he?”

Her accusation comes without hesitation.

“Of course he didn’t,” you stammer. “I told you I fell—”

“Bullshit. I’m fucking telling Joel.”

She spins around on the heel of her sneaker.

“Ellie! No!” You catch her arm, stopping her. “No, please don’t do that! Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell Joel.”

“Then I’ll tell Tommy and Maria,” Ellie says, shrugging. “I’ll tell them about what their precious doctor is doing to you behind closed fucking doors—” She starts to leave the paddock and you’re quick to stop her once more.

“No! You cannot tell anyone! Not Tommy, not Maria, or anyone else. And you especially cannot tell Joel.”

“He’s fucking hurting you!” Ellie all but shouts at you.

“Ellie, I have it under control—”

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, clearly.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “I can tell you have it under control.”

You take her hands, clasping them in yours. “I can handle Luke, Ellie. It’s all under control.” Your gaze meets hers. “Please. Do not tell anyone about this.”

“But—”

“Ellie, please. I’m begging you,” you plead with her. “Don’t tell anyone—and especially not Joel. Please.”

It pains you to see her look so fucking helpless.

Maybe it’s selfish of you to ask her, a child, to keep such a secret.

But it’s for the good of Jackson.  

“Swear to me that you won’t tell him about this. Swear it.”

Again, she looks helpless, helpless, helpless. 

Eventually, she sighs out in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I swear I won’t tell Joel.”

“Or anyone else,” you add.

Her eyes fall away from yours as she mumbles, “I swear I won’t tell Joel. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, after the memorial service, everyone makes their way to Jackson Cemetery, a makeshift graveyard right outside the west wall that’s protected by a steel fence. With men and women armed and standing around the entire perimeter of the site, the burial carried on. Miles, a former pastor, reads verses from a bible out loud at the request of the men’s families who were people of faith. You stand at Martha’s side, holding her as Tommy and two other men lower her husband’s casket into the ground and begin to shovel in the dirt.

From the corner of your eye, you see Joel as he stands in the crowd with Ellie and Dina. The girls have their arms linked together. Ellie looks over at you, then glances away, sourly shaking her head as Luke puts a comforting hand on your back. She knows it’s just for show. He’s playing the role of a good husband when he’s anything but.

After the burial, the entire town is invited back to the commune mess hall for the traditional funeral repast. Food, drinks, and plenty of stories of the patrolmen are shared—fond memories are exchanged in efforts to lighten the somber mood.

Joel watches with jealousy as you stand by Luke’s side the entire evening, his arm secured around your waist. He’d been sitting at a table across the hall near the doors with Ellie. Forcing himself to look away from you, he turns his attention to her and notices she hasn’t scarfed down her food as usual. Joel would often have to tell her to slow down before she made herself sick, but tonight, he doesn’t have to. Instead of inhaling her potatoes like a human vacuum, she pushes them around on her plate with her fork.

“Is everythin’ alright, kiddo?” he asks her, worriedly.

She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He frowns. “Ellie, don’t lie to me.”

She sighs again. “Okay, everything’s not fine.”

“What’s goin’ on? The funeral bother you?”

Ellie looks over towards you and Luke, nervously biting down on her lower lip. She then glances back at Joel.

“Ellie? What is it?”

“She made me swear not to tell anyone. Especially not you.”

“Who?”

The second your name comes out of her mouth, he stiffens in his chair.

“I swore to her I wouldn’t say anything, but—”

“Ellie, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“She’s going to be so mad at me if I tell you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. “No one’s gonna be mad, kiddo. I can promise you that. No one is gonna be mad at you, alright?” He promises her. “Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Well, you see—” Ellie hesitates. “The thing is—”

She trails off, unsure of how to say it.

“Christ, Ellie. Just fuckin’ spit it out.”

“I think he’s hitting her,” she finally blurts out.

Joel freezes. “What?”

“Luke. I think he’s hitting her or something.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, his voice rigid.

Ellie lowers her voice. “Today we were taking two of the horses out on a ride around the field behind the paddock. When we got back, she slipped while she was dismounting Ranger. Her sleeve got stuck on his saddle and her shirt pulled up.” She pauses, sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling it before saying, “I saw a huge bruise on her side. It was fucking massive. It looked fresh, too.”

His blood begins to boil. “You ask her ‘bout it?”

“Of course I did. When I asked her what happened, she told me that she fell. But I didn’t believe her. When I asked her if Luke did it—”

“She admitted he did.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Ellie’s face falls. “Well no, not exactly. But Luke did it, I know he fucking did it, Joel. He’s hurting her. It’s why she won’t leave him. She’s too fucking scared of him.”

Joel looks up, his lips pressed into a tight line.

His eyes meet Luke’s from across the room.

The man gives him a small, curt nod and takes your hand in his, pulling you towards where Martha and Lisa are sitting with a group of friends, among them, Tommy and Maria.

“Joel?” Ellie says his name, nervously.

“I’ll handle it, Ellie.”

“But—”

He cuts her off.

“I said I’ll fuckin’ handle it.”

Despite knowing that Joel needed to rest, the part of you that was incredibly selfish just couldn’t wait to see him—to be with him, to hold him in your arms and kiss him. Especially after such a long, gloomy and sorrowful evening.

When midnight rolls around, you find him already waiting behind the barn. Normally, it was you who would always arrive first, so when you see Joel standing there by the paddock fence, you can’t help but feel a little surprised.

“You beat me here,” you remark with a small laugh as you approach him.

“Yeah. I did.”

Excited to see him, you don’t even catch the tone of his voice at first.

Serious.

Upset.

You beam at him and say, “Hi, honey. I missed you.” Smiling, you lift an arm to throw it around Joel’s neck in a careful hug, but he catches your wrist in his hand and stops you, the creases in his brows deepening.

“Show me.” 

Your smile slowly falters. “What?”

“Show me,” he repeats, stiffly.

“What are you talking about?” Puzzled, you pull your wrist out of his grasp and step back. 

He’d never spoken to you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before, either. Angrily.

“Joel, what’s going on?”

“Ellie told me ‘bout the bruise.”

Your blood runs frigid in your veins. “What?”

“Earlier at the repast. She told me ‘bout the bruise she saw on your side today.”

“It’s nothing, Joel—” 

“Show. Me.” Joel bites the words out through gritted teeth.

You stare at him for a moment, then sigh.

With little choice in the matter, you lift the hem of your shirt.

“Here,” you say bitterly, turning your body. “Is this what you want to see?”

His stomach churns violently.

Ellie hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of it.

The painful mark starts at your hip, and it goes up the entire length of the side of your torso until it feathers out beneath your bustline.

“I fell.” Your voice is flat, emotionless. Because you don’t know how else to react now that he knows the truth.

You don’t know what to do or what to say. 

So, you turn the dial back to numb.

“The kid didn’t believe that bullshit lie and I fuckin’ don’t believe it either. We both fuckin’ know Luke did this to you.”

He almost expects you to deny it, but when you don’t, it’s all the confirmation he needs. He starts off towards the residential side of town, prepared to yank Luke out of bed and rip him to fucking shreds.

“Joel, where the hell are you going?” you huff as you start following behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Joel seethes. He lifts a hand and starts clawing at the strap of his sling to take it off. “For puttin’ his fuckin’ hands on you—”

You grab his arm. “Joel, please! Don’t!”

Refusing to stop, he drags you along behind him.

“Joel, stop! Please, can you just wait for one fucking minute?”

Digging your heels into the dirt, you yank at his arm, and plead for him to listen to you.

“Joel, just give me the chance to explain!”

Finally, he comes to a halt and whirls around, his nostrils flaring. With furiousness in his dark eyes, he faces you.

“You promised me! You fuckin’ promised me you’d come to me if he did somethin’ to you—” Realizing he’s shouting at you, Joel stops. Seeing your bottom lip quiver, he softens ever so slightly. He knows you’re not the person to take his anger out on. No, that person is fast asleep in his bed. “How long? How long has he been doin’ this to you? And don’t you lie to me.”

“Two years,” you admit in a whisper.

Joel’s face pales. 

Swallowing dryly, you shake your head. “Joel, he’s the only doctor in this town. There’s so much pressure that he carries on his back. He’s responsible for all of the people in this community,” you begin to explain. “It’s a lot to handle for one person, he’s always stressed—”

“And so beating you is the way he fuckin’ unwinds after a long day of work?” Joel, for the life of him, can’t fucking believe you’re attempting to defend Luke.

“He just loses his temper sometimes. It gets the best of him and then I’ll say something or so something to piss him off even more—”

Joel catches your hand in his. “Baby, fuckin’ stop that right now. Stop fuckin’ makin’ excuses for him. He’s fuckin’ hurtin’ you, and if something ain’t done, there’s a good chance he’s gonna wind up killin’ you.”

“I have everything under control, Joel.”

“No, you fuckin’ don’t. He’s fuckin’ hittin’ you.” Joel’s voice breaks as he speaks. “He’s hurtin’ you.”

“I can fix it,” you say, though you sound more helpless than anything else. “I just need time, but I can fix this, Joel.”

“No, peach. You can’t fix it. But I can—all you gotta do is let me.”

You look down at your shoes, feeling tears glaze over your eyes. “No. Jackson needs him, Joel.”

“But what ‘bout you?”

“I’m just one person,” you whisper. “You have to look at the bigger picture here. I’m just one fucking person.”

“One fuckin’ person who means everythin’ to me,” he says, squeezing your hand. “If you won’t let me handle him, then we go to Tommy and Maria—”

“If he gets locked up or thrown out, we won’t have a doctor, Joel. Don’t you fucking understand that?”

Joel’s beginning to lose his patience.

He knows you’re only trying to look out for the rest of the community, but at what fucking cost?

Your own life, possibly?

Maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t care about everybody else. He cares about you.

Dropping your hand, he steps back, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna let him keep on hurtin’ you. I’m gonna put a stop to it.”

“Joel, you’re just going to make things fucking worse! I will handle it—I will fix it. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you stepping in trying to play the hero. It’s all under control, okay?”

“Like hell it fuckin’ is. First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna pay Luke a visit at the clinic. Have a little talk with him, man to man, or whatever he fuck he is—”

Your stomach sinks at the mere thought of it. “No! Don’t you fucking dare,” you warn him. “Don’t you even think about it, Joel.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stand around with my fuckin’ hands behind my back and just let him keep on hurtin’ you? Ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.” Realizing your stance on the matter is firm, Joel comes to his own decision. “Listen, sweet girl. If you ain’t gonna give me permission, then I’m just gonna have to ask for your forgiveness.”

You glare at him and left your chin. “Well, I won’t give it to you.”

He stares at you, completely taken aback by your sudden coldness.

“If you do anything to hurt him, or tell Tommy and Maria about this, I will never forgive you,” you threaten, a warm tear slipping down the side of your face as you prepare to shatter both his heart and yours. “I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

Before Joel can even think about uttering another word, you turn around and walk away.

You break down as soon as you make it home.

Sinking down onto the porch, you pull the collar of your shirt over your mouth and nose in an effort to muffle the sounds of your sobbing. That look of hurt on Joel’s face and in his eyes when you’d told him to stay away from you, it would be burned into your memory forever. It would haunt you for the rest of your damn life.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

This wasn’t what you wanted.

But there is no other choice.

There never has been another choice for you. 

The sound of gravel road crunching underneath a pair of old, tattered red low top sneakers fills the silent night air, prompting you to look up.

“Do you hate me?” Ellie questions you softly.

The remorseful expression on her face sends another sharp, stabbing pain through your chest.

“Oh, Ellie. Of course I don’t hate you.” You pat the empty spot beside you on the porch. “Come here.”

Ellie walks over and sits down beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest.

You wrap an arm around her, reassuring her, “I could never hate you, Ellie. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I know I swore to you I would keep my fucking mouth shut, but I had to tell Joel about Luke. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry.” She sniffs, dabbing at her eyes as they fill with frustrated tears.

“It’s okay. I would have done the same thing if I were you.”

“Really? You would have?”

You nod, wiping at your face with your opposite hand. “Absolutely.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel less like a big pile of dog shit, aren’t you?”

“Mostly no, but partially yes,” you joke dryly in an effort to cheer her up.

Ellie flashes you a small, watery smile. “I’ll fucking take it.”

She leans her head against your shoulder and for a while, the two of you sit there in melancholy silence.

“What’s going to happen with you and Joel?” Ellie finally asks, her voice small.

“I don’t know, Ellie,” you admit quietly. “I really don’t know.”

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— AIN’T LOVE GRAND

SUMMARY : the intention for keeping you in his home was to keep you safe from any dangers, but now.. it’s become an addiction to have you so close to him. he can’t bear the thought of everything going back to how it was… and somehow, you end up feeling the same

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, kidnapping, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, reader isn’t perfect, vague chronic illness, panic attack, banter, talk of infertility, Stockholm syndrome, two screwed up people

WORD COUNT : 7.0k (SORRY)

A/N : last chapter! this fills the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. do yall ever choose to ignore whenever someone is being romantic towards you? that can’t just be me who does that…. yeah, okay xx

READER’S POV

When you woke up, the sun bothered your eyes more than you were expecting. Your windows typically blocked out the unwanted sunlight. You whined and pressed your face into the pillow, it smelled familiar and delightfully masculine. 

It didn’t smell the way it usually did. And your drowsy brain tried to think back to the previous night and your bleary eyes opened to the unfamiliar white walls around you. Your limbs felt heavy and weak, so you didn’t move. Your eyes closed again. 

This large bed wasn’t yours. The sheets weren’t as soft as you loved them to be, the mattress was fantastic though. The way you sank into it felt heavenly and you moaned as basked in the feeling.

“Morning, sweetheart.” That familiar voice, husky and rich like waves crashing against cliffs. Dean? You turned your face to the opposite side you were facing, unable to move your body properly. Your eyes fluttered shut against your will and then you forced them open to see Dean sitting next to you.

He was fully clothed. His arms were crossed over a black t-shirt with Metallica written across his chest. He looked concerned and chewed on his lip. He uncrossed his arms and weaved his thick fingers into your hair. Your eyes closed, humming as his cool touch jolted your warm body. What you hated was the feeling of being sleepy.

No… it was something familiar. More familiar and more terrifying than sleepiness. More terrifying than drowsiness. It was the sedation of a drug you felt that was freaking you out. You hated sedatives. They made everything feel like a dream, like everything around you was unreal. 

“Did you… drug me?” You mumbled, lazily attempting to push his hand away. Upset with him for making you relive the sensation of reality being pulled apart like a loose thread that slowly unravelled the solid design of a piece of fabric. 

You could feel and hear your heartbeat in your ears, louder than whatever Dean had said in response to your question. Your heartbeat quickened and your breath came out shaky and uneven. You struggled to get up. Your panic with the feeling of unreality always overtook any sedative you were given. 

Your vision blurred. Everything was slow and fast at the same time. You could tell that you were being pulled upwards, and felt something cold against the back of your neck, and against your cheek. Cool air breezed over your ear, his whispered words. You desperately clung to whatever was in front of you. You felt the soft cotton of a shirt inside your fists and the smooth skin of… Dean. 

Dean. 

Dean.

You slowly became more grounded. Your heartbeat was no longer beating relentlessly against your ribs, nor was it deafening you with loud thuds in your ears. Your eyes were tearing up now that the worst of it was over and you could breathe somewhat properly.

You were more aware now of what was so cold against your hot and flushed skin. It was all Dean. He had his cheek pressed against yours and he was whispering something to you. And his hand was pressing into your neck, his fingers were buried in your hair, massaging the base of your neck gently with his fingers. 

You were embarrassed by your silent tears, felt the heat in your body rise, but Dean’s temperature evened it out. 

As reality settled and solidified around you, you became more aware of yourself and Dean. You felt yourself in his lap, felt the unusual coldness of his body seeping into your flushed body despite the layers he wore. And finally, you remembered last night, you remembered why he was so cold. 

DEAN’S POV

He could feel your warm tears against his shoulder and your body trembling with nerves. 

He felt regret. So much regret for everything that had happened to you, all because of him. It’s always his fault, everything. He should’ve stayed away from you. He should’ve left you alone and never let himself fall deeper in love with you. He shouldn’t have infiltrated your life and made you his friend. 

You wouldn’t be so upset and traumatised if it weren’t for him. He could hear the blood rushing rapidly through your body, the chatter of your teeth, and the frenzied beat of your heart, and feel the cold of her nerves in your hands, the way you shuddered in his arms, and the heat in your cheeks. 

Slowly you pulled away from him, your hands loosened their grip on his shirt to wipe your tears away before he could. You stared down at his chest, deep in your thoughts, and he could see the realisation dawn on you as you remembered last night’s end. 

He slowly smoothed his hand up and down your back, soothing your nerves until soon you murmured: “How can you be…?” 

You struggled to say the truth you remembered, but he finished your question. “A vampire?”

You exhaled shakily once he said it himself.

“Were you ever planning on telling me… this… about yourself?” You whispered, playing with your fingers anxiously. Dean cautiously took your hands in his and your eyes moved to his face. He could feel you watching him with your tired, sedated eyes. He was terrified to look up now that you knew the truth, so he admired your slim fingers and your chipped red nail polish. Did you see a monster, too, now?

“I…” It wasn’t that easy to answer. “No, I never would have told you,” he admitted. There were a hundred reasons he was afraid to tell you the truth about himself and all of them were rooted in fear. Fear that you would reject him, fear that he would somehow find a way to put you in danger, fear that someone else would find out and try to hurt him… 

“Do you… I don’t even know how to ask about what or who you eat…” you wording sounded humorous, but your voice didn't. It was monotone, probably because of the sedative he’d slipped into your tea last night.

“I wouldn’t hurt innocent people,” he clarified. You hummed thoughtfully and let his words sink in. He paused before he continued. “If you really wanna know, I… uh, hunt animals in the forest. I had human blood once, when I turned, but I can’t remember what it tasted like, so… I can’t say I miss it.”

“When did you turn?” You asked, a little more comfortably. He dared to look up at you and saw your curiosity, your tiredness, your humour. He blinked, did you think this was funny? “Please… tell me you’re not a thousand years old because… that would be so creepy.”

He let out a laugh, short and awkward. “I’m not that old. I’m 44, I was turned.. um, a little over ten years ago… why would it be creepy?” 

Your expression became innocent, your eyes went wide, your brows lifted, and then you flushed. You shrugged and shook your head dismissively. He narrowed his eyes at you playfully because there was an embarrassed smile growing on your lips that you attempted to hide by biting your lip.

“So… are vampires more like Buffy or Twilight?” You wondered and slipped out of his lap to lay back in his bed. He watched you, confused and awed by your acceptance of the truth. 

“You’re handling this better than I thought…” he trailed off, watching you snuggle his pillow. He felt his stomach flip at your cuteness and felt a little jealous of his pillow. How ridiculous.

“When I was a kid, I’m pretty sure I was being haunted by ghosts, so…” you mumbled sleepily. Your lashes fluttered like butterfly wings against your cheeks. His lips tugged into a small smile.

“Really? How do you know?” 

“Well… plates would fall from cabinets in the kitchen… I’d hear stuff movin’ in the walls in my bathroom. There was scratchin’ on m’bed at night. I’d hear footsteps when there was no one…”

“Coulda been rats,” he tried to reason, but it did sound an awful lot like a ghost. Your eyes opened to glare at him. He snickered. You smiled lazily.

“Then, how come it stopped when my mom called the priest to bless the house?”

He raised a brow. That’s not how ghosts worked… “Really?”

“Only at first… when we moved away, ‘cause they were renovating the house, it started up again. Stuff we had on shelves would fly out and almost hit us, lights would flicker. It even happened outside, when we finished packing, the swing my dad made us started moving insanely high and there was no wind. We had to call some people back to bless the house again.” That sounded really weird…

“Sounds more like a demon,” he muttered worriedly. 

“You think so? My dad always thought there was a demon out to get him,” you giggled, then returned to your peaceful state. You closed your eyes and kept a dainty smile on your lips. Dean didn’t think that was funny. What if you’d gotten hurt? What if the demon still lived in your house? 

“Why would he think that?” 

He was met with silence. Your breathing slowed with your heartbeat and you were out again. Maybe the dose of the sedative was too high for you. This time, he had a feeling you’d have a better sleep, but your story bothered him. Maybe he needed to check your house more thoroughly while you slept and focus on the supernatural over natural dangers.

Dean returned a few hours later.

He didn’t find any signs of demonic activity in your home. Not even a speck of something supernatural. Could the renovations done to your home actually have been a proper… exorcism? Were your parents just trying to keep the truth from you for your sake? 

It would bother Dean forever. Maybe someday he’d meet your mother or father. Maybe he’d ask for the truth and know all the answers. 

He’d opened the door and entered his home, his mood more elevated than usual. He spotted you on the couch with your hair tied messily to conceal your bedhead. He thought you looked beautiful as you stared intently at the television, at a rerun of some Avengers movie.

You tore your eyes away from the screen, weary, then pleasantly surprised. “I thought you were at work…”

“Nah.” He plopped down next to you and smiled. Your mood brightened visibly. He smirked at you and you averted your eyes coyly, biting back a smile.

“I was gonna leave… but I don’t trust Uber drivers and also… you drove me here,” you explained sheepishly while playing with the hem of your jeans. Dean could feel the heat on your face, but he also felt an ice cold grip on his heart that made him desperate and wary. You were gonna leave?

“I can’t let you leave,” he blurted out. 

You leaned back and frowned. “What? Why not?” 

“I don’t think it’s safe for you,” he began explaining, stopping the words you would have spoken. “What if there’s more vampires after you? What if I didn’t get them all? What if they hurt you? I can’t let you go out there without being a hundred percent sure I’m not sending you out there to die.”

You opened your mouth again and he could see you wanted to argue this time. You looked irritated, but he wasn’t gonna listen to you the way he typically did. You didn’t know how dangerous it was out there and he’d been living in the romantic bubble of your beauty that he’d forgotten just how terrifying the world was for someone mortal. “I don’t know how long you’ll have to stay, but you’ll be safer here, with me. Make yourself at home, if you need anything, I’ll get it for you.” 

“You don’t actually expect me to stay with you for… God knows how long, do you?” You asked incredulously. You sat up straight to gauge his seriousness, and deep in the green of his eyes, shone his distress. 

He ignored you and fished your pill bottle out of his pocket. He held them out for you and said: “Here. I’m serious. Don’t think about going anywhere if I’m not with you.”

You stared at the bottle in bewilderment and took it from him. You read the information, verifying that they were yours, and your eyes snapped up to meet his own. “You were in… my house? How did you get in?”

“You hungry?” He opted for changing the subject. He wanted to avoid that subject at all costs. He didn’t want to lie to you, but he also didn’t want to tell you the truth. You’d try dozens of times harder to run away from him if you discovered anything about his… infatuation with you. 

You were quiet and deep in thought. You looked angry, but maybe it was a little more than pissed off. Was he making you angry? Who was he kidding? Of course he was. He was preventing you from living your life and forcing you to live by his rules. “Will I be able to get back to work?”

No one wants to work, Dean glared at you. “You can go, but I’ll drop you off and pick you up-”

“But-”

“Taking care of you isn’t a burden to me-” because he loves you “-I’m  a vampire, I have more than enough time for you.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He rolled his eyes at you.

“I don’t like it when you do things for me… it… makes me uncomfortable,” you disclosed tensely. He understood what it felt like, but he needed to keep you safe. It was more than just doing things for you to him, it was saving your life, keeping you safe. Why did you not fear for your life the way he did? And why did you have to feel uncomfortable with him dedicating a few moments of his painfully, endless life to helping you? He made sure to never make you feel like there needed to be an exchange of favours between you and him.

“Why not? You won’t owe me anything.”

“In this instance, I just find it irritating,” you said between clenched teeth, balling your hands into tight fists. It was cute to him, but pointing it out or acknowledging it probably would have made you furious. 

“Well, tough,” he shrugged and relaxed on the couch to signal the end of the conversation. Dean stared at the television as Steve Rogers gripped the helicopter to stop Bucky. You clenched your jaw and breathed in and out angrily.

You seethed silently beside him for thirty minutes and he was becoming more and more amused by your determination to stay angry. Your phone rang on the couch and snapped the tension that had been growing between the two of you. You stared at it with a glare and silenced it without lifting to check who it was.

“Answer,” he ordered gruffly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snapped. He grabbed your phone and rolled his eyes when he saw Clayton’s name. 

“It’s your boyfriend,” he informed you venomously.

“Shut up,” you hissed, snatching your cell phone from him aggressively. “What if I ask for help, what if I tell him you won’t let me leave.”

Dean grabbed your wrist so you wouldn’t answer just yet and leaned into you until your warm breath touched his lips. He growled, “I’ll kill him and anyone else who tries to get close to you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you whispered, but continued to hold his gaze bravely. The phone stopped and no longer showed Clayton was calling you. Instead, he began to send you messages. 

You were right. He wouldn’t kill anyone, but if it kept you from trying to do anything stupid, he’d let you think so. “Now’s not the best time to test how far I’ll go to keep you safe.” 

He let your wrist go and you continued to stare at him with a mixture of emotions. You conceded and calmly replied to Clayton with a sigh. He read what you sent in response, you avoided conversation about Dean’s vampirism and the deaths despite Clayton’s probing questions, until he finally stopped. Dean felt happier when he read your final message to him: i don’t think we should see each other again, on a date. you were amazing, but our dreams and hopes for the future aren’t the same. I hope you meet someone who will fulfil them. Friendship is on the table, we could go back to that, if you cannot, i will understand.

Clayton’s response was as respectful and kind as Dean expected. Dean couldn't be mad and he couldn’t even hate him either. At least you knew how to choose good people to surround yourself with. Maybe you made a bad choice with Dean, but the few people you surrounded yourself with and allowed into your life were typically good, loved you, and had your best interests at heart.

Dean watched you as you moved attention towards the movie. Your irritation had passed and you continued to watch the movie in silence. “So… I know I ruined the date… and your chances of a second date, but… how was it?”

Your response was random, but quick, like you’d been thinking about it for a while: “He really loved his nephew…” 

“So?” Dean was lost. Didn’t women believe that men being great with kids was a good thing?

“I can’t have kids…” You whispered with a tone of grief. Dean’s face fell and his heart ached at the resignation in your voice. “I can have children,” you corrected yourself quietly, “but there’s a high probability I’ll pass on what I have. It’s genetic, I would never be able to live with myself if my baby was sick and suffering for the rest of its life because I was selfish. It’s better for Clayton that we never see each other… because I’d never be able to give him that. Even if he did convince me to be selfish, I could die because my body wouldn’t be able to sustain the pregnancy.” You paused and wiped away tears from your eyes while avoiding his gaze. You were embarrassed by your display of emotions. You shouldn’t be, you look beautiful when you cry, Dean thought. “Do you think I’m a coward?”

“No,” he murmured. “Letting someone you love go… that’s braver than sticking around and making them miserable.” And that’s why Dean wasn’t brave. He couldn’t bear to let you go if it meant your life was in danger. He’d rather you be miserable with him than dead without him.

24 January, 2024 — Wednesday

You stayed home—his home—while he went to work for the day. In the time he had spent with you, studying you more closely, Dean learned that you were a clean freak, but also that you had a habit of cleaning more often when you were stressed or avoiding something. 

He thought nothing of it, and let you go crazy with thoroughly dusting shelves, sweeping the floors, washing his and your clothes, and cleaning the bathroom. You were impressive. He liked to watch you organise and reorganise the stuff on his shelves, his books, his closet, absolutely anything you could get your hands on.

You could act tough and sarcastic all you wanted, but since trapping you in his house, he learned that you were sensitive. Your heart was tender, an open wound, and anything could make you cry. You tried to hide it, he could feel your face heat up with shame whenever you were quick to tears, while watching a movie, or hearing a story he’d tell you, or whatever it was that you’d witnessed. 

He’d been in such bliss hearing you sing and hum to yourself as you kept busy. He obsessed over your laughter, your dark humour, and found that it was fairly easy to make you laugh. You laughed a lot and he knew some of it was because you were trying to avoid being sad in front of him. 

He’d hear you cry at night, quietly to yourself. And he wondered if it was him who had caused you all that pain. But the morning would rise and you were smiling and careless again. Always trying to hide your weaknesses from him, your hurt and your desolation masked by laughter and humour. 

It didn’t take long for him to realise that whenever your symptoms were uncontrollable, when you had flare ups, you would feel grief and despair. Every time, anew. Your bones would ache preventing you from adventuring, your appetite would decrease preventing you from trying something good, and you’d be so tired you’d spend most of your time in bed. 

Having your disease take control of how you had to live your life, took a toll on your mental health. Now that he was seeing the debilitating condition that you could be in, at random, he understood your desire for control. 

He was surprised at how alone you actually were. Not once had you been called by your friends, not once have they asked about you, not once have they messaged you. He thought you were taking his threat too seriously and avoiding them for their safety, but once he’d assured you that you had the freedom to update them, you told him you knew that already. So why haven’t they checked up on you?

You’d confessed, with a joke and a laugh, about how you were “cursed” to have most of your friendships fall apart, and attempts to save your friendships were done to no avail. Your few friendships weren’t even close to being actual friendships, not to him. Could he compare his friends to yours? 

Hunting made relationships more meaningful than he previously thought. But maybe the life and death of it all made friendships he had much stronger than a typical person would have experienced. Maybe in the real world, outside of death and loss and fear, someone like you could give until you were bereft and you would be given nothing in return because… well, why?

Because they didn’t want you had to give. Because they didn’t want to respect your boundaries. Because they wanted more than you could ever imagine giving of yourself. Because they felt entitled to your love. They’d prefer to hate you than take what you had to offer of yourself. They’d rather hurt you than to cherish what you revealed of yourself. They’d rather steal your ability to refuse than to accept what you were willing to give. They’d prefer to erase everything that you were, to mould you into something that would fit into their idea of what you should be to them. 

And you were terrified that everyone you befriended would treat you that way again. That they didn’t want you for who you were, but valued you for what you could do for them, what you could fulfil in the emptiness of their miserable lives. You were afraid that they would break your heart and make you an object to later be abandoned and destroyed. 

You were too embarrassed to show that weakness because you were humiliated and betrayed by people you trusted. You hid your pain and your hurt, and feigned something else entirely because others made you feel like a burden. You downplayed your feelings and experiences, you made jokes out of your pain, because they had invalidated your feelings. 

You disguised yourself as anything you needed to be for someone else because you felt that you were never enough. They made you feel that way. Even if they were gone from your life, they still changed everything that you were. You were so sick of it, you gave up on trying to be everything for everyone, and decided to keep your own peace and keep to yourself. 

In your experience, friendship and love weren’t as beautiful as their definitions. 

He wanted to take your face in his hands and kiss you until you believed in it again. If you’d met him before, if you lived a different life—one like his, if the circumstances were different—and he wasn’t holding you hostage, he could show you friendship and love were as perfect as their meanings claimed. 

But he’d screwed it all up. He always did. 

A few weeks ago, disaster struck in the midst of his little slice of heaven with you. You’d been a million times more furious than you’d been since he prevented you from leaving. 

It was easy to pretend that you and him had a more intimate relationship than was true. He cooked for you, you cooked for him. He cleaned up after you, you cleaned up after him. You’d hang out together and share stories and movies and thoughts. You wanted his clothes and he’d iron yours, and vice versa. It was like marriage, except you never kissed or had sex with each other. 

He’d forgotten completely about that decorated shoebox he kept under his bed. He’d never imagined that you’d be so interested in an old raggedy box he owned, not enough to look through it. But you were and you did, and you found the little odds and ends—and the lingerie—he’d stolen from your home.

Of course, if you had a worse memory, you’d have thought he stole it the day he got your pills. But you remembered clearly that you’d been missing those trinkets for months. Months. 

“How long have you been stalking me?” You stomped into the driveway where Dean was changing the oil to his gorgeous Impala. He popped out, covered in grease and dirt, and stared at you in bewilderment. You looked disappointed and angry. “Don’t lie to me. I know everything.” You shoved the familiar box into his chest, where your underwear was peeking out from the lid quickly shut.

He couldn’t lie to you, he didn’t want to. He’d attempted to get you to see that he wasn’t like everyone else in your life, but it was close to impossible. The disenchantment that followed ached because it was difficult to make his actions and behaviour seem otherwise. It looked bad for him. 

All he could do was give you time and space. And he’d give you the entire fabric of time and space knowing he’d outlive your anger with him. He’d wait an eternity until you forgave him, until you saw him for who he really was. This universe was not made to hold you and him together, maybe somewhere out there in the infinite branches of the multiverse he did everything right and you were his.

He knew the instant you’d gotten over it. The instant that you’d forgiven him, it was still surprising. He’d been crashing on the couch and left his room to you, his bed was all yours. It was cold still and he could hear the heater in the room whirring.

He’d stared up at the ceiling boredly. He figured he could probably go back to one of his old hobbies now that you lived with him. He couldn’t really keep watching you the way he used to anymore. Well, he could. But you felt uncomfortable with him doing that, so he stopped.

But tonight, he heard you shuffling downstairs and heard the soft fluff of a blanket stuffed in your arms. He closed his eyes and pretended to rest as you came down lazily, making your way blindly through the living room in the dark.

He heard you muttering curses when you walked into something and his lips twitched upwards. Eventually, he felt you in front of the couch he was laying on. 

“Dean?” You murmured, lazily pulling the blanket over yourself so you wouldn’t be uncomfortably cold. 

“What?” He grunted, his pretend-sleep voice deepened.

“I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” Your request shook him to his core. His eyes snapped open and he watched you in the darkness. You shivered despite your body being covered in a thick, warm blanket and you nibbled on your lip as you waited for his response. He expected your forgiveness to be more… subtle and also… he expected your forgiveness much later. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. And then you threw the blanket over the couch and he felt your warm body move over his own, his eyes widened. Your knee dipped into the couch beside his waist and the other pressed between his legs.

Your hands moved flat on his chest and you whispered his name before resting yourself entirely on his body. He could feel the heat on your skin and you sighed as his coldness spread over your body. He brought his hands down to your waist where he could feel your soft skin above your underwear. Damn it. 

“I forgive you,” you mumbled sleepily, but the earnestness in your voice made his heart clench. Why would you forgive him now? So quickly? So abruptly? “Happy birthday.” 

Now

Dean hated the summer. 

The sting of the sun against his skin and the sensitivity of light to his eyes made it impossible to enjoy.

The only upside was that he was your personal cooler. You took every opportunity to hunt him down when the fans and the AC did nothing to stop you from sweating, and you wrapped yourself completely around him. 

You no longer complained about the way Dean managed your life to keep you safe. You no longer questioned whether he’d hunted and killed every last vampire that was after him and you. You’d completely forgiven his creepy behaviour and had completely accepted him as he was. 

The only misfortune was that you didn’t love him the way he wished you would. You cared for him, you were gentle, you listened, you were loyal, and you were kind. He could imagine romance in your every loving interaction and dialogue, but he would always be a miserable fool—so long as he chooses to perceive, interpret, and read between your words to confirm his biassed belief. 

More to the point, he hated the summer. That’s where he was. 

But you wanted to enjoy a day outside and had asked him to go out on a picnic together. So he internally whined and grumbled, but outwardly he helped you prepare the food and clean up before you left to a spot of his choosing.

If you wanted to get out, he’d choose a spot that he could enjoy himself in and make you happy at the same time. 

You were far more comfortable around him, now. It’s like the stalking he had done was completely forgotten about by you. He didn’t dare to bring it up or say anything about it. He wanted it to stay gone from both of your lives. 

Dean turned when a loud breath puffed past your pouting lips. He watched you give up on trying to take the jar of honey from its place on the shelf. You turned a few seconds after to address him, “I can’t reach the top shelf.. Can you… help?”

He could feel and hear the furious heat on your cheeks, your embarrassment to be observed as being unable to do something flamed on your face. He smiled tentatively, not wanting to embarrass you farther and made his way to you. 

Your warm fingers touched his cold skin when you took the jar from his hands. You stared up at him, amused and playfully irked. “You’re so lucky to be tall.”

There were an infinite amount of moments in which he wanted to kiss you. And this was one of them. However, you didn’t want him that way, so he rolled his eyes at you instead and made his way back to the table to prepare a few more snacks.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured gruffly, and smiled to himself when you giggled wickedly. 

“So… is there anything that tastes relatively good to you, still?” You inquired as you spread honey over a scone he had made a few hours before. You watched him slice the crust off bread and stopped him with your hand around his wrist. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Cutting the crust off the sandwich?” He replied, confused. He tried not to linger on the way your touch spread your heat through him. 

“Why? …I like the crust,” you informed him. “You’re so weird.”

“Me? You’re the weird one,” he laughed in disbelief. “Who the hell likes the crust?”

“It evens out the flavour!” You argued with a laugh.

“Evens out the-?” He burst out laughing. “It’s dry, and flavourless, and has a completely different texture, and-”

“Well, I like it!” 

Not long after that, the two of you rode in the Impala to a secluded location he’d found while hunting once—to feed. It was safe for him and for you. The areas was surrounded by trees that partially hid the sun’s stinging touch, and contained a large field of green grass that would be perfect for a picnic. 

You’d pulled out cassette tape after cassette tape, thinking long and hard about which one would be perfect for the long ride there. You settled for Metallica after debating between AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Fleetwood Mac.

You occasionally sang along or tapped your finger as you stared out the window curiously. The wind whipped the delicious scent of you in his face, your flowery hair, minty breath, sweet skin, and coppery blood beneath your skin invaded his senses. You intoxicated him in the best way and he was enraptured by your beauty. 

Once he’d driven to the wide green land, he opened the door for you and you smiled at him with gratitude. He takes your hand and subtly admires you in your white dress with tiny pink flowers printed over it as he helps you out of his car. 

You blink when he takes your hand and kisses your wrist. He liked the smell of your blood, and it rushed through your veins faster as your brain processed what he was doing. But the scent of blood on your wrist was smothered by something flowery and familiar. Your perfume. 

He didn’t mind too much and then he moved away from you. You were stunned for a few moments as the sun brightened your features. He could stare at you forever. 

When you regained your composure, you hid beneath a massive green tree, protecting yourself from the scalding sun rays of the summertime as you watch him inhumanly move to fix everything properly in its place for you.

Once he had everything laid out for the perfect picnic day with you, he walked over to you, and grinned. You returned the same smile and walked with him as you talked about which fruit or flavour would be strange for a pie. 

He sat beside you on the soft, faded green and white striped blanket beneath. You smoothed your palm over a few bumps as he took out a bottle of cheap wine he’d found and some goldfish crackers—he missed the flavours of junk food. 

You took the bag from him and immediately began to eat the tiny colourful fish when you pulled the bag open. And he succeeded in opening the bottle. He poured some in a glass for you, for him, and shoved it back into the green cooler he was too fond of to get rid of. 

He stared at you as your squinted your eyes at the sky. Birds flew above and he would have liked to see them dance around each other and sing, but he was so focused on the line of your jaw, and the curl of your small ear, and the fond smile on your pink lips. 

Why was he still holding you against your will? Why couldn’t he just let you go so you could live your life? He was sure, more so than he wanted to admit to himself—or you, that you were safe. You look so happy when you are outside. When you get to pretend that you're normal. When he lags behind at the grocery store to make you believe you are free…

Why is he so greedy with you? Why do you fill him with gluttony and avarice? Why did he have to break every rule and be selfish? Why couldn’t you and him have met in different circumstances? Why couldn’t he still be human? Why couldn’t he give you the life he wanted for you, the life he thought you deserved? And why did he not care now that keeping you with him was doing the opposite of that?

Why did nothing make sense anymore? Why did he keep you for so long? It feels even more painful to get away from you. Like two different objects melted together, ripping you apart from him would be difficult and devastating. 

“Hey, what if we make rice crispy treats and snickerdoodle cookies?” You asked, digging into the basket for a bowl of cherries. “I know we don’t have marshmallows, but it’d be nice to head into town and get some afterwards?” You were timid as you made the suggestion and played with two red cherries between your fingers. 

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let you go. 

“You can go on your own,” he braced himself and looked away from you to save himself. He needed to build up to it. Slowly, he needed to pry you off him, to get rid of the way he’d accustomed you to depend on him for everything. 

“But…” you trailed off, surprised. “Don’t you…? Are you tired of baking- Sorry, I guess it’s probably not very fun to bake at home for fun when you bake at work for business…”

“That’s not it,” he reassured you. “You can do it alone. I’ll be busy this week and on the weekend.” No, he wouldn’t be. But he could be, to wean himself off you, too. This wasn’t healthy. This wasn’t fair to you.

You were quiet, he’d heard you eating a few of the cherries you’d plucked; by the last one you could barely swallow. Like a knot had formed and the cherry made it thicker in your throat. You stared at him, he could feel your gaze as he avoided your gaze and the sun. 

“Are…?” You whispered, tempting him to look at you. “Are you getting bored of me?” You asked quietly. Dean could feel heat and blood rush to your face, and your beginning to beat rapidly—tell-tale signs that you were becoming emotional. He snapped his head around to stare at you, shocked. 

He took your warm, sticky and red stained hand and squeezed gently. “No! Of course not.” 

You gazed at him with uncertainty, but squeezed his hand in return. He turned his body towards you and invited you into his arms. You cautiously moved closer and allowed him to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You mumbled against his shoulder: “Are they back?”

“No, you’re safe. Promise.” He lifted your red stained fingers and kissed the tips, allowing the cherries’ sweetness to reside on his dead lips. You took the opportunity to take his face in your hand and looked into his eyes for a few seconds.

Your warmth made his eyes flutter shut and he leaned into your touch. God… you were everything. “Did I do something to upset you?”

His eyes opened. He looked into your piercing eyes as you asked for the truth, to understand why he would now suddenly allow you to do something by yourself. He saw the fear in your eyes and the nervousness to find something that would confirm that it was somehow her fault. 

“No,” he murmured, shifting his face to kiss your palm. “There’s nothing wrong, okay? You didn’t do anything. I just won't force you to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore. I won’t stop you. You can leave now… You can go back home. I won’t make you stay.” 

“Sounds an awful lot like I’m annoying you…” you trailed off, dejected, pulling your hand away from his face. He grabbed it swiftly, returned it to his cheek, and held it there. 

“I promise you, that’s not it.” He tried to smile and laugh, but it sounded far too sad. You could see something was wrong, even if he tried to hide it. Why did you see through him so easily?

“Why won’t you tell me?” You uttered, almost silently. He looked away from you, but continued to hold your warm hand to his face. He pressed your touch closer to his cheek, impossibly cold so your warm began to feel cold like him. 

“You’ll hate me,” he whispered. 

“Please,” you begged, sliding your hand out of his grasp to thread your fingers through his hair. He looked down at you, his body was on the precipice of an impossible shiver at your touch. “Don’t leave me. Don’t make me leave you.” You turned to face him completely and held your other hand to the base of his throat. He was forced to look up at you as you pleaded, “Dean.”

He inhaled and held it, overwhelmed by your touch and heat. He reached for your hips, held on tightly, and pulled you closer to him. Your face became hot and your heart thudded heavily in your chest at the proximity. 

“You already know,” he speculated, releasing his breath as he spoke. He brought your body closer, so it touched his own, and your breathing became uneven. He needed to cherish this proximity before you were gone from his life.

“So say it. Tell me,” you demanded gently, flustered and sad all at once. He brushed your hair away from your face and memorised how you looked this close to him. He held you firmly, close to him with one hand on your hip. “I could never hate you.”

“I can’t,” he refused quietly. Your heartbeat was loud and fast, but not louder than your words. 

You said: “Then, I’ll show you.” 

Time had never felt like this before to him. Overwhelmingly fast and infuriatingly slow. He knew what was coming and it was unexpected. Your lips touched his and he’d never felt your warmth this close before, never breathed your fresh air this way before, never tasted the flavour of you like this before. 

All he knew was that he’d never tire of it. 

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[tamurilofrivendell]

The Dragon | part 4 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The rest of the realm finds out about Aegnor’s existence as he simply becomes too big to hide.

Content etc: The end of the mutual pining lmao. Brief threat of violence I guess.

tags: @firelightinferno​​​, @achromaticerebus​​​, @coopsgirl​​​, @birbixo0912​​​, @desert-fern​​​​, @ancient-rime​​​, @zeldastag (not sure if any of you still wanted tagged because it’s been so long jdhjdks)

The days continued to pass, turning into weeks, and suddenly Aegnor was far too big to properly conceal in your cloak on your walks to and from Thranduil’s gardens. The juvenile dragon was now the size of a young wolf and still somehow seemed to be growing by the day. A week ago, he had been taught to walk directly behind you, under the trail of your robes, but he was very often far too restless and, frankly, mischievous to play along.

It started with a few of the King’s servants. The ones who did not know that Aegnor was in the halls. One of them saw you trip over something and was about to rush over to assist you when suddenly the dragon charged from beneath your robes and jumped into a glide down the hallway. He wasn’t being threatening, he was simply stretching his wings after feeling cooped up under your robes.

The scream was heard from three halls away and Thranduil had to fly from his study and race to the scene to put an immediate stop to any words that may have left the servant’s mouth. Thankfully, they were quick to agree to keep quiet about what they had seen here, though you could see the uneasiness in their eyes - but it was clear that they would not go against the will of the king.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning.

The next elf to witness Aegnor was not alone. Thranduil was escorting you back to your chambers, the dragon lumbering beneath your robes in frustration. Unfortunately, the animal unintentionally huffed a little too hard, and the edges of your robe began to smoke.

Thranduil was the first to notice and, with horror in his eyes, had ripped the garment right off you, afraid it had caught fire. It was only a tiny smolder, however, but the damage was already done. The group of councilmen and advisors gathering outside of the meeting room were graced with the sight of Aegnor standing uncovered, his wings unfurling as he stretched himself out again after being confined beneath the constricting fabric.

There was a long, heavy silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

The elves were shouting and drawing weapons in record time. Then they started to advance down the corridor. You were terrified because you really couldn’t protect Aegnor against all these elves and, truthfully, in the back of your mind you were fearful that Aegnor accidentally doing that to your robes would trigger Thranduil to revert back to his angry, terrified self and let them take the dragon from you.

It was not so, however, as Thranduil was quick to step directly in front of you in the middle of the hallway. He did not blink as he stared at the group of elves and, astonishingly, unsheathed his own sword. He did not raise it, the tip remained pointed firmly at the ground, but he did not need to. The sight of the Elvenking pulling a sword in the middle of his realm before his own people was enough.

The advancing elves faltered. Their expressions were a mixture of shock, surprise, mild anger... but they would not go against their king, who stood before them in challenge, his body directly in front of you and the dragon in a show of protection.

One by one, they slowly began to lower their weapons. 

The commotion had gathered a small crowd by this point, curious elves rounding the corner to see what all the fuss had been about. Each and every one of them gasped in shock as their eyes fell upon Aegnor. He closed his wings but it did nothing to make him look less intimidating. He was all teeth and hard scale and a tiny wisp of smoke still trailed upwards from the robe Thranduil had discarded upon the stone floor.

The silence was broken only by horrified murmurs from the onlookers.

Eventually, Thranduil sheathed his sword. He stood for a moment longer, his eyes roving from one elf to the next, before he glanced over his shoulder and looked at Aegnor, then you.

“Throne room.” He announced loudly, turning to face the crowd once more. “All of you. Now.”

Then he strode off down the corridor and the elves all fled before him, rushing towards the throne room as it was clear the King was about to give an address. A bell began to ring from a few halls away, calling all those from different areas of the halls to the throne room, to hear an announcement from the king.

───────────────────────────────────

The throne room was eerily silent now. Five minutes ago it had been echoing with loud, argumentative voices, all shouting at once about the dangers of this creature being in their halls, the unpredictable nature of dragons, the danger of them, outraged at the fact this secret was being kept under their very noses. The voices had become so loud that it was soon nothing but an incomprehensible babble.

Then the Elvenking had silenced all with a roar. Not another word had dared to pass the lips of any other in the time since and the only real noise was the anxious shuffle of feet or robes as elves shifted their position upon the floor.

All eyes were locked upon the king, who was sitting very still up on his throne, staring steadily ahead as if oblivious to the presence of anyone else.  

“Do you not think-” His voice came then, smooth as honey and dangerously quiet. “-that I would be the first to wish for my halls to be rid of such a danger - if such a danger indeed existed?”

“My lord-” The voice of one of Thranduil’s closest advisors interjected. “It is a dragon.”

“Yes. I do think I know what a dragon is.” He said simply, his mind filling with the memory of wide jaws and red flame.

The advisor blinked at him before continuing. “Forgive me, but are you certain that you are not...” There was a pause, as if the man was trying to decide upon the correct way to word whatever left his mouth next. “...clouded?”

The corner of Thranduil’s left eye twitched. Most did not notice. Those who did, shifted uneasily. “Clouded?” He repeated, his voice deceptively soft. “Explain.”

“I just mean..." Here, the advisor trailed off and went silent. He could not come up with a tactful way to say what he wished to say, and did not want to incite the Elvenking’s wrath. He could already see it beginning to simmer away beneath the surface and had no desire to stoke that fire.

In the silence, Thranduil continued to gaze steadily upon the advisor, unblinking, his face blank. He knew exactly what the advisor wished to say. That his mind was clouded by his... friendship with you. That he had allowed you to get under his skin and make him lose sense. Thranduil stared at him for a while longer, listening to the uncomfortable shuffling of feet in the room around him. 

Thranduil stared until the advisor lowered his gaze and then he finally blinked and looked away, addressing the room entire. “I am well aware of what you are all thinking. That this creature poses a danger to all of you, to us, to the safety of these halls.” His gaze swept the room, landing on the face of every single elf in attendance. “The question I have is would I ever put you at such risk? Have you all so little faith in me?”

The question took everybody by surprise and many looked away in shame. There were murmurs and shakes of heads because the answer of course was no. The thought was terrible to even consider. They had such great faith in the Elvenking. They trusted him implicitly. He would never place them in certain danger that way, especially not within these walls, they did realise such a thing...

...but it was still a dragon.

The murmuring began once more, climbing to a crescendo as his people began to argue back and forth, uneasy and frightened. Some talked about ridding the halls of the animal, some talked about ridding the world of it, others were now a little more on the king’s side and tried to defend his word - yet still Thranduil could see they were not fully convinced.

“An abomination! It will burn these halls down, you mark my words!”

“The king would not put us in danger, do you not see?”

“Are you so blind? We are all going to die and it is all the fault of that stupid girl!”

Thranduil stood up suddenly and the room went quiet once more. 

“Two weeks.” He said simply, descending the steps of his throne, biting his tongue to stop himself from lashing out too directly. “Two more weeks and the beast will be gone. I assure you. But nobody, and I mean nobody, is to take this matter into their own hands.” He paused at the bottom of the throne, his eyes flickering from one elf to the next, focusing on those perhaps most prone to causing trouble or those he had heard voicing through the chatter their wish for the animal destroyed. A dragon in the halls was a dangerous thing but because the creature was still fairly young, he could see how easy it would be for someone especially terrified to try and rid the realm of the beast while it was still little enough. Had he not attempted to do the same? “If I hear so much as a whisper... I will treat it as treason and there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

A beat of silence passed before nods and soft murmurs of agreement were returned to the Elvenking. Thranduil stood a moment longer and then he turned and strode from the room.

───────────────────────────────────

“They want him dead.” You sighed heavily, frowning as you looked down at Aegnor, who had fallen a short distance away in the grass as you sat in Thranduil’s gardens.

Thranduil walked over to where you sat, having gone inside briefly to get himself some more wine as this entire thing was giving him quite the headache. He sat down beside you and shook his head. “And for good reason.”

You lifted your head so sharply that he thought you could have given yourself whiplash. Thranduil was quick to hold his hand up before you could say a word, realising that his words had come out harsher than he had intended them to in his stress. “In their eyes, I mean.” He sighed, sipping his wine. “Little one... it is natural to fear dragons.”

You looked down at your hands with a frown. “But...”

“You cannot convince an entire realm as you have convinced me.” He stated. Even then, he thought about how difficult that had been, how many times he had almost given in to the fear and done something he could never take back.

A silence followed.

Thranduil watched you closely, tracking the sorrow as it travelled from your tear-filled eyes down to your pursed lips. He bit down softly on his lower lip and turned his head away. “Still.” He continued, once more drawing your attention. “I am king. Nobody will touch him. The plan remains the same, we take him to the mountains.” He looked down at Aegnor for a moment then, deciding that he would actually miss his presence. “He is growing too unhappy here.”

It was the sad truth of it. As much as Aegnor cared for you, and by extension Thranduil, dragons were solitary creatures and he needed much more space than he was allowed to have here in these halls. He also needed to hunt for his meals, he was not getting enough stimulation and he always seemed unhappy when he had to stop flying and go back inside to hide in your chamber.

You blinked and a tear trailed down your cheek. Before you could lift your hand to wipe it away, Thranduil’s finger was on your face. You slowly lifted your chin to look at him as he wiped away the tear, your eyes locking for a moment. Your thoughts flickered back to the way he had kissed you, when you had tended his burn scars. Despite how at odds you had both been, you still could not believe that he had actually done it... yet you still chalked it up to some sort of moment of madness and so you started to turn your head away before you could get too lost in the moment.

Thranduil had started to wonder more and more, especially after that day in the gardens weeks ago when he was certain he had seen something in your eyes, as if you had been feeling the electricity in the air just as he had... and as you turned your head, his hand stopped you, gently tilting your face back round again. Your eyes met once more and then, throwing caution completely to the wind, he leaned in and kissed you.

Your eyes went wide and for a moment you almost couldn’t react again. For that moment, Thranduil felt the same uncertainty and grief he had when he had kissed you that first time in his chamber. Just as he was about to pull away, your arms moved around his neck and you kissed him back.

He could scarcely believe it!

The world disappeared for a moment as you returned his kiss and Thranduil dropped a hand to your waist, gently pulling you in towards him.

Your own mind was spinning. You’d thought the possibility of this was long gone. After he had kissed you in his chamber and you had not reciprocated out of mere shock, you’d thought you’d ruined any chance completely. You also thought, despite his change of attitude, that the betrayal of concealing Aegnor from him at all would have cut too deeply and that there would always be a part of Thranduil that might never forgive you.

A sound similar to a harsh squawk broke the silence suddenly and a weight dropped down onto the top of Thranduil’s head and down his back. His eyes shot open and he broke the kiss with a grunt, tilting his head back just slightly but tiny little claws simply dug into his scalp and a tail wrapped beneath his armpit, curling around towards his chest.

“Ah...” He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he looked back at you. The dragon was simply too big for this now but the animal did not seem to register it. “I think I preferred it when he did not like me....” Thranduil muttered, met by your amused laughter as you sat up onto your knees and reached out to coax Aegnor down off his head.

The dragon jumped off him and into the air again, landing very politely by your side and sitting nicely as he waited for you to pet him. 

Thranduil eyed the dragon, unamused by the difference in treatment the two of you received. In contrast you were completely amused and could only chuckle again as you saw the look on his face. Aegnor crowed, the sound turning softer and the dragon’s eyes half closing as you reached a hand out to touch him.

Thranduil rolled his eyes and shook his head, sliding an arm around your shoulders and drawing you into his side as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His heart was still racing after the kiss but there was no urgency in either of you to dissect it.

The three of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. Thranduil leaned back against a tree with you tucked under his arm and sipped his wine while you brushed your fingers over Aegnor’s scales. You too were slightly reeling from the kiss, your cheeks flushed and your stomach in knots, yet your thoughts were not all pleasant as you thought about the events of today and how, in only a couple more weeks, you would have to say goodbye to this beautiful creature.

[holllandtrash]

blindsided | lance stroll

pairing: lance stroll x ricciardo!reader

getting your hopes up is a dangerous thing, a lesson lance has to learn the hard way. your connection was real, but what was it based on?

word count: 6.7k tags/warnings: some pining, some unrequited feelings, does it have a happy ending? maybe, maybe not thank you cay @oconso for that line you know the line

You were an enigma to Lance.

You were someone that he felt he should have known, but the two of you had never actually taken a minute out of your days to properly introduce yourself, nor did you ever find yourself in a scenario where you could have had a conversation.

As the younger sister of Australia’s golden boy, Daniel Ricciardo, you were in school and then uni while he was in his prime racing days. Your summers were spent with friends, every so often you’d go to a race or two, but your priority was not being one of those family members who attended as many races as you could, Daniel understood that.

By the time you graduated last year, Daniel had told you his future with McLaren looked unstable and he didn’t want you to attend his races, saying he’d much rather wait until he was back with a 'good team'. 

So you never had the opportunity to meet a lot of the drivers on the grid, Lance included. 

But there was still this strange connection to him.

His sister was dating Scotty, Scotty was Daniel’s best friend, you as well had spent many days and nights at Scotty's family home because he also treated you like a younger sister. 

And it was through social media and your name being brought up in passing here and there that Lance felt as though he knew you. He didn’t. He didn’t even know your middle name, didn’t know what you had studied, didn’t know what you were doing currently.

But he knew you had a good circle of friends, you posted pictures with them often. He knew you drank too much coffee for it to be healthy and it was probably an addiction at this point. He knew you were heavily involved in Daniel’s Enchante clothing line, usually being one of the models when a new collection dropped. 

He knew you at face value, but god did he want to know more.

When Lance stopped by Chloe’s place with a box of empty envelopes she had asked him to pick up, Lance walked in on her and Scotty going over their guest list for a final time. Lance paid them no attention, he dropped the box of envelopes down on the table and sauntered towards the kitchen as the plate of freshly baked cookies looked mouth watering.

His ears perked up when he heard your name, however.

“...did Danny say that Y/N would be able to make it?” Chloe asked, directing the question to Scotty. “We gave her the dates a while ago, but she never got back to me. Also isn’t she terrified of planes?”

“She is, but she’ll take a pill or two and it’ll knock her out for the flight,” Scotty nodded and Chloe rolled her eyes at his joke.

Play it cool, Lance told himself as he leaned against the kitchen island. “Y/N? As in Daniel’s sister?”

Chloe didn’t even glance up, “Yeah, I’ve only met her once but she’s-”

“She’s like a sister to me. If she missed the wedding I'd disown her,” Scotty joked. He rested his arm over the back of the chair and looked at Lance. “Have you met her?”

Lance pretended to think about it, even pinched his eyebrows together, but he knew damn well the two of you had never met, “I don’t think so.”

“She’s sweet,” Scotty told him, his lips curling into a smirk that Chloe couldn’t see. Always a menace. “You two would get along.”

Lance snorted, “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re both single.”

Chloe grabbed a sheet of paper and crumpled it up, tossing it into the chest of her soon-to-be husband, muttering something about staying out of other people's love lives. Scotty only sent Lance a wink before turning around again to give his attention back to the guest list.

Lance was single, Scotty wasn’t wrong about that. After just getting out of a relationship, he was, admittedly, lonely.

And it wasn’t that he purposely stayed single those months leading up to the wedding, but no one caught his interest. Or, if someone did, Lance would forget about them the moment you popped up on his Instagram feed. 

Your smile was similar to Daniel’s in a sense that it was wide and toothy, easily becoming the most prominent feature on your face as your eyes squinted, but aside from that and the dark features, the similarities stopped. 

As a Ricciardo, one might expect you to have the same bubbly and outgoing energy but from what Lance could see in the photos and videos you were tagged in, or ones you had posted yourself, you seemed to stick to the same circle of friends. You visited the same bars and restaurants because it was what you knew and within your comfort zone. You never went out of your way to make an impression on someone, happily letting your brother take on the more talkative role. 

Lance wanted to know if your laughter was as loud and more amusing than the joke itself or if that was only a trait reserved for Daniel. 

He was tired of trying to piece together who you were through pictures on a phone screen and still, the worst part about this was it felt as though he did know you. Lance had to keep reminding himself that he didn’t, that you never met, that the image he constructed of you in his head might be wrong. 

He wouldn't know until Venice. 

And you, well you thought you knew who Lance was too.

Danny had mentioned him a handful of times. You followed Lance on social media, even if he did have a tendency to be more secluded than other drivers, he still was pretty active when it came to liking posts, especially your posts. 

You didn’t google him, per say, but you were curious. Who was this Canadian driver? Aside from being the son of the team owner, there wasn’t much to learn about Lance besides his driver stats. Again, very private.

But he was cute. He gave off the tall, dark and mysterious sort of vibe, which was never really your type but the more you saw Lance’s photo appear online, the easier it was to forget about those blonde surfer guys that you would usually spend your time with. 

Lance seemed sweet, from what you could gather. And similarly, you felt as though you knew him too. It seemed odd that the two of you had never met and all, with your unofficial older brother marrying his sister. It was like you should have the same circle of friends or at least be able to call each other acquaintances but you couldn’t.

Daniel walked into his parents house in Perth, hitting a few envelopes against the palm of his hand and then the wall, basically demanding attention from his family until he flicked one of them towards you. 

It narrowly avoided your face and you flipped him off in response, earring a scolding from your mother, but it was easy to move past the sibling banter when you all opened the envelopes to see the wedding invitations from Chloe and Scotty.

“Venice,” you breathed out. “Jesus Christ, that'll be a pricey adventure.”

Danny didn’t have to say anything. His elbow nudging against your side was enough for you to know that he would help pay for the expenses. He was always looking out for you, for his family. You wished you could do the same, but at the moment you were just enjoying your first full year of being done with university. 

You grabbed a pen and checked off that you would be in attendance and then you hovered it over the box asking about a plus one.

“You’re not seeing anyone,” Daniel scoffed and then glanced over his shoulder to get his parents opinion on this. “Right? She’s not seeing anyone?”

“No one right now,” you corrected, letting the pen and invite drop to the glass coffee table. You could fill it out later. “Who knows? That might change.”

“Don’t invite someone to a wedding if you’ve been dating them for less than six months, that’s a general rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone,” Your mother interjected. 

You just huffed out a breath of annoyance, “Well it’s a good thing the wedding is nine months away. I have time.”

Daniel stood up, but not before pushing you further into the corner of the couch, muttering a joke about how no one would want to date you anyway. Of course that prompted you to throw a pillow at him and your parents were left standing in the kitchen, wondering why they couldn’t just have one nice afternoon. 

Daniel, of course, wanted nothing more than for you to be happy, despite the constant teasing and lack of faith that you’d ever actually find someone. He knew you had high standards, he knew you didn’t trust easily and he knew you would never follow someone because you were in love or whatever. 

That’s why your last relationship ended. He wanted to move to Melbourne after graduation from university and even that was too far for you. Your whole life was in Perth, your home was on the western coast of Australia, you didn’t want to go anywhere else.

One time, Daniel tried setting you up with one of his athlete friends, someone else who was associated with Red Bull, but he was from Portugal, he travelled for a living and he resided in Los Angeles during his off season. You went on one date and you didn’t need to spend any more time with him to know you could never be in that sort of relationship.

Of course, this wasn’t something you shared publicly. Unless someone took the time to get to know you, your dating preferences would remain unknown.

You were private in that sense too. If you did talk to someone, if you attempted to broaden your circle and add a little romance in your life, you kept it to yourself. You were always paranoid about jinxing whatever fling you had so your friends were often left out of the loop. 

Your parents were a similar story. You didn’t live at home, you had your own flat, but you wouldn’t dare bring someone by for dinner or to meet them in fear that they would get their hopes up. It was one thing to date someone, it was an entirely other thing when parents got involved.

The one person you could trust, surprisingly, was Daniel. You weren’t ever seeking out relationship advice, but you knew his relationship with Heidi started out quite secretive for the first few years, only recently they decided to go public. So he knew a thing or two about wanting to keep a private life private.

So Daniel was the one you approached only a month before the wedding, eight months after you had rsvp’d to the event and checked the box reading no plus one. You waited until he was visiting home and you weren’t under the watchful eyes of your parents but rather the comfort of your own flat. 

“I have a favour to ask,” you started off, quite hesitant as you weren’t really one to ask your brother for anything. 

And Daniel listened to your request, assuring you that, if you were serious, he could probably pull some strings.

Key word being probably. Daniel couldn’t promise anything and by the time you got to Italy, he did what he could, but you still showed up to the Gritti Palace Hotel the weekend of the wedding with low expectations and a bunch of unanswered texts.

There was a private event in the restaurant and you immediately were drawn to the outdoor portion that overlooked the Grand Canal. The actual ceremony wasn’t until tomorrow, today was simply a chance for the guests to mingle and for the bride and groom to celebrate their last few hours with their loved ones before tying the knot.

With an aperol spritz in one hand and the other gripping the wooden railing above the channel, you took in the sights in front of you. The breeze was gentle and the scenery was breathtaking, stunning enough to make you forget that you were still feeling some effects of jet lag. 

Your back was to the rest of the party but your light pink dress that stopped just below your knee stood out compared to the white and beige decor the couple had chosen for this event. One could say it was because the colour was eye-catching, but there was no way to deny how well it accentuated your curves and highlighted your tan skin, making you appear as if you were truly glowing under the Italian sun. 

You definitely caught Lance’s eye.

You didn’t even need to turn around for him to recognise you. He saw your hair, dark and natural as it flowed down your back and he knew it was you. The girl he thought he already knew, the girl whose life he had been following through a phone screen for god knows how long.

It was just his luck that Daniel was nearby. Lance took a minute before heading towards you, wanting to confirm that yes it was you and yes it was alright if he spoke to you without crossing some weird driver line. He nudged Daniel’s arm and nodded towards the girl in pink. 

“That your sister?” Lance asked, clearing his throat. 

Daniel nodded, quite happy that someone else here knew who you were. It was always uncomfortable when you attended gatherings and didn’t know many people, it just made you want to leave early. 

“Yeah, you guys have met, right?”

Again, Lance played it off as if he wasn’t waiting for this moment, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh definitely go introduce yourself then, mate,” Daniel encouraged, which gave Lance even more confidence. “She’s shy, she'd rather drown herself in aperol spritz’ before ever approaching someone.”

Shy? Lance hadn’t pegged you for being shy. Introverted, maybe. But you seemed to have such a good group of friends and you went on adventures with them quite often that shy just didn’t seem like a characteristic of yours. 

“It’s not weird if I…” Lance trailed off, unsure how to ask the rest of his question. “It’s okay if I talk to her?”

Daniel laughed, finding the question to be humorous. He wasn’t in charge of you, who was he to have a say over who you could or couldn’t talk to, “I don’t care, just don’t be a cunt or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“Deal,” Lance chuckled before he shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way towards the balcony you hadn’t moved an inch from. 

Lance wasn’t nervous, but he knew he should have been.

But again, it felt like he knew you. So he was comfortable enough to lean against the railing, not entering too much of your personal space, but close enough that you couldn’t ignore him. You turned your head, expecting to see your brother because as far as you knew, he was the only one here who would ever approach you, but you were pleasantly surprised to see Lance.

“Hi,” you said, already a smile on your face. Lance was someone you recognised. This wasn't a stranger approaching you, you could breathe. He was someone whose name you had heard quite a bit recently too, with his sister getting married and his good performances with Aston Martin. 

He was your brothers, best friend’s, soon to be brother in law. It was a long string that connected the two of you, but nonetheless, that connection was there. 

Which was why you already felt comfortable with Lance, even with this being the first time you’d ever met. 

“You’re Y/N right?” Lance asked. He knew damn well who you were. “I’m Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” heat rose to your cheeks at the idea of you being recognised. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. I feel like I-” you sucked in a breath instead of finishing your thought, not wanting to come across as overwhelming.

“It feels like we already know each other?” Lance guessed, because this was exactly what was going through his head too. 

Quiet laughter passed through your lips, Lance felt weak at the knees. 

“In a way, yeah,” you agreed, nodding your head. 

You had similar mannerisms to Daniel. Strong eye contact, saying ‘yeah’ to fill the gaps in sentences. Lance looked down at your hand and saw a few tattoos like that traced your wrist and a delicate design of a flower along your finger, similar to your brothers. Something that he hadn’t picked out from your Instagram.

The way you curled your fingers around the fragile stem of the glass caught Lance’s eye next. Your touch looked careful, soft even, and Lance wanted to know what it would be like to feel it for himself. 

And this wasn’t one sided. 

With Lance in front of you for a change instead of hiding behind Aston Martin admin approved photos, you could appreciate him in a whole new light. Social media and tv interviews didn’t do him justice, he was much more handsome in person. 

You liked the confidence he carried, even if he did seem a bit on the introverted side as well. You instantly got the impression that Lance was someone who stuck to himself but cared deeply about the people closest to him. He seemed like someone you wanted on your side, someone you could turn to at any time and know you would get a shoulder to cry on or a celebratory hug or even just someone who would really listen, if that’s what you needed.

You already felt connected to him, even though you knew you had no reasoning behind it.

“I’d offer to get you a drink but it’s an open bar and-” he eyed the aperol spritz in your hand. “-well you already have one.”

“I have two hands,” you teased, but your roguish smiles mirrored one another's and it was only a few seconds later when you and Lance were walking back inside towards the bar. 

He thought about dropping his hand to your back, but didn’t want to overstep. Contrary to what he might have wished, you had just met. 

But when someone stepped past him and Lance was forced to move closer to you, you didn’t inch away. In fact you looked at the point of contact at your arms and then glanced up at him, still sporting a natural pinky colour in your cheeks.

You didn’t really need another drink just yet but Lance ordered one for himself and when the bartender asked if you wanted a second, you just shrugged and said why not. It was an open bar, who were you to say no?

Lance and you stayed at the bar, getting as comfortable as you could on the stools as you fell into a good conversation. He was easy to talk to, like he was a friend from college that you bumped into by chance.

But even with the natural flow of the back and forth, you had to remind yourself that you were still just getting to know each other.

Within the hour you learned that his favourite colour was dark blue, that when he wasn’t focused on racing he tried going to as many hockey games as he could. The Habs, as he called them, was his favourite team and it took a few minutes and a bit of a history lesson for you to understand how the Montreal Canadiens got the shortened nickname. 

You learned he was not a morning person, whereas you thrived in the early hours of the day. He didn’t read as much as he liked to because of his demanding schedule, but you were quick to give him a list of recommendations based on what you thought he might enjoy if he ever did find time.

In return, Lance learned you studied hospitality and had a degree in Hospitality Management, with the goal of one day managing a hotel. When Lance questioned you more on that field you admitted that you actually wanted to take a lodge or a resort that was a bit of a fixer-upper and turn it into something great. You liked a challenge. Lance liked that.

Lance learned that you really enjoyed surfing and right now was actually the prime time for you to be getting ready for the season. While Perth wasn’t the best place in the world for surfers, it was perfect for you because it was never something you wanted to pursue professionally. 

When it came to the topic of travelling, Lance was surprised to hear that you didn’t do it as often as he assumed. You explained that everything you needed was on the west coast of Australia and you weren’t an easy person to travel with. You struggled with anxiety in airports, horrible jetlag, you overthought every plan, even if you weren’t the one in charge of the itinerary.

Travelling was a no, to sum it up. 

“But Daniel-”

“Travels all the time, yeah,” you finished Lance’s thought with a laugh. “Yeah we’re not alike in that sense. Even coming here was tough, but he told me there was no option to attend virtually.”

“Not a fan of planes?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Lance nodded, already thinking about how to approach the topic of trying to stay in contact long distance without coming off too strong. Sure he could ask for your number, but what if he wanted to see you again? Which he did. If a plane ride from Perth to Venice was a lot to handle, he could imagine a trip to Montreal was even lower on your list.

But Lance really liked talking to you, it was easy. It was natural. He didn’t have to try too hard, he didn’t feel the need to impress you. You laughed at his jokes, you understood each other's humour. The two of you clicked, it was impossible to deny that.

Which is what Lance hoped would happen. 

You were everything he had imagined and more and he was asking himself why he never tried to meet you sooner. 

That same question flashed through your mind too. Why couldn’t you have met sooner? After months of being forced to try and imagine what sort of person Lance was, it was heartwarming to know that the image you painted of him wasn’t entirely wrong. He was sweet, he was charming, he liked making you laugh, he knew how to keep a conversation going and it was obvious he cared to get to know you. 

These were traits you looked for in people, in a partner. 

But this chance encounter came a few months too late.

The conversation took a pause when Scotty appeared behind Lance, his soon-to-be ringed hand going to his shoulder as he gave both of you one of his signature smiles. 

“Y/N! Happy to see your plane didn’t crash!” Scotty teased, knowing your distaste for air travel. 

“If my drink was full I’d throw it on you,” you shot back. 

“Ah that’s just a waste of an open bar,” Scotty waved your meaningless threat off. “Honestly, though, thank you for coming. Chloe’s around here somewhere-”

“Lost your wife already?” Lance joked.

“Maybe she’s  a runaway bride,” you added. “She can still back out, you know?”

“Ha ha,” Scotty rolled his eyes. “Lovely to see that you two are getting along at my disposal.” He patted Lance’s shoulder and then turned to you, snapping his finger before pointing. “Did Danny talk to you?”

“Um-” you shook your head. Daniel and you hadn’t had a second to catch up since you arrived, despite the dozens of texts you had sent him. “No, why?”

“It’s all sorted out,” Scotty assured you. “It really wasn’t that hard to swing an extra chair, you gave us enough notice. The more the merrier, right?”

“Oh, Scotty thank you,” you breathed out. You reached forward and squeezed his arm in appreciation, but your smile was enough gratitude. It was the type of smile Lance had been waiting for. The grin that overshadowed the rest of your stunning features, the thing that had drawn Lance to your photos in the first place.

Only Lance wasn’t the reason for it. 

“Is he down here?” Scotty asked and this was about the time Lance realised he was missing something. There was a layer to this conversation that would tie everything together.

“Jet lag’s still getting to him.” you laughed, nodding your head towards the doors of the restaurant. “He set an alarm to get up, I’m sure he’ll be down here soon.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Scotty said with a nod, but there wasn’t much room for you to say anything else before he found a new guest he had yet to interact with. 

You looked towards Lance, but he was pretty good at hiding the confusion he was currently experiencing. In fact he played off needing to excuse himself pretty easily, you didn’t think anything of it when he said he needed to speak to Scotty about something quickly. 

Lance pulled the snowboarder aside, not at all mirroring his elated expression, “She has a boyfriend?”

Scotty tried to glance in your direction but Lance tugged on his sleeve to get him to stop in his tracks, not wanting to make it obvious they were talking about you. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Lance repeated, no longer a question. “You told me she was single.”

Scotty racked his memory for a second and scoffed, “Yeah nine months ago. Not my fault you waited too long to make a move.”

“How was I supposed to make a move when I hadn’t even met her?” Lance was clearly annoyed but he kept his tone to a sort of angry-whisper. “I was waiting for this wedding because I knew she’d be here.” 

“Sorry mate,” Scotty sighed, slowly piecing together that this wasn’t something Lance could casually blow off. “But I mean, you couldn’t have liked her that much. You don’t even know her.”

But in a way he did. And god he knew you felt the same. There was no way to explain the connection you two shared, but it was there. 

Lance inhaled a sharp breath, doing his best to keep from looking at you across the room, “I feel like I should say something.”

“Don’t,” Scotty immediately rejected the idea. “From what I hear from Danny, she’s happy. She doesn’t need you coming in and mucking it up.”

“But what if she’s-”

Scotty cut him off with a harsh laugh, “What if she’s what? The one? Lance, you just met her!”

“Then why does it feel like I’ve been waiting for her my entire life?”

Scotty let out a deep exhale, lifting his hand to Lance’s shoulder. He gave him a sympathetic squeeze, “Because she’s pretty and you’re lonely. Now let her be. Don’t ruin a relationship during my wedding weekend.”

He walked off shortly after, leaving Lance to, hopefully, make the right choices.

Lance should have listened to Scotty. He should have rejoined the party and leave you be, knowing that his chance with you was either non-existent or just extremely slim. How serious were you and this boyfriend anyway?

As if the universe wanted his question answered, the boyfriend himself walked into the restaurant.

The only reason Lance knew it was the boyfriend was because he saw the way you stood up from the bar and practically ran to him, your pink dress was impossible to mistake even as you hurried to work your way through the party.

Lance watched as your hands went to his tie to adjust it before he leaned forward and greeted you with a kiss. You played with a few strands of his dirty blonde hair, probably making some comment about how it looked like he just woke up. He laughed at whatever you said and Lance hated that you looked happier now than you had all throughout the last hour.

He was now trying to figure out if he had misread the signs. Did you even give him any signs? You sat and talked to him but it was Lance’s own fault if he misread that as being interested. 

How did he not know you had a boyfriend? 

Why didn’t you mention it?

Why wasn’t that one of the first things you said to Lance when he offered to get you a drink from the bar?

Why did Lance still feel that spark with you when it should have been reserved for your boyfriend?

Lance wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he stood off to the side, questioning everything he ever knew about you, or what he thought he knew. But he came to and snapped out of his thoughts when he saw that familiar shade of pink headed towards him.

“Hey,” you said, your hand was connected to your boyfriend’s as you led him towards Lance. 

Lance smiled, how could he not when you approached him? “Hey, sorry, I went back to the bar earlier but you were gone.” Did he feel a little bad about lying? Yes, but it was easier to say that than to say, I stopped talking to Scotty a while ago. I just didn’t know how to interrupt you and your boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah, um-” You pulled the tall blond closer to your side. His hand went to your waist. “Lance, this is Matty. Matty, Lance.”

Matty held out his other hand to connect it with Lance’s. It was a firm handshake, maybe a little too firm on Lance’s part.

“Hey, mate, huge fan,” Matty said, similar accent to yours and Daniel’s. 

“Oh thank you,” Lance cleared his throat. “Hope you don’t mind, I’ve been keeping Y/N company.”

“I should be thanking you for that,” Matty laughed, the bitter tone from Lance going right over his head. “I needed a quick nap before this party. I don’t know how you drivers are able to just hop on planes so easily, I think I’d rather sail back to Australia.”

You guys were compatible, at least. Same fear of planes, same dislike for travelling. 

Lance didn’t like that. He knew he was the last person who should have an opinion, but he always thought it was opposites that attracted. Shouldn’t you be with someone that encouraged you to step outside your comfort zone?

“Oh there’s Danny and Scotty, I’m going to thank them for letting me come so last minute,” Matty looked towards the opposite end of the room to where your brother and friend were. He ran his fingers over your back and assured you he’d be quick before he headed off to talk to them.

“Last minute?” Lance asked. “So he wasn’t originally supposed to come?”

You laughed, “No, we’ve only been together for about six months. When I RSVP’d to the wedding last year I hadn’t met him yet,” you glanced towards Matty, “And then about a month ago I realised I kind of wanted him to accompany me here. Danny said it would be fine, probably, so he got a ticket to Venice but we actually didn’t get a confirmation until-” you chuckled again. “Well you overheard Scotty. I found out thirty minutes ago that Matty would have a seat at the table tomorrow.”

When you spoke about Matty, your face lit up. Lance couldn’t deny that. He could see how happy this surfer type from Perth made you.

And in return, you saw how Lance was no longer acting himself. He was tense, avoiding your eyes. You called him out on it, “Is everything okay?”

Lance should have taken Scotty’s advice. He should have said everything was fine and walked in the other direction, letting you go back to Matty.

But Lance was a hopeless idiot. He nodded his head towards the doors of the restaurant that lead towards a secluded hallway, “Can we talk?”

You weren’t sure exactly what Lance wanted to talk about but you followed him out into the hall. The music faded behind you when you walked far enough and Lance wasted no time in saying what was on his mind.

“Do you ever meet someone and it just feels right?” He asked. 

You hesitated, “What do you mean?”

Lance glanced back towards the party, “Like you see them and you just know there’s a connection. That they’re supposed to be in your life.”

“I mean-” your eyebrows pinched together, “Yeah. I’ve experienced that a few times I guess.”

That clearly wasn’t the answer Lance wanted to hear and his defeated expression told you that. He nodded, coming to his own understanding, one that you were having a bit of trouble following.

“Is it wrong if I say that’s how I felt when I looked at you?”

You stared up at lance, lips parted slightly as you did your best to ignore the devastating feeling of your heart sinking to your stomach. You didn’t have an answer, what could you even say to that?

Lance was practically admitting to believing in love at first sight and you, well, you didn’t see what he saw. You couldn’t.

“Look I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Lance continued. “And I don’t mean to blindside you like this, really. I think, well I think I was blindsided when I realised you were already taken.”

This was a lot to wrap your head around. 

You never intended to lead Lance on. You chatted with him for a while, yes but you tried to stay behind the line. You didn’t flirt, or at least you didn’t flirt on purpose. You could have said you had a boyfriend, but the truth was, it didn’t cross your mind when you talked to Lance.

Blindsided, he said. It seemed like a harsh word for the situation you found yourselves in.

“Were you blindsided or were you just blind?” You asked, dropping your shoulders to lean against the wall. You watched as Lance really took in your question and he rubbed the back of his neck, unable to come up with a good answer.

You felt for him, really, because you did like him. You liked talking to him, you liked his presence, he was someone that you knew you would get along great with. 

You also knew that if this situation were any different, if you showed up to this wedding single, you’d have probably, definitely, given Lance a chance. And this wasn’t something you should have been thinking about because you had a boyfriend. You were happy. Imagining an alternate timeline without Matty seemed wrong.

There was a connection with Lance, but it was one you couldn’t act on. 

“Lance, I think we both had an idea of who the other was before we came here, but we had very different ideas as to how this weekend would go,” you continued, a certain gentleness in your tone that Lance appreciated. “I was looking forward to meeting you. And we both agree that it feels as though we already knew each other...but the truth is, we don’t.”

That was a stab right to the chest for Lance, but he nodded in agreement.

“I guess I just thought this weekend would be the start of something,” he admitted, trying to play off the thought with a chuckle.

You wanted to apologise, it was human nature to want to sympathise with other people, but you had nothing to apologise for. 

Lance had constructed his own image of you and in it, you were single, you were compatible, you were willing to see this connection through and make something of it. 

And that’s what blinded him.

If he had taken a second to actually pay attention to what you shared on social media, he would have recognised the same blonde haired guy showing up in a few photos dating back to almost six months ago. All Lance paid attention to was you, your smile, you having a good time, your adventures. You were private about your relationship, yes, but you weren’t keeping it a secret either.

Lance just didn’t put it together until it was too late.

It hurt you, really. You didn’t like knowing you were the reason for someone’s sorrow. In fact you almost went as far as to say, if things were different…

But things weren’t different. You were with Matty. 

Was Matty the right person for you? Lance wanted to ask that but he knew he’d be crossing a line if he did. That was something you had to figure out on your own. 

After six months of dating, you liked to think he was. The timing was perfect, he treated you well, he made you undeniably happy. 

And yes, you could have looked at Lance and told yourself he had the same qualities. That he was also perfect, that he also could have treated you well. There was no doubt in your mind he could have made you happy if he was given the option.

But timing was not on your side. 

Lance licked his lips, taking a step away from you and closer to the crowded restaurant where he knew your boyfriend was waiting, where his family was waiting. You would both go your separate ways and return to how it used to be, following each other's lives through a phone screen.

“Right person, wrong time, huh?” Lance tried to joke, but the soft smile you gave him in return told him that there was some truth to his words, truth that even you didn’t want to admit to.

In an attempt to fix this, you spoke from the heart. Telling Lance what he needed to hear, even if you weren't fully convinced by your own words. As long as you sounded believable, you both could move on from this moment.

“If it’s the wrong time, then it’s probably the wrong person.”

Lance nodded, noticing the way you struggled to keep eye contact, something you hadn’t had issues with all night. He took that as a sign that it was time to walk away. From you, from this, from what could have been if they met only a few months earlier.

He turned and rejoined the party, plastering a painful smile on his face as he carefully made his way through the crowd to order another drink from the bar. 

He avoided you and your pink dress for the rest of the night, not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t easy because to Lance, you were still the girl that he thought he had been waiting for this entire time. That would take time to get over. He had spent less than a few hours with you and it was the easiest, most carefree evening he’s had in a while, and he knew moving on from you would only be the opposite.

It was his own fault too. Lance was the one who got his hopes up. He was the one who was waiting for the right moment that never came. Or worse, it came and went without him knowing. There was probably a sliver of an opportunity months ago where he could have done something, could have asked Danny to introduce you, could have asked Scotty for your number. By waiting until the wedding, Lance had only set himself up for failure.

If it’s the wrong time, then it’s probably the wrong person.

He didn’t want to think about the way you said ‘probably’. He wasn’t going to. Lance knew you weren’t leaving any sort of hint, you were just letting him down gently, which only further proved how good of a heart you had. 

You were so kind, so caring, you were perfect, and you weren’t his.

You never would be.

[theresattrpgforthat]

gundam themed/similar games?

THEME: Gundam

Hello friend! This actually made me go back into my previous game recs and realize that I hadn’t properly tagged my Mechs Part 1 and Part 2 recs - so now you should be able to find them! Out of the games listed there, I’d definitely recommend Disaster/Wing by A Couple of Drakes, Mobile Zero Firebrands,by Lumpley Games, and Apocalypse Frame by Binary Star Games.

Now, let’s see what else we can rustle up.

Last Sentinels, by Jason Price.

The people of AUGUR-V had been cast into the stars, pursued by the vengeful forces of the New Alliance. But one Sentinel pilot still offered them hope. This is their story.

Last Sentinels is a GM-less storytelling tabletop roleplaying game for 3 or 4 players. It focuses on one main protagonist, a gifted young civilian who escapes the besieged planet of AUGUR-V on a titanic starship with their remaining people.  They must defend these survivors against overwhelming odds as a vast fleet pursues the ship through their former empire. 

But your protagonist is doomed. 

Their story will end in death or betrayal when they succumb to the intense pressures of hope, despair, scheming foes and high-stakes mech combat.

Last Sentinels is more focused on the structure of the narrative than it is on the fights between mechs. Because the game is GM-less, the story becomes a negotiation, with the responsibilities of the players depending on where they sit at the table. Another thing unique about this game is the fact that no one player is responsible for any one character. This is because this is a story with one protagonist - similar to Amuro Rey from the original series. The game isn’t meant to tell a happy story - this is a game with a tragic ending. If you want a game that treats the subject matter of war with the same gravity as Mobile Suit Gundam, this is the game for you.

IGNOBLECORPS: Pilots of Command, by Declan Lowthian.

Hello Pilot You are about to embark on your first mission for the glory of Command. We have faith that your training will not fail you, and that you in turn will not fail us. You have your mission. Ready for launch.

IGNOBLECORPS is a game about desperate mech pilots working within a titanic organization spanning the galaxy. Fight for and against Command's control and try to get out alive. 

This is a hack of a game called NOBLECORE, a game about metal space fantasy with legendary heroes. This system uses exploding dice pools, which means that when you roll the highest number on any given dice, you get to re-roll for a chance at more success! This is also a collaborative game, so it expects all of the players at the table to generate the galaxy around you, rather than providing you with chapters and chapters of lore. This game reminds me of Gundam because it expects combat to be brutal and desperate - even if the moves are flashy, the war behind them is gritty and dark.

Armored Battle Frame, by Mundos Infinitos.

The WORLD is in a WAR fought with MECHAS. You are a PILOT, shaped to fight, witness to atrocities, bearer of wounds, a tool for victory. This is the story of your dreams and ambitions.

As a pamphlet game, expect Armored Battle Frame to be quick to pick up and quick to play. The designer, Benjamin A. Reyna, is very good at fitting a lot of information into a small space. This game can be played with or without a GM, and it can also be played solo! Mobile Suit Gundam is also listed as an inspiration in the game description. The designer also has another Mech game called Real Robot TechaMech: Professional Level, which uses a game system found among a number of Reyna’s games.

Battle Century G: Remastered, by GimmickLabs.

Express your creativity without mechanical restrictions. The game is effects-based, so how you do something does not matter as much as what you do. And what you do is pilot a kickass Mecha, command a badass Battleship, or ride a terrifying Kaiju.

Employ tactics and teamwork to defeat your enemies. Enemies in Battle Century G are powerful, you'll have to adapt on the fly to their weapons and schemes, watch each other's backs with your allies to ensure no one gets shot down, and employ synchronized combination attacks to defeat superbosses.

Explore a solarpunk future. The setting included in this book presents an environmentalist, inclusive and transhumanist society opposing an industrialist empire with the looming threat of kaiju mechabeasts on the horizon. It is inspired by the likes of Turn A Gundam, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Dune and Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri.

Battle Century G boasts fast-paced combat and big powers that make you feel more than competent. It also includes advice on playing for both GMs and players, in what looks to be an effort to make the game as easy to step into as possible, and the themes and setting information allow for a number of societies that look very different from our own - great for speculative fiction.This is a game that is the result of various playtests and previous editions, so it’s less likely to feel like a quick hack and more likely to feel like a full game.

Maharlika, by makapatag.

MAHARLIKA RPG is a technomystic Science Fantasy mecha RPG inspired by Filipino Mythology, centered around Mekanized Weapons or Meka, and their pilots: the eponymous Maharlika. 

You will play as these titular spirit-warriors, mavericks, aces, and knights that all swear loyalty to a Datu, one of the CEOs of the Megacorporations, so that you can protect the technospiritual galaxy of Arkipelago.

As a Maharlika, you venture out into space where you will take on  dangerous missions, fight for your ideals, hack the spiritual internet that is the Lambat, repel Xenobeings, trade love and resources, and participate in fiestas to survive, thrive, and protect what is yours in the dangerous Starsea.

Maharlika is inspired by a number of mech media, including Mobile Suit Thunderbolt and Iron Blooded Orphans from the Gundam series. The game has two modes of play: Maharlika (narrative) and Meka (mech combat). You’ll use mainly d10s and d20s for these rolls, and add modifiers for skills and stats that your character is strong in. The setting itself is described as technomystical, and the lore is heavily inspired by Filipino mythology, so if you want to really lean into the supernatural abilities such as the psychic abilities suggested in Mobile Suit Gundam’s Newtypes, this might be worth checking out. Maharlika is possibly also the most technically complex game on this list.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Spectres of Brocken, by ehronlime.

Lancer, by Massif Press.

[itsasainz]

come to austria? | CARLOS SAINZ x Reader

Summary: Carlos isn’t your boyfriend, and you desperately wish he was. Set after Silverstone ‘22, semi-established relationship.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), drinking, smoking, fluff, angst(ish)

mdni please :)

a/n: my first f1 fic :) send me requests and interact!! im desperate for new moots x

masterlist!

Spanish translations at the bottom!

Your fingertips, cooler than the skin on your thighs, skim the hem of your dress as you make sure that you won’t be flashing anyone once you’re back inside; your makeup has been touched up, your dress sorted, your hair smoothed back into its proper parting – you look and, most importantly, feel good. The girl beside you, practically shoulder to shoulder, kisses her teeth appreciatively when she sees you, “Girl,” she says, one brow raised, “You look fuckin’ hot.”

You smile, “Thanks, you too.”

You drop your cigarette butt on the floor and put it out with your shoe, then push your way out of the cool alleyway that made for a smoking area, skimming past the queue for the toilets and striding back down the hallway to the vibrantly lit nightclub, searching the crowds for any sign of Carlos, and spot him across the club with the other drivers, his smile permanently adorning his features since his win – it’s hard to believe it’s his first, knowing his talent and commitment. You sidle through the crowds until you can see the back of Charles’ shirt, then slip into the circle of people, looping your hand around Carlos’ arm. He smiles in greeting, then frowns slightly, “Have you been smoking?”

You blush – he’s hardly scolding you, but you always feel a little awkward in your indulgences when he is so careful about his health. On his other side, Pierre snorts at the interaction.

You met the Spaniard years ago, when he moved to the UK after joining McLaren – he’d been a friend of a friend, the kind of person that overlapped just enough with your social circle that you saw him at any big gathering of friends. You’d noticed him – it was hard not to – but you hadn’t ever properly talked to him until about a year into your acquaintance (a too formal word for your relationship, though accurate.) It was over a year into knowing him that it had started; innocently at a dinner with some of your mutual friends, the night ending at your flat with an F1 driver in your bed. It had only progressed from there – every social gathering ended in bed with him, and slowly you started to text while he was away, and eventually started FaceTiming when he was gone for longer. A friends’ trip to Ayia Napa had seen you attached at the hip, and then he had, gradually, started inviting you to Grand Prix. You had adamantly rejected the first few offers – the idea of inadvertently revealing your not-quite relationship to the masses was terrifying, and you had plenty of excuses – work, family, friends.

It was, however, hard to make an excuse for not attending your home Grand Prix. You had been to Silverstone before, a couple of times when you were teenager for a day out – it often, conveniently, fell near your brother’s birthday, making a good excuse for day drinking and family bonding.

You’d ended up sharing his hotel room for the weekend, not wanting to have to travel from London everyday, and the weekend had been perfect; his pole had put you both in a good mood, and his win had left him on a high that you knew would make for a fun night – in more ways than one. And yet, all weekend you had been thinking about the conversation that had been coming up more and more lately – the question of how to define your relationship. You are Carlos’ girlfriend in every way but nominally, and though you hardly want to announce the relationship to millions, you also want to be able to say that he is your boyfriend, to say it without doubting it. You take his drink from his hand, drinking some of it as the conversation spurs on, his arm finding its place over your shoulders; Charles wriggles his eyebrows in your direction, smirking at the casual marks of your relationship, knowing about your inner turmoil from your gossip with Charlotte.

Carlos’ body feels warm at your side, your bare skin pressed into his shirt, his skin warm and uncompromising even through the fabric. Tugging at your hair – straightened for the night – you suddenly feel distinctly sober, distinctly ready to be taken home, to kiss him in the back of the taxi and show him just how proud you were of him. You press yourself more firmly into him, feeling him reciprocate your movement. “Cariño,” he murmurs, his other arm pulling you backwards into him by the waist, “You’re killing me.”

You smile to yourself, resting your head back on his shoulder so you can speak only to him, “That’s kind of the point, love.”

He presses his lips to your hairline. “We can’t leave.”

“Why not?” you say, hating how whiny you must seem.

He looks at you with scepticism, knowing you know he needs to stay a little longer at least. Bored, you twist, kiss his cheek, and announce that you’re getting yourself another drink, and disappearing off to the bar.

“Are you alright?”

You look away from the drinks display, and are greeted with the sight of an attractive man, a few years older than you, with sharp features and a kind look in his eyes. “Oh, yeah, just trying to work out what drink I want.”

He glances at the bartender, “He looks busy, might be a while until you get served.”

You smile up at him. “Yeah, I might have to have some fun while I wait. Wanna join me for a dance?”

He grins, pulling you away from the counter.

The club doesn’t have a dance floor, per se, given that the entire club was for dancing, but the middle of the room is the most active – the jostling of people moving about and dancing with the bass. You have your back to him, his hands finding your waist as you found a spot in the middle of the floor, the F1 drivers just visible in your line of sight.

You let yourself move with the music, grinding slightly against your dance partner, his hands roaming, braver as your dancing instils some confidence in him – he thinks he has you, hook, line and sinker.

Leaning slightly into him, you do nothing to discourage his touchiness, the feeling of his hands on your waist, arse, and thighs nice, even with your thoughts still on Carlos. You turn to face your dancing partner, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his hands pull you closer to him, your bodies fully pressed into each other now. “I didn’t catch your name!” you say, on the verge of shouting to be heard.

“Tommy,” he says, leaning down to be heard, “Yours?”

You tell him, and he compliments you, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. You look up at the strobe lights above you, Tommy’s movements only making you think of Carlos. You can see him in your peripheral vision, eyes finding you with Pierre’s guidance. You’re playing a dangerous game – catching his attention like this, letting him know just how much you wanted to leave this club, reminding him, all the while, that you weren’t even technically his. Tommy’s lips are more assertive on your neck now, and you search once more for the man you arrived with. Carlos seems to have disappeared, and for a moment you wonder if this was fruitless; but then, you feel another body brush past you, a little too close.

Carlos pulls you to the side, breaking the apparent moment; Tommy stumbles back slightly, frowning at Carlos, whose hand is on your arm. “Who the fuck are you?” your dance partner asks.

You look between them, realising that this was the extent of your plan – you’d got Carlos’ attention, even gotten him to intervene, but you’d failed to work out how to prevent an actual conflict. Carlos looks at you, his eyes dark, angry, “Well, cariño,” Carlos says, “you got my attention.”

You roll your eyes, looking back at Tommy. He looks at you, venom in his eyes as he understands what is happening, then disappears from your sight. At least you’ve avoided a confrontation. Carlos is staring at you – glaring, really – and you suddenly feel embarrassed of your behaviour – it feels childish. “How d’you know that’s what I wanted?”

He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t need to. Instead, he starts to walk toward the exit, his hand on your waist to make sure you don’t lose each other in the crowd; you don’t try to protest how he just assumes you’ll go with him, but neither do you ease into it. Outside, in the cold night air, you stare at each other for a long moment, waiting to hail a cab, your arms wrapped around yourself to protect you from the wind, harsh despite the summer month. Something softens slightly in his expression, and he holds out a jumper for you; you take it, a little perplexed as to where it had materialised from. You pull it over your head regardless, letting it hang over your tight dress. The grey fabric of the jumper is soft on your skin, warm and soothing on your goosebumps. You can smell the sweat and alcohol of the club in the fabric, but, under that, the distinctive aroma of Carlos – a warm scent, the kind that is hard to explain, yet is simply unique. A sleek cab pulls up, pulling you  from the scent and Carlos ushers you in ahead of him, giving your address to the driver. Carlos looks at you, his expression that of someone who wanted to speak, but feared that they did not know how their words would land.

Turning your eyes back to the street lights, you watch them sliding past your window rhythmically, momentarily illuminating your knees a golden yellow with the consistent thrum of a heartbeat, light after light. The blue light of Carlos’ phone casts a slight glow beside you as he texts someone, probably one of the drivers, and you realise how weird the journey was; the anticipation of what was to come at home was thick, but nevertheless, you’re used to kissing on the way home, used to him being all over you, as you were him, until you have to get out.

You can feel the rough fabric of his trousers against your outer thigh, and as he puts his phone in his pocket he rests one hand on your knee, almost instinctively. You nearly shiver at the touch – it’s involuntary, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he does to you quite yet.

He pays the driver as you get out, fumbling for your keys in your clutch, the metal cold as you extract them, holding them in your hand as you press the door code in and start up the stairs, teetering slightly after hours of drinking, unable to see the boundaries between the steps. On your floor, as you unlock the door, you can feel his eyes trained on you, observing your every move. The door opens and you turn the light on, despite the fact it makes you both squint, and dump your clutch on the counter beside your keys. Your flatmate’s washing up from lunch is still drying by the sink, her shoes gone from the mat by the door, the flat homely – books scattered all over the living room and kitchen, a quilt thrown over the back of the sofa. Carlos hangs back as you head to your bedroom, wrestling out of his sweater on the way. In your room, the sweater discarded on top of your drawers, you sighed deeply. You had wanted to tease him a little, hurry him up so you could get to this point in the night, but now you were anxious that he was actually upset, that you’d managed to actually fuck things up.

He joins you in the bathroom a minute or so later, watching from the door as you wipe your makeup off and do your skincare routine, trying not to look at him. The best way to deal with this would be to face it, head on, you decided. He lets you pass to the bedroom, where you turn to face him.

“Carlos,” you say, “I didn’t mean to upset you and I’m worried that I have.”

His expression, already soft, turns to concern as he steps across the room to reach you. “I’m not upset.”

He can see that you don’t believe him, so he kisses you, softly, his hands cupping your face to bring you closer. You lean into it. “We should be celebrating,” you murmur, “I’m sorry for making you leave early. I’ll make it up to you.”

His hands find your waist as you kiss him again, your hands in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He hums in agreement as your hands slide to unbutton his shirt, his own unzipping your dress with care not to get your hair caught. You push his chest to sit him down on your bed, letting him tuck your hair over your shoulder as you drop the dress, leaving you in just your underwear; you push him back, kissing him again, this time with more urgency. You can feel against you as you straddle him, his hands firm on your body as you kiss him, working down his chest as you push his shirt off. Your hands make quick work of his trousers and pants, freeing his length, your kisses reaching his cock.

You take his tip in your mouth, teasing with your tongue, feeling his fingers in your hair, guiding you down onto him. You press your tongue to the underside of his cock, setting a steady rhythm as you make a mess around him, the music escaping him only fueling you. Your hand takes care of his balls and the base of his cock, and you have to relax your throat so you don’t gag – though he can feel your body trying not to react around him, the sensation both rough and delicate at once. “That’s it, cariño, just like that.” he praises, his breaths shaky. You can feel him tensing under you as you keep your rhythm, pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm, your own sex practically throbbing.

He comes, and you swallow around him, lifting your head and smirking up at him. He wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb, though the action does nothing to clean up the mess, so he kisses you. “‘M so proud.” you whisper into him, “‘M so, so proud of you.”

He holds your face. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You push against his hands to kiss the tip of his nose, “Me too.”

He smiles, flipping you over so he’s on top of you. “Let me repay you.”

You stop him. “Tonight s’all about you, love.”

He looks up at you with those wide, pleading eyes and you melt in his hands, knowing you could never deny him. He unclasps your bra, sucking and biting dark marks into your flesh, your fingers pressed into his scalp, undone by the simplest of touches. His mouth trails down to your underwear, bruising the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his hands under your legs, pulling your hips into him. You gasp as he presses his mouth to your clit, the lace of your pants rough on your core. He pulls the underwear of you so abruptly you nearly jump, the scrape of the fabric disconcertingly pleasing.

His lips meet your clit again, his tongue turning you into putty beneath him, his hands solid on your hips, pulling you so close you’re scared he’ll suffocate. You can’t think anymore, bucking into him as he winds you up, shaking and moaning at his mercy, teasing your orgasm as you cling to his scalp, your head pressed deep into your mattress, the only thing grounding you to the moment being his hands on your hips and his hair in your hands.

Carlos has always been frustratingly good at this, but a year and a half of sex has taught him every signal, every inch of your body and how to play it. He is teasing, pushing you to the precipice and pulling you back again, letting your orgasm build and build until you think you might just die. And then, eventually, he takes mercy, he pushes you over the edge and watches as you work through the overwhelming sensations, his lips kissing every inch of your skin he can reach, right up to your forehead.

His forehead, pressed to your own, your chests heaving against each other, breathing the same moist air, skin on skin on skin. You give yourselves a moment of rest, a moment to absorb each other, to be at peace in this moment without thinking about what comes next.

He, as always, is the first to move. Your flatmate’s away, but he pulls on some joggers anyway, fetching you some water and coming back to find that you’ve dragged yourself up to lean on the headboard, beckoning for him to join you. Skin on skin, again, as you sip some water, still shaky, as he watches you in such a vulnerable moment, appreciating every ounce of intimacy you allow him. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your skin flushed, his warm too.

He kisses your forehead absentmindedly. “Come to Austria.”

You don’t say anything. He can practically feel your mind whirring, arguing with yourself. You pull away, setting your water down on the bedside table, then you face him. “Am I your girlfriend?”

He watches you for a second and finds that he adores every part of you, even the slight frown of your eyebrows, the nervous chewing of your lower lip. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and knows his answer but not why he’s never said it before.

“If you’ll have me.” he says, feeling you relax. “I don’t know why I haven’t asked you. I guess I thought you would tell me you didn’t want to go public.”

You lean your head on his chest, listening to the thrum of his heart and gazing out the window. “I don’t want to go public, but I still want to be your girlfriend.”

He smiles to himself, knowing you can’t see it, and hopes you’ll come to Austria and Hungary and every race after, and that you’ll sack off work and come to live in Madrid with him. It feels selfish – he’d rather you be happy in London than miserable in Spain with him,  but he indulges in the thought anyway. He leans in and kisses you, softly, lovingly. He manoeuvres you around again as he pulls his joggers off, so that he is hovering over you, peppering his beautiful girlfriend in kisses as he lets himself roam your body, turning you on just how you like it, his cock hard again. He murmurs his request for consent into your neck, and you giggle, humming affirmatively. As he presses himself into you, he feels you arch up into him, still gasping at what, now, must be a familiar sensation. Your hands rake his back as he loves you slowly, taking his time to draw pleasure from you, to listen to your sounds and sighs, to kiss you and praise you. Firm, slow, passionate, unlike your usual sex in so many ways.

He feels you trembling, about to climax, and he kisses you through it, the rhythm of his movement grounding you as a tear slips across your face. He comes in you, both of you slumping into each other. “Mi novia,” he mutters, “Mi hermosa novia.”

You sigh under him. “I’ll come to Austria.”

He kisses your shoulder. Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero.

cariño = sweetheart

mi (hermosa) novia = my (beautiful) girlfriend

te quiero = i love you

[bteezxyewriter12]

Love Is Love/ 4

Pairing- Hongjoong x Named Reader

Word count- 2.1k

Includes- Angst, misunderstanding, love making, missionary, so much fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes

Gif Credit- @Hwanswerland

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist 📝Hongjoong Masterlist

One week later

Hongjoong POV

I'm a little worried

Ok I'm a lot worried

Things have been a little strained between me and Joanne since the threesome

It doesn't help that we got super busy with performances the next freaking day and I haven't really been able to see her properly

I'm exhausted when I get to her apartment and we both end up falling asleep

I did see her the last few days, spending all day with her but it was off

And we didn't have sex

I know other people may not see it as a big deal but for us it is

For over a year we have been all over each other, everyday but after a threesome it just stops?

I'm completely terrified

I'm scared that she may want Seonghwa instead of me and I'm going to lose her

I can't lose her

I'm stupidly in love with her

She's my one

I knew from the first kiss

I can't be without her

I don't even know how I lived without her before

It's just...a future without her is not something I can even fathom

I know I have to talk to her

And I will

Today

I'm going to her apartment after the photo shoot and I'm going to talk to her no matter how scared I am

I just hope she doesn't leave me

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

"Hi jagi", I greet when she opens the door

"Hi baby", she smiles softly, letting me in

I kiss her lips softly, hoping this goes well

She kisses me back, then closes the door and I follow her to the living room

We both sit, silence ensuing and it's so awkward

Here's goes

"Jagi, can we talk?"

Worry fills her eyes as she nods, "Yeah ok"

I think for a second about what I want to say

I don't want to word vomit, even though I'm on the verge of it

"About the threesome-"

"Did Seonghwa ask for another one?", she asks, "Because if he did, I...I can't do it Joong"

I'm surprised and it's taking me a second to process what she's saying about another threesome

"And if this talk is about you realizing you want Seonghwa back and you want to break up then just do it. Don't beat around the bush, don't sugar coat it, just tell me"

"What, no!", I blurt as soon as I realize what she's saying, "I don't want Seonghwa jagi"

"But...you've been different since.... You've been distant. You always want to sleep when you get here and you haven't...tried to have sex", she says, "I...I thought you missed Seonghwa. That the threesome made you realize you miss him. And want him"

"Not a chance in hell", I answer, taking her hand and holding on tightly, "I don't miss him jagi. I don't want him. I want you Jo. Just you"

It's crazy that we both thought that the other wanted Seonghwa, that we both thought the other wanted to break up

We were worried about the same thing

She looks at me confused, "So why are you being different?"

"Jagi, I thought it was you being different. I thought you were being distant because....well because I thought you wanted Seonghwa"

"You thought I wanted Seonghwa?", she gapes

I nod, "I...I thought that the threesome made you realize that you wanted him, not me. And when things were different with us, I was scared to say anything. I'm...I'm terrified to lose you Jo"

"Joongie, you will never lose me", she says, assuring me, "I love you Hongjoong. I love you so fucking much, you don't even know. I was scared that you were going to leave me. You have a history with Seonghwa, it would kinda make sense for you to want him again"

I get what she's saying but that's so far from the truth

I shake my head, "No Jo. You're the one I only want. And after the whole threesome, I...I don't ever want to do that again. No matter who it is, I don't want to do it"

"I don't either", she agrees, "It...it wasn't terrible but it's not something I want ever again"

I wholeheartedly agree

No one touches her but me

"Thank god jagi", I breathe in relief, "I don't want anyone else touching you ever again. Fuck, I thought I was going to kill Seonghwa the whole time"

"You were?", she asked, "Why?"

I feel my face heat up as I tell her, "I was jealous"

Her eyebrows shoot up, "You were?"

I nod, "So jealous baby. God when he kissed you the first time, I was enraged. I wanted to hit him. Then when you blew him and he came in your mouth. When he ate you out, when you came on his dick, when he came inside you, fuck I was trying so hard not to lose it"

"Why didn't you say something baby? I would of stopped everything. Seonghwa would of stopped too"

I know he would have

If I said anything he would of backed off

"Because I don't want to be the jealous boyfriend", I answer, "And also when he did stuff to me...it felt good and you had to watch that, so I guess I thought I had to"

"Baby"

"You weren't jealous?", I ask, curious

Her cheeks turn red, "Honestly no"

I'm a little surprised at that

"It's just...I've never seen two guys before Joongie. And when you guys were on each other....it was hot. It turned me on. It was something completely new and I didn't have time to be jealous", she says, "But if it happened again, I would be"

Ok yeah I get that

It was a new experience for her

I've seen a guy and a girl fucking before

I've caught Seonghwa way too many times fucking a girl

He never locks the fucking door and I used to always get an eyeful

If I hadn't seen that so many times, I might have been turned on seeing a guy and a girl

But I have seen it and it infuriated me that he was touching, licking, fucking my girlfriend

"I'm sorry Joongie", she says, squeezing my hand

I shake my head, "It's not your fault jagi. I should of said something. It just....it drove me crazy to think that he got you off, that maybe you liked what he did better than what I do. That you liked being with him more" "No Joonie. I didn't", she says vehemently

"Are you sure?", I ask quietly

I'm worried she's lying or trying to sugar coat it

"Baby, when I was riding him, I'm not gonna lie it felt good but I couldn't get closer to coming", she says, her face so red, "But when you came behind me, when you kissed my shoulder, fuck it was like my body came alive again"

I stare at her in shock

When I kissed her?

I wasn't even doing much of anything

"When I kissed you, when you had your hands on me, when you touched my clit, that's was when I got closer", she admits, "And fuck Joongie, when you asked me to cum for you in you're voice, I couldn't hold it back"

"My voice?", I ask shyly

"Yeah Joongie. God I fucking love your voice. You don't know what it does to me baby. Especially when you talk to me during sex. You can ask me for anything and I'd give it to you. You were the reason why I came"

I stare at her in surprise, taking in what she's saying

"Because of me?"

"Of course because of you baby", she answers, "God Joongie, you really don't know how you effect me"

I mean I had an idea but I guess I didn't know specifics

"When you touch me Joongie, it's like my whole body is on fire. And you don't even have to touch me sexually. Holding your hand sends sparks up my arm. Being wrapped in your arms at night make me feel so safe", she says softly, "You're kiss Hongjoong. Fuck. It gives me butterflies, make me see stars, it feels like the world is falling away until it's just you. It's everything. You're everything. My everything"

I'm in awe that she feels exactly the same way I do

Everything she just described, it's exactly how I feel when she touches me, when she hugs me, when her arms are around my neck, when she kisses me

"I know exactly how you feel jagi", I say softly, "Because everything you just said, it's how I feel when you touch me, when you kiss me. When I'm with you jagi, it's like I'm in heaven"

She smiles shyly, taking my breath away

And I know, now is the time

"Everything that happened with Seonghwa has made one thing abundantly clear to me", I tell her

"And what's that baby?", she giggles

Taking a breath, I reach in my pocket as I kneel down on one knee, my eyes not moving from her face

Her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open

I hold the ring out to her, "I love you more than anything in this universe. I was meant to be with you jagi and I can't think of anything that will make me more happier than being with you for the rest of my life"

"Joongie", she whispers, tears welling in her eyes

"I really can't see a future without you. I want to love you for the rest of my life. I want to be by your side always. You're the love of my life Jo. My one and only and I'm so lucky I found you"

She smiles softly, brightening up my world

"Joanne, will you marry me?", I ask

"Yes Joongie", she says immediately, "Yes. Always baby"

She leans down, her lips capturing mine in a mind blowing kiss

She moves down from the couch into my lap, her arms around my neck as I happily drown in her kiss

After a few minutes, we pull away and I take her hand, sliding the ring on her finger

It looks so good on her, like it belongs there

Because it does

"I love you Jo"

"I love you Joongie"

We kiss again and I stand up, easily picking her up, carrying her to her room

Getting her on her bed, we undress each other slowly, kissing all the while

She lays back, pulling me on top of her

Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms move around my neck, her tongue against mine, her body pressed against mine

Leaning on my arm, I grip her thigh with my other hand, holding it against me as I slide slowly inside her, feeling her stretch open just for me

She moves her hips, wiggling onto my cock as I slide all the way in

She shivers against me, our kisses getting more desperate

I slowly begin to move, pulling back then so slowly push back in, opening her as I bottom out inch by inch

My head rubs against her spot, her pussy getting so wet, dripping all over me

And I'm in fucking heaven

My body shivers each time I bottom out, her hips moving and meeting mine as we make love to each other

Her arms move around me, her hands on my face, fingers trailing up and down, sending trembles down my spine

I fucking love it

As we move together, I feel everything so acutely, the pleasure out of this world

Every clench around my dick, every slide in and out of her, every squeeze of her hands, every movement of her tongue against mine

Every shake of her body

Every soft moan I swallow

She is perfect

My perfect everything

Her throbbing gets harder, faster around my dick and I move just a touch faster to get her over the edge

I make sure my head is rubbing against her spot, her moans getting louder as her body arches into mine

Pleasure is running in every nerve and I know when she cums, I will too

I don't have the strength to hold it back

I just want to feel with her

The next thrust in, she explodes, coming on me, her pussy pulsing so tightly

I moan against her lips, sheathing my length inside her, spilling cum into her, ecstasy tidal waving over me

Clinging onto each other, we keep kissing, orgasming together

As the pleasure leaves, we don't stop kissing, don't stop holding each other, moving together until were laying down, wrapped up in each other

Exactly where I belong

[cayde6feetunder]

i mentioned it in some tags fucking forever ago and I posted about it on twitter but might as well post it here too

"I can't be ableist, I'm [x]" has done so much damage to mentally ill and disabled spaces and or threatens to do so. and unchecked internalized ableism and unchecked ableism as a whole.

i am someone with unsavoury symptoms and conditions. There's no beating the bush about this one. My symptoms are considered ugly and there have been times where I've met people who have been all like, "Support people with unsavory symptoms" but when I actually started hanging out with them they ended up being more ableist than anyone I've ever met.

I have memory issues. On some days I forget things quite literally as they happen to me. There's no guarantee I'd remember what you've said to me. It doesn't mean I don't care, I literally sometimes forget what I was doing three minutes ago. no, I'm not making an excuse, I literally forgot that you were bothered by, say, bugs and it was not intentional. Now I will most likely remember but please don't be bothered if moving forward I ask you to clarify what you're bothered by.

I have issues with my emotions. I struggle to articulate what I'm thinking and feeling. PLEASE ask me to elaborate on things before jumping at me and accusing me of twisting things around or whatever, or inviting conflict, or a thousand other "UM ACTUALLY--"s. And please, PLEASE don't assume things, ASK ME THINGS. Let me speak.

I have issues with anxiety. I often distance myself from 90% of discord servers and even my own friends (even if they don't notice it) because I am deeply terrified that they secretly don't like me or they're seconds from snapping, or they find me annoying, or about a thousand fucking other things that there are times where I feel deeply, deeply ill. It's not that I don't like you; it's that I'm actively struggling with myself and putting forth a lot of effort to make things work on my end.

I have PTSD. That PTSD on top of the anxiety manifests in my fear of old terrible cycles repeating even if they're out of my control. This makes pretty much everything else mentioned way worse. Everything is a CONSTANT WAR within myself. I'm a perfectionist and I feel like even if it's not my fault I convince myself that I did something wrong and I rationalize things that way. There's also the bipolar and the BPD.

I am medicated and learning how to manage these things. But we need to accept that these symptoms are ugly, that while I'm doing my part, I and others like me still deserve grace and tenderness and we do NOT need our own community and/or communities who claim to have the exact same issues treating us like shit, spitting on us, or being in general hypocritical towards us in claiming that they support us but then do everything that seems to state the obvious.

it really is your own people sometimes. and it shouldn't have to be.

and whenever i try and say things like this I have people telling me I'm "DODGING RESPONSIBILITY," no I'm not, you cannot assume such things of me when you're only seeing me talking about a very real issue that I and many others face.

Stop reblogging and posting about how much you love and support "unsavoury" symptoms and conditions but then turn around and treat those very same people like absolute shit.

And don't get me started on how autistics like to treat other autistics just because their autism happens to be different.

I'm sorta fuzzy so it's super hard to really articulate or parse together what I'm trying to say properly but I hope what I'm trying to say comes across. Ableism within disabled and mentally ill communities fucking suck. Learn to actually care about and support people with symptoms and conditions you can't romanticize.

[kestrel-wish]

REPOST YOUR ART OF CARP!!! The famous carpet deity, omg-

I remember the wildest things at such late hours

AYE AYE CAPTAIN! 👍 I'm not sure where a good chunk of the physical drawings of them are, and to be honest i never drew it as much as Kess ( or windhover, i tend to call them windhover sometimes to avoid confusion with my fursona ) mainly because Carp's ears are surprisingly hard to draw well. But here are the ones that I can find

This is the main drawing of them, and i think the first actual one?

Also this one that was drawn mainly for expression practice and boredom You can tell i gave up when it came to drawing the background and also that's supposed to be a couch they're sitting on it's just hard to tell because it looks like a brick lmao.

That's all the good ones i can find my art files are terrible to try and look through I also have some goofy super low effort doodles of Carp and Kess ( And others! ) too if you'd like those

Left lower is a random 'garden'/plant creature similar to carp i made up but never really used, ( their name is Dandy , i show them later ) along with an idea for what the ceiling ( 'Ceil' ) would look like. More cat-like since i think we joked that the carpet would be rivals/kind of jealous of the ceiling so cat/dog because funny. Middle bottom is Ampere. I don't remember actually showing you Ampere? So if i either didn't show you or it's been a while this is ampere ( below ) Similar to the others but like a kitchen electronic kind of guy and the upper right of the doodle page is Carp and lower right is Kess, ofc

I like where i went with this look but he's also way overdesigned compared to the others it's ridiculous looking. Very cool nonetheless but just a bit jarring. Very polite looking guy, though. Yeah not much actual carp art, that i can find at least there very well might be more. Can't find it for the life of me. Properly name your art files , people! But i have this other one of Ampere if that's something

It's all old ass art so kinda wonky looking now in hindsight. I want to come back to them eventually as characters they're all silly. but especially Carp and Kess because they're the coolest. Blatant favoritism. The amount of lore and ideas I've come up with for those funny Quotev group chat ocs is terrifying and frankly quite disturbing. I do have more doodles of Kess than carp if you want to see those later, just ask. And i think a small animation but don't quote me on that. Sadly just not much of Carp itself. Or the others that i've thought of for that matter. Like you can see I tried to make ones much later to add to the personified house things, but I kind of ended overdesigning them a lot like you can kind of see with Amp. And Dandy, the plant one. I don't think you've seen it ever either, i made them a while after Amp on a whim, i think. The vague idea just came to me and i felt the need to doodle them too.

I like Dandy's design ngl very soft and warm looking. I feel like their fur would feel kind of crunchy. It's very obviously a first time doodle but it's a fun idea. Man, i love drawing funnily themed cartoon dogs. I know this is less Carp art considering you asked for Carp specifically but there isn't much i can find so woe other old art be upon ye.

People who did not know me in my early Quotev days are going to be so confused lmao i'm not tagging any of this i don't even know what tags I would use.

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC vs A Cockroach

Omg this is such a funny concept LMAO, thank you so much for the wonderful tag, @doublegoblin!!!

Tagging: @the-mindless, @writernopal, @cabbojage, @oh-no-another-idea, @crowandmoonwriting, @lassiesandiego, @quisyop, @gummybugg, @tabswrites, @clairelsonao3 and @exquisitecrow

Rules: Rate your OCs on how well they’d fare against a cockroach

I'll go with the main cast of Enchanted Illusions for this one!

Cailean Telkerly - 4/10 Once he sees the roach, he'd try to look tough and unbothered to seem cool in front of Agatha at first all like "I can handle this (says he, visibly disturbed and from a considerable distance)". Like, he might - emphasis on might - actually get the situation under control if he can smack the roach with a broom or something from far away.

But then he would fail miserably at it once that mfer roach starts to fly - like the fear is evident, it's a run-for-your-life. He'd leave that room so fast. I give him those 4 out of 10 points solely because he would try to keep it cool before the roach flies. My boi would be jumpier than a cat in the rain like "Nah, man, hell nope, I think this is the bug's house now, let's just move".

Evangeline Daemitya - 10/10, I'm talking about the most nonchalant, cold reaction ever - solely for the fact that, with her magic, she can disintegrate that bug or teleport it away with a snap of her fingers. It surprises people to no end, because they usually expect her to be terrified of bugs due to her noble background but she actually doesn't mind them - she even has one of those weird dead insect collections.

Vincent Sharppe - 8/10 He is the kind of guy to pick the insect up in a jar or piece of paper and set it free far away outside of his home without saying a word, but whose soul would leave his body should the insect touch his skin or start flying around - he'd still spend a week complaining about it either way.

Harriet Sharppe - -2/10 She actually has a deep phobia of insects, so it doesn't go well whenever she sees one in her home, especially if it is a roach. Harriet can handle any kind of monster and dark magic spell thrown her way, but would have a full-on nervous breakdown if she saw a roach in her room, no one runs faster than her in that situation. She won't enter the room until the cockroach is properly terminated (and she has proof of it), which ends up being Vincent's job, because she will not get close to the insect on her own.

Clarence Van Sterlling - 6/10 Would attempt to become friends with a roach. There's a 50% chance that he'll suceed, and a 50% chance the roach will just scuttle away further into the room and never be seen again. Will be heartbroken - for five minutes - when Thaddeus inevitably stomps the cockroach until oblivion.

Thaddeus Lockhill - 11/10 It's as if he senses the roach's presence before it even has the chance to think about flying away. Then it's over. There's no roach, only its squished remains on the floor - which are quickly cleaned up. Thaddeus carries on afterwards like nothing ever happened. This all takes place in a total of ten seconds.

[ohbo-ohno]

I have this idea for a ghoap puppy play fic but like it's really dark and fucked up and not to mention I can not write for the life of me 😭 Is there any tips that you have that may help me?

ohhh man oh fuck oh shit. getting asked advice is terrifying lmao im TERRIBLE at advice but i'll give it my best 💞

tag me in any and every ghoap puppy play fic always. please god i am begging, if you end up comfortable enough to post this, send it to me! i want to read it!!!

write entirely for yourself and don't even THINK about what other people might think. if you're too scared of what others think, don't post the fic! if you do end up posting, odds are (if you tag properly) you'll have a positive reaction. i write almost exclusively dark fic and i've probably gotten a single digit number of hate comments, you just gotta hope a hate train doesn't focus on you lmao

try writing without editing as you go. i get the most written and my favorite stuff written when im not stopping every other sentence to make sure it's alright. try and get like 500-1000 words down, then take a break, then go back and read it

going with that - try to get down every thought you have, then see if you can do something with it. my "outlines" are usually just a couple bullet points with me mapping out what could happen. you can flesh it out more as it goes. go step by step without thinking about the ending and see where you can get, yk?

for smut - what's being thought is just as important as what's being done, especially with noncon since a lot of the hotness comes from the rejection. we all understand the physicality of sex, i want to know what your characters are thinking, especially with dark stuff

[cum-villain]

What's Takatenn?

🤭Okay, so. It's two characters from Idolish7, Kujou Takamasa and Kujou Tenn. Shared surname is due to adoption, but it's important to recognize they don't actually consider each other father and son. It's a facade, they're business partners. Kinky, but not in an incest way. Except legally ofc.

See, Kujou Takamasa used to be the manager of this one extremely popular idol, "Zero". But due to reasons not yet revealed in the plot, not known to us nor Kujou Takamasa himself, Zero disappeared. After this, Kujou kind of became... insane. He's obsessed with Zero, he wants to create an idol to replace Zero, he hates Zero for leaving him behind.

In order to create an idol, he's attempted to find and use other musicians, but after failures (including sending a guy to the hospital with a head injury in order to attempt to acquire the guy's partner), he's started a new method: Adopt children, and raise them to be idols since youth. There are 3 children we know of he's in some way acquired, one of whom he discarded. Another of those children is Kujou Tenn, formerly Nanase Tenn, who he acquired at age 14.

How he acquired Tenn was itself a business deal. Tenn's parents club was losing money, and his twin little brother was chronically ill, requiring hospital fees being payed. All in all, it was a sticky situation. It's honestly unclear right now whether the money situation was intentionally set up by Kujou Takamasa, but regardless of if it was purposeful or coincidence, Tenn agreed to be acquired by Kujou in exchange for his little brother's hospital fees being payed. From the very start, they've known full well they're using each other for their own ends. Purely business, nothing emotional, right?

Except, at some point in the 5 years of being business partners (Tenn is 19 when the show starts), it stopped being pure business for them. Kujou doesn't just want Tenn to be like Zero, he's terrified of Tenn specifically leaving him, and has expressed that multiple times in the show. He isn't just using Tenn coldly, he has a strong emotional dependency on him.

And it's similar for Tenn. He isn't just using Kujou, he genuinely wants to make his dreams come true. His brother's health came first at the start, but now, he's determined to overtake Riku and make Kujou's dreams come true. When Kujou has his breakdowns, Tenn is there to tuck him to bed, reassure him that his nightmare was just a nightmare. Of course, he recognizes that the person he's comforting is something of a monster, whose hurt several people around him, hurt him as well. But still, he wants to make that monster's dreams come true.

So, we have a relationship of two people who, in the beginning, were using to fulfill their dreams while thinking of other people they cared about, but now genuinely have a sort of... I wouldn't say they care for each other, that sounds more sweet than it is. But they have an odd codependency that they get some sort of happiness from.

Also. Let me just share one twitter screenshot before the next part.

There is??? An odd amount of sexual tension??? Like, its mostly in the third season, but, wow, their solo scenes are oddly steamy??? To be entirely honest those scenes were what opened my eyes, because how you can watch those scenes and think they aren't fucking boggles the mind. I need to rewatch to really explain it properly, but, gosh. The sexual tension was something.

Anyway. When I first saw the ship there was only one page on ao3, and theres no tag for it on tumblr. Except the one I'm about to make with this manifesto. One of these days I'm going to need to write for the ship myself, with how much I think about them.

I leave you with one more thing: A song that fits them well.

(Eng lyrics here)

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart - Chapter 15

A long-awaited confrontation brings back unwanted reminders of the past...

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act 1 | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Smut |Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | TW: Stalking, Mistreatment of Children, Threats of Violence | WC: 3.19k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 7.5 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @crunchlite @sheacrowley

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Laying down graffiti in the Undercity is an extreme sport. All the good spots have already been tagged, and if you want to claim the territory for yourself you better be prepared to fight for it if the original artist doesn’t appreciate your intrusion. So then you have to climb or crawl your way to find a free place to paint. If you choose somewhere high up, you better watch your footing; the sorry state of Zaun’s infrastructure means that most ledges and rooftops are worn and crumbling, and you could fall to your death if you’re not careful. Then, if you’ve finally secured a good place, you can’t even dedicate your full attention to whatever you’re working on. After all, your back is exposed and you still have to stand guard over your supplies. Zaunites are nothing if not bold enough to try to steal your property from right under your nose. 

Most crews are made up of at least three people, but you’re standing by yourself in a dead-end alleyway, studying an old, red brick wall. Your trusty satchel is stuffed full of spray paint cans and a paint roller. You make an exaggerated show of pulling out your sketchbook and flipping through it dramatically, whipping the pages with a snap. Pondering out loud to yourself which one of your sketches to turn into a piece. 

You wouldn’t normally be this obvious. 

But you’re being watched. 

You’re cornered, and it’s terrifying. A sheep being circled by a wolf.

It takes all your strength to stay rooted in the alleyway. As if being walled in with only one exit wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck turn into a stinging, painful prickle, as if your own skin was desperate to escape. You pick up one of your cans with trembling hands, gripping it tight to overcompensate for your shaky grip. 

It’s okay. Try to stay calm. You just need to throw down some lines. 

Your attempts at deep breathing almost drown out the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re shuffling and hesitant, as if your stalker was as afraid of you as you were of them. 

You can’t face them. Not yet. 

You have to hold on just a little longer. 

After all, you’re not the one who’s walking into a trap.

High-pitched yelling breaks out behind you. It’s much more juvenile sounding than you anticipated, but it sounds just like the children at the orphanage when they’re playing during recess. If their playtime involved ripping each others’ hair out by the fistful. 

At last, you turn to see a scowling Silco grabbing a little girl by the scruff of her neck. He mutters at her through gritted teeth, too low for you to hear properly. She’s dragged behind Silco like a suitcase before he deposits her unceremoniously at your feet. Her hands are bound with Silco’s belt, but she kicks her feet out wildly, spitting and hissing like an angry cat. 

You frown at him. “You said you’d be careful with them.”

“I never said that,” Silco replies. “I only said that I wouldn’t hurt them, nothing more.”

You hold back a sigh as you kneel down to meet the girl’s eye level. Silco tenses next to you, grinding his teeth. He’s clearly unhappy with you sitting so close to your stalker.

But he doesn’t do anything to stop you from talking to her. Just like he promised. 

“Hi there,” you say gently. “What’s your name?” 

The kid spits at your feet. 

“Hey—!” Silco snaps.

You raise a placating hand at him. It’s always hard to tell with Sumpsnipes, but the girl looks barely older than Vi, not even a teenager yet. She’s covered in dirt, her bony thin frame poking sharply out of raggedy clothes that are too large for her. Her blazing, angry eyes are smudged by dark shadows. 

You sit down on the ground, pulling a wrapped sandwich and canteen out of your satchel and setting them on your lap.

“Do you want food?” you ask the girl. She still doesn’t answer you, but her eyes widen and her mouth drops open involuntarily. Turning away from you forcefully. 

“I’m going to untie you so you can eat this,” you hold the sandwich up to her. “You can leave after you’re done, but I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.”

Her eyes dart to you while she stubbornly remains facing away, but her stomach growls loudly, as if agreeing to your request. After a long beat, she nods just once, stoic and ornery. Reminiscent of when Silco agreed days ago to help you with your plan. 

You gingerly unwrap the belt from her wrists, shooting Silco a disapproving look. Did he really have to tie up this little girl so roughly? He shrugs at you. 

The sandwich is snatched out of your hands so fast, you don’t realize that you’re not holding onto it anymore until your hand closes on air. Crumbs fly everywhere as the Sumpsnipe chows down ferociously. 

“If I had known that your pursuer was a wild Poro I would have brought the proper wrangling equipment,” Silco snorts. The kid bares her teeth at him. 

“Slow down, or you’ll choke,” you warn the girl lightly.

She just glares at you, but then starts hacking and coughing; her last swallow must have been too fast. Silco rolls his eyes as you lean forward to pat the girl’s back. You hastily open the canteen and hold it out for her. 

“Slow sips,” you instruct her. 

For the first time tonight, the girl seems to finally listen to you, taking long but slow gulps from the canteen, a trickle of water spilling over her chin. She sets it down after emptying it, snarfing the last few bites of the sandwich. While licking her fingers clean, she looks at you with large, wary eyes. 

You tell the girl your name and hold out your hand to shake. She doesn’t take your hand, but just continues staring at you. 

“What’s your name?” you ask again. 

“...Leksy,” she grunts out.

“Hi Leksy, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile at her. Although your frustration at the past few months hasn’t dissolved upon finally confronting your stalker, Leksy’s youth goes a long way towards making you less scared of her. She seems just like every other unruly kid you’ve taken care of at the orphanage. “Where are your parents?” 

“Work.”

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” you say maternally, in a kind but firm tone. It’s a habit you’ve developed from working with children for years. “Do you have a home?”

Leksy nods again, marginally less surly than before. 

“Why don’t we walk you home? You’ll be safer with us,” you offer.

“I can’t,” she says curtly.

“Why not?”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

You glance at Silco, worried. He’s smoking a cigarette, not grimacing anymore, but still at attention and ready to spring into action. 

“Is there someone at home hurting you?” you ask quietly. 

Leksy shakes her head energetically. 

“What’s wrong then?”

The girl looks down, squinting at a loose brick on the ground. “...Nyle said to leave you alone.”

Hearing that name throws you into emotional turmoil. Guilt and anger at your former friend’s treatment of you, happiness to hear that she’s still alive, disgust that you’ve bumped into someone acquainted with her. A lump lodges in your throat, solid and painful. You open your mouth to speak, but find that your tongue has become heavy and dry.

“How do you know Nyle?” Silco asks, looking down at Leksy to appraise her properly. 

“She’s my stepmom,” Leksy says. 

It’s a lot to take in: Nyle got married and now has a stepdaughter. Major life milestones that you would have happily been a part of, if you were still friends. 

“Did she tell you about me?” you ask hesitantly. 

“She talks about you all the time,” Leksy says. It seems the food did the trick in getting the little girl to talk freely now. “She said you work for Pilties and make art and stuff for them. You must be rich, right?”

So there it is: the real reason why this little girl has been stalking you. The same thing that tore you and Nyle apart is what brought Leksy into your life. You hold back a snort at the irony. 

“You said your parents were at work, right? Don’t they make money?” you counter Leksy’s question with your own. 

“Dad’s at the mines, but Nyle can’t work anymore,” the little girl says. “She got hurt.”

“What happened?” 

“She fucked up her wrist.”

“Language,” the admonishment slips automatically out of you. It’s hard to keep your face stoic with the ongoing onslaught of feelings roiling inside you. Concern. Worry. Confusion. Vindictiveness. You stand up unsteadily, white-knuckle fists at your sides. Arms straining with how tight you’re clenching. 

Silco drops his cigarette. It falls with the cold inevitability of a guillotine blade. He strides forward to tower menacingly over the little girl, uncaring of how she flinches away from him. “So you thought you’d become a cutpurse to make up for your mother’s lost income, hmm?”

The girl looks away defiantly, but doesn’t respond. 

“Did Nyle ask you to do this?” it hurts you just to ask the question. Because some stubborn, maybe naive part of you still hangs onto the fragments of your shattered friendship with Nyle, a nostalgia for memories of better times that weren’t entirely built on lies. The belief that one day, you and her might pick up where you left off and become companions again. 

“No,” Leksy answers. “She actually grounded me the first time I started following you. Said your money was off-limits ‘cause she didn’t want me to make the same mistake she did.” 

A revelation. Is Nyle trying to repent for her actions? But Silco cuts in before you can mull over the girl’s words. 

“And yet here you are,” he snarls. “Too greedy to understand that you should have stayed home and kept your hands to yourself.”

“I’m hungry!” shouts Leksy. “I just wanna eat!” 

Leksy flinches again when she watches Silco reach slowly for his belt. He picks it up and whips it, not hard enough to snap but loud enough to slap against the ground. A quiet, menacing threat where the danger lies in its implications and not a full show of force. “Run home, little girl. And tell your mother—”

He cuts himself off when you take hold of his wrist, gently but firmly. Reminding him silently of his promise that he’d let you take care of this. Silco tears his gaze away from the girl to lock onto you, his boiling rage slowly cooling down again when he sees the determination on your face. 

You kneel down again next to Leksy. Her guard is back up again, and she scoots away as if afraid you might lash out too.

“I get it,” you say softly. “You just want some food, right? Maybe feed your mom and dad too?”

The Sumpsnipe nods slowly. “When Nyle got hurt, her boss let her take a break… but her wrist got worse and then she got fired… I’m sorry, we just need some money…” 

You can almost hear Silco straining to hold back his protests when you reach into your satchel to grab a handful of coins. Leksy’s eyes shine as bright as the money when she stares at it. It’s hunger, not greed in the little girl’s face as you observe her twitchiness. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, you came to this decision as soon as you laid eyes on Leksy. It was your curiosity more than anything that let this encounter drag on for so long. No one could have anticipated your stalker’s relationship with Nyle. 

But it doesn’t change what you need to do.

“You can have this,” you gesture for the kid to hold out her hands before slowly pouring the money into her palms. “If you want, you can go to Janna’s Hearth for food anytime. You can even bring your parents.”

Leksy shoves the money into her pockets after you’ve given her every coin. Silco helps you get to your feet, and you hold out a hand to help the girl stand up as well. For the first time that night, Leksy takes your hand. Hers is dirty and rough, but it doesn’t stop you from clasping the little girl’s hand with both of yours.

“Just… make sure you and your mom eat as much as you want, okay? And your dad too,” you reach out and zip Leksy’s jacket up to her chin. “Do you need us to walk you home?”

The Sumpsnipe shakes her head. 

“Thanks,” she mutters, looking at her shoes. When she looks back up at you, she gives you a small smile. It turns into a spiteful glare as she kicks Silco in the shins before running away, yelling over her shoulder, “Your girlfriend deserves better!!” 

Silco swears and stumbles backwards, catching himself just before he falls on his ass. You clear your throat to cover up your laughter. When you reach out to touch Silco on his shoulder, you can’t help but smile. 

It’s over. You’re free. Your stalker was just a hungry little girl from the Undercity. You’ve helped plenty of them before. Hell, you used to be one too. What a relief that it wasn’t someone or something more dangerous. It’s almost funny that such a small child gave you such a hard time for so many months. A hysterical giggle breaks free from your mouth.

“Are you alright??” Silco asks you, concerned. He grabs you by the shoulders. 

You nod, laughing harder. Not out of humor but to expel a nervous energy. Because it’s dawning on you that something less funny might happen in the future. 

You might bump into Nyle again at the orphanage. Your former best friend who threw you out of her life like trash. Even if you weren’t the one who ruined everything, why do you still feel the urge to run away? 

“My lovely… is something the matter?” Silco cups your cheek. You lean into his hand, taking deep breaths to settle your nerves. 

“Silco… thank you,” you sigh out, hugging him tightly. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

And that’s true. The man in front of you helped you find the courage to put an end to this once and for all. And there’s no way you could have wrangled that little girl yourself, even if he did end up manhandling her a little bit. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he demurs. He rests his chin on the top of your head and snorts. “If I had it my way I would have preferred to teach her a lesson.”

“You were too harsh on that little girl, don’t you think?” you frown at him. 

“Little girl or otherwise, the only way to defeat your enemies is to stop at nothing to become what they fear,” Silco says, unrepentant. 

“Leksy’s not my enemy,” you chuckle. 

Silco hesitates for a moment before asking quietly, “...and what about Nyle?”

Such a simple question that you don’t have the answer for. For a long beat, you don’t say anything.

“...I don’t know,” you finally admit after a long pause. “But she’s not my friend anymore, either.”

“Have you forgiven her?”

You bury your face into Silco’s chest, savoring his warmth. Then stare over his shoulder at the pattern of broken bricks in the wall behind him as you ponder.

“…no,” you say slowly, “I’m not sure I ever will… does that make me a bad person?” 

“Not at all,” Silco immediately answers. “Even if you hadn’t extended an offer of hospitality to her and her family.” He pulls away to look down at you, a puzzled look on his face. “May I ask why you deigned to help her? Please don’t misunderstand— I don’t mean to criticize you, but only to satisfy my own curiosity.” 

“Janna’s Hearth has plenty to spare,” you say softly. “And nobody deserves to go hungry.” 

“That’s my girl,” Silco leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I must admit I don’t know if I could have demonstrated the same generosity if I were in your shoes.” 

His term of endearment turns your melancholy into excitement. You boop him on the nose, grinning and eager to ask, “So I’m ‘your girl’ now?”

Silco immediately lets go of you. He cringes, his large teeth biting deep into his lower lip. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to— I just—”

“And why did Leksy call me your ‘girlfriend’?” you tease him. Neither of you have discussed labeling your relationship yet, and there’s something funny about a third party doing it for you. Especially when that third party is a kid.

He’s blushing furiously now. “I… may have let that word slip in the heat of the moment when I was— handling her.” 

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Silco says too quickly. He looks away as he starts to stride out of the alleyway, pulling you along. “We should get going, it’ll be dark soon—”

“Silco,” you pout, digging in your heels. You yank on his wrist to pull him to a stop. “Tell me.”

He looks at you, embarrassed. Turning to look at the wall as if it wanted to join your conversation. With a sigh, he says, “I may have asked her… ‘what the hell are you trying to do to my girlfriend?’”

“I knew it!” you exclaim, triumphant and joyful all at once. Overwhelmed by an affection for Silco that reenergizes you, you grab his hands. The urge to hug him is strong, but it’s important to look him in the eyes for your next question. “Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

Silco raises his eyebrows in surprise, his eyes widening. Then he grins widely, cheeks almost splitting in delight. “Of course.” 

You reach for his shoulders while his hands rest on your waist. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Your heart hammers and you dig your fingers into his shirt. For some reason, there’s a nervous anticipation bursting out of your chest as you await his response. 

He tries pulling you into a hug, but you lean back to watch his face carefully. That roguish smirk of his always indicates that he’s up to no good, and in the present circumstances you can’t help but feel apprehensive, even as he says, “I would have thought the answer to your question would be obvious.”

“Well, maybe I want to hear you say it out loud,” you pout. Even if it’s pretty obvious what he’s going to tell you, you want— no, you need to hear his answer. Because Silco has settled in your heart for so long, but you’re still afraid to take him for granted.

So when he leans in to whisper, all adoration and mischief, you almost tell him that he needs to speak up so you can hear him over your heartbeat thundering in your ears:

“I would love to be your boyfriend.”

Chapter 16