#this house is still a massive wip

[pixelddump]

friday evening~

[concernedlily]

cousins wip 8

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

pt 4

pt 5

pt 6

pt 7

Porsche wants to hide away somewhere and lick his wounds, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere where he can rest and just be. He’d still as soon throw himself on the knife as let his guard down in the minor family house, the tower never really felt like home and certainly isn’t now, not even Yok’s feels safe knowing what Chay went through there (and he hates to think what’ll happen if York ever finds out what got cleaned up from her bar before she got back).

He goes home home. It’s not much better than anywhere else: it gives him a bone-deep feeling of horror when he thinks about living here so long not remembering his dad <I>died</I> here. But they had happy times too, and he can be alone, and if both he and Chay have been kidnapped from here too many times to be comfortable at least he’s armed. He leaves guards at the gates and walks slowly through the garden and unlocks the door. 

His head starts to ache as soon as he steps inside. He has no idea anymore what the flashbacks are, whether they’re real, reliable, or just imaginings, his mind working overtime to try to make sense of everything he now knows. 

Today he finds himself on his knees by the cabinet where he’d hidden - they’d kept placemats and company crockery in this cupboard for <i>years</i>, Porsche caring for it although the only people who came around were Jom and Tem, trying to keep up the pleasant illusion of a normal family, normal parents who had tables full of friends over for dinner, and he’d never thought, there are cupboards and cabinets all over their house big enough for a kid to hide inside -

He can smell the acrid scent of the shot, the copper hit of blood from a straight shot to the heart. It fades much slower than the sound, than the sight. He can remember someone yelling, one of the brothers accusing the other, his mother running in and someone apologises for his brother shooting her husband, but Porsche can’t quite see which, can’t <i>remember</i>.

There’s a cleaver in the knife block. Not much used, Porsche can make a few meals very well and Chay can make a lot of meals averagely, and Uncle Thee never cooked at all; Kinn and Time aren’t the only ones who put barely-edible dinners on Porsche’s table. He finds it’s in his hand, still sharp, heavy against his wrist, and he lifts it up and brings it smashing against the cabinet. 

It scores the thicker wood of the top and he goes to his knees and brings it down against and again against the thinner slats of the louvred front, the gaps where he’d seen his father murdered -

Does his mother really remember nothing? Sometimes when he’s up there talking to her he thinks she knows much more than she’s saying; sometimes she looks at him completely blankly. Sometimes she looks at him like Kinn had behind the pillar, like she has a gun pointed at his head, like a mafia kid looking at a potential betrayer. 

Wood flies around him, he can feel his palm starting to rub from the smooth metal of the cleaver handle sliding in sweat as he swings it and swings it.

It’s why he hasn’t taken Chay up there yet. He knows she can speak, he’s heard her voice crying out in fear when Korn shot Gun. One of her brothers shooting the other in front of her, but he doesn’t know what she thought was happening, whether it triggered any memories of one of those brothers shooting her husband. He doesn’t want to find out she remembers more, what she might have to say, with his little brother there. Especially since Chay hasn’t asked to meet her, hasn’t pushed; Porsche knows he doesn’t have Chay’s trust the way he used to, but he’s following Porsche’s lead on this. He can’t possibly remember her, only has his friends and media to tell him what’s it’s supposed to be like to have a mum. Porsche is the one who remembers her arms and her gentle lessons and the way she loved him - the things she wanted for him, for them, to be a phoenix, soaring high above the mire that sucks the minor family down.

He’s made a mess. Wood is chipped and chopped all over the floor, the cleaver is ruined. His index finger is sore and when he looks at it there’s a splinter inside, deep, red beading where it went in. He sits back and drops the cleaver where he sits. He’s hot, tired; his face is wet and he slumps down, hangs his head between his legs and puts his finger in his mouth, sucking away the blood. 

***

Porsche has never actually met up with Tae without Kinn there, for all the protestations of Tae being his friend too since he was together with his best friend, but he’s got six of Tae’s best keeping him alive so he can’t say no when Tae calls. At least Tae’s taste in meeting places is good: he hadn’t even known Above Eleven had private sections but he’s ushered immediately into a booth with expansive views of the city at night. He can just about see the Theerapanyakul skyscraper, although thankfully the pool terrace is on the other side of the building. 

Tae is already there, a champagne cocktail on the table in front of him, and Porsche nods to the waiter to bring him the same. He’s taken to having the sticky, cheap tequilas and vodkas he used to drink as slammers at work when he’s alone; his appetite isn’t much these days, certainly not for the fine foods and spirits Kinn and his friends prefer. 

“Cheers,” Tae says, when they’re both settled, raising his glass as well as an eyebrow at Porsche. 

“What are we toasting to?” Porsche says, without much interest. He likes Tae fine, but his mind is constantly churning with everything he has to do, with the solemn beat under every single thing of missing Kinn, and he can’t help but have half his mind on the other ways he could be using this couple of hours. 

“New starts?” Tae suggests. Porsche looks at him sharply and Tae’s face twists into some complicated expression of grief and pride. He says, “I broke up with Time.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Porsche says, lost. He wouldn’t exactly have expected Tae would come to him for what, a post-dumping night out? Kinn always seemed closer to Tae than to Time; he can’t imagine Time got to keep him in the divorce. 

“Don’t be,” Tae says. He signals to the waiter for another cocktail, in the peremptory way that traditionally has annoyed Porsche to fuck. He hopes people aren’t going to expect that from him, that he becomes the kind of arsehole rich boy that Kinn and Tae can be, no matter how sweet they can be to people they actually notice. “I should have done it years ago.”

“What made you do it now?” Porsche says. That conversation with Tae in his kitchen had felt so awkward at the time, Tae opening up to Porsche when he was just trying to be polite about two people he knew little about other than that they loved Kinn enough to come and see him in Porsche’s house, but at least it gives him some context to the pain in Tae’s eyes that belies that matter-of-fact triumphalism of his conversation.

There’s a delicate pause; Tae sweeps his lashes down and takes a long sip of his drink. “I’m sorry to say it so bluntly. But it was you. I see how much agony Kinn is in. It made me think.” He looks back up at Porsche, lifts his chin high. “I didn’t think Time would even notice me leaving him until the next time he needed somebody on his arm. I was right.”

“Well,” Porsche says. He holds his glass up, avoiding Tae’s gaze as they clink. “To new starts, then.”

Tae says, “Do you mind me asking what happened? I know the minor family is… difficult. That they traditionally compete with the main clan. But you could have that and Kinn too. You could make it new.”

Tae isn’t a smoker, but Porsche he must know loads of them so Porsche refuses to feel bad, or out of place in the fancy bar, tapping a cigarette out of the box and lighting up with economical movements. They’re Kinn’s friends, he’s known Tae forever, it’s not for Porsche to feel offended if Kinn has let his best friend get the impression that Porsche is some kind of mercenary dick who <i>chose leading the minor family over Kinn</i>, what the <i>fuck</i>. Like it’s a gift instead of the riptide pulling him under wave after wave of shit.

“He didn’t say?” he asks levelly.

“No. He said it was for the best. He said not to blame you.” Tae tosses his hair and looks out over the view, adds pointedly, “I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.”

“My mother is his father’s sister,” Porsche says baldly, and at least he gets the satisfaction of Tae leaning back in his seat, his eyebrows arched and his eyes wide. Porsche takes a long drink, so does Tae, and they signal almost simultaneously for another round. Porsche explains, “It all came out in the attack on the main family. <i>That’s</i> why I have this.” He puts his hand up between them, waggles his fingers at Tae so the engraved crest on his ring catches the light. “We’re <i>cousins</i>. He doesn’t seem to care, but I - I don’t know how not to.”

“I get it,” Tae says softly and Porsche breathes out, leans back in his chair. He hadn’t even realised he’d leaned forward, like he was beseeching Tae to understand, but it’s so nice, for someone in this fucked-up world to actually recognise that this is a whole new level of fucked-up, that Porsche isn’t the weird one for ending things.

“I don’t know why he didn’t tell you.”

“If you changed your mind,” Tae says, placing each word with an eye on Porsche to see how he takes it; Porsche has never been looked at before like he’s quite that dangerous, not even in the fighting rings. “It’s not something the family would want widely known.”

“Does he still think I’ll change my mind?” Porsche says. Part of him, the growing tactical part, is reluctant to ask. It doesn’t get him anywhere, it doesn’t change the situation to have a glimpse of how Kinn might be thinking or feeling. If anything it’s worse, takes him back to the early days of being Kinn’s bodyguard when he’d been volatile and unpredictable and so fucking confusing, and Porsche hadn’t known whether he was up or down or side to side. Kinn had been more transparent, later, had worked to try and be so, Porsche knows; he’d put pleasing Porsche near the top of his list of priorities, at least, certainly higher than Porsche had put putting a good job and satisfying Kinn his first days in the tower, and it shouldn’t feel good to Porsche now to get this intelligence on Kinn that Kinn doesn’t know he’s getting.

Or maybe he does. Tae and Kinn are very close friends, but they’re colleagues as well, and the Lerttravinonts have power but they’re not in the league of either branch of the Theerapanyakuls. It’s far from impossible that Tae is saying what he thinks Kinn would want him to say; or what he’s been told to say.

Tae says, “He was. I don’t know now. I don’t know if he can stop hoping.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s been coached. Porsche doesn’t think Kinn thinks in terms of hope. Hope means being able to articulate another future and Kinn’s father burned out the idea of alternatives from him years ago.

“He has to,” he says, truthfully, although the idea of denying Kinn hope for something he’s letting himself want for once kills him. “We have to be able to be around each other.”

Tae tilts his head in acknowledgement. He is lovely, some mix of handsome and pretty Porsche hadn’t ever even really seen in his old life, dressed even more in the fey way Kinn only hints at, and Porsche digs into himself, tries to find any lust for another man he could go to bed with without any worry of making them a target for anyone who wants to come at him. He’s starting to understand why Kinn had the escorts, his boys he could see and fuck and have something consistent with that nobody would wonder about, nobody would try to attack him on. 

There’s absolutely nothing. Maybe it’s just Tae, but Porsche is increasingly worried it’s just that it’s not-Kinn. Kinn is still all he wants, all he thinks about when he wraps his fist around his cock alone in bed, the absolute ideal to him in body and mind and soul.

“How are you finding the minor family?” Tae asks. There’s another tone in his voice, businesslike, stripped of the soft regret when he’d talked about Time or love.

Porsche straightens in his seat and lets out a breath, more comfortable with the retreat into shop talk. “Difficult, “ he admits.

Tae makes a face and sets his nearly-empty drink back down on the table. The waiter twitches subtly towards them, obviously keen to go and get them another round and make the bill even more outrageous, and Tae shakes his head at him then says tentatively. “I’m afraid my ulterior motive for asking to meet won’t help.”

Surprise, surprise. Porsche is glad though it’s not a social call. He’s never needed many people around him, and he doesn’t need Tae in the small group of people he cares about, not the way things are. “Yeah?” he says.

“The minor family took over the drugs business in Thonglor district. My father would like it back,” Tae says. His face is doing something Porsche doesn’t know him well enough to read: pretty distaste, maybe. He doesn’t know Tae’s situation but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anything even close to Kinn’s responsibilities, although he’s obviously in the business and not at the Theerapnayakul level. A younger brother who gets to act like it, maybe, putting in effort where it’s needed but letting the blacker side of things dirty someone else’s hands.

“Right,” Porsche says. He signals for another drink, not caring whether Tae joins him or not, although once it’s clear Porsche isn’t about to get mad about it Tae does gesture to the waiter to bring another to him too.

“I’m sorry. He insisted.”

“Okay,” Porsche says. “It’s okay. I’ve had your men. I know what they could have done to me. You’ve got a right to get paid.”

It’s the right thing to choose, maybe the only thing he can, but it’s not exactly going to look great for him to have lost a big piece of action barely a month into the job. And it means he needs to give the Lerttravinonts their bodyguards back <i>quick</i>, before Tae’s father decides the price of his assistance has gone up and comes asking for something that wasn’t his before, something it would cause real loss of face for Porsche to lose. He glances behind himself at Arm and Arm meets his gaze and gives a small nod: he’s understood the implications too. New bodyguards has moved up the priority list, which is already a heap of red-lined things Porsche needed to do yesterday if not sooner.

“Thank you,” Tae says. “My father got on well with Gun. There’s no reason our families shouldn’t continue to work together.”

“Sure,” Porsche says. He digs his fingers into the nape of his neck, a headache starting to throb out from more than just champagne going to his head. It’s where he always carries stress. Kinn had liked to grip Porsche there or rest his hand nice and heavy, possessive, protective; it had always made Porsche breathe out deep, let the tension go, had made him feel noticed and cared for.

“Tae?” he says abruptly. “What do you think of Korn?”

Tae’s lips thin. He glances around, checking the waiter isn’t coming back, and then says deliberately, “I met Kinn very young. The Theerapanyakuls weren’t then what they are now. But my grandfather - he could see what Korn could achieve. And the way he’d do it.”

“Has Kinn ever gone against him?” Porsche says softly.

Tae smiles, small and bittersweet. “Not until the day he followed you home.”

[sherifftillman]

Worth the Wait

Pairing: Tom Grant x f!bartender!Reader Genre: smut Tags:Make Up (film), 18+ (minors DNI), alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected piv (pulling out) Summary: Your favourite customer has a confession to make, that he's very eager to. You wish you could believe him - if only he weren't drunk every time he saw you. Word count:7.1k A/N: God, this fic's been a long time in the making! I started writing it months ago, but then @choke-me-eddie wrote the phenomenal Jack Daniels and Coke and I gave myself massive imposter syndrome for ages lol, but one day I was going through my WIPs folder and something told me to start this up again. So, here it is! PS: the amount of time i spent on making that gif look like he's getting himself off for more than like 4 frames before feckin roof gets in the way, as naturally as i could get it, is between me and god. 😂

“Hello again, gorgeous,” your favourite voice slurs from the other side of the bar.

You see big, warm brown eyes greet you along with the biggest grin you’ve seen all day and your heart melts, despite the pang of disappointment. “Hello yourself, sweetheart. Back to drown more of your troubles?”

“Can I not just come over to my favourite pub and chat to my favourite barmaid, with no ulterior motive?” he pouts, leaning an elbow on the bar so he can rest his chin on his fist, a trademark pose for Tom.

“Not when you’re already pretty wavy,” you point out with raised eyebrows, wafting the air in front of him. “I can smell the Fosters on you a mile off. Didn’t take you for a piss drinker.”

He pulls a face, “Weren’t my doing, honest. Some of the blokes at work decided to get together an’ have dinner somewhere, an’ they bought everyone a pint each without asking us. I had to sneak in a couple of shots to take the taste away and then they bought another, so I had to drink even more.”

“Your life is so hard, babe,” you pout patronisingly, and he sticks his tongue out at you in response. You pour him a glass of water and slide it over to him. “Here. On the house, and that’s a deal only my favourite customers get.”

He looks at you disbelievingly. “As if water isn’t free for everybody, good one.” You smile back at him with just as much snark as he’s giving you as he drinks it all down in one go, and you take the excuse to watch his throat bob while he’s distracted.

You’ve always had a soft spot for Tom. Ever since the poor sod ended up at your pub following the break-up between him and his childhood sweetheart. You’d heard it all about Ruth, and her new friend Jade, and all of the accusations Ruth would make against Tom just to turn around and do the very same to him with Jade. The last time he visited became a real turning point, when he’d gotten especially drunk and admitted to you that he’d been questioning his attraction to her, himself.

“I don’t even know what it was that turned me off, you know. Or maybe it was never even there.”

“Well, is she your type? What kind of person are you usually into?”

“Pretty girls. Like you,” he drawled, resting his chin on his fist.

“Nice try, Mr Grant. I’d believe you if you weren’t so wasted,” you smirked.

“Ooh, Mr Grant, so formal. How’d you know that, anyway?”

“Your last name? Let’s see, your ID, your bank card… ’S not that difficult to find out.”

“Yeah, but you remembered it. I think you fancy me, too,” he grinned smugly.

“Too bad you’ll never know,” you shook your head, and he pouted at you.

“Not even gonna tell me? Tease.”

“Even if I did, there’s no way you’d remember in the morning, so there’s no point, is there?” you shrugged.

“Bet I would. I’d never forget something if it were about you,” he simpered.

You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach and managed to keep your composure as you replied, “Alright, then, if you still feel the same way about me, but stone cold sober, I’ll give you my number. But only then.”

Tom had wanted to stay true to his promise so badly. He’d wanted nothing more than to just sit and watch you work and flirt relentlessly with you. No liquid courage needed. But of course it was Barry’s birthday, and Barry wanted all the lads together for dinner. Tom had felt honoured to finally be included as one of the lads, but it came at a price. A price that he felt too tipsy to then go back to his caravan, all alone with his thoughts. Only one person usually made him feel better in this state. And he’d promised you a sober confession. Yet here he was, giving you the exact opposite.

“Can I ’ave another one?” he asks, holding the glass out to you.

You kiss your teeth and shake your head, lightly lilting, “Alright, but soon enough, I am gonna have to start charging you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Water don’t cost nothing, though. We already established that, remember?” Still in his hand, he taps the empty glass against his head as you take out a fresh one for him.

“So, maybe I’ll have to think of other ways to have you pay for my efforts,” you smirk, putting the water down and resting your hands on your edge of the bar, shifting your weight onto your wrists.

“Oh, yeah?” Tom leans forward, intrigued, a coy smile playing on his lips. “What’s that, then?”

You wrinkle your nose, "Depends what you've got to offer."

"Just. This," Tom states as he steps back and gestures at himself with both hands, the slur that’s still present in his voice betraying him.

You sigh. "Remember the rule, Tommy boy," you waggle your eyebrows at him, and he groans.

"Yeah. I know,” he pouts as he grabs the glass with a frustrated force and starts chugging again.

You look at him with hopeful eyes. “There’s always next time, eh.”

~~~

“So, let me get this straight,” your best friend stops you, looking up in disbelief at the location you’d chosen. “You decided to get us all to meet up for drinks, for your birthday, and we could have gone anywhere. And you choose your work?!”

“Well, yeah, I’m not allowed to use my staff discount while I’m on shift, obviously, so why not take advantage of it on my big day, eh?!” You grin. 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah, but you put up with me,” you rest your chin on her shoulder, still beaming from ear to ear as you both stumble into the pub together.

“Ooh, Tommy the Tank Engine at 2 o’clock,” your best friend giggles, pointing over at a group of men that, sure enough, includes Tom himself.

“Don’t point, dickhead!” You hush, grabbing her hand and shoving it back to her side. “Oh, bless him, look at him. Now, listen, you cannot let me get so drunk that I make a tit of myself in front of him, okay? I’ve got a - you know, a -” You wave your hand around in front of you, trying to think of a word. “Not quite reputation, but you know what I mean. A thing we’ve got.”

“I don’t think that I do,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Unless you mean, like… Because you’ve told him you’ll only believe him if he’s sober, you don’t wanna flirt with him while you’re drunk.”

“You get me,” you smile wistfully as you lean against her, cuddling up to her.

Giggling again, she shoves you away. “Gerroff, unless you really wanna give him the wrong impression! Besides, I say go for it, anyway. Ride that train,” she mimics pulling a steam train whistle and you scold her as you shove her towards the bar.

You meet up with the rest of your friends and have a shot with them. One of your regulars wishes you a happy birthday and buys you another. One of your coworkers gives you another one on the house.

You’ve totally forgotten who else was even here, until after your best friend insists on buying you your favourite cocktail, and as you shuffle between other people waiting at the bar to let others get out, you feel your back collide with the solid weight of someone else’s chest, followed by an all-too-familiar, “Easy, tiger!”

You take a deep breath in and look at your best friend in bewilderment before steeling yourself and pivoting to look at Tom, “Oh my god, hi! I’m so sorry!”

“’S alright. Someone’s having a good night, aren’t they?” He smiles down at you.

“It’s her birthday, you know!” Your best friend shouts over at him, and he gives a thoughtful frown back, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I did not know that, as a matter of fact! S’pose I better do my rightful duty and get the birthday girl a drink, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Trying to get me drunk, now, are ya? I see your game, Mr Grant,” you tease, earning a sly grin from him and a side-eye from your best friend.

“Fair’s fair, you’ve seen me plastered enough times,” he waggles his eyebrows at you. “What’s your poison, ladies?”

Tom buys both yours and your best friend’s drinks for you, and orders something for himself while your friend sneaks away to leave you both to it, though you don’t realise it. You frown when you see Tom pick up a full pint glass of Coke and point at it. “Big glass for a mixed drink.”

“Yeah. Almost as though it isn’t,” he smirks, moving his glass to chime it against yours. “Happy birthday, love.”

Though your heart sinks at the idea that he really did try to keep to his word tonight, you decide to keep up the playful rapport the two of you know so well. Punctuating your first three words each with a poke to the middle of his chest, you grin slyly, “I think you are just looking for an excuse to see me drunk, for once.”

Running two of his fingers alternately up your shoulder at his first three words, he mimics your tone, “I think you are just looking for an excuse to touch me.” He rests his wrist on your shoulder, and the fingertips that ghost the skin on your back send shivers all through you.

“Says the man who’s keeping his arm there,” you reply with a smug lipped smile, and he shrugs, that fake frown making another appearance on his face.

“Alright, I guess if you don’t want it,” he slides his arm away from you tantalisingly slowly, his eyes locked onto yours the whole time. You whimper involuntarily, your voice betraying you, when his fingertips are the only thing dragging against you. With a proud chuckle, he rests the heel of his hand back on your shoulder again, his fingertips leaving goosebumps where they ghost against the skin left exposed from the strap of your dress. “You should really get back to your friends now.”

“Not without you,” you pull a face at him, “not after all this! You bought the two of us a drink, remember, you can’t just leave us now!”

He smiles in quiet pride. “What would I tell all my mates, eh? That I’m abandoning them?”

“They can come over, too!” you counter. “My friends won’t mind, they’d love extra company.”

“Why, do you plan on being distracted all night?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you again.

“Where’s this Tom been hiding then, anyway, eh?” you buffer his question with your own. “How come I don’t see this version of you when I’m sober? Am I that intimidating?”

“Ooh, yeah, dead scary,” Tom answers sarcastically, shaking his head and furrowing his brow, but he laughs when you waggle your fingers in a jokingly haunting manner.

“Will you at least drink with me, so I’m not the only one making an arse of myself?” you pout, trying to give him your best doe eyes.

“But then who will be here to document all your arse-ry?” Tom starts, but you interrupt.

“That’s not a word!”

“Piss off, drunky, how do you know?” he teases, laughing at your offended gasp. “No, if you’re gonna make a scene, I wanna make sure my head is crystal clear so I can lord it over you for the rest of time. As it is, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of material to embarrass me with tonight,” he flashes his eyes at you as you approach his friend group, waving your own over.

You all eventually commandeer your own corner of the pub, you and Tom sat on one of the old leather sofas as the other is crammed with a mix of both his friends and yours, as well as others being peppered around on regular dining chairs. After asking around, and others insisting that they’re fine where they are, thereby refusing your invitation to join you and Tom on the sofa, your legs start to ache. Not being able to find enough floor space to stretch them out adequately, you simply decide to drape them across Tom’s lap, which he takes to naturally. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that they’re there at first, which has your mind turning over and over, until he starts gently, absent-mindedly stroking his fingertips up and down your leg. The tingles that shot through you at his touch earlier return again. He notices your longing stare in his direction and, without moving his head, glances over at you, winks, then looks back at the person he's talking to. The sensation that causes goes straight to your core.

“Whose round is it then?” one of your friends asks, standing just next to the sofa you’re sat on. 

Leaning back, you wave her over so that she bends down to you, pulling her head down as close as it’ll get to your face before whispering in her ear, “Could you actually just get me a Coke? Nothing in it?” She nods and you grin at her as she stands tall again. “Oh!” You fish your staff ID out of your bag and hand it over to her. “Don’t forget to use that, don’t go paying full price here if you can help it!”

“Not exactly a great advertisement for this place, are you?” One of Tom’s friends asks amusedly before declaring he’ll buy the drinks in, and you watch as him and your friend go to the bar with the intent to order them - though even once they’re out of your earshot, you still notice that they seem to be distracting themselves.

Tom finally finishes his other conversation and nudges you to ask in an intrigued voice, “What were you two whispering about earlier, then?” 

“And why’s that any of your business?” You ask back with a sly smile.

He shrugs, “Dunno, might have been about me.”

"If I was gonna talk about you, I'd say it to you," you grin, leaning to rest your head on the back cushion of the sofa.

"Yeah?" he asks with raised eyebrows. “In front of everyone?”

You shrug, “Depends. You got anything you want to tell me in front of everyone?”

He beckons you close with two fingers - a gesture you try desperately not to fixate on - and leans in close to your ear, cups his hand around it and whispers, "I proper fancy you."

"Yeah, and water's wet," you lean around to raise your eyebrows back at him, giggling as he frowns at you. “Glad to hear it from this version of you, though.”

He can't keep his frowning up for long, though, his own eyebrows soon waggling with anticipation. "Alright, so, c’mon, then. You got anything to say to me?”

You lean in with the intention to whisper back in his ear, but you get distracted by your friend handing you your drink, along with a very knowing look. “You two need a room?” They ask with a smirk.

“Like you two weren’t locking lips over at the bar?” You tease back, flashing your eyes over to Tom’s friend briefly. Laughing it off with you, your friend joins her new companion for the night as you settle yourself in next to Tom.

“Big glass for a mixed drink,” he repeats what you’d said to him earlier with a smug look on his face.

Knowing what he’s doing, you grin back, “Almost as if it isn’t.” Leaning across to grab his own glass again from the table, he clinks it against yours for the second time this evening and takes a big swig, his eyes never leaving yours.

When the pub finally closes, you, Tom, and those of your friends that haven’t already dispersed for the night, decide to make for the first fast-food place you see. One of Tom’s friends even takes advantage of Tom insisting on buying you a burger by holding his lighter on top of it while everyone sings Happy Birthday to you. You spend the last few minutes of your birthday surrounded by friends, old and new, singing and laughing and falling against Tom’s arm while he feeds you fries. Sure, you could have gotten even more drunk, found some other club that was open and danced the night away - but something about this just feels nicer.

Everyone’s figuring out their taxi situations when Tom turns to you. “What about you, which cab are you taking?”

“Neither,” you shake your head, scrunching your face up. He looks at you quizzically, and you hold your hand out in front of you to gesture down the road, moving it around a couple of times to gesture your route home. “Walking distance.”

Just as Tom's about to reply, he's interrupted by his friends yelling at him to get in their cab. He looks over at them and turns his nose up. "Nah, think I'm gonna stick with this one, not sure how much I trust these streets. I'll get my own later, it's fine." You don't hear exactly what his mates say, but the general tone of their collective jeering and grabbing Tom's arm as he bats them away and tells them, “Alright, gerroff!” tells you everything.

They chorus one more happy birthday! to you before Tom shuts the car door on them. You shout back that you'll treat them to a round next time they come into the pub and you can hear their cheers even when the door is shut, which makes you laugh. The pair of you wave both taxis off as they drive away, and you and Tom naturally link arms as you start walking back to your place.

"How you feeling?" he asks.

"Pretty damn good. You keep some decent company," you smile at him.

"What, that gaggle of idiots? Yeah, they're not so bad," he laughs softly. "Good birthday, d'you reckon?" 

"Best so far," your smile widens as you hug his arm, leaning your head against it. He rests his head on top of yours, reaching over with his free hand to rub where your two meet around his bicep.

The pair of you make little pockets of small talk in the short walk to your house until you stop in front of it. Tom whistles as he looks it up and down. "What's your pay like at that pub? I'll have to start working there."

You laugh, "Calm down, I just rent out the top floor." You sigh happily. "Come see it, if you like."

"Ooh, inviting me in, eh? So late at night? Whatever will the neighbours say?" Tom teases, making you laugh.

"Oh, shut it," you smirk, shaking your head.

"Well, you are sending me mixed signals, here," Tom widens his face and crosses his arms. "See, I've wore my heart on my sleeve. I've told you what I think of you, many a time, in fact. And yet here you go, stringing a poor boy on, leaving him without a clue how you feel," he rocks himself from side to side, his movements and tone getting more and more extravagant as he keeps talking.

You swat at him playfully, "Shut up, or else you really will wake up the neighbours!" You step closer to him and beckon him closer. As he leans in, you move round to cup your hands over his ear and whisper, "I proper fancy you, too."

“Oh, yeah?” He murmurs seductively, reaching over to stroke his hands up and down your arms. “An’ how can I be so sure of that, drunky?”

“Piss off, I’m sober now,” you make the weakest attempt at shoving his chest, your palms flat against it, but it does nothing to his gait, only making him laugh under his breath. Instead, your hands grab the shirt beneath them as you grin, “C’mere,” and pull him in for a kiss. It’s filled with all the passionate relief of finally getting to do something you’ve both wanted for so long, and it only ramps up the longer you kiss for. 

You hum in questioning, breaking away for a second to jerk your head towards your door, and he chuckles between even more kisses as he cradles your face, constantly pulling you back in for more. “Trying to get me inside, are you?”

With a sly smile, you pull back. “Well, if you don’t want to -” You swivel to face the door itself, digging your keys out of your bag, but Tom’s back on you in a flash. His body presses into your form as his hands slide back around your body, down to squeeze your hips, back up to wrap around your breasts, all while he kisses your neck.

You melt into his touch, leaning back to press yourself against him. You allow your hips to sway back and forth, grinding your ass against what is almost certainly a bulge straining against the denim. He hums against your neck, “Don’t even wanna wait ’til we get in? Dirty girl,” he accompanies his last remark by leaning back just enough to reach down and lightly spank your ass cheek, making you gasp audibly. Stepping forward to close the gap again, he nuzzles your ear as he purrs, “Oh, she likes that, doesn’t she?”

You whine in agreement and he continues nuzzling his nose down past your jaw, ghosting his lips against the sensitive flesh of your neck once again. You hum out a soft moan as you finally wrestle your key into the lock. The pair of you practically fall over each other to get through the door, but you're quick to pin him against it as soon as it shuts, kissing him desperately.

He moans into your mouth, "Oh, fuck, someone's eager, aren't you? Wanna just take me right here and now, huh?" You laugh against his lips as you keep kissing him. He hums back, "Let's see how much you want me, yeah?" as his hand ghosts beneath the skirt of your dress, sliding up your inner thigh to press against your core through your panties. 

You whimper into the kiss and he drawls, "Fuck me, you're so wet, already. Thinking about this on the walk here, were you?" He slides a finger up and down the fabric of your underwear as he mutters into the inch of space between your lips. "Or while we were at the pub?" He asks as he presses against your covered clit. You grab at his shirt, where you'd already made a mess of it, and he whispers smugly, "Or have you secretly spent your whole birthday hoping it'd end with this?' 

You cry out again, finally finding your voice, "God, please, Tom… Want more.” You look at him with pleading eyes and he chuckles back.

"Mmm, now there's a face that I've been dreaming about. But you were the one to pin me to the door here, so I think I should get to enjoy kissing you a little bit longer, at least," he mutters as he leans back in to resume his embrace.

"Tease," you accuse against him, and he laughs again.

"'M not teasing at all, sweetness, just been waiting so long for this, I wanna take my time an– Yeah, I'm totally teasing you," he grins as he cranes his head to kiss your neck again. You whine in protest, and he deftly moves your panties aside to slide one long middle finger inside of you. “Go on, then, just one, for now. Seeing as it is your birthday, an’ all,” he grins wickedly, but he soon melts against you as you squirm and moan around him. As his posture relaxes, you move your hands onto his shoulders and start pushing, which he points out with an amused, “You try’na tell me something there?”

“I mean, seeing as it is my birthday…” You counter, lilting with an obviously fake nonchalance.

Tom grins as he sinks himself lower. “Yeah, I’ll get on my knees for you, love.” Once he’s knelt at your feet, he feels his way up your thighs, past your dress until his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He looks up at you pleadingly with a soft noise of questioning, soon beaming once you nod in affirmation as he pulls them down to your ankles. He sighs dreamily as he looks up at you. “Fuck, babe, look at you,” he breathes out. “Could just stare at you for hours.” You pout at him, and he responds with a cheeky, “Yeah, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just -” He sits back on his heels with a small, smug smile, “sit right back here and watch as - oh, someone’s twitchy, aren’t they?” He asks with soft intrigue, cocking his head to the side as he leans in closer between your legs.

“Tom, please…” You plead. “Enough teasing, now.”

“Yeah? Alright, then,” he sits up to bury his face into you, his tongue lapping away at the edges of your folds. “Mmm, y’taste so good, babe. So much better’n I imagined. C’mere,” he wraps his arms around your thighs as he carries on eating you out. He starts off so carefully, sweet little kitten licks to your clit and long, slow, drawn out ministrations through your core, but he takes the hint when you whine out in frustration, grab his hair and push his head further in.

He starts fucking you with his tongue, making you cry out in ecstasy, especially when he reaches up to rub at your clit in quick circles. You keel over and perch yourself on the door when he switches up to suck on your clit while sinking two fingers into you and curving them. He keeps mumbling into your skin, words you wish you could hear were it not for the blood pumping in your ears, but it seems as though Tom only intends for his compliments to be heard only between him and your cunt.

He finally pulls away, breathing heavily, and pushes himself up to stand, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss. He moans as he presses his body against yours, as though the thought of making you taste yourself is turning him on all the more. “Wanna fuck you,” he pants as he presses his forehead to yours. “Please, I wan- need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Not so cocky, now, are you, babe?” you smirk, and he laughs.

“No, miss, just one taste and I’m already wrapped ’round your finger,” he jokes.

You jerk your head behind you, “Think you can wait ’til we get up them stairs?”

Tom steps aside and gestures towards them with an, “After you.”

You laugh as you first kick away the underwear still sitting on your ankles before taking your shoes off, prompting Tom to do the same. He stays behind you as you run up the flight of stairs leading into your living area, though not without another soft smack to your ass as he follows it.

Once you’re back on flat ground, you hold your hand out for him to take, walking backwards as you pull him towards your bedroom, even while the pair of you lock lips once again. You scramble to get his shirt off before you’ve even reached your bedroom door, though every attempt to lean back and admire him is scuppered by him leaning in to keep kissing you, until you practically fall through the doorway.

You guide him over to your bed and push him down onto it. His hands explore your body as you stand between his legs, before sliding up your thighs and pushing your dress up over your ass. His hands grip your cheeks roughly as he pulls you closer, craning his neck around to look at it as he plays with it, gently slapping each one alternately as it jiggles and loving the sights and sounds of it. "Fuck, angel, want you so bad," he groans before looking up at you pleadingly. "D'you want me, too?"

Caressing his face gently, you beam, "Get the rest of those clothes off and shuffle back on the bed, and I'll show you." Tom scrambles backwards, wriggling himself free of his jeans and boxers as he does, until he's laying back on your pillows, clothes discarded on your bedroom floor. You slowly strip yourself of your own clothes, too, opting to shimmy your dress down past your hips, really putting on a show for him as you push it over your bare ass, before unclipping your bra, holding it high and dropping it down onto the floor.

You stop for a moment to just enjoy the sight of him, your favourite customer, laying on your bed, biting his lip as he jerks off to the sight of you right in front of you. You whimper as you fall to rest one knee on your mattress, rubbing at your own clit as you watch him, the tip of his cock peeking out through his foreskin with every tug, tantalising you. He looks just a little bigger and just a little wider than you're used to, and you feel your pussy drench beneath you at the thought of him filling you up. "You gonna keep that gorgeous body of yours that far away from me for long, sweetness?" Tom pouts, and you hurriedly climb him like a tree. You go to kiss him once you've straddled him, but he jokingly turns his head aside. “No, no, if you’d rather stay away from me, don’t let me stop you,” he jokes, and you consider playing him at his own game, but you realise the quickest way to get what you want.

Pouting, you lean yourself down onto him, especially making sure you squeeze your breasts against his chest, and croon, “Oh, please, Tom, I need you so bad. ’M sorry I got so distracted by what a pretty cock you’ve got, please let me ride it, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

Tom slowly turns his head back to look at you, a proud smirk on his face as he lifts his head to place a hand behind it. “Go on, keep begging, that’s my girl,” he drawls, lightly tracing your back with the fingertips of his free hand.

Feeling your heart soar and cunt throb at the sentiment, you whine, grinding your hips against his, "God, Tom… Want you to fuck me so bad, been dreaming about it f'too long, need to feel it now, please? Just for tonight?"

Tom wrinkles his nose. "Dunno about that…" And for a fleeting second, you're filled with a disappointed doubt that he's changed his mind, until he grabs at you and, with a mischievous grin, throws you off to the side, wrestling your giggling self until you're the one laying beneath him. He perches himself on his elbows to hover above you, and playfully and tenderly strokes all around your face before purring happily between kisses, "'M definitely gonna fuck you tonight… But I'm also gonna fuck you in the morning… And again, a little bit after that… And again, after that… Sound good so far?"

You hum happily, "Sounds perfect. But, please can I have your cock inside of me, now? Have I earned it yet?"

"Aww, gonna milk it, pretty girl?" He coos,  reaching down to guide his tip between your folds. "Gonna take it all in that tight little pussy of yours, yeah? Gonna be good f'me?" You nod, whining desperately as you feel him starting to push into you. "Oh my god," he whimpers as he enters you, kissing you passionately as he fills you. Your hips start to buck down instinctively as he moves, and he tuts, "Fussy girl can't wait?"

You pout your lower lip out, "'M not fussy."

He does the same expression back to you sarcastically. "You're not?" He asks mockingly as he slowly starts pulling out. You grab his shoulders in protest, and that wicked smile of his comes back. "Fuck me, you are dirty, aren't you?" You nod in defeat, and he presses another kiss to your lips. "Good," he beams before sinking himself back into you, filling you up.

Your fingers dig into the supple flesh just above his shoulder blades as your legs wrap around his hips. "Oh, fuck, Tom… So much… Better…"

"Better, eh? So you'd think about me, too? While I spent - mmm - my nights getting off to the - fuck - thought of you, you were - shit - doing the same?" You nod, whining in agreement, and he moans as his thrusts get more frantic. "Fuck, I've wanted you - needed you - for so long, now… Never letting you go, never gonna stop - ah, shit, yes," he groans.

You pout at him, "Not even at least long enough for me to get on all fours?"

He looks at you as though all of his Christmases have come at once. "You want that?"

You nod, biting your lip. "And, since you love it so much, you can pull out and cum on my ass, if you want."

Add all his birthdays at once as well, based on his reaction. "Always knew you were the perfect woman, holy shit," he mutters in awe as he pulls out of you. You turn yourself around to get on your hands and knees, arching your back to present yourself to him, and he grabs at your ass to admire the sight in front of him, and he growls under his breath. A guttural, feral sound that has you clenching around nothing. “Been thinking about this much, then?”

“Oh, only pretty much every time I’m closing up the bar,” you chirp in reply. “Why’d you think I’ve been asking for you to stay sober for a night?”

“Fuck, if this is what one night gets me, I’m going teetotal,” he sighs wistfully, making you giggle.

“What was that line you gave me earlier about keeping that body away from me?” You tease, biting your lip as you anticipate the inevitable spank to your ass cheek with glee.

“Cheeky,” he smirks back as he admires how your skin ripples under his touch, "not so fun when it's the other way around, is it?"

"Does that mean you're gonna beg for me now, then?" You ask hopefully.

Tom pushes your back down enough for him to lean over you entirely to be within whisper distance of your ear. You feel his cock pressing into the crack of your ass as he whimpers, "Oh, please, miss, let me fuck you into oblivion. 'M such a good boy f'you, been waiting all this time to show you, been thinking about this all along. Please give me what I want."

"Yeah?" You moan against your pillow. "Tell me as you're filling me up again."

You feel him start to line his cock up with your pussy from behind as he admits, "Think about the day you'd finally tell me to hang back. I'd sit you on the pool table and eat that sweet little pussy of yours 'til it stains it. Bend you over that bar - that you've been spending months teasing me behind - an' just -" He lets out a long, shaky breath as he pushes his tip inside of you, revelling in the feeling of your cunt immediately pulling him in for more.

"Please, Tom…" you whine. "'S all I think about when I'm closing, too. Can't look anywhere without thinking of how you'd fuck me," you admit half-sheepishly as you rock back onto him.

Tom's hips buck to meet yours as he groans. "God, I've been a fucking idiot, then, haven't I?" He half-laughs.

"'S fine, just - fuck me now, please? Just how you’ve always wanted to?" You beg, crying out in delight as he grabs your hips and starts thrusting frantically into you. 

You've always thought it was cliche as all hell when people say that with the right person, it feels as though they're made for you - but Tom barely needs any direction from you to bring you to your apex. He feels right inside of you, he's hitting just the right spots at just the right pace, without you even needing to ask him. And the sounds he makes as he's fucking you, just the knowledge that you're clearly making him feel the same way, turns you on even more.

His moans become more strained, and his grip tightens. "Fuck, babe, need - need to feel you cum so I can - fuck, are you close?"

You whine out an, "Almost. I can get there quicker, though," you start shuffling to reach down between your legs, but Tom bats your hand away.

"Please, allow me," he smirks as he strokes your clit up and down.

"Such a gentleman," you tease, and he chuckles.

"Not much gentle about me, love," he purrs before rubbing your clit in deliberate, tight, fast circles, slapping your ass once more for good measure and practically losing himself inside of you when he feels how you clench around him at that.

When you climax, it's more intense than you've felt for a long time, if at all. You paint his cock in your juices, and he only just about manages to pull it out of you in time to spread warm spurts of thick cum against your ass. 

You flop down onto the bed, still stomach first, in exhaustion, smiling wistfully at the feeling of Tom lightly dragging the tip of his cock through the strings of cum he's left on your ass cheeks. "Having fun back there?"

"Just sort of sinking in that it's really happened," he replies in a state of dazed happiness. "How you feeling?"

"Good," you smile back in the same tone, "so very good."

"Yeah?" he smirks proudly.

"Should probably clean up," you mutter into your pillow, "but I don't wanna move right now."

Tom laughs, "C'mon, let's see if we can share a shower without you trying to go for round two, eh?"

You sit up on your knees, pivoting to face him, and gasp in shocked offence, making him laugh even more. “Oh, if I can, eh? And what about you?!”

He leans in with a grin, holding you by the throat as he kisses you deeply, longingly. “I already know I can’t.”

Once you’re both stood up, the rest of the night catches up with you and you both spend a moment blinking at each other heavily and laughing in exhaustion. You do share a shower, but it’s tender, soft, intimate. Lots of gentle caressing and slow kisses as you bathe Tom in your signature scent, the two of you becoming as one. 

When you’re all clean, dry, and snuggled in Tom’s arms in your bed, you sigh. He turns his head to rest his face against the top of your head, pressing a soft kiss to it as he asks, “What’s wrong, sweetness?”

“Don’t want to fall asleep, now. Means it’s over,” you mumble into his bare chest.

“What, d’you really think I’m gonna ghost you after this?!” Tom asks with amusement. “You’re stuck with me now, babe.”

“Oh, no(!) How terrible(!)” You joke, and Tom gasps.

“Cheeky!”

“Ah, can’t reach down to spank me now, can you?” You tease.

Tom hums sleepily, “Hmm, I’m keeping track in my head of what I owe you, don’t you worry,” and you giggle. “Y’know, this wasn’t really how I wanted to do things with you.”

“How’d you mean?”

Tom shuffles a little, “Well, y’know. The deal was only ever to get your number, at first. Then, I was gonna wow you with my excellent flirting skil- why’re you laughing?” He pokes the soft part of your side, tickling you and making you laugh even more. “Anyway, wanted to do it all… Y’know, proper. Wine and dine you, so you knew it was for real.”

You frown, tracing the freckles on his chest absent-mindedly. “Yeah, but you did do all that. You bought me a drink at the start… Bought me my burger… And I think I know how you feel about me well enough by this point,” you grin. “Just thought you’d earned a night of teasing me, for once. Don’t get too used to it, though.”

“Oh? Sounds like a challenge,” Tom smirks, and you laugh. He sighs happily, “I really do like you, by the way. Not just drunky Tom, an’ I wasn’t just trying to get you in bed, neither. Not that I’m complaining,” he squeezes you closer to him, smiling into your hair.

“I like you too, Mr Grant,” you tease back, looking up at him to kiss him. One kiss gets followed by another, and another. “Things just feel right with you, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies wistfully. “Like… Not to bring up my ex, but being Ruth was just like… Doing it to get it over with, d’you know what I mean? Like we did because it’s a thing people do. But that was just fun, like we were having a laugh but it was so fucking good at the same time. ’M just sorry I only made you come the once, especially on your birthday. How inconsiderate, eh?!” he jokes, and you laugh so loudly that your hand flies up to your mouth, but Tom gently guides it back away, watching you with adoration.

“Trust me, that was plenty! If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t get to play with you more,” you go back to playing with his freckles.

“Right, so, plan is, we get up nice an’ early in the morning, you suck me off and then ride my face until you’ve had at least three orgasms, yeah?” Tom jokes.

Laughing, you offer, “Deal. If you’re still asleep when I wake up, I'll just get started and wait for you to catch up, shall I?"

"God, it's like you're in my brain," Tom shakes his head as you both fill the room with laughter.

“S’pose we should get some sleep then, shouldn’t we?” You suggest, shuffling around until you’re comfortable. He matches your posture easily, spooning you and wrapping you up in his embrace as he settles down next to you.

“G’night, love. Hope you enjoyed your birthday,” he muses in your ear.

“Definitely the best one yet.” You smile sleepily as you feel him lean over to kiss your cheek, and turn your head around to sneak in a few more kisses before finally falling asleep.

tagging a few people who might especially want to read, feel free to tell me if you don't want to be tagged <3: @keerysquinn @pedgito @babybluebex @reysorigins @keeponquinning

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

pumpkinspice-prouvaire's required les mis fic reading list

enough of u supported me in my half asleep post asking about fic recs the other day so I am providing. If you want a deep look into my inner psyche this is also the list for that hehe. I tried to be strict about only including my absolute MUST READ fics that I adore and have read and reread and reread again multiple times. Also these will be mostly ExR, to no one's surprise. But there might be a few other ships and gen fics in there too. It's under the read more because this bitch is gonna get long

Auto-read authors:

I didn't wanna rec the same authors too many times in my list proper so these are the authors whose works I have read all (or nearly all) of multiple times. The authors whose tax returns I would read if they posted them on ao3. I will be featuring my favourite fics by them in the list

Fiver

dannyPURO

TheLibrarina

quillsand

Petr1chor

defractum

ShameDumpster

vamillepudding

revolutionbarbie

loverism (all of their fics are currently in a privated bookmark but I have faith that they will someday return. loverism if u see this I miss u)

Need_To_Comment_Rising

Multi-Chapter fics/Series/WIPs:

Under My Wings You Will Find Refuge- Fiver: (WIP) This is the most required reading of my required reading list. I can quote passages of this fic by heart. It's my roman empire. PLEASE check this one out if you haven't it is the best ExR fic in existence, it will change ur life I promise

Beneath a Dragon Moon- The Librarina: GOT AU, no GOT knowledge required. Lots of dramatic moments interspaced with some lovely tender ExR

Guided by a Beating Heart -torakowalski: my absolute FAVOURITE Enjolras centric angst fic. Lots of emotion, lots of friendship, will make you ugly sob

you and i walk a fragile line (is this the time it finally breaks)?- UnforgettableJoMarch: (WIP) I am so enjoying following along with this one. Heartbreaking plot with sublime execution and some brilliant lines, so looking forward to seeing this one develop

The Future's Owned By You and Me- quillsand: ENJOLRAS/FEUILLY ENJOLRAS/FEUILLY ENJOLRAS/FEUILLY WHAT MORE CAN I SAY. Absolutely fantastic rarer pair fic with as much (and maybe more) importance devoted to the activism as to the ship

Getting Fucked in Lingerie- downtheroadandupthehill: PWP. ahem. anyways.

(With a Jubilant Shout) They Will Come One and All- zade: PWP. AHEM. ANYWAYS.

True Blood AU-kjack89: Exactly what it sounds like. Vampire Grantaire and Human Enjolras shenanigans

words can be unwritten- defractum: my favourite soulmate au which makes me melt every time <3

Armillaria- RevocablePeril: THE MOST COURFIUS FIC OF ALL TIME. Lots of excellent Les Amis content in general. SUCH a good, massively underrated fic. 121 kudos??????????? You're all insane.

In An Age Without Heroes- ShitpostingfromtheBarricade: Gloryhole soulmates, the prison industrial complex, Oprah.

walls come tumbling down-reptilianraven: They're cute your honor. One of the only high school AUs I will abide by tbqh hehe

Oneshots:

What's a Bed Between Friends?- dannyPURO: if there's one thing you should know about me it's that I ADORE the there was only one bed trope

epiphany- Abidatchery: screaming crying throwing up that this isn't the fandom's most kudos'ed fic. Every word is expertly crafted and absolutely stunning

Vienna Roast- revolutionbarbie: cosy coffee shop au with a version of Enjolras we don't get to see but that I really enjoy

Out of Touch- ShameDumpster: LET ENJOLRAS GET LOVED YOU COWARDS

A Little More Lois Lane- stellatundra: Just a really funny and silly AU in which Grantaire is Superman

Love in a Coffee Shop-tellthemstories: an absolute fandom classic and rightly so. I've read this one so many times and every time there'll still be something that makes me laugh out loud

My anaconda don't want none (at all)-vamillepudding: v funny and sweet ace enj fic with hilarious triumvirate and exr dynamics

The Waiting is the Hardest Part-samyazaz: In this house, we absolutely love a sexy bet

Between Meetings and Midnight- PieceofCait: Enjolras cries after sex send tweet

A Bad Penny- PBJellie: Gay cowboys and sickfics are the ultimate combo for SURE

Leaves in the Void- myrmidryad: lots of emotion lots of friendship this one is so heavy but SO good you guys. It's also a Space AU I know we all love that <3

my heart's been borrowed (yours has been blue)-Petr1chor: P-tri is so good at writing fics where Enjolras is a complete dumbass and he wrote this one especially for me <3 <3 <3

fire in my hands- geode: This is my go to fic if I want a laugh. "Do you like parsnips?" "Yes they're my second favourite vegetable" iconic exchange god bless

I Would Do Anything For Love- Need_to_Comment_Rising: one of my fave ace Enjolras fics with lovely tender ExR. No I'm not biased because I worked on this series, don't be silly

Like Comfort, Like Solace, Like Relief- areyoumiserableyet: The sensation of coming home to the people you love after a long day <3

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood- sonhoedesrazao: There should be more fics with oblivious to his own emotions Grantaire that's all I'm saying

Trying to Leave the Ground-barricadeur: rly comfy cosy smut fic

YAY ENJOY I'm gonna go lie down now god I hope I haven't forgotten anything lmfao

[tallmatcha]

WIP Wednesday

Long time no write.

Tagging: @gilgamish @wraith-caller @archangelsunited @aesadraws @saltymaplesyrup @ludicrous-musings @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer @mirrordaltokki @thequeenofthewinter @nomorescore @whatsarasaid @downontheupside

As always, no pressure.

Rays of Gold - a story of pre-Shattering Leyndell

Chapter 1

Liurnian dawn was identical to Liurnian dusk: bleak, blue, and plagued by a mist so thick that it crept between the plates of Darian’s armor and burrowed beneath his clothes, settling upon his skin like cold sweat. As it collected at the base of his neck and ran down his spine, he clenched his gloved fists and fought the urge to shiver. None of the other men appeared bothered. He would not be the first to complain.

The waterlogged earth sucked at his boots, and the loud squelch that accompanied each step had long since gone from grating to infuriating. Stopping even for a moment would cause him to sink into the loamy soil; so overburdened was he by steel, leather, linen, and the weight of his own pride. He pressed on, ignoring the chill and the ever-present miasma of petrichor and wet rot. Bravely, he straightened his back and looked up to address his Master—or, rather, his Master’s horse, for his head barely came up to the beast’s shoulder.

“They’re saying the new Lord Lowell has Liurnian sympathies,” he declared.

Sir Owain’s horse snorted. Owain himself didn’t so much as glance down at his squire. “And who are they?”

“The men.”

“Which men?” The harshness of his tone caught Darian off guard. “If you volunteer information, be ready to disclose where it came from.”

“Sir.”

“I abhor idle talk, Darian.” 

“Sir. My apologies, sir.”

Had the discussion ended there, Darian would not have pushed further, for he knew better than to test his Master. To his surprise, Owain spoke again. “House Lowell has served Leyndell for centuries. We’ve never had reason to question their loyalty. The new Lord was educated at the Academy of Raya Lucaria. That on its own isn’t indicative of treason.” He shot Darian a pointed look. “Do not suggest such a thing again.” 

With that, Owain urged his steed to a canter and rode to the front of the line. Darian squared his shoulders and apologized to the ground, watching listlessly as muddy runoff welled up in the craters left by Lamaech’s hooves. He imagined the same filthy water seeping through his pores and diluting his blood, then leaching deeper still to rot his bones.

Only the carriage remained relatively unmarred by dirt. It was massive—needlessly so, for it was only meant to carry one passenger—and obscenely ornate, every inch adorned by curling flourishes, scalloped columns and garlands of laurel. Darian assumed it was just as sumptuously appointed within. Lord Lowell would spend the next three days warm and dry, and his sainted shoes need never touch the ground. 

One of the trolls tasked with pulling the carriage sank to its knees, exhausted. Its companion stopped, looked about nervously, then began to moan in distress. Darian felt a pang of sympathy for both creatures as his comrades drew their swords and approached the pair, banging on their shields and shouting threats. 

He glared reproachfully at the carriage. Such trouble, and all for one Lord.

[goosewriting]

Hi!! Hope you're doing good, this is for the prompt request, raph with number 10 on color blue (miscellaneous), where reader lives near where the turtles live (not in the sewers lol), and everytime he goes on a mission or just walk close to their house, he starts to crush on them, so when his brothers found out they try to perform a date, but since raph is some shy, it doesn't go as planned (even that reader is really charmed by raph personality and in some time they start to crush on raph too and more time later they start a relationship), sorry if is really long, just some fluff for the raph boi <33, I really love your writing and i hope you do good, thanks for your time and also that if you don't feel like doing this you can pass for it, don't worry :)) (forgot to mention thst this is situated after the kraang situation so reader don't get a little freaked out about raph)

A very special mission (rottmnt Raph x reader)

prompt 10: "Abort mission, I repeat abort mission.” “What? Abort what mission? All you were doing was introducing yourself to your neighbor?” “Yeah, and they’re too attractive. I can never speak to them again.”

summary: Raph gets a crush on reader and April sets up a meeting.

relationship: Rise!Raph x GN reader

warnings: none, fluff!

word count: ~910

A/N: i have to admit this one was one of the more difficult ones for me, it’s been in my wips for so long! i ended up changing the dialogue slightly to fit the scenario better. hope you still like it!!<3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It had been around 3 weeks since the Krang invasion and the city was recovering slowly but surely. Many buildings that had been destroyed by the aliens were almost done being rebuilt. With every day that passed there were less and less construction sites and scaffoldings to be seen.

After the invasion, the everyday routine resumed fairly quickly. You kept going to class and your part-time job as always. But lately you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You tried to shrug it off and went on your way.

Above you on a roof, from within the shadows, a certain ninja was keeping an eye on you.

Raph had been watching you for some time now. Because of the repairs after New York’s partial destruction, the turtle brothers had to change their patrol route, and that’s when he had spotted you talking to your friends on the street.

It had been like love at first sight for Raph. Ever since seeing you that day, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even after the repairs were done and he could have gone back to their normal route, he’d always make a quick escapade to your street, hoping to see you.

One night he was escorting you home from afar (unbeknownst to you) after work, and you ran into April on the street. You two greeted each other like you were friends and had a quick chat, then went along your way.

The next day, Raph basically interrogated April about you. It turned out you had actually been friends for a long time, but you had moved away for some years, and now came back. She just hadn’t had the time to catch up with you yet and introduce everyone.

Hearing this, and knowing that Raph had a massive crush on you, the other turtles all but begged April to set you up with him somehow. It didn’t take much convincing at all, because she was actually planning on doing so sooner or later. She was convinced you’d get along really well, with all of them.

So when April asked you if you were up to meeting a friend of hers, you said yes. You were kinda intrigued at how mysterious everything was about the meet-up. She wouldn’t tell you much about this person other than his and his brothers’ names, and that he was a really good guy.

You were told to wait on a street that wasn’t busy at night-time. If April hadn’t been there waiting with you, you would have had second thoughts about meeting a stranger in a deserted place like this. But she was confident that you’d like her friend, so you waited expectantly.

The turtles were waiting on a rooftop across the street, and Raph was half-way down the fire escapes when he suddenly stopped. He clenched and unclenched his fists in annoyance at himself, trying to calm down his pounding heart. Isn’t this what he had been waiting for for weeks? To finally meet you face to face and talk to you? All his pining came down to a boil within him, evaporating immediately, leaving him only with uncertainty.

Looking around, you turned to look at either side of the road, your form illuminated by a streetlamp. Raph’s breath hitched when he noticed that you had actually chosen a nice outfit to come out here; it wasn’t your usual clothes you wore to go to work and back.

You had dressed up for him and he was too much of a coward to go say hello.

With a groan, he buried his face into his hands.

April was starting to wonder why Raph was taking so long. She gave you an apologetic look and was about to contact him with her turtle comm, when it beeped in her pocket.

"Abort mission, I repeat abort mission” came a voice through the device.

“What? Abort what mission, Raph?” said someone else. “All you were gonna do was introduce yourself to April’s friend?”

“Yeah Leo, and they’re too attractive. I’ll never be able to speak to them.”

What Raph had forgotten was that April was also connected to their call, so you had heard everything.

Heat rised to your cheeks at Raph’s comment. But you did like his voice, it was kind. So with a sudden burst of confidence, you took April’s device from her hands just as she was about to reply (probably reprimanding him about leaving you out here when he wouldn’t even show up).

“C’mon Raph” you called to him, then switched to a more flirtatious tone. “Let me see you… I don’t bite.”

You heard a clatter somewhere on the building near you, where Raph was holding onto the railing for dear life after almost falling down, face as red as his bandana.

– – –

Bonus: (a couple of weeks later, after you two started dating)

“Hey, remember when you were too scared to come meet me for the first time that night?” you asked Raph with a playful tone, lightly jabbing your elbow into his side.

“Ugh, yes” he responded, looking to the side for a second with flushed cheeks. “I was scared out of my shell to be honest… I still don't entirely understand how I managed to snatch you but I'm glad I did.”

You merely smirked at him. He sighed.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Heh, nope” you said, leaning up to place a smooch on the tip of this beak.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Ok ok ok I don’t know if you’re much into Harry Potter but hear me out - I saw someone categorize the ateez boys into Hogwarts houses and they mentioned how Yunho would be in Hufflepuff and be quidditch captain. My lil brain is obsessed with this idea because I’m a hufflepuff too SO I had a vision haha

Like just imagine being a shy lil hufflepuff and having a slight (massive) crush on him and baking the quidditch team treats because he helped you find your cat or something idk but then he notices you in his classes and slowly gets to know you. He then invites you personally to the games and helps you study while also trying to learn how to bake and knowing all the secrets of the kitchen or something.

But just like I then saw this picture and it just made me think of him just staring at his girl from across the room as she’s all blushy and just aaaaaaaa I need fluffy hufflepuff captain in my life that’s all haha

pls me i am such a potterhead you have no idea 😭 yunho as hufflepuff makes sense but can i just say no matter what house he is in, he has to be the quidditch captain. there's no other position more perfect for him! and you're a hufflepuff too omg let me slyther in your heart ;) (yes that's me)

okay but that headcanon?? i hear you. there's no way you won't be shy around quidditch captain yunho who's always occupied with stuff, but still manages to make time for you if you ever stop him in the hallways or ask him to meet you somewhere so you can hand him the treats you baked for the whole team bc you're shy to give them to everyone (really, you baked only for him but you don't want to make that obvious). you may have first baked only for him bc he helped your pet but when you saw him sharing those treats with his team and when he caught you in the hallways one day and complimented your baking skills, you started making them weekly. somewhere between that, you get invited to watch the games and you become known as the quidditch team's personal bakers. the other houses would definitely be jealous that the hufflepuff players get to eat baked goods before every practice 😭

and then as yunho and you get comfortable with each other and he starts developing an interest in your baking process (and you), you use that chance to ask him if you can study together for the exams. will there be any studying? you don't care as long as you're with him and he's happy hehehehe

AND THIS PICTURE. this is him when he catches you staring at him hiding in the hallways and when you try to peek at him again, he's already looking at you like this I WILL SOB 😭😭😭 he's just so sunshine yellow warm golden retriever hufflepuff coded i crie-

i've always wanted to write a hogwarts au and you've just given me the perfect idea for it 😭 i will def make it a thing one day (if you're okay with me using this prompt/trope that you suggested) and if i make it a thing, you're getting all the credits 😤

right now, though... i may have something very dark and twisted planned for yunho. that's my current wip, kind of slow but we're getting there hehe. so stay tuned for that? <3

[johaerys-writes]

I’m not sure if its still wednesday where you’re from, but it is here! So, wip wednesday pls? 🥹💗

Hi!! And yes it's still Wednesday where I am as well, so have a little snippet from the next chapter of you're a walking disaster and yet-- , where Patroclus is a sweet and oblivious country boy (and about to get a massive wake up call lmao):

“So I’m not sure if Achilles has told you, but my birthday is coming up next week. We’ve been trying to decide how to celebrate it.”

“Oh,” is all Patroclus says. He doesn’t want to tell her that Achilles has told him practically nothing about any of them. 

“A friend of mine works at the Pulse; he could book us a table. And he'll probably bring us a bottle of vodka or two on the house, as well. We always get free drinks when we go there.”

“You mean Achilles gets us free drinks,” Rhea laughs. “Honestly, I can barely keep up, they come so fast—”

Dei elbows her and gives her a sharp look, and Rhea immediately cuts off whatever she was about to say. Patroclus gapes at Achilles, who flushes bright red.  

“Why are people buying you drinks?” Patroclus asks. 

“I don’t know, it’s not like I’m doing anything,” he says quickly. “We just… sit there and trays come. Not all are for me.”

“Not all, but the vast majority,” Rhea mutters impishly, and earns another look from Dei.

Patroclus is baffled; he’s never heard of bars where men are given drinks like that. Usually it’s the other way round, men buying women drinks. It’s not like he would know much about it either way, though; he rarely ever goes to clubs or bars or any such places. All he knows for sure is that the few times he’s been, no one bothered to buy him a drink, and it’s kind of unfair, honestly. He isn’t a big drinker, but he wouldn’t say no to some free beer. 

“What kind of bar is it?” he asks. “Any bar that gives out free drinks like that seems like a good place to throw a birthday party.” 

Phoebe gives him a funny look that he can’t quite place. “It’s a gay club. Well, more like a gay-friendly club these days. The drag shows every Friday are very popular.” 

"Oh," Patroclus breathes, but it feels like a gut punch. His brain forgets how to form words, so he just stares at Achilles, who is studiously avoiding his gaze. Patroclus can't fathom what Achilles could have been doing in a place like that, without ever telling him anything about it. Even if Patroclus knew what it looked like, he couldn't imagine Achilles there, not in a hundred years. The fact that he’s been keeping an entire part of his life secret from him hurts in a way that Patroclus can’t explain. 

More than all of that, though, the thought of other men buying Achilles drinks, of flirting with him, makes him feel suddenly sick. 

[steves-strapcollection]

W-W-W-W-W-W-WIPPP WEDNESDAY: here i have found some peace of mind [WIP Snippet]

Heyyyyyyy it's WIP wednesday and I'm graaaadually getting closer to a point where I think i can start posting this fic but ANYWAY for anyone new this is from my modern rockstar!Eddie/group housing coordinator!Steve AU where Steve thought Eddie's name was Chris for a while due to Shenanigans And Such once this fics goes live, it'll be uploaded to my writing blog @gerrystamour PLEASE accept and enjoy this snippet ;p

So, Steve typed in “Eddie Munson Corroded Coffin” and waited for the search to load. As soon as the first images popped up, Steve knew he had made a huge mistake googling him.

Eddie Munson had to be one of the most attractive men Steve had ever seen. Granted, the first images were from a very suggestive photoshoot he’d done at some point, but there was only so much that could be credited to make-up and editing.

Eddie had long, curly brown hair and a soft face, his eyes big and brown and wholly captivating. Steve was struck by how… sweet Eddie probably would look if he wasn’t smirking to show off a pair of fangs with a heavy-lidded stare. Even his curly hair was messy in a way that oozed sensuality.

In the photo, he was wearing sinfully tight leather pants and nothing else as he knelt in front of a pew, and the laces of the fly were tantalizingly undone. Eddie leaned back with his elbows on the bench, accentuating the long, tattooed line of his torso. There was a guitar propped up against the pew next to him, and his left hand was wrapped around the neck of it loosely, suggestively even. His fingers were blackened, with dark veins traveling up his forearms and up his neck. Belatedly, Steve noticed that Eddie had horns in the image as well, as if he was some sort of demon.

Quickly, Steve looked at another image, but it was just another photo from the same shoot. He was still only wearing a pair of leather pants, except this time, Eddie was sitting on an elaborate altar with his legs spread wide to accommodate a man—a priest kneeling between them. One of Eddie’s hands was holding the top of the priest’s head while the other was holding a rotting apple up. There was a snake wrapped around his bare shoulders and traveling down the arm holding the priest. Eddie’s head was tilted back, a maniacal, toothy grin on his face and dark eyes staring down the camera. The horns coming out of his forehead were bigger, more elaborate and his shadow against the back wall had massive, bat-like wings.

Steve stared at the column of Eddie’s throat and only snapped out of his stupor when he choked on his own spit.

With a groan he tossed his phone away from himself and covered his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Of course he’s fucking gorgeous, it was just Steve’s luck. If Steve had known before he told Eddie to fuck off, he might not have been so quick to decide sleeping with him wasn’t worth the risking his job.

Even as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t true, but he was hurt and Eddie was hot. Blasphemous, and hot. Honestly, the blasphemy made him even more attractive.

Picking his phone back up, Steve went back to looking up the band, and quickly discovered that these images were part of the promotion for their latest album, and the image on the altar was a still from one of their music videos. He saw a few shots of the other band members, and Steve was a bit overwhelmed at how attractive all of them were.

It was when he clicked through to the music video that Steve remembered Eddie talking about their YouTube channel. The music video itself started with heavy guitars and Eddie crawling out of a hole that looked like a red, gaping wound on the ground, wearing nothing but the mud and viscera that clung to him. Steve knew for his sanity that he couldn’t watch that music video, so he clicked through to the channel instead.

Do i desperately wish for those images of Eddie to be drawn??? Yes. Yes I do. If I had the money to commission them.............my god i would be unstoppable. ANYWAY Hope you enjoyed this!!!! Please consider reblogging and such!!! Taglist! @indigohightide, @mylilplanet, @inairbinad, @patchworkgargoyle, @steddieas-shegoes, @scoops-stevie, @scarcrossdlvrs, @sidekick-hero, @afewproblems, @matchingbatbites, @xenon-demon

[samsalami66]

Hello! I know it's been 54625 years but I wondered if it was still ok to ask about fics for the WIP Game?

If so can I ask about 'Snow avalanche fic'? (and also if you have some more sneak peak/headcanon/anything you feel like saying about the ancient Greece au I'm there for it too!!!)

If it's too late or you don't feel like it I understand of course!!

Anyways, hope you have a good day 😊

Hey love! It could have been a million years and I still would love to answer any and all asks concerning the WIP game, so no worries about that! :D

So the snow avalanche fic was a bit of a spur in the moment kind of idea, where one of my random thought processes just lead to a random ass fic. The only premise I had for it was "Hob lives in the mountains and sees an avalanche close to his house. He has an ex-avalanche rescue dog and decides to look for himself if there's anyone trapped under the snow, knowing how crucial time was in these scenarios. He does find someone, and that someone is Dream."

It would probably evolve into a snowstorm starting up and Hob having to take Dream in until the storm is over.

Have a little snippet of that:

"Fuck that," Hob muttered to himself, grabbing his snow gear and Shaxberd's leash. His dog was quickly bounding towards the door, his old bones filled with more energy than Hob had seen in the mutt in years. It was almost as if Shaxberd could feel the importance of their venture outside, as if all his long since buried rescue-dog instincts had been kicked into overdrive. "Come on, boy. Let's find this unlucky bastard." And with that, Hob and his dog stepped into the biting cold, wind whipping around their hair as if they were branches of a newly sprouted tree. Shaxberd ran through the snow, maneuvering the woods around their cabin with an ease Hob could only dream of. His knee ached in the cold, the pain shooting up his spine with every step Hob took towards the slope, but he fought to continue his jog, a pace he knew he should be able to keep up until they reached their destination, at least if he managed to push the pain back and bury it beneath his rising adrenaline. When Hob caught sight of the slope, fallen trees and dark rubble scattered throughout the blanket of white snow, he was breathing hard, trembling from the cold, and clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain in his knee. The area caught in the avalanche was fucking massive, big enough that a whole search and rescue team might have had trouble to skim through it all. But today's team was nothing more than an old man and his dog, and Hob prayed to God it was enough to find this person before they died beneath the snow. "Go search, boy," Hob called over the howling wind.

Now, to Ancient Greece AU. A lot of stuff happened in my personal life that eventually had me delete the words I had written for the au so far. So, sadly, I can't offer another snippet for this.

I also don't know when and how I'll be able to start writing for it again, since my situation around the fic is a bit fucked XD. Here's for hoping I'll find some energy for it soon!

Now, I will however at least share some plans and headcanons with you, since I still rather love my plans for it!

So, one plan I have for the fic is to give Morpheus and Hob (whose full name is Cobon in this fic btw) a little symbolic place to meet at every year, to spend time together, away from the agoge and prying eyes. I have decided some time ago that it would be a peach tree. They will have a whole lot of emotional moments underneath that tree, especially connected to their growing relationship. They'd also watch the peaches ripen as the month of Morpheus' goes on and on the last day they would eat one of the peaches together and say goodbye before they would have to part again for a year.

I have heaps upon heaps of plans and headcanons for this, so feel free to ask me more if you'd like!

Have a good day love :D

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Seeing all your cool home updates && half-watching some HGTV w/my mom while drawing had a simple prompt idea if you might be interested! Basically HGTV reno show Jonsa - Sansa is a designer and finally gets a chance for her own show but loses Rob (her #1 contractor) to an injury before filming starts && Jon jumps in (either to help Rob /or/ the studio execs (maybe Targs?) throw him in) and the two have to work together somehow. Idk idk, just wanted to share! <3

ANON.

No, you have no idea, I already HAVE a house reno wip. It's not super long, but... yeah. I've got that.

Here, I'll post what I have written of it, since we CAN'T GET ONTO AO3.

this isn't exactly your prompt, though I do honestly love yours a lot and sort of want to change mine. If I changed mine, the show Sansa works on would definitely be like Rehab Addict, where she restores old homes to their prior state instead of making them "modern"

But mine is sort of similar? This snippet is just the set up and doesn't include the part where Sansa decides to start a youtube channel for her renovations, (a la WabiSabE, which I used to watch and was probably the inspiration for this fic when I first started writing it like a year ago lol), and everyone starts shipping her with her contractor Jon, who she keeps forcing to be in the videos because she can't really make them without him being in it...

.

Sansa winces as her car hits another bump and jolts her in her seat.

“You owe me,” she huffs out, hands tight around the wheel.

“I know, I know,” Robb's voice comes through her sound system and fills the car. He's distracted, she can tell, and she bites back a snippy comment. Robb's just so busy, he couldn't possibly get away.

That's not fair, the small part of her brain that's still being rational thinks. Of course Robb couldn't drop everything and come out to the middle of nowhere to deal with their Great Uncle Brynden's estate. Robb's got a new baby and his job.

Robb's got a baby, Arya's got her tournaments, Bran has school, and Rickon's still underage. All of her siblings have lives they can't get away from. All except her.

No significant other, no kids. A tenuous career that she can technically do from anywhere.

“Oh no,” she breathes, when the house finally comes into sight through the trees.

“What's wrong?” Robb asks, his full attention back on her.

“Robb,” she whines, the car coming to a pathetic, rolling stop on the overgrown gravel drive. “It's a mess.”

“A mess?”

She doesn't answer, too busy staring at the mansion in front of her. Or, what used to be a mansion, she thinks.

It's still vaguely house-shaped, but... The roof is missing shingles in multiple places, the windows all seem busted out. The steps up to the covered front porch are fine, but the porch itself has a massive sinkhole, and half the wood looks rotted and ready to crumble.

Gods, if this is what the outside looks like...

“What kind of a mess?” Robb asks. She's just about to start listing the many problems when she hears another car approaching.

“I've gotta go,” she tells Robb. “I think the lawyer's here.” She hangs up before Robb can answer, and watches the other car slowly emerge through the trees up the bumpy road, past the broken gates, and onto the circular gravel drive. It stops behind her and a man gets out. She gets out, too, phone clutched in her hand, just in case.

“Miss Stark?” the man asks, and his face splits into a kind smile when she nods. “Perfect, perfect. I'm Samwell Tarly. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Sansa moves forward to shake the lawyer's hand. He isn't what she was expecting. He's young, for one – maybe only a few years older than her. And he seems just as nice in person as he'd been over the phone. She didn't think lawyers came in nice.

“We should have met at your office,” she says, eyeing up the weeds sprouting from between the gravel and brushing against her ankles. “I didn't realize the road here would be so...”

Mr. Tarly laughs. “This place has been abandoned for quite some time,” he agrees. “I never met Brynden myself, but I’d heard about him. Apparently he decided to up and travel the world and left this…”

Sansa looks back at the crumbling mansion and feels her face scrunch up. She tries to smooth it out. “So, how fast do you think I can sell this?” she asks.

That’s when Mr. Tarly’s smile falters. “Well,” he starts, hesitant, “you see, it’s in such a poor state, I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to buy it.”

“But the land must be worth something? They can just knock it down and-”

“Ah,” Mr. Tarly winces, and Sansa’s sentence breaks off, unfinished. “I suppose you didn’t read all the fine print?” At the slow shake of her head, he grimaces. “Riverrun Manor is a historic property. You, legally, are not allowed to tear the structure down. Anything you do needs to go through lots of committee approvals…”

“So what you’re saying,” Sansa says, closing her eyes as reality crashes down around her, “is that literally no one is going to want to buy this.”

“Maybe if you find someone who’s both very rich, and very interested in Riverlands history?”

She opens her eyes and there must be a glare on her face, because Mr. Tarly winces again.

Then she turns back to the manor, and really looks at it this time. Beneath the grime and the moss and the crumbling wood, she can see what it used to be.

“What if I fixed it up a bit?” she asks, turning back to the lawyer. “What if I just did the major repairs, do you think someone would buy it then?”

She doesn’t want to do that, but it beats letting the property sit around even longer and paying the taxes on it. Or, worse, not paying the taxes and having that on her and her sibling’s financial records.

“I’m not a real estate agent,” Mr. Tarly responds, looking at the building thoughtfully. “But this is a good location, lots of historic stuff around. I wouldn’t doubt you could sell it if the building weren’t… well, that.” He waves his hand towards the manor.

“Alright,” she nods. “Maybe we should head to your office to do the paperwork, though? Then I’ll… I guess I’ll look for a contractor?”

Sam nods, and a bright smile lights his face again. “Oh, I know someone you can call!”

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 4: Action

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 here | Chapter 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak

Rating: M, swearing, descriptions of trauma, descriptions of suicidal ideation, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap)

Word Count: 10.5K (buckle up with a snack y'all)

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

A/N: It is finally here you guys! Finally! Life has been extremely fucking hectic and heavy lately but I wanted to persist with this story because I truly love it. Again, a heartfelt thank you to every single one of you that likes, reblogs, comments and encourages me with this little WIP. I'm still amazed that anyone at all wants to read my work, so thank you. A MASSIVE hug to my beta @serenaxpedro, for staying up with me, editing and providing feedback to me, and cheering me on as I contemplated how to best tell this story. You are my everything!!! This chapter is LONG, the longest by far lol. I couldn't bring myself to split it up because it didn't suit the flow of the story, so please enjoy our grumpy old man as he starts his first therapy session!

You pulled the collar of your vest up higher on the back of your neck, the brisk breeze sending a chill through you as you stood outside the horse paddock. One leg propped up on the fence as you fed a hose through it into the half empty water trough on the inside of the paddock. Winter in Jackson hadn’t been as rough as you were anticipating, life was a lot different during the harsher seasons when there was enough food to sustain the commune, and everyone had their own house to provide shelter from the elements. Although spring had made its appearance, you still felt winter’s remnants in the early mornings before the temperature warmed up, when there was frost on the ground and your breath fogged up in the air. You were finishing up some chores around the stables in between clients, meandering between the stables and the paddock, tossing a few hay bales over the fence for the horses, sweeping up the aisles. 

Despite the monotony of the everyday tasks, they never failed to bring you comfort amidst the hectic schedule that you maintained. While the office of the practice was cozy and welcoming, you always preferred being at the stables, around the horses. Nothing compared to the sounds of them munching away at their dinner, the sweet smell of their hay, or the sounds of their hoofbeats throughout the paddock. It was undoubtedly your happy place. 

This morning however, was different. It was Thursday morning, and no amount of tasks or chores could quell the growing nervousness you felt at possibly seeing Joel again today. You thought back to your meeting with him, recalling the warmth of his baritone voice, his sharp jawline, broad shoulders and endearing smile. You thought about him more times than you wanted to admit. It made your cheeks burn. His hardened exterior and gruffness were easy enough to spot from miles away, but the small cracks of vulnerability and softness that you saw in your first conversation intrigued you to no end.  It also broke your heart a little. 

His hazelnut eyes looked weary. Empty. Void of warmth for a long period of time. You could only imagine the horrors they had witnessed. You knew better than to fool yourself into thinking that you could fix him. No, you had long let go of that nonsensical notion. Believing you could fix anyone, fix their trauma, fix their nuances, it was a fool’s errand. Especially now, amidst the end of the fucking world as you and everyone else knew it. You knew that it was not your job to fix people, but rather help them. That was really it. You wanted to help Joel. Help him heal. Help him realize he was worthy of help. It was the same goal for all your clients of course, you only wanted to see their happiness, their small wins, their progression, but with Joel… that desire was much stronger. And you had only just met the man. 

Your ruminations were interrupted by a gentle shove and nibble against your arm resting on the fence. You looked up at the black muzzle in your face, chuckling at the inquisitive eyes of one of the herd members, Cole, a young jet black gelding, inspecting you in your dazed state.

“Sorry bud, I don’t have any treats on me right now.” You stroked the velvet skin of his muzzle as he persistently shoved at your hand. His nose peeked through the open gaps in the fence to reach your vest pockets, ears pricked forward. Usually you had treats handy for them every morning but you must have forgotten them in your absent minded state. You made a mental note to grab some sugar cubes from the feedroom in the barn when you were done watering. Suddenly, Cole jerked his head upright out of the fence, spooking and skittering off to the side of the paddock as you looked down to see the water trough spilling over, splashing all over the ground and onto your shoes.

“Shit!” 

You accidentally dropped the hose and clambered after it, the water pressure causing it to slither frantically back and forth across the ground. You managed to grab it near the opening and awkwardly bend the rubber in half, hoping that the kink would give you a split second to run back to the stables to turn off the tap. It did, but not first without spraying frigid water up against your neck and chest. 

“Fucking hell.” You gritted, as you jogged over to the stables and screwed the tap shut, still gripping the rubber bend tightly. You looked down at your shirt in dismay. The gray long sleeve was now drenched over your chest, the collar of your vest offering practically no protection as you felt the cold chill start to seep through your skin. 

‘Fuck. I could always call Tracey to bring me a spare shirt.’ You contemplated as you began to shiver. Just as you glance down at your watch to see if you had time to change, you hear your name being called softly from behind you. 

That warm, slightly raspy, deep baritone voice. 

Shit. Your breath hitched as you froze to the spot. 

You were anticipating him being late at least, if he actually did show. But currently, you are  cursing his punctuality and whatever powers that be for putting you in this scenario today of all days.

“Hey Joel!” You squeaked slightly as you turned around. Feeling another wave of shivers wash over your body, you dropped the hose and wiped your wet hands down the front of your jeans while walking over to him.

“You’re early,” you chuckled awkwardly as you tried to pull the sides of your vest closer together across your chest. Of course the vest you chose to wear this morning had a broken zipper. Of course.  

“Didn’t wanna make a bad impression for the first … y’know session. Plus, it’s pretty tough to get lost around here,” he replied with a nervous tight lipped smile.  It’s like you’re drinking in his appearance for the first time all over again, as if you forgot how fucking attractive he was in the days that passed after your initial meeting. Another shiver visibly runs through you as you try to squash down those lingering thoughts, now very aware of your soaked shirt against your chest and abdomen. Joel clocks your shivering as he steps a bit closer.

“Everything okay?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. You do a shitty job of hiding your discomfort but his gaze instantly drops down to your exposed chest, taking in the damp fabric clinging to your chest, a few droplets of water still running down your neck into your cleavage. He swallows slowly and averts his eyes.

You might as well be rusting from the inside because your voice continues to come out at a squeaky pitch.

“Yeah! Just my daily struggle with the hose while I was watering these guys. I am a sore loser this time around.” You chide yourself as you continue to pull at your open vest, only drawing more attention to your chest.

“You uh, do you want me to come back in a bit? If you wanna get changed into something else,” he clears his throat and tries to look anywhere else but your chest.

On any other day you normally wouldn’t care. If it was any other client you normally wouldn't care, and would deal with it later. But something about the way you catch his eyes briefly raking over your damp skin has your heart pounding in your chest. It also hit you at that moment that your nipples were probably visible through your shirt since bras were now obsolete and you weren’t wearing anything else underneath. 

Yeah. A change of clothes was definitely happening. 

“Uhm, I think I might go see if there’s anything in the barn here,” you jerked your head in the direction of the stable doors, “but you don’t have to leave. Just gimme a couple minutes and I’ll be back.”

“Sure no problem, take your time,” he replied. You gave him a small smile and ducked your head as you scurried away into the barn. Luckily, with how often you’re at the barn you do have spare clothes hung up in the tackroom for when you go riding. Flitting through the jackets and other dusty clothing on the hooks behind the door, you find a black pullover with a ¾ zip and a high collar. It’s thin and probably one size too small since you joined the commune and put on weight, but it’ll have to do the job. You peel the wet shirt off with a grimace and throw the pullover on, not before grabbing a handful of sugar cubes out of the jar on the tack shelf and shoving them into your back pocket. By the time you get back out to the paddock, Joel is leaning up against the fence, petting the horses.

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

By the time Thursday rolls around Joel’s nerves are shot to say the least. His fear, anxiety, and anticipation at seeing you again swirl together in a cocktail of restless energy. He tries to throw himself into odd jobs around the house, fixing the bannister on the porch, messing with the plumbing in the kitchen. Ellie of course clocks his silent tornadoeing through projects. She knew that when Joel was trying to put his mind off something, he would bury it under any and every excuse for work, any excuse   for providing, that he could. 

By the time she comes downstairs to leave for school Joel’s already in the kitchen, pouring his second cup of coffee. She wrinkles her nose and makes a beeline for the fridge, pulling out the box of eggo’s, popping two in the toaster beside him. 

“Ugh. That stuff still smells like shit, a year later. There’s no way it’s good for you,” she quips. She waits a beat and gives him a pointed look, waiting for him to start slurping it out of his mug at childish volume, like he always does. Except he doesn’t. He’s staring off into space as takes a sip, drumming his fingers on the counter. The bottom of his t-shirt is wet and his fingers have some kind of grease on them, and then she notices the open cabinet under the sink, tools strewn about across the floor. 

“What did you do to the sink now?” Ellie sighed and leaned against the counter beside Joel. He still doesn’t respond in his daze, his brows furrowed in concentration

 “Joel. Joelllllll.” She waved her hand in front of his face as he shook out of his trance. He grunted at her and frowned as she gestured to the mess on the floor.

“It was just a valve that needed tightening. Besides, what are you doing up this early?” 

“Uh it’s 9:03? I’m late for school??,” she raised an eyebrow at him, grabbing the eggo’s and sitting down at the table, shoving one into her mouth. “Did you also start taking apart the bannister upstairs? And the bedroom doors off the hinges?”

He grunted at her and as he proceeded to put the sugar jar in the fridge, and then the milk in the cabinet with the seasoning jars. 

“Okay dude what’s going on?” She looked at him with a bizarre expression. “I know I normally have to remind your senile ass of where stuff is around the house and what’s happening on certain days but you never start jobs around the house and not finish them. This is a whole other level of scatter brainedness”

“Nothin’s going on, I’m just trying to get this stuff done that I’ve been meaning to tackle for the last couple months. Figured I would get it done this morning, wait- you said it was 9:03? Shit.” He gulps down the rest of his coffee and dunks his mug in the sink, his right hand ghosting over his left wrist. To this day that damn watch doesn’t work, but he feels the lack of its weight around his wrist. 

He goes to move out of the kitchen but Ellie jumps up and blocks his path. Joel gives her an exasperated look and clenches his fists at his side.

“Ellie,” he half-heartedly warns her.

She raises an eyebrow at him and waits, a knowing expression plastered across her face as she takes another bite of her eggo. It’s the same expression she has when she teases him about being a fossil, the same expression when she tells him an insufferable pun from that joke book he pretends to despise, but secretly loves. 

Damn this kid for calling his bluff. 

“For crying out loud, alright. Alright. I went to see the therapist in town the other day. The one Tommy was talking about. We talked and I’m supposed to meet her at the stables this morning. Happy?!” He sighs and shifts his weight, putting his hands on his hips and looking up at the ceiling.

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen. “Holy shit, seriously?! Joel, that's awesome! I knew that was some pretty fucking amazing advice I gave you” she playfully shoves him with a shit eating grin. “Can I come with you please?! I wanna see the new foal again,” she pleads.

“Absolutely not, you’re already late for school, now go on.”

She rolls her eyes at him and shoves the rest of her eggo in her mouth, grabbing her backpack as she heads out the front door. 

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

When Joel arrives at the stables you’re distracted, which he’s somewhat grateful for. Cursing yourself with your back to him as he approaches the paddock. When you turn around and he clocks the soaked front of your shirt his throat goes dry. Your panicked expression, wide eyes, only fueling his dormant hunger as he watches droplets of water roll down the swell of your cleavage with each heavy rise and fall of your chest. He blinks a couple times and forces his gaze elsewhere, anywhere else.

Christ.

Could you make it any more difficult for him to maintain his morality? He’s somewhat grateful that he’s still wearing his bulky winter jacket that barely covers his crotch, as he feels his blood starting to rush south. 

Agreeing to this whole therapy idea was insane to begin with. 

Of course Joel was skeptical. Aside from the fact that he was not on the run anymore with Ellie, and no longer in danger, he didn’t see the merits of talking to someone about his problems, and shit that had happened in the past. It was in the past and it no longer affected him, therefore how could it really fix or address anything that was no longer a problem? Sure the consultation, or ‘meet and greet’ as you had affectionately referred it to, went well enough and Joel could feel the slightest softness melding away from his hardened exterior, but you were as much a stranger as the next person. He didn’t know you at all, and despite the warmth and amiability you exuded, and the comfort that washed over his system after your conversation, he was still hesitant as hell. 

Naturally, he tried to hide it, but that was pointless when Ellie instantly recognized his nerves getting the better of him that morning. He had held your conversation in the back of his mind as he ricocheted between tasks throughout the house over the next couple days leading up to Thursday. She was right as always though, the little devil. He saw things through till the end, and he knew all too well that he was starting to slip once he abandoned working on one project to start another. Good contractors don’t do that, and he prided himself on being a good contractor. One whom clients could rely on to not just get the job done, but get the job done well. He probably could have stayed in the house and continued his disastrous endeavors to fix shit that probably did not need fixing, but he surmised it was pointless once Ellie left for school. 

And so here he is, trying to get a grip on reality as he marvels at your appearance for the second time since your meeting. Not wanting to make things any more awkward, he walks over to the paddock where some of the horses are gathered as you change your clothes in the barn. 

Hearing your soft footsteps as you return, he looks over to see you in a tight, black pullover, that hugs you in all the right places, the zipper straining against your chest. You’re wearing dark wash jeans again that mold to the swell of your hips and your ass, and you’re sporting a baseball cap this time, your hair pulled into a ponytail. Joel’s mouth waters slightly as you approach him with that same warm smile. He itches to reach out and pull your body flush to his. You could be wearing a fucking potato sack for all he cares and you would still look cruelly appetizing he realizes. Before he can gawk any longer, he feels something tug at his sleeve, hard enough to jolt him out of his thoughts, and the tickle of whiskers and soft velvet brushing against his hand. He turns back to the fence to see a smaller black horse fussing with his coat. 

“Ahhh I see you have been targeted as the next culprit for treats,” you observe as you come to stand beside Joel at the fence. He huffs out a small chuckle as he pets the colt’s muzzle while avoiding getting nipped. 

“This is Cole, our resident mooch. He will do anything and everything for treats and he has a habit of forgetting his manners when he is around new people, isn’t that right?” You say in a playful stern tone as you look at Cole. 

“Are they usually so food driven?” Joel asks you as he watches the young gelding, who moved on from his sleeve to now start chewing at biting at the fence. He recalls when he goes out on patrol with Callum that the chestnut horse never seemed to fuss him with treats or food seeking behavior. He wouldn’t hesitate to stop and graze on the grassy plains when they are on their way home from patrol but he also listens to commands without needing motivation.

“Not always,” you respond, “horses are prey animals so they very much rely on their instincts, they will never turn down food if you offer it to them, but some are more food driven than others. You nod your chin towards Cole, “Cole here is one of our younger herd members, he’s only six, very much still a kid, so he just wants to play, eat and be mischievous overall. Isn’t that right monkey?” You smile and shake your head while booping the horse's snout, scratching the side of his face. Joel observes you intently and again gets lost in a trance as he views your affection for the horses shine through. The love you have for them is clear as day, and again he feels himself soften, as his respect and admiration for you increases.

“It’s his lucky day though,” you say as he watches you reach into your back pocket, pulling out a handful of sugar cubes. “Here,” you take a little more than half and reach out to Joel, dropping them into his palm. He feels the warmth of your skin as your fingers brush against his, your small hand barely containing a handful of sugar cubes, dwarfed by his much larger hands. You’re so much smaller than him, he thinks again as you look up at him brightly. 

Joel obliges as Cole already has half his face through the open fence, lips opening and closing as he reaches for the cubes in his hand. He greedily nibbles them up in less than 5 seconds, his soft muzzle and whiskers tickling Joel’s palm, as he continues to push at his hand, waiting for more cubes to magically appear. Joel chuckles warmly, “Sorry bud, that’s all I have for now,” brushing off his hands on his coat.

“Is Cole used in the therapy sessions?” He asks as he watches Cole walk away towards the other horses in the paddock, now disinterested with the lack of food. 

You chew your lip and squint your eyes slightly, “Not at the moment, he’s a bit too young to be incorporated into the therapy process. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, all horses bring a useful energy and perspective to the therapy, at the end of the day they are animals that will revert back to their base prey instincts, like spooking, defending themselves and looking for food to survive. But sometimes in order for the therapy to be effective, to complete certain exercises or observe patterns between the clients and horses, they need to have a certain level of commitment, trust and engagement with us. Cole would rather play and eat, and he loses concentration very quickly due to how young he is, it takes much longer to get him engaged and focussed so that the client can benefit from working with him. He’s a big suck though so it’s hard to stay cross with him.” 

You flash Joel a warm smile again, and by God if his heart doesn’t stutter every time you look at him like that. You look at him with hope, adoration, and a mutual understanding, almost as if you’ve known him for longer, in the life you both lived before this dystopia. He’s already nervous around you but it’s borderline uncomfortable, the faith with which you look at him, when you don’t really know him at all. He doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve your warmth. He’s sure if you knew half of the atrocities he has committed, you wouldn’t look twice in his direction. He’s also sure there are other people in Jackson with questionable morals who did things to survive, to make it from one day to the next, but Joel’s past rivals the shit he has seen in horror movies. Yet somehow worse than that. Horror movies that he would never let Sarah watch, even when she turned 15. How could someone who seems so pure, so hopeful, with such good intentions want to help those with blotted, mangled pasts? 

“If you don’t mind me askin’ how did you get into this therapy stuff?” He questions as he turns to face you, putting his hands in his coat pockets and leaning against the fence. 

You nod, smile at him again, “It’s totally okay. Everyone has an origin story, right?” You inhale softly and lean against the fence, mirroring his body language and looking out into the paddock. 

“I had just finished up grad school for social work when the world went to shit, but I didn’t have that many hours of practice under my belt, save for what I had done in internships and field placements. I did my undergrad in psychology which was good, but I yearned for more than just understanding the brain and our behavior, why we act and function the way we do, and so on.  Not to mention I was the friend in my friend group who people always came to with their problems, seeking advice and stuff.” You chuckled half heartedly.

“On a more serious note, before my last year of my grad school program, a cousin who I was very close to, took his own life. It ripped my family to shreds. No one saw it coming. The crazy thing is,” you pause and swallow, looking at Joel, “he was the happiest fucking person I knew.”

He watches you fiddle with the loose threads on the inside of your jean pocket and shift your feet, grinding the toe of your boot into the dirt. It’s unsettling to see your composure unravel bit by bit. It’s only the second time you are both meeting but as he watches you bite your lip, struggling to find the words, he feels the urge to comfort you. Reach out and touch your shoulder, grab one of your hands and squeeze it tight. Anything to help restore that confident demeanor, that warm smile to your gorgeous face.

“He lived such an ambitious life. He taught English to children in Korea, lived in the mountains of Colorado, rock climbing, and riding motorcycles.  He gave the best bear hugs, and was always trying to make others smile. He had the biggest heart… and yet he was suffering the deepest level of pain that no one could comprehend. Too much for him to comprehend.” You trail off and Joel can see your eyes start to get misty. 

You clear your throat and smile. “So many of us are suffering in silence and no one has any idea. I believe we all have an innate inner strength that can help pull us out of our anguished mental state, but sometimes we need someone, something, an outside perspective- whatever it might be, to show us that we can move forward and face our life’s challenges. I wanted to be that person to support others, and help them figure out how they can use their strength to get through it. 

You look out wistfully towards the horses and then back at Joel. “Maybe if my cousin had someone like that he would still be here. Truthfully, there are no words to describe how gratifying it is to see people cross those mental obstacles, gain more confidence in themselves, heal from their trauma and grow overall. It’s just very rewarding.” 

You huff out an exhale. “That was a long winded explanation, probably too long but that’s how I got into providing therapy,” you finish, pensively meeting his gaze.  

Joel’s brow is furrowed, his head tilted slightly as he remains captivated by your words. His eyes soften as he takes in your expression. There’s a hint of melancholy in your voice as your expressive eyes fail to hide the pain behind them.  There’s that feeling again, he notices. A softness. The embers of warmth emitting from his core as he sits with your pain. Hardness softening, yielding into empathy. You had suffered loss too, a suffering similar to what he had gone through. 

Before he realizes it, brief memories are flitting across his mind. Flash frames like a broken projector. Bloodied hands pressing against her wound, her agonizing cries, cradling her body in his arms. Dragging Ellie out of the capitol building, just in time before it combusted into flames and debris. Tess’s words echoing in his mind

Save who you can save.

His spine stiffens as he clenches his fists in his pockets. His feels his mouth going dry and the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Joel?” You’re looking at him with concern. “You still with me?”

He blinks a couple times and swallows, nodding. “Yeah, yeah I am. And I’m sorry for your loss. I, I appreciate you sharin’ that with me. Really”

“It was a long time ago but … thank you. And I know it’s easier to feel comfortable talking to someone about vulnerable things when they themselves are able to be vulnerable with you as well. It goes both ways.” You tell him earnestly.

Despite your reassurance, Joel’s mind is still reeling. He does a shitty job of hiding his dissociation, as you check in with him again. 

“Hey.” You duck your head slightly to catch his gaze again, his eyes flit nervously to yours.

 “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, Joel. Just because we had the consultation and you’re here, you don’t have to do this if you don’t feel like it’s for you. You can still back out if you want. It’s fully within your control. Do you still want to do this?”

Within his control. 

He plays those words over and over again in his mind. When was the last time anything was ever really in his control? Hell, he doesn’t even know what that word means anymore. Survival meant making choices, choices to ensure that you would be safe. That you would live to see another day. But choices did not mean you were in control. They oftentimes meant choosing the less shittier option to make the best of the situation. Choices sometimes meant being self-serving and using others as a means to survive, hurting others on purpose. He wasn’t in control when Tess died. Or when Sam and Henry died. Or when Ellie was taken from him. 

Does he want this? 

Every time he thought he was in control, he failed. Failed to protect, failed to provide, failed to prove himself. He didn’t want to invite those fucking feelings in again, but he also knew Tommy and Ellie were right. He couldn’t continue on this way if he wanted to have any semblance of a future in Jackson. Any semblance of a life. A life where he could live, not just to endure and survive.

Joel looks over at the horses, biting the inside of his cheek. They’re huddling contently under one of the shelters, a few laying down and a few grazing on the outskirts of the paddock. The breeze flowing through their mane’s and tails. And then he looks back at you. Into the depths of your bright, understanding eyes and your warm smile. 

“Let’s do it,” he says with a small smile.

—----------------------------------

Aside from the hazardous mishap with the hose this morning, and all other things considered, the morning seems to be going by smoothly. Not only did Joel actually show up, but he seemed to be doing a better job of calming your nerves, rather than you reassuring him. You don’t normally share your story about your cousin, you do explain to clients what got you into therapy as a way to be more relatable. A way to begin to carefully craft the therapeutic relationship between therapist and client. 

But with Joel, you wanted to share your pain with him. You knew he had suffered, regardless of the rumors and stories milling about in the community. You knew he was holding onto trauma, in his mind and body. It was evident when you saw him begin to dissociate. You were relieved to see however, that the more you shared, and the more you chatted, the more relaxed he became. He wasn’t avoiding your eyeline, looking everywhere else but you, and he wasn’t stumbling over his words. His body language was actually open, you observed, as he directly faced you with his hands in his pockets, nodding along as you spoke, focusing on your eyes. 

Your heart felt just about ready to soar out of your chest, as you tried not to smile too hard when he reaffirmed his consent for the therapy. They were all baby steps. Incremental, but significant to the process and you were thrilled. Almost still skeptical that he came this far. 

You explain a few more housekeeping things before stepping into the paddock with him. Details like confidentiality, and basic horse safety, but since he was already comfortable riding on patrol, it was pretty straightforward. 

Joel visibly perks up when you enter the paddock as he takes in the herd and the mountains in the background. The horses too are bemused by your presence, as they look in your direction, observing the both of you.

“So what happens first?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Do I just pick one?” 

 Callum instantly catches his eye as he scans the herd. The chesnut gelding is hard to miss, aside from his unmistakable white blaze running down his face, he’s also one of the taller horses.

You notice Joel’s recognition of Callum and chuckle, just as Callum looks over to you both and begins walking in your direction. “That would be far too easy, seeing as it appears that you already have a friend in the herd.”

The large gelding nickers quietly and steps closer as Joel reaches out to him. “Hey there bud, how’s it going?” He speaks softly, patting the side of Callum’s neck as he leans his face in closer to Callum’s, running his hand down his blaze. “You behaving since our last ride?” Joel grins as he looks from the horse’s large deep set eyes to you.

“Callum’s been my patrol partner for a few shifts now. He’s a good one. Smart as a whip and he gets the job done.” Joel continues to pet him with a smile of adoration on his face.

Fuck.

If you thought you were prepared to see Joel interact with the horses, you were sorely mistaken, you now realize. His interactions with Callum are precious and you’re endeared by how his demeanor softens around the large gelding. You almost wish you could let him do the session with Callum but their pre-existing relationship would make it less effective, and you tell him as much.

“It looks like you have a great bond with Callum already, I can see that in how he came over to you. He’s quite relaxed” You nod towards Callum as he lowers his head and softly chews his lips.

“It’s great to see,” you reassure him, “but I’m curious to see you interact with someone you don’t already know. Callum is actually the herd leader. He’s always looking out for the others, maintaining the hierarchy, and protecting the others when threats arise. It’s interesting you get along with him well.” You hum noncommittally as you point out the parallel and take a step back to observe him and Joel. 

Joel raises his eyebrows, his eyes soft. “Really? I didn’t know that. I just figured he was one of the older horses here, so maybe he had more experience than the others?” He furrows his brows and looks back at Callum.  

“He is older than some of the others here but he doesn’t have that much experience with being on patrol, surprisingly. He’s only been used in the past year or so, but it seems he has the right demeanor for it.” You continue with a knowing look, “it’s possible that you have a strong bond with him because of those traits. Being a leader and protecting others.”

At that statement, Joel's eyes flit to yours. Something akin to recognition flashes across his eyes. Recognition mixed with a guarded fear. 

“That’s a good thing,” you quickly point out, “but to experience the effectiveness of equine therapy, any kind of therapy really, you have to get out of your comfort zone. And Callum is part of that comfort zone right now. Why don’t we let him go and see the rest of the herd?”

Joel nods and gives Callum one final pat, “I’ll see you later bud.”

You gesture for him to walk further with you into the center of the paddock. Most of the horses are standing around the round hay bale in the middle. A few walk over, and continue past you both, glancing your way.

“Now, most of these guys know me cause I feed them almost everyday, so I’m going to step off to the side, and let you be with them. We’ll see who approaches and chooses you,” you conclude with a wink. 

Walking a few steps away from Joel, you clasp your hands behind your back, slightly amused at how lost he looks. His broad figured presence is powerful amongst the majestic animals, but his uncertainty and lack of confidence gives away his control. He walks further into their space and the herd parts like the Red Sea, most of the horses walking around and past him. Not even Cole approaches with the promise of more sugar cubes. Joel turns back to look at you, waiting for your cues and shrugs. You bite your lip to keep your smile from stretching across your face and gesture for him to keep going. Giving you a skeptical look, he proceeds further till all but one horse remains in his path. 

He slows to a complete halt, as he sees a smaller mare standing just ahead of him. She’s a pinto, with white and brown patches all over her body. She’s small height wise, at least a foot shorter than Callum, but certainly not small width wise, as he observes her wide belly protruding out from her sides. She stands facing Joel head on, with both front legs planted squarely, tail swishing erratically at the flies around her. She looks slightly to the side and Joel notices her right eye is blue. Almost human-like and a tad sinister, when viewed from the side. He also notices that she has a good chunk missing out of her right ear, the same side with the blue eye. 

She continues to face him, an unimpressed expression on her long face.

“It looks like Gracie wants to stick around,” you call out to him.

Gracie, huh?

Joel appraises the mare and decides to take one small step towards her. Gracie lifts her head slightly, her ears swiveling back and forth, as she shifts her weight from one back foot to another. 

He continues to take another step forward, bigger this time, placing him within a few feet of the mare. She instantly pins her ears to the back of her head, and snorts, as she walks away, her blue eye fixed on Joel. She doesn’t walk far, save for a few steps, but Joel turns back to you and says, “I don’t think so. She doesn’t seem that impressed with me.”

You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him a patronizing smile. But you can’t help it upon seeing his cute puzzled expression. Trying to exercise your poker face, you reassure him. “She doesn’t know you. To her, you are a stranger, as she is to you. What would be your natural reaction to a stranger approaching you?”

Joel frowns slightly as he contemplates your words, before he turns back to the disinterested mare. He grinds his lower jaw, the fingers on his right hand twitching as he appraises Gracie. “I would be guarded too I suppose.”

You encourage him a bit more. “Maybe try a different method to approach her. She might be more receptive if you can show her you’re not a threat.”

This time Joel walks around to Gracie’s far side, taking a few trepid steps towards her neck, and slowly reaching his hand out, palm facing up. She turns her head slightly towards him, her left ear swiveling in his direction. She stretches her neck out the slightest bit. He waits a beat, then continues to approach her slowly. You hear him coaxing her, “Easy there girl. I’m just coming over to say hello.” 

He continues to talk to her softly as he approaches her side. Amazingly, Gracie lowers her head to his outstretched palm, sniffing and tickling his hand with her whiskered muzzle.  A swell of pride surges up within you as you watch Joel murmur to the small mare, gently stroking her neck. “There you go. Nothing to be afraid of huh?” 

He looks at you with a tentative smile as you walk over to them. “Joel, that was amazing!” You praise him excitedly. “What were you thinking the second time around as you went up to her?”

“Uhm. I don’t know if I’m honest,” he looks contemplatively at Gracie, focusing on her brown one eye. “I guess I figured if she sniffed me, or heard my voice or somethin’, she’d feel more comfortable with me.” 

You nod eagerly as he explains his thought process to you. Naturally, you didn’t expect Joel to open up right away given that it was his first session. Hell, you didn’t expect him to show up at all. The fact that he was here, engaging with you and Gracie, was significant in and of itself. He was still learning to trust you, trust Gracie, and trust the process of therapy in general. Being mindful of this, you refrained from asking him too many questions, or probing his inner reflections. You were just as much concerned about spooking him as you were when interacting with the horses. 

“You did all the right things,” you reassure him. “Horses are always assessing their environment for threats, so when we speak to them as we approach them, and allow them to see us in their eyesight, they can more easily perceive us as safe.” 

“Not to mention, you also switched sides when you approached her,” you point out to him. 

He replies, “Yeah. Her other side. The side with the blue eye, seems more… I don't know. She seems more nervous with that side.”

You smile and hum as you reach out to brush the hairs from Gracie’s forelock out from her eyes. Sensing the question on Joel’s lips before he asks it, you explain to him. “It’s hard to miss, her ear on her right side. Unfortunately, Gracie was in a horrible accident almost a year ago. The farm she came from, they had a barn fire, and not all of the horses made it out.” 

You pause and sigh. “Sadly, her foal was one of them. She ran back into the barn after being evacuated to try and rescue her little one but it was too late. Her head collar got stuck on an exposed beam in the barn aisle way and it ripped a chunk out of her ear when she tried to escape.” 

Joel’s mouth gapes open, his brows drawn together as he slowly stops petting her neck. “Jesus Christ.” He looks at you and back at Gracie in disbelief with his big brown eyes.

He swallows and waits a beat, before he pensively asks, “she lost her baby?” 

Although he doesn’t say it as a question, more so as a statement to himself. A confirmation. 

You grimace slightly. “Yeah. The foal was only about a month old, poor thing. When Gracie arrived here she wasn’t interested in anything. We had given up hope that she would even want to eat or go out in the paddock with the other horses. At one point she just resigned herself to the corner of her stall in the barn, and would attack anyone who came near her stall door. It took a while for her to get acclimatized to Jackson, and even longer for her to build trust with us.”

Joel’s brows are furrowed as he looks at Gracie, a serious expression plastered across his face. To anyone else it might seem like he was mad or grumpy. But you notice how his focus zeroes in on her. There’s intention behind his gaze, something you can’t quite put your finger on. He grunts in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything. 

Interesting. You make a mental note of his response for later.

“Well, it looks like your partner has picked you, Joel. Why don’t we go into the round pen with Gracie and do some more one-on-one work with her?”

You clip a lead rope to Gracie’s halter, and hand it to Joel, trusting him to walk her out of the paddock into the adjacent round pen. 

Following them into the pen, you close the gate behind you and clap your hands together. “Alright, now that you have your partner, let’s try a small exercise shall we?” 

You walk up to Joel and unclip the lead rope from Gracie’s halter, taking the lead rope from him. Your fingers brush against his and you can’t help but relish in the warmth of his hands during the brief touch. They may be calloused but his fingers are soft, thick and long, you don’t miss the veins running through the backs of his hands either. You feel the heat running through your body as you imagine his fingers elsewhere before snapping back to reality.

Nope. Stop it. Concentrate.

You clear your throat and quickly take a few steps back, nearly tripping over yourself in the process. Upon realizing she wasn’t tethered to Joel anymore, Gracie walks away from him, flanking the perimeter of the pen. 

“Okay, this exercise is about communication, nonverbal communication to be specific, and trust,” you explain to Joel. “Let’s see if you can get Gracie to follow you around the pen, without holding onto her headcollar, or leading her with the lead rope.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you with skepticism, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I know, I know, it sounds impossible” you raise your hands at him, trying to appease him. “But sometimes we have to use other methods of communication when we don’t always have the usual tools or resources available to us. This will build trust and strengthen your relationship with her.” You give him an encouraging smile and fold your hands behind your back, still holding the lead rope. 

Joel turns to observe Gracie as she lazily grazes on the grass in the center of the pen. You can see that he is lost, his body language hesitant again as he is unsure of what to do. 

“I doubt I’ll be able to,” he calls over his shoulder, “she seems to have a stronger relationship with the grass at the moment.”

You don’t succeed in stifling the snort that escapes your nose, as you look down at the ground and shake your head. Despite what Joel presented as, namely, a hulking, intimidating, capable man, his self doubt penetrated the cracks of his facade, beyond the depths of his core.

Many clients encountered resistance or setbacks in their first couple interactions with the horses. But Joel was alarmingly quick to discount his abilities, submitting himself to self-deprecation. It made your heart ache for him. He was experienced in his horse handling skills, far more experienced than many other people in the settlement, and yet his confidence faltered quickly.  

This man, who had likely been through hell and back in his previous life, who contributed to the community, who exuded warmth despite his brokenness, deserved to feel confident. He deserved to believe in himself. You wanted to grab him by his massive shoulders and shake him like a ragdoll. Remind him of his capabilities, remind him of his worth.

“Remember what you thought about when you approached Gracie in the paddock?” You remind him carefully. “It’s the same idea here. She’s only just met you. You have to give her a reason to trust you and follow your lead. Start there first and everything else will fall into place.”

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

Joel had to admit, you were right. This didn’t feel like therapy at all really. It felt like he was just spending quality time with the horses and getting to know them. He’s surprised to realize he hasn’t stopped to think about the disaster of unfinished projects he left at the house, or Ellie at school, or when his next patrol shift is. Your presence is unreasonably calming as you explain the exercise to him, encourage him with the horses, and give him space and patience to just be. 

Sometimes it’s a bit too much space though. He chides himself internally at the longing he feels when your hands brush against his as you grab the lead rope from him, or when you take a few steps away from him to observe. It’s unnerving Joel realizes. That he is already starting to crave your presence near him, your reassurance and encouragement. It’s when you go silent and let him take control, or make a decision, that he starts to feel uncomfortable. Like a fish out of water, he feels out of touch with exercising any kind of authority. But he also doesn’t know how to handle his interactions with Gracie without your guidance. 

He also was not prepared to work with a horse that he didn’t know. The tiny mare seemed irritable by his presence at first. From what Joel knew about horses, and his time going out on patrol with Callum, they needed a strong leader. Someone to lead, and make decisions on behalf of everyone else, for the safety of the herd. Naturally, he approached Gracie with the same gusto but she didn’t take too kindly to that strategy. 

He observes the mare as she grazes on the grass on the perimeter of the pen, your words echoing in his mind.

Give her a reason to trust you.

When you explained Gracie’s past to Joel, he was shocked. He wondered if she might have been abused, judging by her right ear, and her overall behavior, but nothing could have prepared him for the real horrors of her past. Barely escaping with her life and losing her foal. 

He clenches his teeth together and flexes his jaw, feeling his blood run cold. Anxiety washes over his body as he thinks about her loss. Her suffering.  

Why in her right mind would she trust anyone? Why should she give her trust to anyone? 

He gets lost in the rabbit hole of grief as it consumes him. His composure begins to unravel. You must notice this as you call out to him.

“Joel? Everything okay?”

He turns his head slightly to the side, acknowledging you with a nod but not fully turning around. With his jaw set, he walks over to Gracie with heavier footsteps and his shoulders raised. The heel of his boots driving into the ground as he strides up to her. 

Before he can even get halfway to her, the mare jerks her head up from the ground and abruptly trots in the opposite direction, away from him with her ears pinned against her head. His chest heaves with a huff as he exhales and looks back to you. But again, you don’t give him any clues, throw him any freebies, or give him any direction. 

“Try again,” you say to him softly. A neutral expression plastered across your features.

That’s another thing. Joel is irritated that can’t get a read on you when he looks at you expectantly, clueless as to what to do next. Your sporadic tidbits of guidance or feedback are not always given freely. He needs to know what he is doing wrong, or what he is doing right. That is, if he is doing anything right at all. Your neutrality is unnerving and it only builds his frustration. 

All of a sudden that control he was too hesitant to take hold of, looms over him like a giant storm cloud swallowing up the Texan sun. Out of his reach, yet all consuming at the same damn time. 

Nope, he doesn’t like it one bit. 

He tries a few more times to approach Gracie with no avail, as the pinto mare continues to retreat from his proximity, remaining on the outskirts of the pen. Joel grinds his jaw and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze narrowing at Gracie. 

“It’s no fuckin use, she’s made up her mind about me,” he grumbles as he turns to walk back over to you. His heavy footsteps scuffing up the dirt as he drags his feet. 

“How can you be so sure? You got her to let her guard down moments ago.” You raise an eyebrow at him playfully with a knowing look. He grunts in response and frowns at you. 

“That was a misnomer, beginner’s luck,” he mutters, looking at the ground. He crosses his arms, dejection rolling off of him in waves.

“Can you tell me what you were thinking when you approached her?” Your warm attentive eyes search throughout his face, patiently waiting for his answer. 

Joel looks over to the temperamental mare, who’s now stopped grazing, standing off to the far side, with her eyes slightly closed. He purses his lips and closes his eyes. As they remain closed, images of Sarah’s sweet smile, expressive eyes and mop of curls cloud his mind. He can still hear her giggle when she would crack a joke at him about being old. He can still feel her small body curled into his, when she would pass out on him in the middle of movie night. Joel inhales sharply and slowly opens his eyes.

“I was thinkin’ about how she lost her foal…thinkin’ about what she went through with the fire… I don’t know, I felt angry that’s all.” He states plainly in a gruff tone. 

He bites the inside of his cheek as his gaze meets yours. He waits for you to recoil from his bluntness, retreat from his hard demeanor. Only, you don’t.

Instead, you give him a soft smile and nod. “There’s no right or wrong answer Joel, remember? You’re empathizing with her. Empathy is a good thing, but sometimes when we empathize too much with the pain that others are experiencing, it impacts our ability to communicate with them. We got lost in their pain, their frustration, their anger. All of the heavy emotions.”

He tilts his head to the side as he takes in your words, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Gracie is picking up on the energy you’re putting down,” you calmly explain to him. “Remember, horses are prey animals, so by default they are highly attuned to their environment, and the emotional state of others around them. It’s how they survive. She interpreted your anger and frustration as a threat to her safety.”

That does make sense, the more that he thinks about it. 

He should know better, he tells himself. He’s been out on patrol enough times to know that the instincts which the horses possessed were extremely valuable when it came to tracking down infected, or raiders that encroached on the settlement territory. He recalls a particular patrol shift where Callum was uncharacteristically distracted for the better part of their evening, persistently pulling Joel in towards the forested area that flanked the south of the commune borders. Joel eventually gave into the gelding’s frantic energy as he snorted and trotted further into the forest clearing to see a lone clicker weaving in and out of the trees. He swiftly aimed his sniper rifle at the infected, his gaze narrowing through the scope, as he pulled the trigger, the body dropping to the ground with a single shot. He never questioned the gelding's intuitive behavior after that moment.

Suddenly, Joel feels very embarrassed for being so thoughtless and brazen in the first place.  Couldn’t you tell him these things beforehand so that he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself? 

“It’d be a whole lot easier if you could tell me these things darlin’, so I know what to expect,” he says with a slight smirk, folding his arms across his chest. 

Your expression falters for a second as your eyes flit across his arms, and he sees you blush slightly. You regain your composure quickly and mirror his body language, crossing your arms over your chest and popping your right hip out.

“Again, that would be way too easy. Where’s the fun in that?” You tip your chin up at him and smile, almost as if you were challenging him.

“Besides, this isn’t about getting it right the first time! It’s your first session. You’re still learning about Gracie, as she is learning about you. Don’t be so hard on yourself Joel. You’re doing a good job, really.” You reach out, placing your palm on his arm, a hopeful smile on your beautiful face. 

His breath hitches as he feels the heat emanating from your small hand on his bicep. Despite the thickness of his bulky winter coat, your touch bleeds through his clothing, sending warmth throughout his body, an electric current running through his veins. He feels his pulse start to pick up just as you quickly drop your hand and take a step back from him, looking down at the ground. 

Joel inhales sharply. 

It’s devious really, how much he enjoys seeing you affected by his presence, his touch. You look sinful when you’re flustered, peering up at him with those doe eyes. His fingers dig deeper into his biceps as he tries to ground himself, pushing down lingering thoughts of the image of you looking up at him from your knees.

“Uhm, okay,” you stammer, trying to regain that effortless composure, “let’s try it again, but this time I want you to be mindful of your energy. Think about your body language, and your breathing as you approach her.”

You take a few more steps back and away from Joel and he nods, turning to Gracie’s direction. He’s amused to find her pointedly standing with her bum facing him, her head peeking over the fence of the pen.

Yeah he probably deserved that.

Okay. Body language and breath, he reminds himself. 

Steeling himself, Joel walks over to the mare, his steps laced with apprehension as he approaches her left side. Her ears swivel backwards in his direction and she raises her head. Joel pauses, waiting a beat to gauge her reaction, then continues his slow strides until he’s less than 3 feet from her. He repeats his actions from before, reaching his left hand out with his palm facing up. 

“Hey Gracie girl,” Joel says in a soothing tone as he continues to approach her. Gracie fixes him with her brown eye and snorts, letting out a large puff of air, still looking over the fence. 

Joel comes to a stop just short of her left shoulder, his palm still outstretched towards her.

“I know, I’m just a stranger. I know you don’t trust me, I get it.” Joel doesn’t even realize what he’s saying in the moment, but he continues to ramble and say whatever comes to mind, in the hopes of reassuring the moody little mare. “But I want you to trust me. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I want to trust you too. What do you think?” He continues in a deep, soft lilt.

After a few moments, Gracie turns her head to him, and stretches out her neck to sniff his waiting palm. He holds his breath for a few seconds, and much to Joel’s surprise she starts to chew her lips and lick his palm slowly. He lets out a long exhale and the corners of his lips quirk into a small smile. 

“There you go. Atta girl.” Joel continues to praise her soothingly, bringing his other hand up to her neck as he begins to pet her.

He steps up closer to Gracie’s body and begins petting her in long strokes. From her neck down to her shoulder, from her shoulder up and across her back, and down her tummy.  Her body hair is short and soft, almost silky smooth. His fingers trace the small swirls of hair in her coat, where the hair grows in opposite directions, and Gracie slowly relaxes, lowering her head and closing her eyes slightly. As he runs his hand over the wide swell of her belly, he pauses, and rests his hand there. Feeling her broad ribcage expand and contract with each breath she takes. ago. 

“When did you say that she lost the foal again?” He calls out to you without looking away from the mare.

“About nine months ago I believe,” you reply back to him, “she’s still holding onto some of the baby weight as you can see, despite her refusal to eat when she first came here.”

Joel hums to himself, his brow furrows and his lips slightly parted as he continues to gently pet her around the middle. Gracie turns her head, looking back at him momentarily. He gazes into the depth of her wide brown eye, the amber hues reflected in the light.  

He feels his throat start to constrict as he looks to her wide belly. Empty, but still glaring with the reminder of what she lost.

Joel doesn’t know what possesses him to do what he does next, but he almost feels like he’s in a trance. Running on autopilot. He shuffles even closer to her side, and rests his head on her back, almost draping himself over her side. Luckily she’s short enough that he doesn’t have to stand on his tip toes, it almost feels like he’s resting his chin on the head of someone a couple inches shorter than him. He continues running his hands up and down the swell of her tummy slowly, feeling his chest and his arms being pushed up and out with each deep breath she takes. 

Think about your breathing.

Joel allows himself this moment and closes his eyes. He gets lost in the rhythm of Gracie’s breathing. No sooner than that, does he realize that he is matching her every inhale and exhale in time with his own breaths.

A few minutes pass and Gracie shakes her head, stomping her hind foot and snorting as she shakes off flies. Joel opens his eyes and jerks his head up, already raising his hands in anticipation that she will take off again. Only she doesn’t, she remains with him.

Remembering the task you gave him, Joel gives her one last pat on the neck. “What do you say we go for a walk huh? C’mon girl.” as he slowly turns away from her and begins walking towards you. He doesn’t look back to see if she follows, but he does walk at a slower pace as he makes his way back to you. 

Your poker face fails you this time as your smirk stretches into a huge grin. Suddenly, you abruptly hold your hand up to stop him in his tracks before he can reach you.

With a quizzical expression on his face, Joel quirks an eyebrow at you. You gesture at him to wait for a few seconds. So he calmly waits, his hands by his sides, fingers twitching in anticipation. After a minute or so, Joel hears the soft thudding of hoofbeats against the dirt, feels a puff of warm air against the back of his left shoulder, tickling his ear. His face slowly breaks into a triumphant smile that matches yours, as he slowly turns to see the little mare contentedly standing behind him.

You wordlessly step to the side, out of his path and motion for Joel to continue walking. A bright smile still plastered on your face as you watch them together.

He walks around the outskirts of the round pen, adjusting his long strides and allowing Gracie to catch up with him. He does a few laps and then he stops. Much to his surprise, Gracie stops alongside him. He changes direction and walks the other way, experimenting with stopping in his tracks again, as she remains by his side. A few laps go by when Joel realizes you haven’t said anything in a while. He looks to you for confirmation and you nod to him, gesturing for him to meet you in the middle of the pen. He confidently strides over to you and sheepishly smiles once more when he feels Gracie’s muzzle nibble at the back of his shoulder. A small chuckle escapes him, his dimple peeking through his smile. 

He turns around and runs his palm down her face, from her forehead to her muzzle. He whispers to her softly, “Hey there baby girl. There you are.”

Taglist: @beskarandblasters, @pr0ximamidnight, @theewokingdead, @atinylittlepain, @prolix-yuy, @swiftispunk, @harriedandharassed, @amywritesthings, @missgurrl, @silkiers, @jasminedragoon, @mayasopinions, @pedgeitopascal, @elegantduckturtle, @sarahhxx03, @Snow30285, @gracie7209, @stevieboyharrington, @kirsteng42, @pedrit0-pascalit0, @loquaciousferret, @axshadows, @a-sh-lyn, @dotcie, @pedritosdarling, @lhymer1995, @nerdreader, @suzmagine, @like-a-dirty-french-novel, @delicious-collection, @serenaxpedro, @iamasaddie, @javiscigarette, @spooky-nob, @mxtokko, @axshadows, @sn1peraj, @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff, @javiscigarette, @wannab-urs, @cloverhasnobrain,

[dewdropreader]

Seven Sentence Sunday!

I was tagged by the lovely @loki-is-my-kink-awakening and @mirilyawrites

This Ghost WIP (Sylvie and Loki as mischievous yet generally friendly ghosts in Mobius’ house) has been following me for a while now, I still work on it pretty frequently but only in small doses so it’s chugging along! I still really love it though and hope I can get a huge burst of inspiration soon! (I have it all planned out, especially the final scenes being planned in detail, but some of these middle chunks despite having outlines just don’t want to get written!)

This section hasn’t been edited yet but it’s the last chunk I wrote! (It’s actually 8 sentences but this was the natural stopping point— close enough lol)

“Jesus, Loki…” Mobius whispers hoarsely. “I always knew… I mean, with you being ghosts, I had to, but… I can’t… I never could have imagined the details. I’m so sorry— I mean, I don’t think my sorry cuts it, but…”

“We understand, Mobius,” Loki whispers, his voice quiet.

Mobius longs more than ever to scoop them both into massive bear hugs. He knows that won’t solve the problem or fix the past, but his love has always been best expressed physically, and sometimes a good hug is what anyone needs.

“Thank you, for telling me,” Mobius says instead. “I know that couldn’t have been easy, for either of you.”

I’m most certainly going to be double tagging but I will tag y’all anyway! Feel free to ignore if you’ve already done it/been tagged or just don’t want to lol

@starport-seven-five @insert-witty-user-name-here @lgwilt @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud

[hangmanbradshaw]

WIP

Tagged by @itshoneywhatever and @satanssugar so here's what I've got cooking.

Darkest Little Paradise:

“He deserves life.”

“And you don’t?” Jake asked, cocking his head in that way he always did.

“He’s got others. People who love him, need him. He has Ice…love.…their friends. I don’t have anything, apart from him. The world’s a better place with him in it.”

IWTBY Vacation One Shot:

He’d been a little embarrassed about his insatiable need for Bradley’s skin under his at first, but then he’d learned that the more he gave in and let himself want, open with the affection and touches, the more Bradley would blush and bat his eyes all dopily and stare at Jake like he was everything. The more he would giggle and joke and they’d lose the sexy talk to laugh at each other as they gripped onto each other’s skin and found release. The more he would chase Jake around the house after he jokingly poured ice down the back of his shirt when he was cooking. Long gone was the cool, confident, collected man he’d met all those months ago. In front of him now was his Bradley, massive dork, complete softie, so loose and carefree in his return affection.

He’d thought for so long that had just been Bradley, and it had, in a sense. It was a part of him that had always been there, but he was learning to accept the fact that he brought it out in him, had dug in and pulled it out of the rubble it had been stuck under since Bradley’s accident. Just as Bradley brought out the lightness in him, unearthed the part of himself he’d buried long ago in the Texas soil that was capable of intense love, he’d somehow become the anchor Bradley also steadied himself to. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and amazing all at once. 

He still hoped he wouldn’t break it, this fragile little thing Bradley had given to him with a sign screaming ‘handle with care.’ But every day, he saw that heart in his hands grow stronger, steadier, and every day he found his own touch holding on tighter, less afraid of what he might do to it.

He still got it wrong some days, but it was okay. They were learning. It never left a bruise anymore, just some dust that they were able to blow away together. And as for his own heart, well, he’d given it to Bradley and not looked back.

Bradley bit his lip and Jake finally pushed his hand into the waistband of Bradley’s swim trunks. He walked his fingers down his dick and then grabbed on, squeezing once before slowly pumping his fist, using the water to ease the glide. 

“Jake.” Bradley hissed, eyes darting around. He looked torn. “Someone could see.”

Jake glanced around at the open ocean. The boat swayed in the water, anchored next to them. The shore was a good few hundred feet away, the water around them empty and clear. It was why they’d chosen the various spots they had in the Greek islands- privacy. 

Proposal AU (my winter fic...hehe)

Jake tapped his foot as the elevator music that haunted his dreams at night played over the tiny speakers above him. He checked his watch again and sighed as he shifted the coffee tray in his hand. He was going to be right on time, which might as well have been thirty minutes late. The elevator doors dinged as they opened and he high tailed it out, speed walking through the lobby of the office and greeting everyone as he passed. 

He rounded the corner and thanked every deity known to mankind and animals too when there was no sign of his boss through the glass doors of his office. He set the coffee on his desk and headed back to his desk with a sigh of relief. 

“Jake.”

He looked up at the familiar voice. It was a voice he’d dreamed of frequently, though not usually in a good way, apart from the few dreams where that voice was breathing against his ear instead of snapping at him. Those dreams were almost worse than the stress dreams. He wasn’t sure what it said about his psyche that he occasionally had sex dreams about the devil incarnate, but, well, that was a thing to add to the list of his future therapy appointments he was sure he’d need after this job.

“Mr. Bradshaw, good morning.” He replied with a sunny smile. 

Bradley, as he referred to him only in his head, stopped near his desk. He looked as he always did- dark curls gelled back, scruff lining his jaw, a suit that fit perfectly hugging his body. It was a shame such a nice package had to hold such a miserable bastard, he thought. Bradley’s eyes were trained on his head, and he itched to fix his hair, sure if must’ve looked like he’d just rolled out of bed because…he had.

“Morning.” Bradley said, a little oddly. His eyes didn’t move.

Jake blinked several times when no barking order immediately followed it. He wasn’t used to getting a relatively normal greeting and he momentarily wondered if he was still dreaming. 

“Anything I can do for you this morning, sir?” He asked with that bright smile he’d perfected.

Bradley finally snapped out of it, blinking and shaking his head a bit. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got meetings. Hold my calls.” He stared again at his face, and Jake suddenly remembered he was still wearing his glasses, not something he usually did at work. Bradley added on, almost awkwardly, “please.”

The man walked into his office after that, leaving Jake to gape and wonder if he really was still dreaming. 

“Hey, man. Late night?” Javy asked as he popped his head over the partition of the cubicles. 

He shook his head and turned to focus on Javy. “Yeah, had a date with that guy.”

“The male model?”

“He’s a librarian.”

“Same difference.” Javy waved him off. “You gonna see him again?”

“I think so.”

A throat cleared behind him and he whirled around. Bradley was standing there with that pinched expression he got when he was pissy. 

“I said hold my calls, not gossip.”

He blinked and stood a bit straighter. “Right, sorry.” He glanced down at the box Bradley was awkwardly clutching in his hand. “You need me to do something with that?”

Bradley blinked, surprised, as if he’d forgotten about it. He shoved it behind his leg and said, “No. Get back to work, and fix your hair. I need you to come up to see the board with me in a bit.”

Bradley was gone before he could respond. He stood there, blinking after him, confused as hell by the rollercoaster of the morning. 

Untitled AU (still debating finishing this one...it came to me randomly one day and I had to write at least part of it...it's kinda a political marriage AU)

“It was good. You get off, I get off. Mutually beneficial. Everyone wins.” Jake said, wiping himself down clinically, methodically, before tossing the rag to Bradley.

“Can you at least pretend that you like it?”

“I did like it. I came, didn’t I? Mission accomplished.”

“No, I mean…” Bradley cut off, looking like he was at war with himself. “That it’s me.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“Shit, I don’t know! I guess I mean kissing, touching each other, being…intimate.”

“Your dick is in my ass. Doesn’t get much more intimate than that.”

Bradley gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“What, love, romance, is that what you’re talking about?” Jake asked, eyebrows raised. Bradley stared at him, a silent confirmation. He said, incredulously, “That’s not us.”

“It could be.”

Jake blinked several times. “Bradshaw-“

“It could be us, if we tried. If we actually gave it a shot.”

“This was always the…arrangement. Your ring on my finger, your dick in my ass every Friday, a smiling partner on your arm at work parties. We both knew the deal going in.”

“It’s not enough.”

Jake was sure his eyebrows must have been sky fucking high. “Pardon?”

“No, not like that. I mean.” Bradley cut off, cursed. He closed his eyes and refocused then said, “I see those moments, sometimes, when the real you slips out. I just…I want to know that part of you.”

[youredreamingofroo]

me to an irl friend: hey i wanna build u a house in mc for no reason at all, what do u want your house based on irl friend: idk,,, crystal-y witch hut? me: ok >:)

So I've been building houses for some of my irl friends and here's the third and prolly last one!! I went WAYY overboard but idc I got adventurous and I love it (it's also a MAJORRRR wip rn)

Here's a bit of rough lore I have for this area :D I like to think this is an abandoned witch hut (all of the houses kind of are bc none of my friends will ever live in them) because of a couple experiments gone wrong, those experiments being massive crystal shards getting launched into the earth, and those experiments caused the witch to be exiled from Eunia (rando region name I chose) :)

extra pics of the crystal pits and some more yapping under the cut <:P

So I still have one more crystal pit planned and it'll be the smallest one of the other three, this one will be orange/yellow, I'm probably gonna add some more crystallization around the house, considering the fact that my friend said "crystal-y" witch hut.

Also yes I KNOW the pits dont look very crystal-y considering they are conceived of like 99% different blocks and then 1% Emerald/Amethyst, but it's all about the *look* and what it conveys... which doesn't rlly make sense tbh oops LMAO

I like to think that the sheer heat from the crystal shards making impact with the land caused miniature pits of lava/magma, hence the little pockets near the bottom with magma blocks/"out-of-place?" blocks

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Nostos

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @skyrim-forever tyty friends

I am tagging @thana-topsy @greyborn2 @gilgamish @mareenavee

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera]) Category: M/F Genre(s): Romance Main characters/Pairing: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a quill knife for the rest of his existence. But when the jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of Borgakh the Steel-Heart of Mor Khazgur. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

Previous Nostos snippets posted on Tumblr are available under the story tag, here.

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The road split up ahead, with one branch climbing to the city gates, and the other descending to the docks. Solitude harbor had once been described to Khemor as filled with lights at night, with ships arriving and leaving from the great East Empire Company Warehouse at all hours, bound for far off ports. With the expulsion of the Legion and all agents of the Empire from Skyrim, the warehouse stood empty, and instead of the massive galleons a few Nordic longboats and fishing vessels were moored in the waters below, dwarfed by the infrastructure intended for much larger trade.

If all goes as planned, the harbor should be seeing activity again soon. Khemor spared a thought for Ulfric. At least he had been able to lay a good foundation for the trade negotiations currently taking place between House Redoran and the Throne of Ysgramor.

Long shadows stretched in front of them, and Khemor spared the magicka for a candlelight spell as they climbed towards the city.

The scars of war were still visible: new paving stones where old ones had been dislodged or destroyed by siege engines, new rock in the ramparts that stood stark and white against the mossy green of old masonry, and half-torn down barricades now repurposed into makeshift guard shelters. On the walls bright blue and silver banners with the snarling bear of Ulfric Stormcloak fluttered in the sea breeze, revealing the burnt remnants of the crimson banners beneath them only when a particularly stiff gust moved them aside.

Two soldiers stood at attention before the gatehouse: one in the red surcoat of Solitude and the other in Stormcloak colors. As they approached, the man in blue stepped forward and saluted. “Dragonborn! It’s an honor.”

Khemor nodded in acknowledgement. Two of the figures seated around the brazier against the wall stood, and Khemor’s light illuminated Calder’s face as he approached. Next to him was another of Ulfric’s soldiers, this one in the regalia of an officer. Gregor dismounted, and he helped Khemor from Blue’s saddle as Calder took her reins. Khemor could hear Borgakh’s boots hit the paving stones behind them.

“Dragonborn, your housecarl arrived at the Blue Palace while I was giving a report to Jarl Bryling; I thought I should greet you personally.” With his bearskin hood thrown back, the man’s piercing blue eyes and short, blond braids stood out in the gloom. Khemor recognized him from among the throng at Whiterun, one of many hopeful young faces from Galmar’s squad staring up at him in awe as he stood next to Ulfric before the battle commenced.

“Commander Ralof,” Khemor clasped the man’s arm firmly. “I thank you for your welcome.”

Ralof’s smile grew wider and Khemor was thankful his memory had supplied the man’s name.

“I’d like to extend the hospitality of the Stormcloak detachment here in Solitude as well, Dragonborn. We have quarters available for you and your retinue in Castle Dour.”

“The inn would require three flights of stairs, likewise the Blue Palace,” Calder murmured next to him. “It is a bit of a walk from the gate.”